Home on the Ranch: The Colorado Cowboy's Triplets (Cowboy SEALs Book 8)

by Laura Marie Altom

  She whispered, “We should put these little ladies back in their cribs and try getting at least a few more hours of rest for ourselves.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Stay put.” She gingerly scooted off the daybed and onto her feet. “Let me put Sallie in her crib, then I’ll come back for the other two. I don’t want to risk waking them with too much jostling.”

  “Valid point.”

  She soon had all three girls in their cribs and covered with fuzzy pink blankets.

  He checked that the monitor’s base station was still on, then they both crept from the room. After the door was safely closed, he exhaled. “We made it.”

  She held up her hand for a high five. “Teamwork makes the dream work.”

  He met her palm with his, but then opened his fingers, easing them between hers. “Thanks again. For everything.”

  “My pleasure,” she said, with a faint smile and slight bow of her head. “You have no idea how good it feels to be needed.” She maintained a surprisingly tight hold on his hand and he wasn’t complaining. “Earlier? When we talked about my job. I think that was one of the toughest facts I had to face. I’d entered police work with the intention of making a difference. Cleaning up entire neighborhoods one street at a time. But the criminals and gangs and garden variety thugs—they’re like a freaking game of Whac-A-Mole. We’d get a few behind bars, but more kept popping up. Far from making a difference, I was only placing myself on a hamster wheel, with no hope of ever catching up on my never-ending case log.”

  “Sorry.” He stroked her palm with the pad of his thumb. “I truly am. I know after what happened to your father how much you wanted to make a difference.”

  “Right. Enough that I took a pass on what could have been the greatest thing to ever happen—marrying you.”

  What? Had she just admitted what he thought she had? That she regretted their breakup as much as he did?

  “But that’s water under both of our proverbial bridges,” she continued. “All we can do now is plunge forward and try making the most of whatever time we have left.”

  “That’s a fatalistic attitude. Do you think the middle of the night is the best time to be having this deep of a conversation?”

  Shrugging, she yawned, covering her mouth with her free hand. “It’s been bugging me for a while. No time like the present to get it out. If there’s anything to be learned from Emily and Chase’s passing, it’s that there’s no point in putting off what we can do or say today, because we may never see tomorrow. That message got slammed home for me dozens of times on the job. I’d show up to interview a witness, only to find him or her dead. It happened so often, I stopped being surprised. In fact, when I reached the point where I’d grown oblivious to the worst of the worst, that was when I knew it was time to pull the plug and get out while I still held a shred of humanity.”

  “I’m glad you did.” On autopilot and too damned tired to think straight, he drew her into his arms for a proper hug. How was it that after all this time apart, holding her felt as if he’d finally found home? Just like they always had, her curves fitted perfectly against him.

  “This is going to sound crazier than all of the rest of the crap I just spouted, but—”

  “If that’s how you feel, it’s not crap,” he said. “In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re suffering from a nasty case of PTSD. Happens all the time in my line of work. You should find yourself a good shrink.”

  “That’s what my mom says. I went for a while on the department’s dime, but she thinks I shouldn’t have stopped.”

  “She’s right.”

  There Camille went again with her smile. “I can’t very well tell her that. I’d never hear the end of it.”

  “True.” He couldn’t help but smile back. “Sorry. Before I cut you off, you’d been about to say something crazy?”

  “Yeah...” Keeping a tight hold on his hand, she flipped it over so that she tugged him along behind her while she aimed for her room. “Sleep with me.”

  “E-excuse me?”

  “Get your mind out of the gutter. I’m talking strictly G-rated sleep. I don’t want to be alone.”

  “I get it.” He reluctantly released her hand. “Let me grab the other half of the monitor from my room, and I’ll meet you in bed.”

  “Awesome. Thanks.”

  He should be the one thanking her.

  Ten minutes later, as Jed spooned her with his hand resting on her belly, overwhelming gratitude threatened to once again bring him to tears. But this time, he held it together.

  He’d take the chance to find comfort together, which they both desperately needed. Just two long-time friends indulging in a sleepover.

  The thing was, back when they’d been kids, he hadn’t been hyperaware of the tops of his fingers being perilously near the bottoms of her full breasts...

  What they currently shared was no big deal, right?

  * * *

  Camille woke with her T-shirt midway up her back and her ass pressed against Jed’s morning wood. How easy it would be to turn over, climb atop him and ride her way into a fantastic day.

  Sounded like a solid plan until she heard a whimper on the baby monitor. Seconds later came another, and another, until all three girls wailed.

  “Please make it stop,” her companion mumbled against her back. His breath warmed the sensitive spot at the base of her neck.

  She squeezed her thighs together extra tightly, trying to make her longing for him go away. It did not.

  Neither did the crying.

  “Are we ever going to catch a break?” he asked, already rolling away from her and off the bed.

  “Afraid not...” Camille also reluctantly left the cozy bed. She hadn’t slept so soundly in years. Did she have Jed to thank? Probably. Not a good thing, but she wouldn’t have time to dwell on the ramifications until later—if ever.

  On their second full day of caring for the triplets, Camille and Jed had already established somewhat of a routine. They formed a diaper-changing assembly line, then carted everyone to the kitchen, where Camille prepped bottles and Jed juggled the threesome on his lap in the comfy U-shaped booth Chase had built when he and Emily refurbished the kitchen in anticipation of their growing family.

  With everyone fed and burped, but still awake, she and Jed plopped them into their trio of wind-up swings.

  “Whew...” He ran his hand over his stubble. “It’s good to have a breather.”

  “Amen.” She joined him in the booth with a steaming cup of coffee and a box of graham crackers. “Not the most nutritious breakfast, but better than nothing.”

  “Thanks.” He crunched his way through a six-stack of crackers. “I’ve had way worse.”

  “Name it.”

  “Worms, maggots, grass, dandelions, rat...need me to go on?”

  She blanched. “I get the picture. As bad as my job got, at least I was never far from a 7-Eleven.”

  “That’s a serious blessing.”

  Grinning, she shook her head. “Last night I couldn’t sleep, so—”

  “Wait—when I was with you, I for sure heard snoring in under a minute of your head hitting the pillow.”

  Cheeks blazing, she said, “I meant before then.”

  “Okay. Proceed...”

  His smile had her smiling again. “While I was awake, I researched a few sites on establishing newborn sleep schedules. How old are the girls?”

  “Ten weeks? Maybe a little older? I was overseas when they were born.”

  Camille took her phone from her back pocket, pulling up the page. “Since the girls have never really had stability, I propose we start them on a four-week-old routine. They’ve been eating roughly every four hours, so we’re actually lucky. Average is two to three hours.”

  “At that rate, we’d literally do nothing but feed, b
urp, change diapers, rinse and repeat.”

  “Exactly. Take a look at this schedule I screenshot.” She passed him her phone, which held a photo from amotherfarfromhome.com:

  7:30-8:00 am—wake up and feed

  8:30 am—down for a nap

  10:30 am—feed, change diaper, play

  11:10 am—down for a nap

  1:00 pm—feed, change diaper, play

  1:40 pm—down for a nap

  3:30 pm—feed, change diaper, play

  4:10 pm—down for a nap

  6:00 pm—feed, change diaper, play, bath

  6:30 pm—down for a catnap

  7:30-8:00 pm—change diaper, put to bed for the night

  “Seriously?” Jed took a long time reading before returning her phone. “I’ve launched invasions with more wiggle room.”

  “That may well be, but if we ever want to sleep till the girls enter kindergarten, this is what we’re facing.”

  “Kindergarten, huh?” With hands steepled, he stared out the nearest window at the horses grazing in their favorite field. The pastoral scene should have made him smile. Instead, it reminded him he still had the horses, chickens and goats to feed. Before tragedy struck, how in the hell had Chase and Emily so cheerfully tackled their lives? “I can’t see either of us sticking around that long.”

  “Granted. I’m just saying...”

  “I get it.”

  Camille looked to the girls, who were sharing a rare adorable moment of in-unison staring at their hot pink socks while the swings carried them back and forth. The thought of leaving them made her melancholy, but she’d known from the start this was a temporary gig. All she’d ever wanted was to help people. To make a difference. She’d proved an epic failure at her career—no. That wasn’t entirely true. She had helped solve many cases, but not enough. Never enough. And no matter how many monsters she’d helped put behind bars, more always emerged from dark corners. Regardless of how brief a time she had with the girls, she vowed to do her best to keep them fed, clean and happy—at least as happy as they could be having lost both parents. “I, um, also did some reading on whether or not babies mourn. Turns out they do, which might be why they’ve been crying so much.”

  “Makes sense. What can we do to help?”

  “Hold them and love them. Make sure they know someone will always be there for them.”

  “But I won’t. Wish I could always be there for them, but eventually, I’ll have to return to base. You eventually need to stop hiding from whatever went down in Miami and rejoin adult society.”

  “Is that what you think I’m doing?” Her chest tightened. Fists clenched, for the girls’ sake she managed not to raise her voice. “Hiding?”

  “Aren’t you? I don’t mean it as an insult. Just stating a fact.”

  “Screw you.” She took her empty mug to the porcelain sink.

  “Hey...” He was suddenly behind her, and she regrettably felt his radiant heat. When he cupped his hands around her shoulders, spinning her to face him, she pressed her lips tight. “Sorry if I hit a nerve. It’s okay—I mean, if you never choose to go back to your detective gig.”

  “It wasn’t a gig, but what I believed to be my life’s calling. There’s a massive difference. How would you like it if I said Navy SEALs are nothing more than a glorified scout group for grown-ups?”

  Chapter 8

  “Ouch.”

  “Exactly.” Camille wrenched free from Jed’s hold. This close, she couldn’t think. Breathe. She was good and mad at him and intended to stay that way.

  “I said I’m sorry.” He raised his hands as if reaching out to her, but then lowered them. “My career means everything to me. I can’t imagine walking away.”

  “I didn’t just walk away, but... Never mind, you wouldn’t understand.”

  “Try me.”

  “Have you ever seen the aftermath of a parent trying to dispose of the baby boy he’s just killed while on a bath salts rampage?”

  “Lord...” He crossed the room to her, pulling her hard against him. To her surprise, she let him. Whether sensing the change in mood or just plain missing their mom and dad, the girls whimpered and fussed before launching into full-blown cries. “Can they not?”

  “It’s okay.” She extracted herself from his hold. “Caring for them helps shift my focus from dead babies to living.”

  It took an hour to get the girls to stop crying.

  During that time, Camille realized that in a sense, Jed had been right about her walking away. That had been exactly what she’d done—more like ran. And that should have been okay. Leaving had been her choice. But as snippy and raw as the topic made her, clearly, she still wasn’t feeling all that great about the decision.

  She and Jed shared the den sofa.

  His eyes were closed, but she couldn’t tell if he was sleeping.

  The girls had finally crashed on the quilts near the crackling fire.

  “Where are we on the schedule?” Jed asked.

  A strangled laugh escaped her. “What schedule?”

  “We still need to go to the store?”

  “’Fraid so.”

  “Should we go ahead and get it over with?”

  “I guess.” It didn’t matter that she’d gotten plenty of rest during the night’s second half. Exhaustion now claimed her, making her ache as if she’d caught a nasty flu.

  It took an hour’s worth of back-and-forthing to load fully equipped diaper bags, the supersized stroller and three babies into Emily’s SUV.

  Plus, Jed had to check all the livestock’s feed and water.

  Once they were finally underway, with Jed behind the wheel, the crew was back at it again with the screaming. Once-sunny skies had turned overcast and a cold wind was strong enough to buffet even the large vehicle.

  “Thought babies loved car rides?” Jed asked.

  “Me, too,” she said. “Or is it an urban myth?”

  “Could be. Should we play some music?”

  “Like nursery rhymes? Pop? Country?” Emily had left a USB cord plugged into the car’s stereo. Camille used it to connect her phone. “Unfortunately, since I have no signal, our only options are what I’ve got downloaded on iTunes.”

  “Just keep playing till we find something that works.”

  Adele—nope.

  Lady Gaga—if possible, the girls screamed louder.

  Yahtzee! George Strait’s “Amarillo by Morning” soothed them like magic baby elixir.

  “Put that song on auto-repeat,” Jed said.

  Camille did. And the three-minute song played fifteen times before Jed pulled into an isolated space at King Sooper’s supermarket.

  Sadly, by the time they’d wrestled all three infants from their safety seats and into the stroller-for-three, they were all crying again.

  Did they dislike cold wind as much as she did?

  “Look.” Jed worked his head from side to side. Kink in his neck? “I seriously don’t mean this to sound like a man-versus-woman thing, but since you seem to know more about what the girls need as far as formula and diapers, how about I stay in the car with them and George Strait? You do the shopping, then I’ll unload and put it all away. Sound like a plan?”

  “I like it,” she said.

  He handed over his Visa card.

  “I can buy it.” She struggled to keep her hair from her eyes in the wild wind.

  “They’re my nieces. Please, let me.”

  She pocketed his card. “Anything you especially need?”

  “More sandwich fixings. Coke. Am I allowed to have beer?”

  “I don’t know why not. I mean, I don’t think you should get hammered, but one or two wouldn’t hurt. It’s not like you’re breast-feeding. I know I’m grabbing a bottle of merlot.”

  “Great. Coors. Cheetos.” He’d already
started putting their charges back in the car. “Chocolate chip cookies—I’m in need of serious comfort food.”

  “Would you be amenable to me cooking something a little more wholesome than stuff from a package?”

  “What do you have in mind?” He made a sour face. “I don’t do tofu or hummus or any of that yoga health-nut stuff.”

  “Yessir,” she said, with a mock salute in deference to his military, he-man tone. “I was thinking meat loaf and roasted chicken. Banana bread and oatmeal cookies—those sorts of things.”

  He tipped his head back and groaned. “Woman, are you trying to feed me or seduce me?”

  Both? There went her stupid overheating cheeks. She ducked to avoid him seeing just how much his offhand comment affected her. “My primary goal is to keep you healthy until your mom gets home. I can’t have you caring for the girls and animals on a diet of beer and Cheetos.”

  He winked. “You’d be amazed how great I perform on that combo.”

  Shaking her head and laughing, she delivered a backhanded wave before leaving him and entering the store.

  Nearly four hundred dollars and a heaping cart later, Camille exited to find Jed asleep at the wheel. The SUV’s engine idled and a muted George Strait was still crooning.

  She cupped her hands around her eyes, peering into the tinted backseat window. All three girls were wide-awake and gumming their fists, or fingers, or in Sallie’s case, the hot pink sock that she’d somehow managed to remove from her right foot.

  Camille hated waking Jed, but when she tried opening the rear hatchback, she found it locked.

  Leaving the cart, she walked around to the vehicle’s front to knock on the driver’s side window.

  Jed woke with a start, accidentally conking his elbow against the horn.

  Cue terrified screams of the variety even George Strait couldn’t soothe.

  “Sorry,” Camille said, when Jed climbed out of the car.

  “It’s whatever. See what you can do to get them under control. I’ll tackle the groceries.”

  “Thanks.”