Cathy Thacker - Lone Star Daddy

Rose shut her eyes for a moment, willing the desire welling inside her to go away. Then she asked with exaggerated patience, “Do you have any other shirts with you? In your truck, maybe?” A lot of people who worked outdoors—like herself—carried extra.

He continued watching her, inscrutable now. “No.”

She did her best to become poker-faced as well. “Are you interested in a Rose Hill Farm T-shirt?”

“Sure. Except it would have to be washed first. Because I’m allergic to a lot of the anti-wrinkle coatings on new clothes, too.”

Aware she no longer needed the stain removers, at least in that moment, she set them down. “You really are difficult.”

Clint shrugged his shirt back on. Winked. “And in other respects, I am apparently oh-so-easy.”

Not from what she had heard.

He hadn’t dated anyone since he had been back in town. In fact, he had been as monk-like in his life as she had been nun-like in hers. At least, she’d been nun-like up until the last month or so.

Which begged the question—why had he kissed her?

Why was he still looking like he wanted to put the moves on her again? And most importantly, why did she want him to do just that?

Rose swallowed and tried to pull herself together.

“Look,” he said. “All kidding aside, there’s no reason for you to worry about my shirt. I’ll just take it home and wash it there in the detergent I know I’m not allergic to.”

Like he had originally suggested.

Sighing, Rose watched him button his stained shirt from the bottom. She’d let pure passion lead her astray once before and knew better than to let it happen again, no matter what her still-humming body wanted. “Maybe that would be best.”

Together they headed back downstairs. They’d just reached the foyer when the doorbell rang. Rose moaned.

Clint slid a hand beneath her elbow and slanted her a glance. “Not expecting anyone?”

“No. But it’s always like this when a brand-new crop of good produce comes in.”

Belatedly seeming to realize he still had a grip on her, Clint dropped his hand and peered at the clock—which now said seven-thirty. From the kitchen, the kids could be heard chattering about their drawings. “Don’t you have regular business hours?”

“Yes,” Rose said, over her shoulder, opening the door, “And no.”

On the other side stood her triplet sisters, Violet and Lily. And the oldest of them all the only single-birth McCabe daughter, Poppy.

The trio took in Rose’s shirt, then Clint’s. In unison, they started to laugh. Then Poppy blurted out, “What have you two been up to?”

Chapter Four

Rose was trying to figure out how to answer that when the triplets joined them, artwork in hand.

“Hi, aunts,” they said.

“Hi, kids,” Poppy, Lily and Violet said in return, setting down a picnic basket and zip-style insulated nylon cooler.

“We got in trouble,” Scarlet announced, pushing her glasses up higher on her nose.

Stephen nodded. “For getting stuff all over Mr. Clint’s nice shirt.”

“And your mom’s,” Violet added helpfully, looking as tired as usual after one of her oncology residency shifts at Laramie Community Hospital.

Sophia’s brow creased.

Uh-oh , Rose thought. Here comes trouble.

“We didn’t get any stuff on Mommy,” Sophia declared.

All three kids looked at Rose’s shirt in bewilderment.

“Mommy!” Stephen shrieked, “How did you do that?”

Lily—who was now happily married, with a baby on the way—glanced from Rose to Clint. “I think I know,” she teased.

So, apparently, did Violet and Poppy. Neither of whom were known for keeping their opinions regarding romance to themselves.

Doing her best to hang on to her composure, which wasn’t easy given how the more deeply imprinted stains on Clint’s shirt matched up with the lighter ones on hers, Rose purposely dodged the question. “The point is,” she continued, looking straight at her offspring, “Sophia, Scarlet and Stephen know how to use their table manners and not make a mess of our guests.”

Apparently unable to resist, Poppy ribbed her, “Do the grown-ups know it, too?”

Luckily the joke went over the triplets’ heads. Not so Clint’s, who was standing there with a choirboy innocence definitely not to be believed.

Not sure how the situation could get any more embarrassing unless they’d actually been caught in flagrante, Rose cleared her throat. Definitely time to steer the subject to safer territory .

Ignoring the amused twinkle in Clint’s eyes that only she could see, she plastered an encouraging smile on her face. “So...do you kids want to show Mr. Clint what you made for him?”

Pride straightened their little spines. “We made ‘sorry’ pictures!” Sophia declared shyly.

Wordlessly, the triplets handed them over one by one. Stephen had drawn an airplane in the clouds. Sophia had colored her version of a fairy princess. Scarlet had drawn the pet dog she one day hoped to have. They had all printed their names on the bottom, just as they had learned to do in their Montessori preschool.

Clint studied the awkward-looking letters beneath the heartfelt drawings and the earnest expressions on the children’s upturned faces. “Well, thank you, kids,” he said, his voice suddenly sounding a little rusty.

“You’re welcome,” the triplets said happily in unison, relieved to have gotten themselves out of trouble. Again.

Rose glanced at her watch. “It’s almost time for baths, but you have ten minutes, if you want to go outside and play on the swing set.”

“Okay, Mommy!” With yells of delight, they raced off.

The adults exchanged glances rife with even more questions. Not about to have another inquiry start, Rose took the handsome cowboy by the elbow. She half expected him to resist her direction. Instead, he leaned into her touch, much the same way he had when he’d been kissing her.

A tingle went through her palm. Another welled in her middle. Ignoring both, Rose lifted her chin stubbornly. “Clint was just leaving...” she said.

Her sisters looked contrite.

“Listen, we had no idea the two of you were dating,” Lily said quickly, running a hand through her honey-blond hair. “Otherwise we wouldn’t have just barged in.”

“That’s for sure. And he’s a lot better than some of the other duds you have spent time with recently,” Poppy put in cheerfully, one hand resting on the laptop bag looped over her slender shoulder.

Clint quirked a brow. “Thanks. I think.”

Rose shot him a look that said, Please don’t encourage them! She turned back to her sisters. “We’re not dating.”

Unexpectedly, Clint draped an arm across her shoulders. “We could be,” he said with a wicked smile.

Ignoring the amusement on her sisters’ faces, Rose removed his arm. Stepped to one side. Looked up at him with a warning glance. “I don’t think so.”

“Why not?” he drawled.

Rose ignored the sexual heat in his sable-brown eyes. “You wouldn’t have to ask that if you’d ever been married.”

Hooking his thumbs through his belt loops, he rocked forward on the toes of his boots. Shrugged carelessly. “Actually, I almost was.”

She refused to let down her guard. “Almost doesn’t count,” she retorted.

He tilted his head to one side, thinking, clearly aware he was annoying her terribly. “It does if you’re the one who nearly made a life-altering mistake.”

“Wow,” Poppy said, looking ready to break out the popcorn and take a seat. “It just gets better.”

Rose scowled at her oldest sister, who was one to talk since she was the most independent and had never really risked anything in the romance department. “Or worse,” she returned dryly, “depending on your point of view.”