Sasha Summers - Her Cowboy's Triplets

Considering they were both back in the place they’d been so determined to leave, it was clear things hadn’t gone according to plan for either of them.

But she had questions for her one-time best friend. Like, what did she do to make you divorce her? India knew without asking that Brody hadn’t done a thing. He was a good guy, always had been—always would be. Even though he was much taller and larger and all man, he had the same kind eyes and warm smile. He was handsome in a way any woman would appreciate. Whoever his ex-wife was, she was an idiot.

“What’s a fancy-pants lawyer like you going to do with all your free time?” she asked, diving in. Had he chosen to leave his high-power, big-money job in Houston, or had something happened that made him leave?

“Well, you’re looking at a good portion of it.” He leaned back, long legs sprawled out in front of him. He sort of spilled out of the wooden chair, too big and broad for it. “The ranch won’t run itself, either. And the grocery and feed stores will need looking in on now and then.” He shrugged, glancing her way, then away.

When they’d been younger, that look meant he was holding out on her. “Why do I get the feeling there’s more?”

He shrugged again, smiling this time.

“As I live and breathe, a Boone and a Wallace sitting down and working together?” Miss Francis’s startled question caught her and Brody by surprise. “I’m all for ending the feud, but you might want to build up to it first. I just saw your folks parking out front, Brody.”

India’s stomach churned with anxiety and frustration. She’d grown up knowing the Wallaces were stubborn, mean-spirited people. But she’d never thought about Brody as one of them . He was just Brody.

“Cal,” she said, calling her son back to their booth—across from Brody and his girls. “We should order. I don’t want you up too late.”

Cal handed Amberleigh the crayon. “I’ll finish next time.” He stepped over Tanner and slid into the booth.

Amberleigh frowned but took the crayon. She slumped in her chair, crossed her arms over her chest and huffed out a big sigh.

India tried her hardest not to laugh.

“India, you don’t have to—”

“She’s still wearing her clothes, Ramona. No need to worry,” Vic Wallace announced as he entered the Soda Shop. “Your mother was fretting the whole ride. Francis, why are you everywhere I look?”

“You’re just lucky, I guess,” Francis answered.

The man had aged. She had few memories of Vic Wallace. When she’d been little, she’d been scared of him. He’d been taller than her father, his fiery red hair making him appear all the more hot-tempered. Her father wasn’t a small man, but something about Mr. Wallace had seemed...looming. And when he got riled up, his red face would rival his red hair. Her father tended to make sure Vic Wallace’s face was blazing red before he walked away.

When Ramona Wallace glanced at their table, India did her best to appear absorbed in her menu. Like Cal. He read well enough for a five-year-old—he wouldn’t need help choosing his dinner. “Not getting the chicken fried steak?” she asked.

“Just seeing what else they have.” He grinned at her. “But I think I’ll go with the steak.”

“Sounds good,” India said.

“Done coloring?” Miss Francis was talking to Amberleigh.

Amberleigh had stopped coloring and was now peeling all the labels from her crayons. A shoe sat on the table, by the little girl’s fork.

“Amberleigh, put your shoe back on, sweetheart.” Mrs. Wallace was embarrassed more than anything.

The little girl picked up her shoe, tried to put it back on, then tossed it in frustration. The white slip-on went flying, landing on the floor in front of Tanner. Tanner sat up, glanced at the shoe, then Cal. It took every ounce of India’s control not to laugh. Brody was fighting the same battle. She saw it in those clear toffee eyes of his.

But the expressions on Ramona’s and Vic Wallace’s faces, on Miss Francis’s, were simply hilarious. She giggled, pressing her napkin to her mouth to stifle it.

Brody, she noticed, was clearing his throat behind her.

Cal studied the shoe, then Amberleigh. He slipped from the booth and picked up her shoe. “Lose your shoe?” he asked.

“She threw it, Cal,” Marilyn offered. “Don’t like them.”

“Hit your dog?” Suellen asked, hiding behind her napkin again.

“Nope. Tanner is fine,” he said, slipping from his seat and walking to Amberleigh. “Want it?”

Amberleigh shook her head, but there were tears in the little girl’s eyes. And India couldn’t stop herself from joining her son. “Want Cal to help you put it on?”

Amberleigh stared at her with wide hazel eyes. India could only imagine what was going on in that little head of hers. “Don’t like ’em,” Amberleigh announced.

“Your shoes?” India asked, taking the shoe from Cal and peering inside. “I had shoes like this when I was little. They pinched and made my toes feel squished.”

Amberleigh watched her closely.

“Is that the problem?” Brody asked. “We can get you new shoes, darlin’.”

Amberleigh shook her head. “Don’t like ’em.”

“Don’t blame you,” Cal said, sounding off. “Barefoot’s always better. Unless you’re working outside.” He placed the shoe back on the table.

Amberleigh smiled at Cal again, offering him more of her newly peeled crayons.

“Not in a restaurant, it’s not,” Vic Wallace said, recovering from his embarrassment to scowl in Cal’s direction.

She stiffened. He could be as rude as he wanted to be to her father—or her. But her son was another matter. She urged Cal back to their table and sat, smiling his way.

“The boy’s trying to help,” Miss Francis said.

“No help needed. She needs to learn to keep her shoes on,” Mr. Wallace grumbled. “It’s ridiculous.”

India watched Amberleigh slump farther down in her seat.

“Vic,” Mrs. Wallace scolded, softly.

“I’m so hungry I could eat a cow,” Brody said, making the girls laugh. “Or a hippopotamus.”

“Or a ephelant?” Marilyn asked.

“Elephant?” Brody nodded.

“Or...or a whale?” Suellen asked.

“Maybe,” Brody agreed, winking at them. “I’ll ask Sara if there’s whale on the menu.”

The three girls “aahed” in unison, their little noses wrinkling up in distaste.

“We should celebrate. Sara, get the little ones here a milk shake,” Mr. Wallace said. “Not every day your son decides to run for mayor. We’ll run a big campaign, plaster the name Wallace all over the place.”

Brody for mayor?

“Might run.” Brody glanced her way.

He’d do a good job—because he was a good man.

“Time to make a decision. There’s not a single reason to stop you, Brody,” his father said.

Brody glanced her way again. “I can think of a few. Besides, I’m not much of politician, Dad. What you see is what you get.”

“That’s why at least half of Fort Kyle wants you, Brody. There’s no one else in these parts with the experience you have.” Miss Francis seemed to be his biggest fan. “You’d do good things. Be fair.”

India agreed, but she didn’t say a word. Brody would make this town proud and make the town a place to be proud of.

“And you’d make your daddy happy.” Miss Francis nudged Vic Wallace in the side, earning a small smile from the man.

India had given up trying to make her father happy—it was impossible. Besides, something this big shouldn’t be about one person. It was a lot to take in, to consider. Especially for a single father of three.

She was a single mother to the smartest, kindest, most patient five-year-old in the universe, and it was tough.