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A Daddy for Her Triplets (Lone Star Cowboy League)

By Deb Kastner

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“Olivia Barlow, as I live and breathe. Finally. There you are. I’ve been looking all over for you. I was beginning to think you weren’t going to show up tonight at all. Then what would I have done?” Elderly Miss Betty Leland had clearly been watching for Olivia, because the sprite old woman made a bee-line for her the moment she herded her triplet six-year-old boys into the League’s brightly-decorated red and pink crepe-papered banquet hall.
A cold finger of premonition skittered up Olivia’s spine. Miss Betty was clearly up to something. Olivia could see it in the pale blue sparkle of the aged woman’s eyes. Nothing good could possibly come out of that kind of mischief, however friendly and well-intentioned.
Olivia forced a laugh she didn’t feel and returned the elderly woman’s smile. It wasn’t Miss Betty’s fault Olivia wasn’t in the mood for a party, especially Little Horn Texas’s Lone Star Cowboy League Valentine Round Up.
Valentine’s Day anything was more than widowed Olivia wanted to deal with. She felt out of place here among seeking singles, newly-engaged couples and newlyweds. It seemed like everyone was in love except for her, not that she wanted to be. She had her plate full to overflowing already.
The local band was warmed up their fiddles, playing a lively Texas Two-Step for eager dancers. Various couples and hopeful single men and women were flooding into the grange hall. There were also quite a few teenagers. The boys were roughhousing and trying to look cool for the groups of giggling girls watching them, but Olivia knew they, hoped to pair up before the night was over.
She spotted Carson and Ruby Thorn, happy newlyweds who were laughing together as they helped serve the punch. Engaged couple Finn Brannegan and Amelia Klondike were already testing out the dance floor, as were Finn Brannegan and Amelia Klondike. In a far corner away from the noisy speakers, Grady Stillwater stood with his Gramma Mamie and his fiancée Chloe Miner. Chloe was bouncing Grady’s seven-month-old nephew Cody on her shoulder in time to the music.
Tyler Grainger, the local pediatrician, had recently married pretty Eva Brooks and Olivia had heard they’d already started the process to adopt a baby.
Yep. Pretty much everyone but her—not that she minded. Much. Of course she didn’t begrudge anyone their romantic happily ever after. She just didn’t want to have to watch it. Not right now when her heart was still so tender after the loss of her own husband, Luke.
At least the planning committee had nixed the usual romantic mixing and matchmaking this year, what with all the problems the locals were having with recent thefts in the area. People were looking over their shoulders at every turn, afraid that what happened to other ranches would happen to them.
It didn’t make for a festive atmosphere, but the Lone Star Cowboy League had decided to go through with it nonetheless, perhaps take folks’ mind off their worries for a bit.
“If I’m being honest, I almost didn’t come tonight,” Olivia admitted, bending her head to speak into Miss Betty’s ear. The woman was mostly deaf even without the loud din of music around her, although she’d never admit as much if you asked her. She just pretended like she knew what a person was saying and then continued to state her own fill of words.
Olivia brushed her dark brown curls behind her ear and gesturing to her three identical, tow-headed six-year-old sons Noah, Levi and Caleb. “I probably would have passed on it except the boys wouldn’t let me off the hook. Apparently at school today they put a lot of effort into making Valentine’s Day cards. They insisted they had to come to the dance in order to post them up on the Sweetheart Wall where their friends can see them. I just couldn’t find it in my heart to say no to them.”
The wall in question was already papered with hearts of all shapes, colors and sizes. In addition to the schoolchildren’s artwork, it was a town tradition for even the adults in the crowd to publicly post their romantic notions and even the occasional marriage proposal. Over the years more than one engagement had come out of it.
Olivia was not in a place in her life where she was searching for romance, and she doubted she ever would be, between singlehandedly raising her triplets and struggling to keep her small Quarter Horse farm afloat. Three boys and Barlow Acres was more than enough to fill her days. She fell into a dead sleep most nights, although occasionally rest would elude her and a spot of loneliness would creep in.
“I think it’s some kind of competition between them and their classmates as to who made the most elaborate Valentine,” she continued. “Or at least a competition between the three of them. You know boys. The triplets like to make a contest out of everything.”
Honestly, she found the whole thing to be more than a little ridiculous. What six-year-old boy wanted anything to do with a holiday steeped in romance and kissing? Her sons didn’t even like girls yet, and wouldn’t for a good long while yet. Several years at least.
“Well, good on them,” Miss Betty replied, nodding so voraciously that her short gray curls bobbed in response. “I’m glad they pushed you off your farm and into the community for the dance. It’s good for you get out from time to time and mingle a little bit. It will do you a wealth of good. Mark my words.”
She started to deny Miss Betty’s statement but then realized that what the elder woman was saying was spot on. Olivia hadn’t meant for that to happen, nor had she even been aware of her actions—or lack of. But she had to admit she’d been somewhat of a recluse lately. She hadn’t been in the mood to participate in town activities nearly as much as she’d used to before, but since her husband had Luke passed two years earlier, social activities just didn’t seem the same.
Frankly, despite Miss Betty’s kind words, she didn’t see how it would do her any good to be at the party tonight. As stressed as she was about the farm, she was bound to be a downer in even the most mundane of conversations. It wouldn’t lift her spirits, and in her current mood she wouldn’t be much good for her friends.
There was a time in her past when she used to be social and upbeat, but at the moment it was all she could do not to break down in tears. The mortgage was due on the house, several of her mares were due to foal in the spring and she had no idea how she was going to come up with enough money to keep her dwindling herd in hay and oats until the horse market opened in early summer.
“Which reminds me,” Miss Betty continued, either not recognizing Olivia’s hesitation or refusing to acknowledge it. She reached into the oversized glossy-red purse dangling in the crook of her elbow and withdrew a small stack of folded pink and red heart-shaped notes. “Pink for the ladies, red for the gentlemen,” she explained as she shuffled through them. As if that would mean something to Olivia—which it didn’t. “Oh, here we go. Olivia Barlow.”
Olivia automatically accepted the missive Miss Betty thrust at her. “Thank you. I--”
She stared down at the garish, fluorescent pink, heart-shaped paper and her sentence abruptly stalled. Her name had been carefully stenciled onto the heart, but that wasn’t what caught her eye. It was the name written beneath her own that kicked her adrenaline into overdrive.
Olivia Barlow
+
Clint Daniels
The floor fell out from underneath her and she gasped for breath against the sudden shock. Suddenly it was as if she were in junior high again, being paired up with a boy for square dancing by the physical education teacher. Philip Whitmore had been the boy’s name, as she recalled, and he hadn’t been able to dance his way out of a paper bag. Her toes had hurt for weeks afterward. Not her favorite memory.
But this was worse. Much worse. Even though she hadn’t yet determined exactly what the this part of the plan was that Miss Betty had concocted, if it involved Clint Daniels, it couldn’t be good.
“I don’t understand,” she muttered, trying without success to hand the note back to its owner.
“All in good fun, sweetie,” Miss Betty assured her. “All in good fun. Just trust me on this. Your Miss Betty is looking out for your best interests. Find Clint. Talk to him. You may surprise yourself.” She winked. “And him.”
Oh, she would surprise him, all right, if she barreled up to him and tried to start a conversation right out of the blue, especially given the subject. Valentine’s cards. Matchmaking. Little old ladies with too much time on their hands.
Talk to Clint, huh? And say what, exactly? It wasn’t as if they had anything in common. She wouldn’t be able to come up with much more than saying hello to the man, and even that would be awkward in the extreme.
Clint was a surly, intimidating loner, a rough-edged man who preferred mountain living to spending time in town. He wasn’t a people person. He didn’t care for community events. In fact, she would be surprised if he even—
She hadn’t even finished the thought when she glanced at the door and caught a glimpse of golden-haired Clint walking into the banquet hall, his foster mother Libby Everhart on his arm.
It figured. It just figured.
The one time Clint Daniels decided to show up for a town function and it had to be this one.
What a night she was having. And the dance had barely started. If it was just her, she’d grab her coat and be out the door and into the cool air faster than a speeding bullet. But with her boys here. . .
She was well and truly stuck.
She watched as Clint smiled casually and bent his head toward Libby to better hear what she was saying over the combined din of music and conversation. While she didn’t have any inclination to follow Miss Betty’s suggestion, she had to admit he was handsome--in a rough kind of way. He wore his thick hair long enough to brush his collar and his hazel eyes were an intriguing blend of green and gold. He hadn’t shaved in a couple of days and scruff shadowed the sharp planes of his cheeks and chin. Tall with broad shoulders, he looked every inch the mountain man he was.
She imagined his rugged good looks appealed to some women, but she didn’t count herself among them. Her late husband Luke had been clean cut with a gentle gaze and winsome smile. Those were the kinds of features that attracted Olivia.
Clint’s expression wasn’t unkind, but it certainly couldn’t be described as gentle. His smile was extremely confident, possibly even tipping the scale into arrogant territory.
She couldn’t help the grin that crept up the corners of her lips as she watched him with his foster mother. Clint wouldn’t be smiling in a moment. Miss Betty was headed straight toward him with his Valentine missive in her hand.
A woman on a mission. A matchmaking mission.
She chuckled. At the very least it would be an amusing exchange, and her gaze lingered. Could she help it if she wanted to watch the show?
A show that directly involved her.
Heat rushed to her face and she quickly turned away, her stomach churning. She didn’t even want to see Clint’s reaction when he read her name on the paper, humorous thought it might be. He probably wouldn’t be rude to an old lady, but she suspected he’d toss the paper heart with her name on it into the trash can the moment Miss Betty turned her back. What a humiliating notion.
Leaving the dance altogether was sounding better and better by the moment. Now would be good.
She searched for her sons and found them still lingering by the Sweetheart’s Wall, but they were no longer interested in the notes pinned there. Instead, they were rolling around on the floor and wrestling with each other, their hard work on their Valentines long forgotten.
“Where are the cards you made?” she prompted, affectionately ruffling Noah’s hair as he stood to his feet and separating Levi and Caleb.
Noah proudly pointed to the wall where a jaggedly-cut heart was written on in pencil with large, uneven print. Several of the letters held tell-tale smudges indicating they had been erased and rewritten. But it was the words themselves that caused Olivia’s heart to drop into her stomach and her throat to clog with emotion.
For: My New Daddy
Love, Noah
She didn’t have to ask where Levi and Caleb’s Valentines were located. She found them easily. Close to the bottom of the board where little ones’ hands could reach, they were the only two on the wall with the same request as Noah’s.
For a father.
The one thing she could not give them. She would do anything for her boys. Anything. But some things were beyond her control.
Her heart ached for her boys, partly because they’d known grief at such a young age having lost their father to an accident, and also because she was painfully aware that she could not fulfill their wishes. She had no clue how she was supposed to explain to them that she wasn’t looking to get remarried. They wouldn’t equate their idea of getting a new daddy with the fact that in the process she’d have to find a new husband. They were only six years old. How could they possibly understand?
She didn’t want them to know anything about the strain she was under. She wanted them to grow up innocent and happy. With the death of their father, they’d had to mature far too much already. She worried about them not having a good male role model in their lives, but there was little she could do to change that, at least not at present and possibly never. Male friends and neighbors would have to do.
“What’s that, Mama?” Levi asked, pointing to the crumpled heart in her fist. She’d forgotten she was still holding it. “Did you get a Valentine? Who’s it from?”
“I—no--” she stammered, but Caleb had already loosened her grip enough to pry the paper away.
“It says Mama and Mr. Clint!” Caleb exclaimed. He was the best reader of the three and had no problem sounding out the words. This one time she wished that he wasn’t quite so good at it.
The triplets simultaneously broke into excited chatter about Mama’s Valentine.
“Boys, please.” She felt as if she was watching a spark skittering down a long fuse toward a barn full of explosives. “This isn’t--” She frowned and lowered her brows. “Wait. How do you guys know Clint—er—Mr. Clint?”
“He came to our class,” Levi explained.
“Yeah,” Caleb added. “He talked about camping and rock climbing and horseback riding and Search and Rescue. He is so cool, Mama. He works in the Deep Gulch Mountains. I want to work in the mountains.”
“And he even brought his dog Pav,” Noah exclaimed, talking over his brothers. “Pav is a golden ‘triever. He likes to catch balls in his mouth.”
“Pav?” Olivia was barely keeping up with the babbling triplets, but it didn’t take a genius to add the boys’ thoughts together and come up with a frightening sum.
One man plus one woman plus three young boys and a dog named Pav.
Oh, no.
“Boys,” she said, hoping the tone of her voice alone would corral their high spirits. But it was too late. With a whoop and a holler they took off, sprinting across the room as fast as their legs could carry them.
Straight toward Clint without a single detour.
From bad to worse to a total disaster in a matter of seconds.
Olivia groaned and absently combed her fingers through her hair, then realized what she was doing and immediately dropped her hands to her side. She was not going to worry about how her hair looked, or if her makeup had smeared, because it didn’t matter how Clint saw her. His perceptions wouldn’t make a bit of difference to her.
That was her story and she was going to stick to it.
*
Clint kept his hand on his foster mother’s elbow, not so much because she needed an escort as that he did. This whole Valentine’s Round Up thing made him antsy and uncomfortable, even if the League had promised there’d be no matchmaking this year. At a mixer like this with most if not all of the members of the Lone Star Cowboy League and their families present, there were bound to be single women on the prowl for a husband, and Clint wasn’t interested. He was a confirmed bachelor with a capital B.
He was not in the market for a wife. Unfortunately, women weren’t so quick to pick up on that.
He’d had a few relationships over the years but it never worked out long term—and he readily admitted he was the reason why. He’d start dating an attractive woman only to have her go and get all serious on him, usually sooner rather than later. She’d start pushing on him to define the relationship. Or worse yet, she’d go and use the L word. Even the thought made him shiver.
He didn’t like feeling boxed in, and there was nothing like a woman trying to hog-tie him to make him claustrophobic. Freedom to come and go as he pleased was paramount to him. Women just didn’t get that. Or want it.
Which suited him just fine. He liked his life the way it was. His yellow Labrador retriever Pav was all the company he needed. Marriage and family? He had nothing to offer.
Libby was deep in conversation with the elderly Miss Betty Leland and Clint didn’t realize Miss Betty was speaking to him until Libby swatted him on his shoulder with her palm.
“Clint, pay attention,” she admonished. Libby Everhart was the one and only woman who ever got to tell him what to do. He loved her like a mother and she’d earned his respect. “Miss Betty just asked you a question.”
“Yes, ma’am. I apologize, Miss Betty. I was woolgathering. You were saying?”
“Just wondering where your thoughts were, sweetheart. Oh, and I wanted to give you this.”
Clint automatically took the paper heart Miss Betty offered him, although he couldn’t fathom why she would want to give him a Valentine. Oh, well. He couldn’t help it if his natural charm affected ladies of all ages. He gave her his best grin.
“Got your perfect match on it,” she explained.
“My what?” The smile dropped from his face.
“Be a good sport.” Libby’s voice held a note of warning he couldn’t ignore.
“I—er—okay.” There went any possibility of getting through this night unscathed. He watched his freedom fly right out the window along with any peace he’d hoped to maintain.
He glanced at the paper and immediately wished he hadn’t. He took a breath and choked on it.
Olivia Barlow
+
Clint Daniels
What was that about? Miss Betty couldn’t possibly think he ought to spend time with Olivia Barlow. The very thought was preposterous. Olivia being a match for Clint was about as far out for him as suggesting the moon was made of green cheese. The woman was a widow with three young sons. Surely Miss Betty didn’t think he’d—
“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 they were 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 a brow.
She shook her head so briefly he wasn’t positive he’d seen it.
Had Miss Betty gotten to her, too? Did she 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 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 spoil sport,” 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 written in childish print. “This one’s mine. And that’s Noah’s, and that one over there is Caleb’s.
With as dark as the room was, he 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’ little 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 Carlyle’s accidental death a couple years back. These kids had been through a lot.
“Hey, I’m sorry,” he 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 Everhart’s 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 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 some day. I think it’s a good life lesson for boys to learn to be responsible for the care and feeling 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. He 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 he 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 brows 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. “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 gaze 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?”

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