Lone Star Daddy (McCabe Multiples)

by Cathy Gillen Thacker

  His expression guarded, he studied her. “Why not?”

  Feeling hot color flush her cheeks, Rose enunciated as clearly as possible, “Because we have absolutely nothing in common.”

  He took her in his arms, reassuring her with a wink. His mouth hovered over hers. “We have this.”

  Rose had been telling herself she had imagined the impact of their first kiss. That it had been the surprise—coupled with the lack of romance in her life—that had left her reeling and wanting more. Even though she knew how very unwise that was.

  But now, with his lips seducing hers apart and his tongue tangling with hers, she couldn’t help but explore whatever this was turning out to be, at least a little more. She went up on tiptoe, wreathing her arms about his wide shoulders, even as he clasped her closer. Her breasts molded to the hardness of his chest. His arms wrapped around her middle, lifting her until their hearts beat in tandem. Lower still, there was a building pressure and a tingling that stole her breath.

  He wanted her. Fiercely. And she reveled in the strength of that demand. Yet she was smart enough to realize that if she let the reckless embrace continue, there would be nothing but heartache and regret for both of them.

  And she couldn’t have that. Hadn’t she already been hurt enough by her ex? Wasn’t she still paying for the ramifications of a relationship based solely on passion and little else?

  Furious that he’d seduced her into allowing herself to be so vulnerable—again—Rose pushed against Clint’s hard, muscular chest and tore her lips away.

  Reluctantly, he let her go.

  Struggling to regain her equilibrium, she took a step back and dragged in a shaky breath. “I’m not going to date you, Clint.”

  Skepticism mingled with the impatience on his handsome face. “Why not?” he asked gruffly.

  Ignoring the way he was studying her, she declared hoarsely, “Because I’m not available in the way a guy wants me to be.”

  His gaze roved her upturned face before returning to her eyes. “So you’re content to be alone?”

  Clearly, Rose noted, he did not believe it.

  “I have plenty of companionship, Clint.” With three children, five sisters, two parents and dozens of relatives, not to mention friends and business acquaintances in Laramie County, she was always surrounded by people.

  He came closer once again, dimples appearing on either side of his wide smile. “What about sex? And romance,” he chided softly. “Don’t you want that?”

  His low, husky murmur sent another waft of desire rippling through her. Blood roared through her veins. Yet nothing of import changed.

  The situation still was what it was.

  Rose swallowed to ease her parched throat. “It doesn’t matter what I want, Clint,” she said, trying to ignore the gleam of stark male interest in his eyes. “It matters what I can have. And that’s my kids and my business and nothing else.” Her brief foray into dating had shown her that.

  His expression turned calm, inscrutable. “Just two questions. How long have you been telling yourself this? And how much do you actually believe it?”

  * * *

  AS CLINT FIGURED, Rose had no answer for that. Thankfully, for her sake anyway, she was saved from having to answer him by the minivan heading up the drive. It had the McCabe Interiors logo on the side. Poppy was driving, and Rose’s three kids waved from their safety seats.

  Seeing them, Clint couldn’t help but grin.

  He had always wanted kids. A wife. A family. Even before the auto accident that claimed his parents’ lives and prompted his four sisters to leave the past behind, and seek their fortunes elsewhere. Now that he was back on the Double Creek, missing the family togetherness of his childhood, that yearning had intensified.

  “Hey, Mr. Clint!” the three kids yelled as soon as they were out of the vehicle. All three bounded up the porch steps.

  Clint offered high-fives, which they all spiritedly returned.

  “How are you-all doing?” he asked.

  “Good,” they crowed in unison.

  Clint turned to their aunt. “Hi, Poppy.”

  “Hello, yourself.” She winked as if reading something into his presence that her sister would have preferred she not. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything...”

  Rose gave Poppy a look that said, Knock it off. “Business as usual,” she replied in a tight, clipped tone.

  Clint wished it were. Because that would mean he’d be giving her a helping hand, pleasantly whiling away the time and kissing her every day...

  But that wasn’t going to be happening if the cantankerous lift of Rose’s eyebrow in Poppy’s direction was any indication.

  Poppy chuckled again, then quickly brought Rose up to speed. “The triplets had lunch around one o’clock. I wish I could tell you that they ate their vegetables, but...”

  Scarlet pushed her glasses up on her nose. “We didn’t mean to be rude, Mommy!”

  “But she put carrots and squash and z’chini in the very same bowl!” Stephen made a face that showed how unappetizing he thought that was.

  Sophia momentarily forgot her shyness long enough to chime in, “You know we can’t eat food that is touching!”

  Rose interrupted the diatribe with a stern look. “First of all, is this the way we behave when we are guests in someone else’s home?”

  Sheepish looks were exchanged all around. Three toes pushed simultaneously into the wood beneath their feet. “No.”

  Rose chided, “What do you say to your Aunt Poppy?”

  Contrite now, the triplets said, “We’re sorry.” They followed up their words with heartfelt hugs while Rose mouthed “sorry” to her sister, too.

  “They already made me their apology pictures,” Poppy said. “Which are pictures of veggies, currently hanging on my fridge.”

  The adults tried not to grin at the irony of that.

  “Well, that’s good to know,” Rose said, pleased, as she made prolonged eye contact with each one of her children. “Now can you all thank your Aunt Poppy and then go inside and play with your toys ’til dinner?”

  An appreciative chorus followed. “Just don’t make too big a mess,” Rose called after them as the trio raced into the house, already chattering excitedly.

  “How’s the berry picking going?” Poppy asked Clint casually.

  “Better than expected,” he admitted.

  Thanks to Rose’s machinations and the profit he stood to make over the next few weeks, the Double Creek would be a fully operational horse and cattle farm by fall.

  Poppy looked at Rose. “Any chance I could get a few blackberries to take home with me?”

  Delighted as always to be talking about produce, Rose asked, “Do you want today’s crop or part of what I’ve got in my fridge?”

  “The ones inside.” Poppy stepped up onto the porch. “Got any of that blackberry cobbler you made last night?”

  “Not to worry. There’s a piece saved just for you.” Rose turned to Clint, as well-mannered as ever. “What about you? Would you like a piece of cobbler to take home with you?”

  He never turned down dessert. Plus, from what he had seen so far, anything Rose cooked was bound to be spectacularly good.

  Clint tipped the brim of his hat in her direction. “I’d be honored to have some, ma’am.”

  Poppy laughed at his antics.

  Rose shook her head and rolled her eyes. She gestured for them to go first, then followed both her guests inside.

  The interior of the house was filled with a wonderful baking smell. In the kitchen, on top of the fridge, sat a glass bowl covered in plastic wrap. It contained a pillowy white dough. For what, exactly, Clint didn’t know, but clearly that accounted for the fragrance of homemade goodness in the air.

  Rose brought
a cobbler out of the fridge and cut two generous slices. As she turned to get two plastic containers out of the cupboard, her T-shirt rode a little higher on her hips, revealing her nice curves beneath her jeans.

  He ruminated again on just what it might take to get her where he wanted her. In his arms, in his life, in his bed.

  Unaware of the direction of his thoughts, she pivoted back to him. “Just out of curiosity, how do you think this year’s crop tastes in comparison to years past?”

  Clint shrugged. “I wouldn’t know.”

  “Why?” she asked in surprise. “Because you haven’t eaten any in years past?”

  “Because I haven’t eaten any of them, period.”

  Rose blinked, as if sure she could not have heard him correctly. Her sister looked equally stunned. He tucked his thumbs in the loops on either side of his belt. “I’ve been a little busy,” he drawled.

  Poppy continued to gape. She turned back to Rose, in independent-businesswoman mode now. “How effective of a spokesperson can Clint be if he hasn’t even tasted the blackberries from the Double Creek?”

  Clint frowned. “I’m selling the harvester, not the crop.”

  “Hence, in his view, the taste of the berries is irrelevant,” Rose said.

  But apparently not in hers, Clint noted.

  From upstairs, sounds of discord erupted. Poppy picked up her to-go package and answered before Rose could even ask, “Yes. They have been that way all afternoon.”

  Rose buried her face in her hands as the loud bickering continued. “Now I’m really sorry I asked you to babysit for me all day.”

  Poppy patted her shoulder. “Don’t be. It was a good test to see if I was going to change my mind about wanting kids of my own. Guess what? It didn’t. That said, I’ve got to go.” Comically, she pretended to primp. “I’m supposed to Skype with the good Lieutenant later this evening, and I want to do my hair.”

  Rose chuckled. “Yeah, right.”

  Clearly, Clint thought, it was an inside joke.

  Rose explained, “She never dresses up for Trace.”

  “The advantage of being just friends.” Poppy blew a kiss on her way out the door. “See you!”

  Clint knew it was time for him to go, too, especially given the way the triplets were arguing upstairs. Reluctantly he picked up his container of blackberry cobbler, prepared to say goodbye, then was stopped dead in his tracks by an ear-splitting trio of screams.

  Chapter Six

  Rose stiffened. “What in the world...?”

  She raced in the direction of the stairs with Clint hot on her heels. Her pulse pounding, she rounded the corner and swept into the triplets’ bedroom. She stopped at what she saw.

  The bedcovers were off all three beds.

  Toys were scattered here and there.

  Most alarming of all, however, was the sight of her three children mid–temper tantrum. She’d thought someone had been seriously hurt—only to discover it was all just a quarrel!

  “I’m tired of playing house!” Stephen threw a stuffed animal to the floor. “I want to play soldiers! So I can pretend to be the Lieutenant!”

  Poppy, Rose knew, would be pleased to hear that. She’d take it as yet another sign she and her best friend were meant to adopt a baby together.

  “We don’t want to play soldiers,” Scarlet declared, pitching a stack of storybooks.

  “Well, I don’t want to play only girl stuff!” Stephen added a yell for emphasis and tossed a toy drum.

  Sophia, who’d been about to add her two cents to the quarrel despite her shyness, abruptly noticed Rose and Clint in the doorway. “Uh. Oh.”

  Alerted to impending catastrophe, her siblings stopped mid-rant, spun around, and to Rose’s utter relief, finally fell blissfully silent.

  “What’s the trouble here?” she demanded.

  Eager to get their sides heard, all the children spoke at once, confirming what she and Clint had already heard.

  “Okay, that’s enough.” She cut them off with a big referee sweep of both arms. “If you can’t think of something to do together—without fighting—you won’t be able to play with each other at all. In the meantime, while you are all thinking about that, I want this room straightened up. Pronto. And then you’re all having a five-minute time-out.”

  Clint looked at her, seeming to understand she was near the end of her rope.

  “If you want me to stay a while,” he whispered, “I will.”

  Sighing wearily, Rose looked up at him. “Thanks. I’d really appreciate that.” It surprised her how much.

  * * *

  HALF AN HOUR LATER, thanks to Clint’s steady, reassuring presence, it was a completely different scene.

  He had helped Rose and the kids return order to their room, then escorted the youngsters out back for a little outdoor play while Rose got dinner started. Eventually he came in to get some juice boxes for them, then returned to see if he could help her with anything else.

  Grateful for all he’d done, she poured him a tall glass of iced tea with mint. Since he seemed in no more hurry to go than he had been earlier, she gestured for him to have a seat on the other side of the kitchen island. “Thanks for kicking around the soccer ball with the kids.”

  “Happy to do it.” He looked out the dining area window at the fenced backyard, where all three kids were now swinging side by side. “They seem to be playing nicely now.”

  Trying not to notice how right it felt with Clint hanging out in her kitchen, she said, “Let’s hope it continues until I can get dinner ready.”

  He caught her eye and flashed that easy grin she loved. “What are you making?”

  Rose slid last night’s oven-roasted veggies into the food processor, added a can of cooked tomatoes, and pulsed until it was smooth and thick. “Pizza sauce.”

  His gaze slid down the hollow of her throat, past her lips, to her eyes. “With cooked carrots and zucchini?” Or in other words, the very same veggies they’d rejected at Poppy’s earlier in the day.

  “They’ll never know.” She added a little salt, pepper and oregano and gave her food processor another whir.

  “So. You do this often?”

  As always, his ultramasculine presence, the sun-warmed leather scent of him, made her feel protected and intensely aware. Still, in an attempt to regain her equilibrium, she kept her physical distance from him as she dumped the pizza dough onto the cutting board and divided it into eight pieces. “Since they stopped eating vegetables? All the time. Why...you don’t approve?”

  Taking another long, thirsty drink of iced tea, he watched her roll the dough into thin discs and place them on individual baking rounds. “Not up to me to approve or disapprove.”

  “But you don’t think I should be doing this.”

  His eyes lit up the way they always did when he knew he’d gotten under her skin. “You want my honest opinion?”

  “Yes.”

  He shrugged and rubbed his palm across his closely shaven jaw, then lazily dropped his hand again. “Doing something underhanded—or covertly—is never a good idea.” He squinted in her direction. “It’s bound to backfire on you eventually.”

  Her temper igniting, she gave him a sharp look. “Says the man with no children of his own.”

  “So far,” he allowed. The tone of his voice implied that might soon change.

  The ironic thing was, she could imagine him as a daddy, and a good one. Which of course only made him all the more attractive to her. Pushing her ridiculously romantic notions aside, she forced herself to continue the debate. “Besides, they’re not going to find out there’s anything in that sauce but tomatoes.”

  “You hope they’ll never find out,” he scoffed, inclining his head to one side. “The way they’re in and out of here...”

 
He had a point about that. She’d had some near misses. And the last thing she wanted was for her kids to feel she had deliberately misled them in any way.

  Clint stood, glass in hand, and strolled back over to the pitcher of tea. He poured more over the ice in his glass and added some to hers, too, then lounged against the counter with his usual ease. “I just think there has to be a better, more direct way.”

  Rose wasn’t sure whether to roll her eyes at his continued naïveté—or laugh. “You really think you could get them to eat veggies again when all other adults have failed?”

  The bravura he’d evidenced on the rodeo circuit returned full force. “I do.”

  “Yeah? Well, I’ll bet you can’t!”

  It was his turn to laugh. “Okay. You’re on.”

  Concluding she really did need to get her head examined for putting herself in such a precarious position, Rose placed her hands on her hips. “So what are the stakes?”

  One corner of Clint’s lips tilted up in a sexy grin. “I get as much time as I need to make it happen within the span of one week.”

  Which meant, Rose thought, they’d be seeing each other—a lot. Another shimmer of tension floated between them, and she felt her breath catch in her throat. Her eyes holding his, she swallowed hard, then stipulated firmly, “However you accomplish it, it has to be out in the open. They have to know they’re eating broccoli or whatever. You can’t do what you so thoroughly disapprove of me doing and disguise it.”

  He chuckled, a deep rumbling low in his throat. Then he slowly surveyed her from head to toe as if he found her completely irresistible. “Fair enough.”

  Trying not to think how attracted she was to him, too, Rose wrinkled her nose. “Now for the winnings...”

  Apparently he’d already decided what he wanted. “If I triumph, you go out on a date with me,” he drawled.

  Rose flushed as she thought about that. A date would mean another kiss, and another kiss would mean...well... “Okay. But if I win,” she countered, then stopped to contemplate.

  The logical prize would have been the opposite of what he wanted—which was to make him promise never to kiss her again. Oddly enough, she did not want that, probably because it was far too predictable a penalty. So she searched her mind for the chore most men complained about this time of year. In a burst of inspiration, she finally said, “You have to mow my lawn!”