Lone Star Daddy (McCabe Multiples)

by Cathy Gillen Thacker

  He rubbed the moisture from his lips with the pad of his thumb. “To say that this wasn’t exactly how I envisioned the evening going.”

  A reference to her remarks after the first time they’d made love...

  “There wasn’t going to be any lovemaking tonight,” he continued even more tenderly.

  What was it they said about best laid plans...? She cuddled closer, loving the way he used that enticing mixture of humor and gallantry to soothe her worries away. “I guess we blew that objective, huh?”

  “Definitely.” He stroked a hand through her hair. “Tonight was supposed to be about romance.”

  She luxuriated in the feel of his hands on her skin. “Making love is romantic.”

  “And the fun part of getting to know each other,” he concurred, kissing the top of her head.

  Rose sighed blissfully. She could feel the strong steady beat of his heart beneath her cheek. “The aftermath is fun, too.”

  And, if you discounted the time she spent with her family, she hadn’t had a lot of fun in her life lately.

  Clint shifted so he was lying beside her, his head propped on his upturned hand. Looking as sexually content as she felt, he continued, “The point is, I wanted you to know I’m interested in a lot more than just taking you to bed.”

  Rose sat up against the headboard, the sheet drawn up over her breasts. “Which is a problem in and of itself.”

  He sat up, too. “Why?”

  “Because I’ve already explained we’re all wrong for each other in the long run,” she said as gently as she could.

  A brief silence fell. “So you weren’t just playing hard to get.” Hurt and disappointment flashed in his eyes. “You really don’t want to get any closer.”

  Resisting the urge to get up and run out before things got any more complicated, Rose reached behind her to fluff and adjust the pillows. They were both grown-ups. There was no reason for her to behave in a cowardly manner. “It’s a lot deeper than that.”

  He let out a sharp breath. “I’m listening.”

  The problem was, she didn’t know quite how to say it so a fiercely proud man like Clint would accept it. All she knew for certain was that it was hard enough just trying to stay friends and limited business partners with a man like Clint.

  If they talked too much—or she thought too much—she’d start daydreaming up all the reasons why she and Clint should be together. She’d start imagining him in her life, and herself in his. Before she knew it, those dreams would include her triplets, and maybe even kids of their own. And that was completely crazy, too.

  She knew how detrimental it was on a marriage to raise multiples, and that the divorce rate for people who married for a second time was a staggering 50 percent. Put those statistics together, and the odds were stacked against her of realistically making another marriage work over the long haul, or at least until her kids were grown and completely out on their own. And that was going to be another eighteen years from now.

  Time in which Clint should be marrying for love and starting his own biological family.

  But, knowing he was unlikely to accept that argument, she met his probing gaze and recited another sobering statistic. “You know multiples run in my family.”

  He trailed his fingertips from her shoulder to elbow, eliciting evocative tingles wherever he brushed. “And that is important right now because...?” He bent his head and pressed a kiss to her wrist.

  She brought her knees up between them, like a shield. “I can’t have another baby, Clint.” Not even with you.

  Watching his brow furrow, she wrapped her arms around her knees and pressed on, “Because if I got pregnant again, I might have another two or three all at once, instead of just the one.” Just like before.

  She recalled the stricken look on Barry’s face when he heard they were having multiples. The completely overwhelmed way he had acted.

  She couldn’t bear the thought of ever seeing Clint look at her that way. Another tsunami-like wave of anxiety shifted over her. “And that’s another reason why you and I can’t even—” think about having any kind of future. Because it wouldn’t be fair to deprive him of the magical experience of having his own baby.

  “Slow down, now.” Clint sat up against the headboard, too, and gathered her in his arms. Holding her close, he stroked a hand through her hair. “That’s not the kind of thing I can run statistics on in my head, Rose, but I think the odds of you having another set of multiples are pretty small.”

  Her throat tightened. “Don’t forget, my parents had twins and triplets.”

  “And one single birth, too.”

  True. They’d had Poppy...

  Rose let her head drop to the comforting curve of Clint’s shoulder. Closing her eyes, she let herself curl into the soothing ministrations of his massaging palm.

  “Furthermore—” the sexy rumble was back in his voice “—I wouldn’t mind if you and I did have multiples together.”

  Which was what Barry had said to everyone right up until the time he had told her the truth—that it was too much—and left her, when the triplets were three months old.

  Rose pushed her unease away. “Well, there’s no need to worry about that. I went on the pill after I had the kids, and I’ve stayed on it to regulate my hormones. So between that and the condoms we’ve used, we’re doubly protected.” They would not have to worry about an unexpected pregnancy.

  He shifted her over onto his lap. The sheet was twisted between them, but she could still feel the depth of his desire for her. “You’re determined to keep this as unsentimental as possible, aren’t you?”

  The tips of her breasts pearled. Lower still, there was an enormous amount of heat. She released a shuddering breath. “I just want us both to know where we stand.”

  “Oh, I think we do.” He kissed her deeply.

  She clung to him, aware she hadn’t yet figured out what all of this meant or would ever come to mean. “Clint...”

  “We don’t have to decide everything tonight, sweetheart. All we have to do right now is focus on what we feel in this moment.”

  And what he seemed to want, Rose realized as he made love to her all over again, was to be in the here and now. And that, she found, she could do.

  * * *

  SUNDAY CAME ALL too soon, and with it, dinner with the entire family. “These are, without a doubt, the most magnificent blackberries I have ever tasted,” Rose’s mom said.

  “I agree,” her dad chimed in.

  Rose smiled at her parents. “Thanks.”

  “Too bad it’s the last year for them,” Gannon put in.

  Rose arched a brow at her brother-in-law. “What do you mean?”

  He shrugged. “Clint is going to mow them down.”

  “I know that was the plan,” Rose said. “But that was before he saw how much money he could make from them.”

  Gannon nodded and said nothing more, but her sisters and her parents exchanged worried glances.

  “How close are you and Clint?” her mom, Lacey, asked later as the two of them loaded the dishwasher.

  All the other adults were outside, supervising the kids.

  “What do you mean?” Rose asked, stalling.

  Her mom put the leftover blackberry pie in the fridge. “Are you dating him?”

  Rose shrugged and worked on cleaning the counters. “We went riding—” and had dinner and made love repeatedly “—last night as payoff for a bet he won. That’s it.”

  “It doesn’t look quite as simple as that.”

  Rose felt herself flush. “Mom...”

  Lacey touched her shoulder. “Just be careful, honey. I know how vulnerable you are, deep down.”

  Rose dried the pans and then handed them over to her mom to hang on the overhead pot rack.
“And how I tend to rush into things?”

  “You’ve only done that once before, with Barry.”

  Rose jerked in a breath. “And it was a disaster.”

  Lacey waved off the mistake. Gently she said, “The two of you just weren’t right for each other, that’s all. You didn’t want the same things out of life.”

  The question was, did she and Clint?

  Rose was still pondering the matter the next morning when she arrived at the Double Creek. She wasn’t surprised to see the advertising team and film crew already there. They’d been gung ho about crafting this next section of the advertising campaign. Clint looked less pleased.

  As before, there were also a half-dozen farm-equipment execs and several members of the local sales center, including Jeff.

  Rose wasted no time in joining them. “How’s it going, fellas?” she asked cheerfully.

  Aaron Diehl, the marketing director of Farmtech, said, “We were just telling Clint that while the footage we already shot of him driving the berry picker is fine, it doesn’t give us what we need. We have to figure out a way to make it look sexy.”

  Clint shook his head in frustration. “I’ve been telling them there’s no way to do it.”

  He was right.

  “There’s a lot to love about the berry picker,” Rose agreed, “but it’s not sexy. Clint, on the other hand, is.”

  Suddenly everyone was listening to what she had to say.

  Aware she was on a roll, Rose continued, “You hired him because he’s a rodeo star and a rancher, so why not use that? Why not shoot some film of him riding around his ranch on his horse? He has a beautiful stallion.”

  And Clint looked amazing in the saddle. Masculine and strong, all alpha male. Inspired by their previous evening together, she went on, “You could also use footage from his rodeo days, in the cutting-horse competition. Tie the champion he was then to the champion he has in the berry picker or whatever.” She waved an airy hand. “I don’t know. It’s not really my field of expertise, but...”

  Ted beamed. “I like it.”

  “So do I,” Jeff put in.

  So did everyone else.

  Except Clint, who reacted with a grimace, but appeared to go along with it reluctantly, nevertheless.

  “Then let’s get to it,” the director of the commercial campaign said.

  While Clint was off with the team, Rose took over the driving of the berry picker. It was more fun than she had imagined. Easier, too.

  By the time Clint was finished, hours later, she had brought in the day’s haul. Volunteers from the co-op had taken the crates of fruit and loaded them into the refrigerated truck.

  “You want me to go with Swifty to Rose Hill Farm and get the fruit all put away?” Mary Beth Simmons asked.

  Rose smiled at her good friend. The local PTA president had a knack for always being where she was needed and quickly taking charge. “I’d really appreciate it.” She handed Mary Beth the keys to the barn.

  “No problem.” The young woman waved at Swifty and then headed off.

  Clint joined her a moment later. Trying not to notice how handsome he looked with his skin bronzed from the spring sun, Rose gazed up at him. “How did it go?”

  He swept his hat off and came closer, inundating her with the intoxicating smells of soap and leather. “I didn’t fall off my horse, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  Rose turned her eyes away from the plaid Western shirt that covering his broad shoulders and the tan leather chaps he’d put on over his dark-blue jeans. She’d heard they’d had him riding horseback through heavy brush on some of the still neglected areas of the Double Creek.

  She could only imagine how sexy those shots had been, given his dark, brooding mood. After all, he had not exactly been thrilled with the whole idea of being used as eye candy.

  “It’s almost over,” she said soothingly.

  He frowned. “I wish.”

  She was about to ask what he meant by that when she was joined again by the director of the ad team filming the commercial as well as several other execs. “We’d hoped to get at least part of the interview with Clint on the front porch of his ranch house, on film today.”

  Obviously it hadn’t happened.

  Clint’s eyes never left hers. “Did you know about this?” he asked brusquely. “That they planned to use my home in the commercials?”

  Without specifically asking him.

  Bad enough they were doing this on his ranch, Rose knew. He’d accepted that because it was the only way to bring in the crop.

  Opening up his private domain to the public at large was another matter entirely.

  Understanding this was an unwanted turn of events and an invasion of his privacy, she shook her head. “We could do it at my home, if you like,” she offered. Although it would slow down the process considerably. Something Clint was unlikely to tolerate well, either.

  Clint winced—her idea no more acceptable than the first. In a voice dripping with sarcasm, he asked, “How about I just stand next to the berry picker instead? Out in the field somewhere?”

  Everyone on the team looked at Rose, again expecting her to do something to calm the “talent” and sweet-talk him into cooperating fully.

  As pleasantly as possible, Rose said, “I think it will be easier and more comfortable for everyone this way, Clint.” Especially since the porch had already been staged, the lighting and cameras set up.

  “Fine,” Clint said brusquely. “Let’s just get it over with.”

  Make-up was called in once again. Sound and lighting checks followed. Finally, Clint was seated in one of his rustic wooden armchairs. Aware their star was about to implode, Rose lingered in the foreground, watching.

  “So how has the berry picker made your life better?” the interviewer, a pretty blonde in Western clothing, asked Clint.

  Looking stymied, he lifted his hands. “It really hasn’t.”

  She tried again. “Was the berry picker easy to use?”

  He shrugged. “If you can drive a tractor, you can drive a berry picker.”

  Good, Rose thought. Finally, a question and answer on tape they could use.

  The reporter looked at the questions. “How has it affected your daily yield?”

  He paused. Lifted an aimless hand, then let it fall back on the arm of the chair. “Haven’t a clue. I never brought in a crop before.”

  The interviewer leaned toward him. “It must greatly automate the process.”

  “To some degree, I guess. But you still need workers who can lift the crates of fruit on and off the bed of the machine, so it’s not like—”

  “Cut!” Aaron yelled.

  Clint shot him a questioning look. “What did I say?”

  “You have to sell this thing.”

  “That’s the problem.” Clint grimaced. “I don’t want to sell this thing!”

  “Can I have a moment with Clint?” Rose led him aside so they could speak privately. Aware everyone was watching, she whispered, “I thought you wanted to get this completely wrapped up in three days.”

  His jaw hardened. “I do.”

  “Well, the way things are going, it will take at least a week.”

  He drew in a long breath. Exhaled. She ran her palm over the swell of his biceps, consoling him as best she could under the circumstances. “Can you at least try and cooperate?” she asked patiently.

  He cast a peeved look at their audience. “I am.”

  “But—?”

  “I don’t know anything about farming. You can ask me about ranching. I’ll be glad to tell them anything and everything I’ve learned, but if you want me to talk about the beauty of mechanized berry pickers and growing fruit, you’re going to have to do what we discussed previously and give me som
ething to memorize.”

  He had a point. A “candid” interview had not been part of the original proposal. It was unfair to expect Clint to talk knowledgably about something he had no expertise in.

  Rose went back to talk to the others. As soon as a solution was negotiated, she went back to Clint, who looked no happier to be standing around now than he had earlier.

  “They’re calling it a day,” she reported.

  Clint nodded in relief. Although he’d been closely shaven when they had their date, he hadn’t bothered since. The two-day stubble gave him a sexy, don’t-mess-with-me look she found almost as enticing as his lonesome-cowboy attitude.

  If ever there was a man crying out for taming...

  Telling herself this was neither the time nor the place to indulge in tantalizing fantasies, she continued in the same businesslike tone, “They’ll be back bright and early tomorrow to pick up where we left off today.”

  “Filming on the porch?”

  “Except this time the ad team is going to write a script for you and put it on cue cards for you to read.”

  He looked as thrilled about that as Rose had expected him to be. Feeling a little like a talent wrangler, she continued sternly, “You’re also going to get tutored by me.”

  He ran his hand beneath his jaw. “In reading cue cards?”

  Rose kept her gaze away from his delectably full lower lip. “Funny. No, in everything you ever wanted or needed to know about blackberries, and the growing and harvesting of them, but were afraid to ask.”

  He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Sounds...sexy.”

  “You wish.” She warned him with a glance not to get any ideas. “We’re going to be very well-chaperoned by my little ones.”

  He chuckled as if looking forward to spending time with all four of them. “Sounds even more fun.”

  The hell of it was, she knew he meant it. If he didn’t deserve to have biological children of his own...

  But he did.

  So she couldn’t go there.

  “You’re welcome to join us for dinner if you want,” she said, glancing at her watch.