The Cowboy's Triplets

by Tina Leonard

  The butler nodded and went off to do Jonas’s bidding. Jonas continued staring at the gypsy as if his brain was locked in gear. Pete scowled. Surely Jonas—steady-handed Jonas the surgeon—wouldn’t get the hots for a gypsy.

  He should have put a stop to this in the beginning; he was practically an accomplice. But he hadn’t counted on his brothers being super boneheads—just greedy. He opened his mouth to throw water on the scheme, confess everything, too, but Fiona shot him down.

  “Pete!” His aunt’s voice cracked like a whip. “You’re being rude to an invited guest, and one thing we aren’t at Rancho Diablo is rude.”

  He shrugged and went to lean against a wall. “If you think I’m going to be part of a séance or machination on her part to confuse you, I’m afraid we’re not going to fall for the plan, Aunt.” There, that was a piece of delicious Broadway acting, if he did say so himself—although he was still worried about Jonas. Sam was young and hotheaded, so he might have expected Sam to latch on to their visitor, or wild-at-heart Creed might have been an easy target. Any of them but Jonas, who was still stonelike and staring—rapt, mesmerized.

  Creed, Rafe, Judah and Sam all crossed their arms, gazing with interest at the fortune-teller. They seemed very interested in the tale she was about to spin. Pete would have to keep a close eye on Fiona since no one else seemed inclined to play protector to their giddy aunt.

  The next thing Pete knew, Jonas was lying on the floor staring up at the wood-beamed ceiling. Madame Vivant stood over him, staring down at his brother. Jonas said, “My lucky, lucky eyes,” and Pete wondered if Jonas had hit his head on the way down. Pete was getting really nervous. He glanced at Fiona to see if she was worried about the effects of her Secret Plan, but she seemed more interested in the warm drink Burke was handing her.

  “What happened?” Jonas asked as Madame Vivant moved to help him up.

  “You fainted,” she told him.

  Jonas raised a disbelieving brow that made Pete proud. For a moment he’d feared his older brother was going to drown in a pool of misplaced desire.

  “I’m a doctor, and a damn good one. I think I’d know if I’d fainted.”

  “You fainted, bro,” Rafe said. “Went down like a sack of hammers.”

  “Made a real funky sound when you fell, too,” Aunt Fiona said. “When you were just a little thing, I used to ask you if you’d stepped on a frog when you made that noise, Jonas. Brings back memories—”

  “That’s enough.” Jonas stared at the petite redhead. “You did something to me.”

  “You don’t believe in spells,” she replied. “A doctor wouldn’t believe in such things, would you?” She took his hand in her much smaller one and helped him to his feet with a surprisingly strong yank.

  “I felt fine before you walked in,” Jonas replied, his voice crabby, and Pete relaxed. Jonas had obviously recovered his good sense when he fell out of his chair, or whatever the hell he’d just done. We’re all working too hard. Or we’ve had too much Christmas vacation with the holiday-loving aunt.

  “Can we get on with this?” Aunt Fiona asked, her tone impatient. “Madame Vivant can’t stay long. The carnival’s train moves on tonight.”

  “After she’s stolen the family heirlooms,” Pete muttered.

  “We don’t have any of those,” Sam said. “Bro, sit over here so I can keep an eye on you. You’re making an ass of yourself.”

  This was tough coming from the baby. He’d changed that boy’s diapers! Pete felt tired suddenly, and not soothed by the brandy Burke pressed on him.

  “Your aunt asked me here to interpret—explain—the dream she had while in my tent,” Madame Vivant said. “Your family home is in jeopardy.”

  Pete rolled his eyes. He couldn’t help it. He knew he was being churlish, and a thirty-one-year-old man shouldn’t be. Of course the family home was in danger. The culprit was sitting next to his aunt on her velvet footstool. Why couldn’t anyone but him see this?

  His brothers were mesmerized. They leaned forward like schoolboys, hanging on every word that dropped from Madame Vivant’s sweet ruby lips. Even Jonas went back to being spellbound, looking as if he might jump into her lap any second. Pete just glared at her. “In danger from what?” he demanded. “Or whom?”

  As if he didn’t know.

  “That has not been revealed to me,” the fortune-teller replied, her voice soft.

  He shook his head. “And so we’re all supposed to get married, and have a child—”

  “That’s your aunt’s solution,” the gypsy said.

  “Look,” Pete said, tired of the conversation. He and his brothers had work to do on the ranch. He didn’t want to leave this woman here to prey on his innocent aunt’s fears. She loved Rancho Diablo with all her heart. She’d kept it running after their mother and father had died, had raised all of them to manhood. He was always up for a joke on his hammerheaded brothers, but Aunt Fiona’s scheme was getting out of hand.

  Suddenly, Jonas spoke. “I’m not going to allow you to continue this charade until you tell me your real name. This Madame Vivant crap is for beginners, and I am no easy mark. I want your name in case I have to have the law hunt you down.”

  Her eyes widened.

  “Jonas!” Fiona leaned forward. “I’m going to ask you to leave if you insist upon being a pest.”

  Jonas refused to release the gypsy’s gaze. Something was definitely happening to his normally uptight brother.

  “My name,” she finally said, “is Sabrina McKinley.”

  “Your real name? Or one of many aliases? I’ve got a good mind to call the cops right now,” Jonas stated, and Pete was pretty certain his brother meant it. Jonas seemed to be fluctuating between protecting their aunt and rampant sexual desire, and if he wasn’t so worried, Pete might have enjoyed the drama.

  “It’s my real name.” She stared back at Jonas, unafraid of his growing ire. “I might remind you that I don’t know any of you. I came alone, knowing there would be six men and only a frail elderly woman here—”

  Pete expected his aunt to utter a loud “ha!” but she only sighed and pulled an afghan around her shoulders.

  “You’ve convinced her she’s ill,” Jonas said, outraged. “She was fine last I saw her. You’ve toyed with her mind, made her think she’s dying—”

  Madame Vivant—Sabrina—shook her head. “I have no dark powers.”

  “Hypnotism isn’t a dark art?”

  She gasped. “How dare you?”

  “Let her finish, Jonas,” Rafe said, interrupting the two verbal combatants. “She’s not going to hurt anybody by saying whatever she wants to say.”

  “I’m going to do this,” Fiona said, “in fact, I’ve already changed my will. Regardless of what misguided thoughts you have about my mental state, the time has come for me to make a decision about Rancho Diablo.” She looked around at all of her nephews. “Which of you truly feels a special connection to Rancho Diablo? Would want it to be yours? You, Jonas, are the eldest,” Fiona said, “and marriage might suit you.”

  “And you have a bid on a ranch sixty miles to the east,” Sabrina said. “You’ve been thinking about having your own working ranch.”

  Pete supposed she expected them to be amazed that she knew this bit of information, as if they were in the presence of a mystical mind-reader. Pete was surprised his brother was thinking about owning a ranch in New Mexico, since he had a successful surgical practice in Dallas, Texas. Fiona must have told Sabrina.

  “Sorry, I don’t feel like cooperating,” Jonas said, sounding more in control of his faculties, to Pete’s relief. “I’m not getting married, having a baby or playing hoodwink-the-gentle-aunt.”

  “Nevertheless, you will be considered, Jonas,” Fiona said, her tone firm. “Should you marry and produce multiple heirs, you will be considered for Rancho Diablo.”

  “Multiple heirs?” Creed asked.

  “Naturally,” Fiona said. “Whichever of you has the largest family should inherit
the property, which makes sense on several levels. That’s what Madame Vivant suggested, and I think it’s an excellent plan to ensure that none of you try to hire a woman with a child to fool me or my executor.” She shot Jonas a stern look. “It’s not like my own kin doesn’t know a little something about hoodwinking the gentle aunt.”

  Pete silently conceded Fiona’s point. Over the years they had done their best to pull the wool over the bright aunty eyes, with varying degrees of success. She’d grown up on a farm in Ireland with eleven brothers, so she knew a lot about what boys—men—could get into. It had been like living with a kindly old jailer.

  Still, they’d done their best—and had occasionally succeeded.

  “Now, I don’t expect any of this to happen overnight,” Aunt Fiona continued. “In fact, given the nature of your extreme bachelorhoods, it could be years before any of you settle down. Therefore, I have set forth these plans with an executor in an airtight will and testament. Airtight.”

  Pete rose to his feet. “Jonas, you get the job of trying to talk sense into our beloved aunt.”

  Jonas smiled a lazy come-and-get-it smile at the gypsy. “I’m not so certain Aunt Fiona’s plan doesn’t have some merit. I’m not totally opposed to settling down.”

  Pete had expected all five of his brothers to follow him out the door in a cavalcade of loyalty and righteous indignation. But to a man, they wouldn’t look at him.

  He was outnumbered, voted down. Aunt Fiona’s Secret Plan was surely succeeding beyond her wildest dreams.

  “Fine. I’m going to check on the horses. Then I’m bedding down. None of you, and that includes you, Jonas,” he said, sweeping a hand toward his brothers, “come crying to me when you find yourselves ensnared by Mata Hari here.”

  By that moniker he meant their aunt as well—she was such a bad storyteller—but Sabrina looked at Jonas with big, sexy, fake-concerned eyes. Oh, boy, Pete thought. That’s danger dressed in a sweet tight top all right. Jonas is a marked man.

  He decided it would be fun to watch Jonas fall like a granite boulder for a woman. Pete grinned, suddenly feeling no guilt at all.

  Jonas stood, catching Pete by surprise. “Well, I’m out like a trout,” Jonas said. “It was a pleasure meeting you,” he told Madame Vivant.

  “You can’t leave,” Pete said, “The fun’s just beginning.”

  “I’ve got patients,” Jonas reminded him. “Got to catch a plane back to Dallas. Pete, I leave tonight’s discussion and everything that follows in your more-than-capable hands.”

  “Oh, hell, no,” Pete said. “Don’t you leave me holding the bag, Jonas.”

  “Sorry. Duty calls.”

  “Duty?” Pete realized Jonas was really leaving. This was bad for Fiona’s trap. Pete didn’t want her trap slamming shut on him. “Jonas, we have a problem here.”

  “No worries,” Jonas said, kissing their aunt goodbye. “You’ll take care of everything, Pete.” He departed as though he hadn’t spent the past half hour ogling the gypsy like a tomcat eyeing a nice, juicy mouse.

  Pete glanced at his aunt, wondering if Jonas’s exit blew up her plan, but she was staring at him as though she expected him to do something, and Pete sighed.

  It was hell being Mr. Responsibility.

  Chapter Two

  Pete hadn’t exactly meant to tell Jonas to blow it out his ass, but when his older brother pulled a fast escape, leaving him in charge of a room full of lunatics, Pete wondered if he’d yanked Jonas’s chain a bit hard. He hadn’t seen his brother’s gaze light on a woman like it had lit on Madame Vivant in…well, since Nancy had left him at the altar five years ago.

  Madame Vivant—Sabrina McKinley—wasn’t a woman who had accosted their tender aunt with a wild story to prey on her feebleness. Pete had taken Fiona and her blue-rinsed friends to the fair. He’d happened to be standing outside the tent when Fiona and her three co-conspirators had hatched the plan with Sabrina. Hatched and hired, while he’d listened through the walls of the tent. He’d tried hard not to laugh. It wasn’t such a bad plan. And he would never give away Fiona’s Secret. His brothers had this one coming to them. If there had ever been a group of guys who needed to be thinking about their futures a bit more, it was probably the Callahan brothers.

  Himself excluded, of course. He could just sit back and watch the fun as his brothers scrambled to win the ranch.

  He eyed the door through which Jonas had departed. Their more surly, tightly controlled brother wouldn’t be able to stand the suspense. He’d be back, unable to keep himself from interfering. Jonas loved Fiona. The doctor in him wouldn’t be able to stand the thought that he hadn’t given her a decent evaluation. He’d think strong pulse, lungs clear, heart rate excellent, but all the while Jonas would be worrying like crazy. That was part of Fiona’s MO, tugging on just the right heartstrings.

  Pete leaned back, winked at Madame Vivant, and grinned. This would be great entertainment during January, a traditionally long, cold month on the ranch.

  “Get your popcorn,” he told Sabrina.

  “I beg your pardon?” She glanced back at the door through which Jonas had exited.

  Pete smiled. “He’s a bit of a hothead.”

  She raised her chin and turned to Fiona. “I must be going, Miss Callahan.”

  Four brothers jumped up to walk her to the door. “Stay,” Sabrina said. “I don’t need to be walked to my car.”

  “Goodbye!” Fiona got up and made her way to the door, gently pushing her nephews out of her way. “Thank you so much for coming out. Good luck at your next stops! Adh mór ort!”

  Sabrina went out with a jingle of bells and reluctant sighs from his brothers.

  “You shouldn’t listen to people like that, Aunt Fiona,” Creed said. “Cute as she is, that fortune-teller doesn’t know any more than the weatherman about what lies in the weeks ahead.”

  “That’s right,” Judah said. “We’re going to take good care of you.”

  “Always,” Rafe said.

  And Sam said, “You better believe it.”

  Fiona blinked. “I don’t want you boys looking after me. I want you looking for wives!”

  Pete chuckled, deciding to give Fiona’s plan a boost. “Wouldn’t hurt to have some pretty ladies around this place.”

  Creed glared at him with indignation. “Women cause nothing but trouble.”

  “That’s true,” Judah said. “Did you ever see a more miserable man than Jonas when Nancy ran off?”

  Rafe shook his head. “It would take more than a woman to get me to the altar. I love this ranch, Aunt Fiona, but damn, I’m not putting my neck in a noose to get it.”

  Sam shrugged. “I’m afraid I agree with them, Aunt. A woman just isn’t worth all the heartache.”

  Fiona’s jaw dropped. Pete almost felt sorry for her.

  “Do you mean you intend never to marry? None of you?” she demanded.

  Four brothers shook their heads.

  “I’ve got plenty to do around here,” Creed said. “No woman wants to be abandoned for the life of a cowboy.”

  “They all want to play Desperate Housewives these days,” Rafe said. “High maintenance is not for me.”

  “But surely there are women out there, women from this very town, who are of stock that can appreciate this way of life?” Fiona said.

  “Aunt,” Judah said, his voice gentle, “we live two hundred miles from the nearest city. We live on five thousand acres of dirt. There are no malls, no restaurants—”

  “There’s Banger’s Bait and Tackle,” Fiona said. “They serve a mean catfish. Not to mention Mr. Sooner has been grilling burgers in his backyard for the last twenty-five years, and they’re the best I’ve ever put in my mouth. You can’t get a finer burger!”

  Sam rearranged the wool afghan around his aunt’s shoulders. “Don’t worry,” he said, kissing her cheek. “You and Burke can live here as long as you want. We’ll work the ranch, the way we always have. We just don’t want you getting so upset.�
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  Fiona blinked, then looked at Pete. “You’re awfully quiet, nephew.”

  He didn’t know what to say. Truth was, he’d had his eye on a gal for quite some time, in fact, for the past fifteen or so years. But Jackie Samuels was less inclined to settle down than he was. She’d said a hundred times that what was between them—their big secret—was all she wanted. He couldn’t figure that out. Wasn’t a girl supposed to want to drag a man to the altar? Wasn’t that part of the fun? She did the chasing, and he did the complaining, while she enticed him to the state of wedded bliss?

  When Pete had asked her that, Jackie had shot back, “Why should I buy the steer when I can get the steak for free?” It was a question he hadn’t considered before.

  Pete went to stare out the window. Darkness had fallen so that all was visible was a wide range of inky nothing. They needed to put spotlights up in the trees around the ranch, and maybe some lamps on the fences. That reminded him—Jackie had a window or two at her tiny cottage he’d noticed needed repairing as well.

  “I’m going out for a while,” Pete announced. He felt sorry for Fiona because her Secret Plan had blown up on her, after she’d gone to the trouble of hiring an actress to help spin her diabolical and amusing web. Pete felt more sorry for himself, though, because he didn’t stand a chance with the woman he loved.

  JACKIE SAMUELS HAD NURSED enough grumpy patients in her life to develop a fairly thick skin, but Mr. Dearborn was about to make a dent in her good temper.

  “I don’t want to take any medicine,” Mr. Dearborn said.

  Jackie said, “Doctor’s orders, Mr. Dearborn. You need to take this antibiotic, and then I’m going to give you a pneumonia shot. It’s important to keep you well this winter so you don’t have to come back.” She handed him a glass of water.

  Recognizing the take-no-prisoners tone of her voice, Mr. Dearborn took the medicine, then bared an arm for the injection.

  “All done. Didn’t hurt a bit, did it?”

  “No,” Mr. Dearborn said, “but I’d rather you quit bothering me.”