A Daddy For Her Triplets
“Just talk to her,” Miss Betty said with a crisp, knowing nod and a mischievous sparkle in her pale blue eyes. “That’s all I’m asking.”
Oh, so that’s all it was.
On what planet? Clint wanted to huff in protest, but with Libby there, he didn’t dare.
“Ask her to dance,” Libby said in a tone that was much too severe to be a mere suggestion. How was he supposed to ignore the mother voice? Clint winced inwardly.
What could Libby be thinking, agreeing with Miss Betty in this? And why were they ganging up on him?
His asking Olivia anything was so not going to happen, no matter what the older ladies thought was best for him. He had no inclination whatsoever to spend time with the triplets’ mama, even if she was a pretty woman with dark brown curls and sea-blue eyes. No one outside of Miss Betty—and Libby, apparently—would fault him for sitting this one out.
He scanned the room. Maybe Olivia wouldn’t even be here. A man could hope.
But no. There she was, over by the Sweetheart Wall, her palms pressed to her flaming cheeks.
And she was staring right at him.
Of course she was. Miss Betty had probably delivered an identical missive to her.
Their gazes met and locked. His heart thudded in an irregular tempo, but he refused to be the first to look away. He raised an eyebrow.
She shook her head, so briefly he wasn’t positive he’d seen it.
Had Miss Betty gotten to her, too? Did Olivia have any idea what the old woman had planned for them?
“Mr. Clint! Mr. Clint!” Three young, identical blond-haired boys accompanied those boisterous voices. Clint immediately recognized them as Olivia’s triplets.
And just when he’d thought things couldn’t get any more complicated. Now it wasn’t just about Olivia, it was about her kids, who were yammering on about something. “Come see! Come see!”
Every word out of their mouths seemed to be punctuated with an exclamation point. All three grabbed at his arms at once and started pulling his sleeves with all their might. Clint set his heels. They could tug all day and would not move him unless he wanted to be moved, but...
He turned his gaze on his foster mother, silently pleading with her to rescue him.
“Oh, go on. Don’t be a spoilsport,” Libby said with a laugh, waving him away.
Not what he wanted to hear. It was one thing to bow out of an obligation to the mother. But kids? How was he supposed to do that?
With a reluctant groan, he allowed the boys to lead him across the room. Maybe if he just followed them to whatever it was they wanted to show him, they’d leave him be and his problem would be solved. He wondered how quickly he could cut out if he saw an opportunity to do so.
It occurred to him that they might be guiding him toward their mother and that she’d put them up to accosting him, but Olivia had moved over to the punch table and was speaking to Carson and Ruby. The boys were clearly leading Clint toward the Sweetheart Wall.
“We made Valentine’s cards in school,” one of the boys said proudly. “We cut them out with scissors and everything.”
“Yeah? That’s...nice.” And it had absolutely nothing to do with him. So why were the triplets so intent on showing him their valentines?
He looked from one to another, feeling stymied. He didn’t know their names, and even if he did, he had no idea how he’d ever be able to tell them apart. They were especially daunting when they were all speaking at once.
“See?” another one of the boys said, pointing to a heart covered in childish print. “This one’s mine. And that’s Noah’s, and that one over there is Caleb’s.”
As dark as the room was, Clint had to lean forward to read their cards, and what he saw blew him away.
Their notes were for their new daddy?
That was an odd thing for a kid to write, but one thing was for certain. It had nothing to do with him. Maybe Olivia already had a man on her horizon. Good for her. Clint hoped so for his own sake, so he could get out of this ridiculous matchmaking scheme unscathed.
“So does this mean you’ve got a new dad lined up to replace your old one?” he asked hopefully, then immediately wanted to kick himself. All three of the boys’ smiles disappeared and sadness filled their gazes.
He was really, really not good with children. How insensitive could he be? He’d heard about Luke Kensington’s accidental death a couple years back. These kids had been through a lot.
“Hey, I’m sorry,” Clint said, crouching before them. He searched his mind for the right thing to say. “I’m sure you loved your daddy very much.”
“He’s in heaven,” they said simultaneously. “With Jesus.”
Poor kids. Clint didn’t know about the “heaven” part of the equation, but he did know what it felt like to grow up without a father.
“My dad l—” Clint stumbled over his words. He’d been about to say left. Somehow he sensed that would make things worse for the boys. “—went away when I was about your age. So I know what it’s like to grow up without a father.”
“You’re just like us,” one of the boys said, excitement returning to his voice.
Not exactly.
Clint hadn’t had a mother like Olivia to care for him. He’d ended up in the foster care system until he’d aged out. He’d been blessed to land at the Everharts’ ranch near the end of his tenure, but his life had been anything but easy.
He nodded anyway. “Yeah. I guess I am.”
“We’re six.”
“And we are in first grade. You came to our class to talk to us, remember?”
Now that he thought about it, he did remember seeing the triplets when he’d come to speak at the elementary school. It was part of his job as a trail guide to visit the kids’ classes and encourage them to take wilderness tours. He didn’t care for public speaking, but he did like getting paid to work in the mountains doing what he loved best, so he thought this was a decent compromise.
“We want to raise chickens and ducks, but our mom said we have to be more responsible first,” one of the boys informed him.
“Yeah. Like we have to unload the dishwasher every night before dinner.”
“And Mama makes us put our clean clothes away in our drawers.”
The boys were animated and talking all over each other. Clint couldn’t keep up and wasn’t sure he wanted to. What was that they’d said about chickens?
“Hold on, guys,” he said, lifting his hands in surrender. “I can’t understand any of you when you’re all talking at once. Slow down, and one at a time.”
The sudden silence was more jarring than the chatter. Three sets of wide blue eyes stared at him, waiting for him to do—something. He had no idea what. At least they’d stopped pelting him with innocuous facts about their lives.
“You listen to your mama and do what you’re told, and maybe you’ll get those chickens someday. I think it’s a good life lesson for boys to learn to be responsible for the care and feeding of living creatures.”
“But we want them now.” Clint noticed that the boy speaking had a bit of a cowlick in front.
“What’s your name, son?”
“Noah.”
Okay, so Noah was the one with the cowlick. Clint studied the other two for subtle differences. One had deeply carved dimples in his cheeks and the other did not. He pointed to the dimpled one. “And you?”
“Caleb.”
“And I’m Levi.” The boy grinned. He was missing his two front teeth.
So now Clint knew their names, and with effort could put the names with faces. He didn’t know why it mattered. It wasn’t as if he was going to see these kids again, never mind spend any time with them.
Which reminded him—according to Libby and Miss Betty, he was supposed to be chatting up the triplets’ mother. He didn’t want to give the old ladies any indication that he was conceding to their matchmaking in any way, shape or form, but he didn’t know how else he was going to get rid of three clingy young boys besides guiding them back to Olivia.
“What do you say we go and find your mother?” he suggested. “She’s probably wondering where you are.”
“Will you ask her if we can have some chickens?” Caleb queried eagerly.
“And duckies?” Levi added.
Clint choked on a laugh. These kids were nothing if not persistent. “Well, I don’t know about that. I think your mother ought to be the one making that decision.”
“Making what decision?” A female voice sounded from behind his left shoulder.
He turned to find Olivia staring at him, her eyebrows raised and her hands perched on her hips. He didn’t know why, but her demeanor made him feel she was scolding him.
He bristled. He hadn’t done anything wrong. He was just trying to console her nosy kids. If she couldn’t keep them corralled, he didn’t know how she could expect him to do anything about it.
“Chickens,” he replied, pressing his lips into a flat line. “Chickens and ducks, apparently.”
“May I dare ask why you are speaking to my sons about chickens?”
“Hey, they were the ones who brought it up. I was just trying to be nice.”
“Yes, well, thank you—I think. I apologize if they’ve been bothering you.”
“No. They’re fine. Really.”
He didn’t know why he’d said that. The kids had been bothering him—hadn’t they? So why was he reassuring Olivia of just the opposite?
“Boys, leave poor Mr. Clint alone. Let’s go grab a cookie before they’re all gone.” She pointed her sons toward the dessert table.
He watched her turn and walk away, herding her offspring with a deft hand, guiding them by the shoulders in the direction she wanted them to go.
He breathed a sigh of relief. At least that was over. He’d talked to her, right? That ought to soothe over any ruffled feathers with Libby and Miss Betty.
Only...
“Hey, Olivia. Wait up just a sec,” he called. Even as he jogged toward her, he wondered at the wisdom of what he was about to do.
Olivia turned, her eyes widening in surprise. She looked as if he’d startled her. Maybe he had—but not as much as he was about to.
“You want to dance?”
Chapter Two
Olivia was certain she was gaping. Somehow she’d entered into an alternate universe, a twilight zone where Clint Daniels had just asked her to dance. She couldn’t even begin to wrap her mind around it.
She’d never seen Clint dance. Ever. And even if he did dance, she was certain she would be the last woman on the planet he would choose as a partner, even with Miss Betty’s blatant matchmaking.
And yet, there he was, standing in front of her, his hands casually jammed in the front pockets of fraying blue jeans as he waited for her reply. He must really be feeling the pressure. It was amazing what a simple valentine card could do to a man.
His gaze rapidly turned from questioning to impatient. “Well? Are you just going to leave me hanging here or are you going to dance with me?”
She opened her mouth but no words emerged. Absolutely she was not going to dance with him. It was totally out of the question. The triplets were bound to get the wrong impression, and in any case, she hadn’t planned to hit the dance floor tonight. With anyone. But Clint was a formidable man to reject off-the-cuff.
“Please—don’t feel obligated.” There. That ought to do it. Let him off whatever hook he felt caught on. “I appreciate what Miss Betty was trying to do but, honestly, this really isn’t necessary.”
His brow lowered over stormy eyes, the green overshadowing the gold. “I don’t feel obligated. Now do you want to dance with me or don’t you?”
“The triplets—”
“Will be fine for the five minutes we’re on the dance floor. We can both keep our eyes on them.”
That wasn’t what she’d been about to say. She didn’t want the boys to leave the roundup tonight thinking they had a new daddy arriving in the near future, most especially not in the form of Clint Daniels. They had already hit him up once this evening, and goodness only knew what they’d been telling him. Whatever it was, she had to admit they’d been happy and animated.
And to her surprise, he’d been gentle with them. She wouldn’t have expected a man like Clint to have a soft spot for children.
Hopefully, the boys hadn’t mentioned anything in regard to her being on the lookout for a new husband. Their saying they wanted a new daddy could definitely be interpreted that way. She didn’t want Clint to misconstrue anything her sons might have said, however innocently they’d meant it.
But maybe she was worried for nothing. All she’d picked up when she’d joined the conversation was some vague comment about chickens.
In hindsight, she should have headed off the triplets long before they’d shared anything personal about their lives—about chickens.
Oh, dear.
“Mama,” Noah said, throwing his arms around her waist. The boys had realized she wasn’t following them and had returned to her side. “I thought we were going to get cookies.”
“We’re hungry,” Levi added, tugging on her arm.
“So am I.” Take a hint, Clint.
“It’s my fault she stopped,” Clint said with a chuckle. “I asked your mother to dance, but she hasn’t answered me yet.” He crouched down to the triplets’ level. “Let me in on a secret. Does your mama dance, boys?”
“Yes. Yes. She’s a really good dancer,” Caleb exclaimed.
“Yeah,” Levi agreed. “She used to be a bal’rina when she was a little girl.”
Clint chuckled. “Well, I don’t know how much good her extensive ballet training will do with the Texas two-step, but I’m willing to give it a go. How about it, Mama? Shall we show your boys how it’s done?”
“Dance, Mama. Dance.” The boys echoed each other. All three were physically pushing and pulling her toward Clint. Her face had to be a flaming red. It was too crowded in the hall and the temperature was set too high.
“C’mon, Olivia. Let’s give your boys something to talk about.” He stood and extended his hand to her.
Her gaze swept from one eager young face to the next. She didn’t want them to be talking about their mother and Clint sharing a dance, but how could she disappoint them when they looked at her that way?
“I—er—okay.”
His hand, rough with calluses, engulfed hers, but that wasn’t the half of it. This entire set of circumstances was swallowing her whole—and she knew who to blame for it. It was all Clint Daniels’s fault.
“Cheap tactics,” she muttered as he pulled her into his arms. “Using my boys to get me to agree to this. Low blow, if you ask me.”
He leaned back to meet her gaze and then chuckled. “It worked, didn’t it?”
“Don’t encourage them.”
“No worries.” He pulled her closer so she had no choice except to rest her cheek on his shoulder. His hand easily spanned her waist. She was vibrantly aware of his nearness, the deep rhythm of his breath and the warm musk of his aftershave. His shoulder muscles rippled under her palm.
Everything she should not be noticing about him.
“Maybe you don’t think so, but I’d rather not put ideas into their heads. It’s bad enough that they discovered the valentine Miss Betty wrote that matched me up with you. Dancing? Only going to make it worse.”
His chest rumbled with laughter. “So that’s what it was. I was wondering why they chose to share the valentines they’d written with me.”
“Exactly. If we’re not careful, they’ll be lobbying for you to be their new dad. I’m sure that wasn’t what you had in mind when you showed up here tonight.”
“Huh.” He spun her around. “I think that may already have happened.”
“What?” Olivia groaned.
Please, please, please let this not be happening.
He leaned down close to her ear. The music was so loud it was nearly impossible to carry on a conversation, even as close as they were—and they were close. Much too close for Olivia’s liking. She couldn’t seem to be able to still her racing pulse. She coached herself to breathe evenly, but all that did was cause her to get another good whiff of Clint’s masculine scent. He must be wearing too much. It was making her giddy.
“It’s just one dance. We’ll pacify Miss Betty’s penchant for matchmaking, and then we can walk away from each other and go on with our separate lives. Your boys will forget about me the second I’m gone. Sound good?”
Good was an understatement. She wasn’t comfortable with the myriad of emotions coursing through her, and the sooner she got out of Clint’s arms, the better.
As large as he was, and for someone who didn’t dance much, Clint had a natural rhythm. He took the lead, but subtly and surprisingly gently. He twirled her around until her head was spinning. She refused to believe that her rapid breathing had anything to do with the man who held her in his arms.
Olivia sent up a silent prayer of thanksgiving when the music ended. Now, as Clint had said, they’d each go their own way, only slightly worse for the wear. She glanced around, looking for the boys.
“They’re over there,” Clint said, pointing to the far end of the room. It was a little disconcerting that it seemed as if he’d read her mind. “My foster mother, Libby, rounded them up and got them all cookies and punch while we were dancing.”
It bothered Olivia that while Clint had been keeping his eyes on her children, she’d been completely lost in their dance. What must he think of her?
Heat rose to her cheeks. Again. She didn’t fluster easily, and yet her interaction with Clint tonight had her thoughts going every which way including loose. She didn’t like feeling scatterbrained.
It didn’t help matters when he flashed a lady-killer grin and enveloped her hand in his.
“Don’t worry. Libby has been a foster parent for years. She’s great with kids.”
“I can see that. And I wasn’t worried.” Olivia was mortified at her own conduct, maybe, but she wasn’t worried about her children.
“There now, you see?” Libby said to Clint as they approached. “Aren’t you glad you took my advice and asked Olivia to dance? You two made such a lovely couple out there. You were obviously enjoying yourselves.”
Olivia gasped and then choked on her breath, feeling as if she’d just been hit behind the knees. It was a wonder she didn’t fall over.
So that was the reason Clint had asked her to dance—and had been so intent on it. Not because he wanted to dance with her, or even, as he’d said, to pacify Miss Betty. Rather, he was favoring his foster mother’s request.
Olivia’s cheeks burned. She couldn’t imagine why Clint’s motivation mattered in the least. She’d been going to turn him down before the triplets got involved. And yet there it was—that small niggling feeling of rejection worming its way through her chest.
She was being ridiculous. This train had to stop now, before it jumped the tracks.
“Thanks for taking care of my sons.” Happily, her voice had returned to normal, even if her knees were still shaking.
“It’s absolutely been my pleasure,” Libby responded with a kind, maternal smile. “You have some really wonderful boys right here. Three special blessings.”
“Yes, they are.” At least that was something they could all agree on.
“They’ve been telling me all about how their daddy used to take them camping and climbing, just like Clint.”
Olivia’s stomach lurched. The triplets had been only four years old at the time and she didn’t know how much they remembered about Luke, who’d been a passionate outdoor enthusiast.
In fact, she’d lost Luke to a rock climbing accident, although she’d never shared that information with the triplets. Maybe when they were older and were in a better place to be able to understand. But for now she kept it silent and close to her heart.
“As it happens, my Clint here is a trail guide. He works full-time in the Deep Gulch Mountains teaching camping skills and wilderness survival tactics to young folks just like these handsome fellas. Your sons would love it.”
Olivia nodded, more to be polite than really agreeing with Clint’s foster mother. “I’m sure they would,” she murmured courteously.
“Perfect,” Libby exclaimed. “Clint can take your boys on a day trip, a beginner’s challenge, and teach them all about wilderness safety. That would be fun, wouldn’t it, Clint? Do you have a weekend opening where you can fit them in?”
Clint’s wide-eyed gaze traveled from Olivia to Libby and back again. He looked as if he’d just swallowed a porcupine. Olivia felt exactly the same way and knew her expression probably mirrored his.
Unfortunately, the boys had been listening to the conversation. At Libby’s suggestion, all three started cheering and chattering on about what they were going to learn when they went out with Mr. Clint.
Which was never going to happen. There was no way Olivia was going to allow her boys to go up into those mountains again, not even with a trail guide as experienced as she imagined Clint must be. Certainly not until they were much, much older, and even then Olivia knew she would have reservations. If Luke, who’d been a master rock climber, could meet his death climbing, who knew what could happen to three rambunctious six-year-olds?
There were too many variables.
Even if her fears didn’t play into the equation, she wouldn’t be inclined to let her children go anywhere with Clint. He might be a wonderful trail guide, but what did he know about kids? He’d been gentle and patient tonight, but she had no doubt her boys would wear him down in a flash. Olivia knew from experience what mischief they could get into in a short amount of time.
She shook her head. This had to stop now.
* * *
What was Libby thinking, offering his services without consulting him first? Clint rocked back on his heels and threaded his fingers through his hair. He was supposed to be done with Olivia Barlow, not planning to take her kids on an outing.
The dance was supposed to be the end of this fiasco. Now, apparently, it was just the beginning.
Even a beginner’s challenge would be difficult for a six-year-old, never mind three of them. He might be able to keep their attention for a little while, but a day trip? Not so much. He imagined they’d be little terrors out there in the woods, running off in every direction at the drop of a hat. How on earth was he going to keep track of them and keep them reeled in? The very thought made him shudder.
But he could hardly beg off after Libby had made the suggestion. He pressed his lips together to keep from doing just that, afraid of what might come out of his mouth if he didn’t.
“Thank you for offering, Libby,” Olivia said, laying her hand on the woman’s arm. “I appreciate you thinking of my boys. I’m sure a day trip with Clint would be fun for them, but I’m afraid we’re going to have to pass this time.”
Wait—what? Had she just turned Libby down?
Turned him down?
He bristled and stood an inch taller, squaring his shoulders and pressing forward on the balls of his feet.
She thought he couldn’t do it, did she? She thought that he couldn’t teach her boys how to enjoy the mountains, how to survive in the wilderness? Did she really believe that he couldn’t keep them safe?
Who knew the Deep Gulch Mountains better than he did? Who else spent their days and many a night in the forest with only the light of the stars for a ceiling? He was far better than any boys’ organizations that he knew of. His guided trail experiences were up close and personal, molded into whatever his clients most needed and wanted.
Pride flooded his chest, but it was a tender, guarded emotion. If he didn’t watch out, she’d pop his ego like a sharp needle on a balloon.
“It will be good for them to learn new skills,” he prodded. “Boys like being out in the open, and everyone needs a good survival course. Can’t start too young.”
Stop talking.
What was he doing? Digging himself into a hole? Probably, but he couldn’t seem to stop the flow of his words.
“Be that as it may,” Olivia said, lifting her chin and meeting his gaze square on. He wasn’t intimidating her—not that he really wanted to, but she was calling his career into question. What did she expect? He wouldn’t go down without a fight.