The Cowboy SEAL's Triplets

by Tina Leonard

  His throat got a bit tight. “I haven’t really thought about—”

  “The thing about Sam,” Dennis said, “is that he really is an ultimate bachelor with a golden heart. Someone should hook him.”

  John shook his head. “You’ll never catch Sam.”

  “But he was taking her to Vegas,” Jane said. “That gives me pause about this bachelor song he sings.”

  A little doubt crept into John. “Sam’s just up to his usual tricks. We all suffer from it. And love him for it, too,” he said truthfully.

  “Well,” Cosette said brightly, “I suppose it doesn’t matter whether you’re in love with Daisy. She’s not here, and who knows when she’ll come home after the shock she’s suffered.”

  “Wait a minute.” John’s brain whirred like a pinwheel. Which fallacy should he start with—that he was in love with Daisy, or that she might never return? This was BC: she had to return. “I’m not in love with Daisy.”

  The second the words left his mouth, causing glints of mirth and knowing to shine in his friends’ eyes, John knew—just as they knew—that he was head over heels, gone-and-not-coming-back, certifiably in love with Daisy Donovan.

  “Oh, crap,” he said, and they high-fived each other, and then him, for good measure.

  This was a problem. He was now squarely in BC’s sights, and the worst part was, he had no clue where Daisy was, and if that was his child she was carrying.

  Holy smoke.

  Chapter Five

  “And that’s that,” John told Daisy’s gang. “You lot are going to help me make this right. And if that’s not high irony, I don’t know what is.”

  Daisy’s gang of five, seated in their new man cave, shook their lunkheads. “We can’t help you,” Dig said.

  “No aid to the enemy,” Red said.

  “She’s our girl,” Clint said, “even if she didn’t choose one of us.”

  “We don’t see what a great girl like her would see in a squid like you,” Carson said.

  “And we haven’t given up hope,” Gabriel said. “We’re not helping any Handsome Sams, Squints or Frogs. Where do you guys get these names, anyway?”

  So he was sitting square in enemy camp, with conspirators unwilling to be his wingmen in his hunt to find Daisy. “Listen, Daisy’s having a baby, and she’s going to need our help.”

  “Our help,” Red said. “Not necessarily your help.”

  “Unless you’re the father,” Carson said, “and we don’t see that being the case.”

  John shrugged. “Of course I’m the father. Who else do you think it would be?” Here he was fibbing just a bit because he didn’t know for sure, but in the night, he’d ruminated over what his friends had said to him at The Wedding Diner and realized it really didn’t matter who the father of Daisy’s baby was. He was in love with her, and he’d be a good father, a dad to her child.

  As far as John was concerned, that made it case closed for his suit.

  They glared at him, not believing him.

  “Daisy would have told us,” Clint said. “We’ve got our money on it being that fellow up in Montana. The airy-fairy one who lives in the wild and communes with nature and all that crapola.”

  John laughed. “Branch would get a real charge out of hearing himself described that way.”

  “So?” Carson demanded. “How do you know Daisy’s not with him?”

  “Because she’s not. And we need to find her, fellows.”

  “Again,” Dig said, “we need to find her. There’s no you and us in this situation. We’ve known her since she was three years old, and we don’t need any outside help rescuing her from what was clearly an unfortunate decision on her part.”

  “That’s too bad.” John leaned back in one of the leather chairs, glanced around the man cave. “It’d be good for your new business to showcase your first success as date makers.”

  “You’re not one of our clients,” Red said.

  “Because you don’t have any yet,” John said, pointing out the obvious. “If you’re going to be the premier dating service and cigar bar,” he said, glancing with doubt toward the leather-wrapped cigar bar and wooden walls that shouted man cave, in complete opposition to the idea of being a dating service, “you need a high-profile client to highlight what you can do. And that’s me.”

  They gawked at him. John could hear the wheels turning.

  “He’s right,” Clint said reluctantly.

  “Never say that an out-of-towner is right,” Carson said, his words hushed.

  “Nevertheless, he has a point,” Dig said, his voice stunned.

  “At least it’s not Handsome Sam,” Gabriel said. “I think I can stand anything but giving our girl up to a man with a handle like that!”

  * * *

  THE SIX MEN got out of the two trucks, warily eyeing the Donovan compound.

  “Well,” Dig said to John as they stared at the massive two-story gray edifice, “here’s the yellow brick road. And while you might want us to play your Cowardly Lion, Tin Man, Scarecrow, Toto and—”

  “I’m not playing Dorothy,” Red said, “no cracks about my hair or anything.”

  They gazed at his long red mop for a second. John didn’t think there was a man on earth he’d rather deem Dorothy less than Red. The man had arm muscles that looked like a bear’s.

  “Cowardly Lion, Tin Man, Scarecrow, Toto and a flying monkey,” Dig said, his tone impatient with his friend.

  “Okay, I can go with a flying monkey. They were kind of cool,” Red said, but they ignored him and went back to staring at the house where Daisy lived, and thus, her warlock of a father.

  John shook his head. “I really don’t know if this is the right plan, fellows.”

  “Well, you came to us for help, need I remind you?” Carson said. “And this is how we suggest you help yourself. You’re going to have to man up and ask for his daughter’s hand in marriage.”

  “What?” John said, and Daisy’s gang favored him with narrow gazes.

  “That’s what we’re here for, isn’t it?” Gabriel demanded.

  “I was going to start small,” John said, “like maybe let Robert Donovan know that I’d like to find his daughter.”

  They shook their heads.

  “Here’s the problem,” Clint said. “We have it on good authority that Donovan doesn’t know his little angel is expecting his grandchild.”

  “That can’t be possible. This is BC,” John said. “Everybody knows everything about everybody, and if they don’t, it’s because they’ve buried themselves deep under a rock.”

  “And just who do you think would tell Mr. Donovan that his daughter is in the family way?” Dig asked, staring at him. “Don’t you think he’d have had a word or two with the man he thought had knocked up his daughter and left her high and dry?”

  “You being that fellow and all,” Red said, “now that the truth has come out.”

  “No truth has come out!” John said, but he was beginning to wonder himself. He’d asked Sam, but Sam had denied knowing who the father of Daisy’s baby was. Swore up and down that he didn’t care, either. If Daisy needed a husband, then Sam Barr was more than happy to be that husband.

  Jealousy had practically eaten a hole in John’s cool, calm persona—and Sam knew it. Enjoyed it, even.

  “But admit it, you’re beginning to think you’re going to be shopping for blue or pink in the very near future,” Clint said, and John’s breath hitched.

  “It’s actually a pretty appealing idea,” he said, and they clapped him on the back in the nearest sign of camaraderie he’d experienced from them. “Hey! You’re trying to get me to go up there, spill the beans—which are Daisy’s beans to spill, by the way—and get my head pounded down my neck!”

  They guffa
wed, just a bunch of knuckleheads having a great day, more than happy to add him to their group for the moment because it made them a whole half-dozen cars on the crazy train for a change.

  “Aw, Donovan’s not going to pound your head,” Dig said. “Nobody’s afraid of Daddy Warbucks anymore. But you are going to get the speech about how you’re not worthy of his adorable daughter, and how he ought to bury you under Best Man’s Fork where no one can find your remains for knocking up his baby girl, and that if you think you’re going to get one penny of his dough you’re crazier than a bedbug.”

  “Well, when you put it that way, how can I resist?” John asked, not that worried about Donovan, anyway. A security truck pulled up, with Donovan riding shotgun to see who was trespassing on his holy land, and the five dummkopfs scattered in their truck.

  “What brings you to my humble abode, Squint?” Donovan demanded as the dust plume rose from John’s newfound friends’ hauling asses.

  “It’s John now, Robert. And I’d like a moment of your time,” John said, and the man narrowed his eyes at him.

  It wasn’t a stare most people would like to receive, but John had seen a lot worse. He shrugged. “If you have time, that is. Sir.”

  Just like his military days, he knew when to apply the courtesy treatment. Robert perked up.

  “I might spare you five minutes. Start talking.”

  “Actually, what I’ve come to say is private.” John glanced at the armed guards and the driver, who was no doubt packing as well, with a shrug. “Regarding family business.”

  Robert grumbled a bit. “I suppose you want to be invited in.”

  John shrugged again.

  “Those five wienies who just hit the road have never darkened the doors of my house. Why would I let you in?”

  “I can talk out in the fresh air just as well as inside four walls, Robert. I’m just asking for you to hear me out in private.”

  After a moment, Robert got out. His men drove away. “So, you’ve come to find out where my daughter is. She said you would.”

  “I’m glad she knows me so well.”

  “Harrumph!”

  “Look, Robert, I happen to think an awful lot of your daughter, and—”

  “Son, let me stop you.” Robert drew himself up to his full six feet four and glared. “I know where you come from, I know about your family. What do you imagine you can possibly offer my daughter?”

  John ignored that, took a deep breath and then the plunge. “There’s a very good chance Daisy may be having my baby. I need to find her.”

  Robert shook his head gravely. “My daughter isn’t expecting a child. Not yours, or anybody else’s. Someone’s been blowing smoke in your face, in order to get you to make this ill-advised journey. And it was ill-advised.”

  John shrugged. “Regardless, I need to find Daisy. I’d like to talk to her.”

  “My daughter has asked me not to reveal her whereabouts. Says she’ll come home when she’s ready.” Robert shook his head at John. “I’ll honor Daisy’s wishes.”

  Robert turned to leave.

  “One more thing, sir.”

  Robert turned again. “I appreciate that Daisy needs some time to herself.” He met Robert’s eyes with determination. “Just know that when she does return to BC, I will be asking for her hand in marriage.”

  “You’ll never get a penny of mine,” Robert warned.

  “I don’t recall asking for any of your money,” John said. He eyed the great gray house behind them. “Honestly, your way of life wouldn’t suit me at all. I’m used to something far different. And just know that Daisy, should she accept my suit, would always be taken care of in every way.”

  “Your parents are itinerant rodeo workers!” Robert sputtered.

  John nodded. “That’s right. Good people, too. Daisy and I would do just fine on my earnings as a rodeo worker. Don’t count your daughter out, Robert. She’s tougher than you think she is.”

  He got into his truck and departed, feeling really good about the way the conversation had gone.

  Daisy’s gang was waiting for him at the end of the drive, around the corner and well out of eyeshot of the main house. John pulled over, and got out to join them.

  They stared at him, agog.

  “It was brave of you to hang around, but I told you everything would be fine.” John waited for the onslaught of questions, which began almost as soon as his words left his mouth.

  “Are you getting married?”

  “Did he know Daisy’s pregnant?”

  “Where’s our Daisy?”

  “Fellows, fellows.” He held up a hand to stem the cacophony. “I said everything was fine. I didn’t say that Robert had given away any information. I know nothing more than when you last saw me. However, Donovan now knows of my intent to marry his daughter, so that puts a new wrinkle in the dynamic of everybody’s favorite busybodying small town.”

  He tipped his hat to them, and got back into his truck. With a jaunty wave, he drove away, not giving away that he had no idea what he was going to do next.

  * * *

  JOHN SETTLED INTO bed at the bunkhouse, placing himself on his back, one arm behind his head so he could lie still and stare at the ceiling. Not that he could see the ceiling in the dark, but stare he did, deep in thought.

  His mind was turned inside out; he hardly knew what to believe. BC claimed Daisy was having a baby; no one knew whose.

  Robert Donovan said she wasn’t, and that his daughter merely needed to be left alone.

  Someone wasn’t telling the truth, and if John had to guess, he’d say none of them was telling the unvarnished truth. Oh, there were probably bits and pieces of truth scattered in and out of all the stories—but he was being steered, there was no question of that.

  It was the way BC operated. Besides which, the only person who had all the information was Daisy—and she clearly intended to remain a silent party.

  Very unusual for her, too.

  The door opened. Someone came in, closed it behind them.

  “Hello?” John waited, holding back a yawn. More than likely Sam or one of the hands didn’t realize he’d gotten back. Listening carefully, he knew he wasn’t in danger.

  Two people, both women.

  “John!” Cosette’s delicate French accent hissed in the darkness.

  “You can turn a light on.” He sat up, swung his legs over the bed, reached for his jeans, pulled them up.

  “Are you decent?” Cosette asked.

  “I am now.” He waited, decided to flip the lamp on the bedside table to put his visitors out of their misery. “Hello, Jane, Cosette.”

  They solemnly nodded. He studied their clothes. Both women wore black, from their little feet to their necks, including long sleeves. They each had on a black hat. “Are we getting out our cauldron tonight, ladies?” he asked.

  “Very funny.” Jane waved an imperative hand at him. “Please dress yourself. We dare not linger. Someone will surely notice that you have visitors in your room.”

  “Surely they would notice, since I haven’t had any female companionship in my room in, oh, since I’ve been employed at the Hanging H.” Sighing, he stood, reaching for a white T-shirt with a Hanging H advertisement on the front. He happened to glance at the ladies, noted their raised eyebrows, tossed the white shirt away. “I take it you prefer more of the look of the cloak and dagger?”

  Cosette gave him a narrow look. “A little less laughter, a little more action. I thought SEALs could get dressed in under sixty seconds or something? That they even sleep in their clothes?”

  “Our SEAL appears to be more of the relaxed variety. And remember, he did come in dead last in the Bridesmaids Creek swim.” Jane said this with a perfectly innocent face.

  “I had a leg cramp!” Jo
hn said for the hundredth time that story had been brought up. He pulled on a black T-shirt. “Shall I camouflage my face and get my night vision glasses?”

  “Sarcasm,” Jane whispered to Cosette. “Some men employ sarcasm when they feel nervous or inadequate.”

  John grunted, recognizing he was being needled. “I assure you, I am neither. However, I am wondering why you’ve crept into my bedroom in the middle of the night dressed like munchkin witches escaped from the Haunted H.”

  “A laugh a minute,” Cosette said.

  “A regular riot,” Jane agreed. “Let’s go.”

  They sneaked him out the back, making certain not to alert any of the other bunkhouse inhabitants to their presence. Once outside, they shooed him into a waiting truck, driven by Sheriff Dennis.

  “Really? You let them talk you into this kind of midnight debauchery?” John demanded, getting into the back.

  “Just settle in, son. We have a lot of work to do.”

  John buckled up. The ladies piled in the front next to their getaway driver, and the truck disappeared into the night. “I guess you realize that if something happens to me, if you’re planning to hide my body in a secret location, no one will know it was you who talked me out of my comfy bed. You’ll be free and clear from public suspicion.”

  “Again, he’s just stocked with knee-slappers,” Jane said.

  “Your audience is rolling in the aisles,” Cosette chimed in.

  John decided to sit quietly and just wait for his friends to get their practical joke out of their systems. They were so serious, completely unlike their normally lighthearted selves, that he caught the mood and settled back for the ride.

  Fifteen minutes later, he judged they were near the creek. He refrained from inquiring whether they were planning to drown him, which would go over like a lead balloon with them in their current disposition. They got out, and he noted Dennis had hidden the truck behind a stand of trees.

  He had a very strange feeling about these late-night fun and games, but he followed the trio obediently.