He ruminated cheerfully. “Could be sexy.”
Especially if he took his shirt off. Rose willed her sudden flash of heat away. Resisting the urge to fan herself, she vowed, “It won’t be.”
Mischief lit his dark-brown eyes. “Never say never,” he taunted her softly.
Was it possible? Were they actually going to end up making love before this was all over?
The back door slammed, saving them both.
“Mommy.” The triplets barreled in. “We’re hungry!”
Rose directed them over to the kitchen sink. Then she pulled up a stool and supervised the washing of their hands. “Want to help me decorate some individual pizzas?”
They looked adoringly up at their guest, who had come over to wash his hands as well. “Can Mr. Clint make a pizza, too?” Stephen asked.
Rose smiled. “Sure.” She looked at Clint, then nodded at the array of colorful toppings she’d put out. “Now’s your chance, cowboy.” The question was, could he accomplish what she had not?
* * *
CLINT SOON REALIZED that Rose had been right. This was not going to be an easy bet to win.
“That sure is a lot of veggies,” Stephen said, looking at Clint’s creation, which was loaded with peppers, mushrooms and onion as well as crumbles of pepperoni and cooked sausage.
Clint smiled fondly at Rose’s son. “I like mine with everything.”
Scarlet paused to push her glasses higher on the bridge of her nose. “So does Mommy ’cept she puts olives on hers, too. We hate olives. Do you like olives?”
“I do.” Clint added, “Just not on my pizza.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Rose’s warm, amused smile. Clearly, she thought he was going to fail. Which just went to show how little she really knew about him.
Clint turned his attention away from the pretty woman on the other side of the kitchen island. “Sure you kids don’t want something besides cheese on yours?” he asked.
Three heads shook in unison. “Noooo way. We like cheese pizza. And nothing else. ’Cause the other stuff is way too yucky.”
Clint caught the knowing look from Rose. He sent her one right back. “This is only round one,” he whispered in her ear as he carried the pies, waiter-style, to the oven to be baked.
Dinner went well, but the kids were drooping with fatigue by the time they finished eating. Rose took them up to get them bathed and put to bed while he did dishes. She returned short minutes later, looking deliciously disheveled and smelling of baby shampoo and soap. “Can you believe they’re already asleep?”
He took her by the hand and led her into the family room. Together they settled on the big, comfy sofa. “From the sound of it, they had a long day.”
Rose tugged off her sneakers and propped her feet on the coffee table. “A lot of long days, actually.”
“Any particular reason why?” he asked, watching her wriggling her toes beneath her socks.
“Part of it is the number of crops coming in now.”
Figuring what the heck, he might as well get comfortable, he took off his boots and put his legs up, too. “I’m guessing winter can be a little slower?”
“Not as slow as you might think. The Texas pecan crop harvests in the fall, and we get greens and cabbage and broccoli and a lot of root vegetables year-round. Plus, last year I started selling Christmas trees and greenery for my brother-in-law.”
“So you really don’t get a break.”
“Not much of one. Which is why I put the kids in the Montessori preschool for half days last year. This year I stepped it up to the full-day program so I can get most of my work done while they are gone.” Rose raked her teeth across her soft and delicate lower lip. “The new schedule has worked well overall. The kids have a lot of friends at school, and while mornings are academically oriented, the afternoons are all fun activities and field trips.”
Clint nodded. “They seem happy.”
Rose got up and headed for the kitchen, returning with a box of chocolates. “They are. The only problem is that sometimes they can get overtired and hence be really difficult to deal with. And now, as you heard earlier,” she said, working off the box top and offering him dibs, “Stephen is beginning to resent living in an estrogen-powered household.”
Clint selected a dark chocolate square with an almond on the top. “It can be rough being the only male sibling.”
“That’s right. You have four sisters and no brothers.” Rose plucked up a round milk chocolate treat with a fancy curl on the top. She took a small bite, savoring the cherry nougat filling. “I forgot about that,” she murmured, still sitting sideways on the sofa, facing him, her bent knee a millimeter away from nudging his thigh. “How did you survive?”
Trying not to think about what he would really like to do, which was shove the darn box of candy aside, lift her onto his lap and find pleasure in a whole other way, Clint tamped down his desire with effort. He admitted, “I went outside and worked on the ranch, and I rode my horse a lot.”
She swallowed another small bite of her candy. “That bad, hmm?”
“At that age? Oh, yeah.”
Throat dry, he watched her polish off the last of her candy. If she made love with the same dedication to pleasure she gave eating her dessert, they would have one heck of a time together. To distract himself, he took another piece of candy from the box.
“So what was the worst thing about having so many females around?” Rose asked, helping herself to another piece of candy, too.
Clint shrugged. With the last of the chocolate and caramel melting on his tongue, he forced himself to concentrate on the conversation. “It wasn’t so much the fights over the bathroom or boys, or clothes, or the phone, or the car we all had to share as teenagers. It was the constant lobbying and negotiating that drove me around the bend. Or, as my mom used to say, everyone in the family wanted to give orders. No one wanted to take orders. And you can’t have a tribe that’s all chiefs and have peace.”
Rose offered him more candy. He refused. So she set the box aside and turned to face him again. This time her bent knee did nudge his thigh.
She leaned toward him slightly. “Yet there had to be some benefit. I mean, you understand women. Whereas I don’t understand men at all, mostly because I grew up without any brothers.”
Shifting slightly, too, he draped his arm along the back of the couch. “So they were an alien species?”
“Something to dream over.” As soon as the admission was out, she blushed.
He tugged playfully on a lock of her hair. “I kind of like the sound of that.”
The color in her cheeks deepened. She sucked in a breath and scrambled to her feet. “Clint...”
Forcing himself to be the gentleman he had been raised to be, he got up, too. “I know.” He stood, looking down at her, hands braced on his waist. “Time for me to go.” Even if he didn’t want to leave.
She escorted him to the door.
He lingered in the doorway, glad she didn’t know that much about guys. ’Cause if she had, she would have known he had lovemaking on his mind.
Having given up on trying to figure out what was in her thoughts, though—at least for tonight—he did what a guy always did when he was interested in a woman. Made sure he had the next outing planned before exiting the current one.
“So what time are you and the triplets coming to the Double Creek for dinner tomorrow night?” he asked casually.
Her delicate brow knit in surprise. “You still want to try and get them to eat their vegetables?” she asked. “Even given how your charm offensive failed?”
He watched her run back to the kitchen for the cobbler she’d intended to send home with him earlier. Their fingers brushed as she handed it over.
“I’m not sure my effort did crash
and burn—entirely,” he countered. After all, he’d stayed for dinner, dishes, the kids’ bedtime and conversation afterward. That was definitely something.
He’d also managed to make a wager with her that would guarantee a lot more time with her over the coming days.
“Five o’clock sound okay to you?” he continued affably, determined to be as patient as it took.
She was definitely a woman worth waiting for.
Rose smiled, her pretty eyes dancing with delight. “Sounds good.”
* * *
“DON’T BE SO DISCOURAGED,” Rose said early Sunday evening as she watched the kids have their last hurrah post dinner on the big front porch of Clint’s home. He’d brought out a Matchbox car set he’d purchased for the occasion, similar to one he’d enjoyed in his childhood, and the triplets were having a great time running the small cars over the wooden planks. “Cutting out the raw veggies in animal shapes was a great idea.”
He cast a fond look at her kids. “I just wasn’t the first to try it.”
“It was one of my parents’ old tricks.”
Clint sat next to her on the chain-hung swing on one end of the porch. Intimacy simmered between them as he draped his arm along the back of it and gazed down at her. “Did it work on you?”
He looked so handsome in the fading evening light, it was all Rose could do not to snuggle into the curve of his arm. “Yes, but I never had an aversion.”
“Point taken.” He leaned in closer. “Well, just so you know, I’m not giving up.”
He wasn’t giving up on their bet—or his pursuit of her? Even though he hadn’t put the moves on her, she could feel him wanting to do so. It was in every lingering look and smile.
“I can see you aren’t,” she said, aware they were flirting without actually flirting.
He looked deep into her eyes, promising, “And I will persevere.”
Rose swallowed around the sudden parched feeling in her throat. “I hope you do,” she returned huskily.
Not just because she wanted her kids eating healthier. But because she enjoyed spending time with him. And this would accomplish that.
She cleared her throat. “In the meantime, since we have a minute, did you get the email last night from the Farmtech advertising team?”
Clint nodded, some of the joy fading from his eyes.
Feeling a little guilty about pushing him into something he clearly did not want to do, Rose continued, “They invited me to be here tomorrow morning, too.”
The tension left Clint’s broad shoulders. “Can you be?”
She nodded. “If you want me here, sure.” Anything to make the contracted work go more smoothly.
He reached over and briefly squeezed her hand. “I do.”
Although she realized she was being ridiculous, she felt a little bereft when he let her fingers go. “Any particular reason why?”
Clint exhaled. The brooding look was back on his face. “Let’s just say I have a gut feeling the whole experience is going to be one Texas-size pain,” he said gruffly.
* * *
AS IT TURNED OUT, Clint was right.
When Rose arrived, shortly after 9:00 a.m., at least forty cars clogged the lane leading to the Double Creek ranch house. Some belonged to curious co-op members and ranch equipment dealership employees who’d heard filming was about to commence and hoped—if not to end up as an extra in the commercial—at least to enjoy the excitement of watching it happen. The rest were part of the ad-agency team and photography crew.
The late May day was already hot and humid, with temperatures predicted to climb into the mid-nineties. Everyone was beginning to sweat. And already there was tension.
Clint resisted the ad director’s attempt to steer him into a makeup chair. “I don’t need anything on my face to sit in the air-conditioned cab of a berry picker,” he said, scowling.
The set designer fumed. “You certainly need a shirt that doesn’t have stains on the front of it!”
Clint looked down at his broad chest, as did Rose.
His blue-and-white plaid shirt had been washed but not ironed. Worse, faint blotches of mustard and ketchup, the remnants of the triplets’ culinary disaster, could still be seen. But only if you looked up close, Rose noted. From behind the glass of the berry picker cab, it would not be noticeable.
“So I’ll get another,” he growled.
“Actually, maybe Clint should just take it off,” the ad director suggested.
Clint looked right back at him. “You first,” he drawled, deadpan.
No one on the ad team laughed.
But everyone else within earshot did.
Jeff, the owner of the dealership providing the farm equipment for the shoot, began to look alarmed.
It was time, Rose knew, for her to intervene.
“How about we all take five and regroup?” she suggested pleasantly. “I’ll go in the house with Clint and help him pick out a new shirt.”
“Make it several,” the ad director snapped before turning to one of his assistants. “Call that Western-wear store we passed in town and see what they can get out here in his size, pronto!”
While everyone leaped into action, Rose steered Clint up the path to the ranch house, then inside. “I know this is hard,” she said as they walked through the beautifully appointed home, which had been completely redone by the previous owners, then sold to him complete with furnishings.
A muscle worked in Clint’s jaw. “You’re not the one already being treated like a piece of meat.”
“Actually, I think it’s really hot male model,” she corrected him dryly.
Nothing. He didn’t even crack a smile.
“It’s okay to have a little fun with this, you know.”
He’d never looked sexier...or grumpier. “Not in the mood.”
Okay, she thought, turning her gaze away from the tense set of his impossibly broad shoulders. Maybe she couldn’t blame him for that, since none of this had been his idea. And neither of them had been at all prepared for just how much of a circus it had already turned out to be.
She turned away from him, ignoring the low, insistent quiver in her belly. Telling herself it was the fact she’d been too rushed that morning to eat much breakfast, she said calmly, “Fine. Let’s see what you’ve got in the way of shirts.”
He muttered something ungentlemanly under his breath.
She swung back to face him with a lift of her brows. It was a good thing they had dozens of people waiting on them just outside. Otherwise, no telling what would happen with the two of them closed up together. Both of them edgy and looking for an outlet for all the excess emotion...
Telling herself to forget the foolish notion of making love with Clint, Rose cleared her throat. “Unless you want the ad director up here, going through your closet and helping you?”
There was a long beat of silence.
She stared at him. He stared right back. His gaze was heated. “Save me,” he blurted out.
Figuring that was as much consent as she was likely to get, Rose pivoted away from him to thumb through the selection. Along with roughly two dozen Western shirts, some old, some new, there were several business suits, plus a really nice black tuxedo with pleated white shirt, dressy black hat and boots. A lot of jeans. Another dozen or so pairs of custom boots, again in varying degrees of usage.
Looking a little James Bond–ish, he lounged against the closet frame. “Maybe I should just stroll out in a tuxedo.”
Rose laughed. “Don’t give them any ideas.” Happy to find him in a slightly more cooperative mood, she held out a dark blue shirt for him to put on. He stripped off the old one, which gave her a nice view of his mouthwateringly good physique. Shoulders wide enough to lean on. Ripped abs and a sexy navel. Lower still, it was easy t
o see how well he filled out a pair of jeans.
Heat rose to her cheeks. She really had to stop this before she ended up kissing him again.
She watched as he pushed his brawny arms through the sleeves. “Why did you wear that stained shirt, anyway?” She set the offending garment aside, intending to take it home and launder out the stains her children had wrought.
His brown eyes never left hers. “Superstition. It had good karma because of what happened when I wore it last. It was my first encounter with you and your kids at your home.”
Her heart skittered in her chest. “Our first kiss.”
He grinned. “That, too.”
Oh, my.
He shrugged and ambled closer. Threading a hand through her hair, he cupped her cheek and lifted her face to his. “It brought me good luck that day.” Ever so softly, he added, “I was hoping it would do the same today.”
Rose didn’t know why she was so surprised. Rodeo cowboys were athletes. Athletes were superstitious, with rituals and talismans they believed brought them good luck.
Were she and the kids now part of Clint’s?
And if so, how did she feel about that? As thrilled as her quickening pulse seemed to indicate?
There was no time to explore the issue, however, not with all those people waiting on them, probably wondering what the two of them were up to in here. Ignoring the inner heat the notion generated, she stepped back a pace. “You ready?”
“Just about.” He finished buttoning his shirt and tucked it into the waistband of his jeans.
She looked at him again, refusing to get sucked in by the blatant sexiness of his gaze. “Try and cooperate?”
His grin widened. “No problem. As long as they don’t ask me to do anything stupid.”
But of course, Rose noted ruefully, the advertising team did ask him to do something foolish. Time and time and time again.
She did have to give Clint some credit for trying his best to be a good sport. He drove the berry picker up and down the rows for two solid hours without complaint as they filmed from angle after angle.
Lone Star Daddy (McCabe Multiples) Page 7