Lone Star Daddy. Cathy Thacker Gillen
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his breath, Clint took a turn with the digger. “You think Rose is mad at me about that?”
“Only one way to find out,” Gannon drawled.
Clint nodded his understanding. “I’m going to have to ask her.”
Clint did not like being counted out before he’d even begun. He also didn’t like the way he had been wondering about Rose McCabe. The way she and her rambunctious trio of kids always seemed to be on his mind now.
And there was only one cure for that, he knew. Remove the aura of mystery. Bring her—and the sparks they always seemed to generate—squarely into reality.
So Saturday afternoon, when the day’s bounty was in, he drove the co-op truck to Rose Hill Farm, around to the loading dock in the back.
Rose walked out to greet him. Except for the fringe of bangs across her forehead, her hair was drawn up in a clip on the back of her head. She was wearing jeans and a long-sleeved co-op T-shirt with the sleeves pushed halfway up her forearms. Her soft lips were bare of lipstick, and the color of exertion stained her cheeks. Although there was still a lot of energy in her movements, she looked a little tired around the eyes.
And not at all pleased to see him.
“Where’s Swifty?” she bit out.
Wishing she weren’t so deliciously disheveled, Clint cut the motor and hopped down from the cab. “He had a barbecue to go to this evening. I told him I’d do the honors.”
“You realize that means unloading the crates, too?”
Pushing aside the desire to kiss her, he opened the rear doors of the refrigerated truck. “Just show me where to put them.”
Wordlessly she turned on her heel, then stalked back into the barn, returning with a long wheeled cart similar to the luggage caddies used in hotels.
As eager to get business concluded as she was so he could take things to a more personal level, Clint worked silently at her side. Together they were able to stack nine crates on the six-foot stainless-steel tray, then move it through the open barn doors and into an adjacent refrigeration room that seemed to comprise most of the barn.
Inside was a bounty of other fresh-picked vegetables and fruits. Rose showed him where to stack the berries, then grabbed a second cart for herself. They shut the door and went back to the truck.
Unloading took half an hour of repeated trips back and forth. Finally they were finished. Clint helped her close up and lock the back of the truck, then followed her out of the refrigeration room to sign off on the day’s delivery invoices. As they moved through the high-ceilinged, cement-floored building, he shortened his stride to match hers.
“Where are your kids?” he asked, all too aware of how good she smelled. Like soap and the citrusy fragrance she favored.
“With my family.”
He tracked the loose strands of hair escaping from her clip and grazing the elegant nape of her neck.
Oblivious to the growing pressure at the front of his jeans, Rose led the way past the display area to a glass-walled office with her name on the door, then stepped inside.
Using the figures she’d typed into her phone, she sank down into the chair behind her desk and completed an invoice. Rising, she met his eyes and handed it to him to sign, too. Their hands brushed in the process. Once again he was surprised at how soft and feminine and delicate her skin felt.
She met his gaze with a rueful grin. “Saturday is always a tough day for me. A lot of co-op members come by to pick up their weekly orders.”
Clint checked the invoice over and then scribbled his name. She tore off his copy, handed his over and put the rest on the inbox on her desk. He folded his up and slid it into the chest pocket of his shirt. “But you’re done now.”
She nodded. “I close at four.”
Which had been nearly an hour ago. Hence the building appeared deserted except for the two of them. Not surprised she was the last on the scene and probably the first to arrive, too, Clint walked with her back out of her office, past a line of checkout registers.
Glad she seemed in no hurry to show him the door now that the work was done, he looked around in awe. “This is...”
“Not what you expected?” she interrupted with a triumphant smile.
“I was going to say very modern.” He gestured at the bank of computers and phones. “And a lot more high-tech than I would have imagined.”
She walked over to a small break area. Denim stretched over her very fine derriere as she bent to look inside the glass-front cooler. Pulling out two bottles of flavored water, she straightened and tossed him one.
Ignoring his immediate physical reaction to the succulent sight of her, he accepted the drink with a smile. “Thanks.” Resolved to think about something else, lest he be tempted to put the moves on her again, he inclined his head at the blackboard across one wall. It was filled with the names of local farms and the dates of the crops currently coming in. “Are these all your suppliers?”
Rose sank down into a swivel chair and propped her feet up on the seat of another. “Yep. Although there’s always room for more.”
He studied her fancy red cowgirl boots with a scrolling of roses and thorns up the sides. Which was pretty much a perfect depiction of the woman wearing them. Incredibly feisty and feminine, if you could get past the thorns. He settled in a chair opposite her and returned his attention to her face, trying not to notice all over again just how beautiful she was.
“How did you get into this?” Savoring his rare time alone with her, he uncapped his bottle and drank deeply of the pomegranate-flavored water. “Last I heard, you were a pharmaceutical sales rep.”
“I was.” Wincing, Rose pulled the clip from her hair. “Until the triplets were born and my husband and I divorced.”
He watched as she ran her fingers over her scalp, freeing and loosening the cloud of silky curls, then let her hand fall back to her lap. “When was that?” he asked.
“We separated a few months after I gave birth. The actual divorce came through when the triplets were one year old.”
She seemed to have handled the split well, yet empathy stirred inside him nonetheless. “That must have been tough.”
“Aren’t all divorces?” Though the corners of her luscious lips turned downward, she pushed on with her story. “But thankfully, since Barry surrendered all his parental rights and took a job elsewhere, at least I didn’t have a custody battle on my hands.”
“Your ex was a damn fool,” Clint said gruffly. “Giving up you and those kids.”
Rose flashed a wan smile and met his eyes, reluctantly accepting his sympathy. “After that, I decided to leave Dallas and return to Laramie.”
“To be near your family,” he guessed, his heart going out to her all over again. He’d had his own disappointments. But nothing as traumatic as what she’d been through.
She nodded. “Obviously I couldn’t work outside the home at that point—and simultaneously give three infants the tender loving care they needed—so I reluctantly moved back in with my parents for a while, and paid our expenses with what was left of my savings and the child support Barry had been ordered to pay.
“As you can imagine, money was tight, but I still wanted to feed the kids well. So I started calling around to some of the farmers in the area, asking if I could bypass the wholesalers and middlemen and buy straight from them. Other people I knew asked me to do the same for them, which I did—for an upcharge.”
Smart, he thought, not really surprised, given that he’d never met a more energetic or enterprising woman than