He scanned the room. Maybe Olivia wouldn’t even be here. A man could hope.
But no. There she was, over by the Sweetheart Wall, her palms pressed to her flaming cheeks.
And she was staring right at him.
Of course she was. Miss Betty had probably delivered an identical missive to her.
Their gazes met and locked. His heart thudded in an irregular tempo, but he refused to be the first to look away. He raised an eyebrow.
She shook her head, so briefly he wasn’t positive he’d seen it.
Had Miss Betty gotten to her, too? Did Olivia have any idea what the old woman had planned for them?
“Mr. Clint! Mr. Clint!” Three young, identical blond-haired boys accompanied those boisterous voices. Clint immediately recognized them as Olivia’s triplets.
And just when he’d thought things couldn’t get any more complicated. Now it wasn’t just about Olivia, it was about her kids, who were yammering on about something. “Come see! Come see!”
Every word out of their mouths seemed to be punctuated with an exclamation point. All three grabbed at his arms at once and started pulling his sleeves with all their might. Clint set his heels. They could tug all day and would not move him unless he wanted to be moved, but...
He turned his gaze on his foster mother, silently pleading with her to rescue him.
“Oh, go on. Don’t be a spoilsport,” Libby said with a laugh, waving him away.
Not what he wanted to hear. It was one thing to bow out of an obligation to the mother. But kids? How was he supposed to do that?
With a reluctant groan, he allowed the boys to lead him across the room. Maybe if he just followed them to whatever it was they wanted to show him, they’d leave him be and his problem would be solved. He wondered how quickly he could cut out if he saw an opportunity to do so.
It occurred to him that they might be guiding him toward their mother and that she’d put them up to accosting him, but Olivia had moved over to the punch table and was speaking to Carson and Ruby. The boys were clearly leading Clint toward the Sweetheart Wall.
“We made Valentine’s cards in school,” one of the boys said proudly. “We cut them out with scissors and everything.”
“Yeah? That’s...nice.” And it had absolutely nothing to do with him. So why were the triplets so intent on showing him their valentines?
He looked from one to another, feeling stymied. He didn’t know their names, and even if he did, he had no idea how he’d ever be able to tell them apart. They were especially daunting when they were all speaking at once.
“See?” another one of the boys said, pointing to a heart covered in childish print. “This one’s mine. And that’s Noah’s, and that one over there is Caleb’s.”
As dark as the room was, Clint had to lean forward to read their cards, and what he saw blew him away.
Their notes were for their new daddy?
That was an odd thing for a kid to write, but one thing was for certain. It had nothing to do with him. Maybe Olivia already had a man on her horizon. Good for her. Clint hoped so for his own sake, so he could get out of this ridiculous matchmaking scheme unscathed.
“So does this mean you’ve got a new dad lined up to replace your old one?” he asked hopefully, then immediately wanted to kick himself. All three of the boys’ smiles disappeared and sadness filled their gazes.
He was really, really not good with children. How insensitive could he be? He’d heard about Luke Kensington’s accidental death a couple years back. These kids had been through a lot.
“Hey, I’m sorry,” Clint said, crouching before them. He searched his mind for the right thing to say. “I’m sure you loved your daddy very much.”
“He’s in heaven,” they said simultaneously. “With Jesus.”
Poor kids. Clint didn’t know about the “heaven” part of the equation, but he did know what it felt like to grow up without a father.
“My dad l—” Clint stumbled over his words. He’d been about to say left. Somehow he sensed that would make things worse for the boys. “—went away when I was about your age. So I know what it’s like to grow up without a father.”
“You’re just like us,” one of the boys said, excitement returning to his voice.
Not exactly.
Clint hadn’t had a mother like Olivia to care for him. He’d ended up in the foster care system until he’d aged out. He’d been blessed to land at the Everharts’ ranch near the end of his tenure, but his life had been anything but easy.
He nodded anyway. “Yeah. I guess I am.”
“We’re six.”
“And we are in first grade. You came to our class to talk to us, remember?”
Now that he thought about it, he did remember seeing the triplets when he’d come to speak at the elementary school. It was part of his job as a trail guide to visit the kids’ classes and encourage them to take wilderness tours. He didn’t care for public speaking, but he did like getting paid to work in the mountains doing what he loved best, so he thought this was a decent compromise.
“We want to raise chickens and ducks, but our mom said we have to be more responsible first,” one of the boys informed him.
“Yeah. Like we have to unload the dishwasher every night before dinner.”
“And Mama makes us put our clean clothes away in our drawers.”
The boys were animated and talking all over each other. Clint couldn’t keep up and wasn’t sure he wanted to. What was that they’d said about chickens?
“Hold on, guys,” he said, lifting his hands in surrender. “I can’t understand any of you when you’re all talking at once. Slow down, and one at a time.”
The sudden silence was more jarring than the chatter. Three sets of wide blue eyes stared at him, waiting for him to do—something. He had no idea what. At least they’d stopped pelting him with innocuous facts about their lives.
“You listen to your mama and do what you’re told, and maybe you’ll get those chickens someday. I think it’s a good life lesson for boys to learn to be responsible for the care and feeding of living creatures.”
“But we want them now.” Clint noticed that the boy speaking had a bit of a cowlick in front.
“What’s your name, son?”
“Noah.”
Okay, so Noah was the one with the cowlick. Clint studied the other two for subtle differences. One had deeply carved dimples in his cheeks and the other did not. He pointed to the dimpled one. “And you?”
“Caleb.”
“And I’m Levi.” The boy grinned. He was missing his two front teeth.
So now Clint knew their names, and with effort could put the names with faces. He didn’t know why it mattered. It wasn’t as if he was going to see these kids again, never mind spend any time with them.
Which reminded him—according to Libby and Miss Betty, he was supposed to be chatting up the triplets’ mother. He didn’t want to give the old ladies any indication that he was conceding to their matchmaking in any way, shape or form, but he didn’t know how else he was going to get rid of three clingy young boys besides guiding them back to Olivia.
“What do you say we go and find your mother?” he suggested. “She’s probably wondering where you are.”
“Will you ask her if we can have some chickens?” Caleb queried eagerly.
“And duckies?” Levi added.
Clint choked on a laugh. These kids were nothing if not persistent. “Well, I don’t know about that. I think your mother ought to be the one making that decision.”
“Making what decision?” A female voice sounded from behind his left shoulder.
He turned to find Olivia staring at him, her eyebrows raised and her hands perched on her hips. He didn’t know why, but her demeanor made him feel she was s
colding him.
He bristled. He hadn’t done anything wrong. He was just trying to console her nosy kids. If she couldn’t keep them corralled, he didn’t know how she could expect him to do anything about it.
“Chickens,” he replied, pressing his lips into a flat line. “Chickens and ducks, apparently.”
“May I dare ask why you are speaking to my sons about chickens?”
“Hey, they were the ones who brought it up. I was just trying to be nice.”
“Yes, well, thank you—I think. I apologize if they’ve been bothering you.”
“No. They’re fine. Really.”
He didn’t know why he’d said that. The kids had been bothering him—hadn’t they? So why was he reassuring Olivia of just the opposite?
“Boys, leave poor Mr. Clint alone. Let’s go grab a cookie before they’re all gone.” She pointed her sons toward the dessert table.
He watched her turn and walk away, herding her offspring with a deft hand, guiding them by the shoulders in the direction she wanted them to go.
He breathed a sigh of relief. At least that was over. He’d talked to her, right? That ought to soothe over any ruffled feathers with Libby and Miss Betty.
Only...
“Hey, Olivia. Wait up just a sec,” he called. Even as he jogged toward her, he wondered at the wisdom of what he was about to do.
Olivia turned, her eyes widening in surprise. She looked as if he’d startled her. Maybe he had—but not as much as he was about to.
“You want to dance?”
Copyright © 2016 by Harlequin Books S.A.
ISBN-13: 9781488007071
His Secret Child
Copyright © 2016 by Lee Tobin McClain
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