Lone Star Daddy. Cathy Thacker Gillen
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Wasn’t that ironic, given what she did for a living.
Sophia rested her chin on her hand and stared at Clint, warming up to him with surprising quickness despite her shyness. “Yeah, we don’t like veggies.”
“So much for spelling it out,” Clint quipped.
Rose mugged at him comically. Then she brought an extra place setting for Clint. Serious once again, she told her children, “You may not remember it now, but all three of you did like veggies when you were little. And you would again if you would just try them with an open mind.”
“Nope. We won’t,” all three kids said, their heads shaking stubbornly in unison.
The doorbell rang again.
Not exactly unhappy about the reprieve—she didn’t know what it was about Clint that had her tingling all over every time she saw him—Rose lifted a hand. “I’ll get it.”
Leaving the kids and Clint to entertain each other, she rushed toward the door. And was surprised to see Miss Mim and Miss Sadie on her front porch, from the Laramie Gardens retirement-home complex.
“We heard about the berries,” Miss Mim enthused. As always, she was dressed in an outrageously colorful outfit that clashed with her flame-red hair. “Any chance we could get some tonight?”
Looking as elegant as always, Miss Sadie smiled. “We’re having an ice cream social.”
Rose grinned. “No problem. If you want to head for the barn, I’ll catch up with you.” She dashed back to the kitchen.
Clint was sitting with the kids, mischief gleaming in his eyes. Rose didn’t know what had been said, but they were all laughing as if he were the most charming guy on earth. Relieved, as well as a little peeved she had missed out on the hilarity, she asked him, “Would you mind watching them for a couple of minutes while I take care of something?”
He smiled genially, as relaxed as she was stressed. “Sure.”
She raced out, still a little stunned to find the four of them getting along so well.
The lonesome cowboy was always so grumpy and contentious around her! Who would have thought he would enjoy being around her kids?
* * *
NO SOONER HAD the front door shut behind their mother than the kids jumped down from the table. Clint watched as two of the triplets ran toward the fridge. The other disappeared into the pantry. “Whoa now,” he said, beginning to feel a little alarmed. Especially since he sensed they wouldn’t be doing whatever this was if their mother were still on the premises. “What’s going on?”
Stephen yanked open the fridge door so hard he nearly fell over. “I’m getting the ketchup.”
Sophia stuck her head out of the pantry just long enough to declare, “I want honey.”
Scarlet shoved her brother aside. “I want mustard.”
They carried their trove back to the table.
Clint got up to shut the refrigerator, then the pantry door. By the time he returned to the table, they were struggling to get the squeeze bottles open. Because Stephen was closest, Clint moved to assist him first. “Let me help you with that.”
The tyke jerked away, the bottle clutched firmly in his small hands. “I can do it!”
Clint eyed the red bottle. It seemed pretty full. “Really, I—”
Squirt.
A spray of red flew past Stephen’s plate and hit the center of the table instead.
“Ah...” A word that shouldn’t be used around children nearly slipped from Clint’s lips, but thankfully did not.
Determined to react as calmly and patiently as he was sure Rose would, Clint started to reach for the bottle. Before he could get it, Scarlet squirted the mustard with all her might, with equally messy results. Sophia was no better at dispensing the honey.
This time Clint did swear silently to himself.
Grimly he regarded the streaks of red, yellow and gold mingling on the center of the table. “Hand ’em over.” Before your mother sees this.
“No! We do it ourselves!” the trio chanted in unison, rising up on their knees and clutching their bottles even more tightly. Unfortunately, though they initially aimed down at their plates, the force they put into squeezing the bottles pushed the bottoms of the containers down, toward themselves, and the tops up—straight at him. Before he could do more than take a breath, a spray of red splashed across his nicely ironed shirt. Another messy arc of yellow followed. The plastic honey bear squirted sticky goo.
And that was, of course, the moment Rose chose to walk back in.
Clint looked at her.
But she was staring pointedly at her children.
Abruptly chastened, the triplets sat back down, evidently prepared to use perfect manners now that their mom was back.
“Really?” She put her hands on her hips and asked sternly, “Is this how we treat our guests?”
All eyes lowered. “Sorry,” the three mumbled.
Their apology accepted, Rose collected the condiment bottles and took them over to the sink. She deposited the sticky mess with a sigh. “Kids, please eat your dinner.”
Pretty chin set, she pivoted and crooked an authoritative finger at Clint. Clearly she was not about to let him off the hook anywhere near as easily.
“While you,” she said, locking eyes with him, “come with me.”
Rose led the way to the only semiprivate area on the bungalow’s first floor—the foyer.
Once there, she pivoted so the hand-carved staircase was against her spine and folded her arms in front of her. “So much for leaving a cowboy in charge.”
Clint tried not to notice how the fading sunlight pouring in through the transom over the door illuminated the golden highlights in her dark-blond hair. “Hey, I can wrangle a kiddo or two. I just wasn’t expecting that.”
“Noted,” Rose said dryly. “And for the record, you’re going to want to put some water on those stains as soon as possible—otherwise that handsome shirt of yours will be permanently ruined.”
Clint looked down at the splashes of ketchup, mustard and honey marring the otherwise pristine white-and-blue tattersall-plaid shirt. He shrugged. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”
“Yeah, but this calamity was due to my kids, so...” Her voice trailing off, Rose looked him up and down, shaking her head in mute consternation. “You know, the stains aren’t just here.” She made a sweeping gesture, her glance moving down past his throat, to the center of his chest, to his waist, back up along his sleeves. “You’ve even got some in your hair and on your cheek.” She motioned to a place just next to his ear.
However, Clint couldn’t help but note, the flour on her face was gone.
One of the other ladies must have told her.
Which was a shame. He would have liked to have seen to that himself.
She winced, oblivious to the licentious direction of his thoughts. “Seriously, I’m sorry you got caught in the middle of the triplets’ never-ending quest for culinary independence.”
“And here I thought it was just the prelude to a preschool-style food fight.”
“I wish,” she replied ruefully. “Anyway, again, my apologies...”
It didn’t escape his attention that the first two buttons on her blouse were undone, revealing a