Lone Star Daddy

Clint chuckled and shut the door behind them, once again leaving the two of them very much alone. “Oh, I plan to,” he replied.

* * *

THIS TIME, CLINT NOTED, Rose did not even try to stifle her groan.

“You are not going to kiss me again,” she said, marching him down the sidewalk to his pickup truck.

She sure had a one-track mind.

Not that he hadn’t been ruminating over the first time he’d taken her in his arms, too.

Even though he knew darn well it would be asking for trouble.

“Wasn’t planning to,” he shot back. The enormity of her relief prompted him to add teasingly, “Now.”

Soft lips twisting into a pretty glower, Rose adapted a militant stance. “What did you want to see me about?” she asked, folding her arms in front of her.

Trying not to notice the way the action plumped up her breasts, he countered, “Sure you don’t want our conversation to wait, with your sisters peering out the windows and all?”

Rose cast a glance over her shoulder. She waved her family away. The blinds closed completely. “I’d rather hear it now.” Still he hesitated. “Come on, Clint, spill it. I’m curious.”

So much for trying to keep the unexpected feelings of intimacy and cautious goodwill flowing between them.

But since she’d made it abundantly clear that she was not going to drop it, Clint figured he might as well bite the bullet. So he sobered. Straightened. And adapted his own semi-militant stance. “Well, if you must know,” he muttered, “I did not appreciate the dozen women you sent out to help me this morning. Again, without warning.”

It took her a moment to understand what he was talking about. “Oh, the co-op moms!”

A group of women who had never stopped talking—to each other and, unfortunately, to him. Thereby eradicating his dream of long days spent outdoors amid peace and quiet. “I didn’t need their help.”

“Oh, really.” The sass was back in her eyes, reeling him back in. “And how long would it have taken you today to get a truckload of berries without their assistance?”

He wouldn’t have achieved that at all. Not in one day. He clenched his jaw. “That’s not the point.”

She hovered closer, surrounding him with a drift of citrus on a sunny day. “It’s exactly the point, cowboy. Blackberries are very perishable once they are picked. They need to be refrigerated quickly. Having co-op members come over to your ranch and help get them onto the refrigerator truck goes a long way to preserving the fruit’s great taste and longevity.”

Clint shoved a hand through his hair, aware that, as usual, he needed a haircut. “As I told you before...I can’t afford to pay anyone to assist with the harvest.”

“You don’t have to. The co-op members—many of whom are male, by the way—work for points that enable them to purchase produce at a very steep discount. Because they physically help with the harvest, they also get first dibs on anything that comes in.”

Turning, she walked over to his pickup truck and waited for him to follow. “The rest of the produce goes to Rose Hill Farm clients. Grocery stores, farm stands, small mom-and-pop markets and restaurant chefs.”

He wasn’t surprised to discover she ran two businesses. One that helped the community, the other her own bottom line. That did not mean, however, that he was all right with the onslaught.

He moved nearer despite himself. Aware he was wanting to kiss her again, badly, he fished in his pocket for his keys. “I can’t have a dozen women out there underfoot every day.”

She nodded, understanding. “You won’t. Today was just a day to get the feel of how this is all going to work. From now on, you’ll only have two co-op members there at a time. And only during school hours.”

He propped a shoulder against the truck and released a breath, his tension easing a bit.

“So if you get started earlier or go later—” Rose continued.

“I’ll have the peace and quiet I want?” he interrupted with a grin.

The peace that had seemed ideal until he’d spent a half an hour in her home and become aware all over again of everything he wanted and was missing. Kids. A wife. Happy family chaos.

She rolled her eyes. “Your wish is my command, cowboy.”

Another spark lit between them.

Rose stepped in the direction of the house, abruptly becoming wary again. “Well, I’ve got to get back to my sisters...”

On impulse, he caught her wrist and rubbed the inside of it with his thumb. Then felt her tremble, just as she had when he’d held her in his arms.

He was tempted to ask her out, but knew this was the wrong time and the wrong place, unless he wanted to be spurned again.

“Are they going to give you the business?” he murmured softly instead.

She sighed. “Probably.”

* * *

BECAUSE SHE HAD her siblings’ help, Rose was able to get the three kids bathed and tucked into bed in record time. Finished, she went back down to the kitchen, where she soon discovered her dishes had been done, too. A more adult repast was laid out. They’d obviously brought it with them.

Sisters. Rose heaved a contented sigh, sitting down at the table with them. What would she do without them?

She hoped never to find out.

Violet cut into the warm, puff pastry–wrapped brie.

Poppy passed around crisp green apple and pear slices. “We all had heard you’d sweet-talked Clint McCulloch into harvesting the Double Creek Ranch blackberry crop. But we had no idea he’d been pursuing you.”

No kidding.

Not wanting to admit how recently that had started, never mind how quickly Clint had turned her whole world upside down—with just one kiss!—Rose adopted her best poker face. “He’s not, really.”

“Then why were you kissing him?”

Knowing it would be futile to deny they had been making out, just a little, Rose stated cagily, “Impulse. A bad one at that, and one that won’t happen again. So...to what do I owe the honor of this visit?”

Poppy raised her glass of sparkling water in toast. “I finally got Trace Caulder to agree to adopt with me!”

Everyone clinked glasses. Rose asked, “But you’re not planning to get married to the Lieutenant?”

The thirty-five-year-old Poppy waved off the possibility. “It’s not really necessary these days. At least through the private agency we’re using.”

No one knew better than Rose how hard it could be to raise a family as a single mother. On the other hand, she had all the McCabes behind her, helping out as needed. And so would Poppy, whose interior-design business was based in Laramie.

Poppy tore her hunk of French bread into bite-size pieces. “I’m not cut out to be a military wife. And Trace doesn’t want to give up flying jets for the Air Force. But we’re best friends—”