The Triplets' Rodeo Man

Jack stared after her. That was one pain-in-the-well-worn-butt woman. And unfortunately, she had the asset Jack most appreciated on a female—a very sassy derriere.

Somehow that was even more annoying.

J OSIAH LEFT the hospital that night. Jack wasn’t really surprised when he got the call. He would have done the same. Jack figured if anybody was like him, it was the old man. Pop wasn’t going to be a burden, and like his sons, he knew how to hit the escape hatch.

It was up to him to fetch his father. This wouldn’t be the easiest thing in the world because Pop didn’t want his life extended by taking something from Jack. Pop would consider this gesture sacrilegious, wasteful and downright wrong.

He couldn’t blame his father. Since they hadn’t spoken in over ten years, Josiah had every right to his feelings. It was bad luck that only Jack was the perfect donor match, which he’d found out after being tested—something he did only after Laura, Gabe’s nurse wife, left a message for him at a local rodeo that they were running out of options with Pop. It had been a warning, not a solicitation for help. Still, Jack had felt a curiosity and an obligation to find out if he was an eligible donor. Quietly, he’d had the testing done—and bad luck as always, the prodigal son was the “perfect” match. It was the only time in his life he could remember someone using the word perfect to describe something about him.

He was going to have to go find Pop, somehow reel him in to the hospital. Cricket had been right—he was going to have to think hard to keep up with the old man. Pop was sharp from years of business dealings—he was focused, determined and ornery. Fortunately, Jack knew something about determination.

He’d find him. Somehow, he’d drag him back.

C RICKET WENT to the Morgan ranch, pulling into the driveway in her old Volkswagen that had served her well for many years. The sight of the ranch and the large house that graced the property, out in the middle of nowhere, never failed to take her breath away. She parked, shut off her car, grabbed her tape measure and notepad. A promise was a promise. If Josiah Morgan was going to be on a first-name basis with the angels—unless he accepted his son’s kidney, and if the operation and match was a success—she was determined he would come home to a pleasant-looking house.

No one answered her knock at the front door. Cricket decided she could call either Laura, Suzy or Priscilla and ask them to come let her in…or perhaps she could find an open door. If one of the Morgan men were here today working somewhere on the ranch, it was possible they’d left a door unlocked. They wouldn’t mind her slipping in to measure, particularly as she’d mentioned her plans to Josiah.

She turned the knob.

Sure enough, it was unlocked. That meant one of the Morgans was nearby, so she carefully slid the door open and called, “Hello! It’s Cricket Jasper!”

She waited for a “Hello, Deacon!” or something to that effect, but no one answered. Closing the door behind her, she walked into the hallway. “Hello! Gabe? Dane? Pete?”

All the brothers had moved into houses with their brides, leaving the ranch house to Josiah. Pete was the most recent to move, needing private space for his four new babies and wife. He and Priscilla had bought a house only a few miles down the road once the adoption was final, and Cricket was pretty certain Josiah had been crushed by the departure of the babies. “Anybody home?” she called.

Jack appeared in the hall like a ghost. “Hey, Cricket.”

He startled her into the fastest heartbeat she’d ever experienced. “You scared me, Jack!”

He grinned at her. “I can’t exactly claim that I’m home, to answer your question. But I’m here.” He looked around, his gaze returning to the flat stare he almost always wore.

“So what are you doing here?” Cricket demanded, her heartbeat still jumping around.

“What are you doing here?”

“Measuring for drapes.” Cricket slid past Jack, keeping an eye on him. After Josiah’s warning about his son, Cricket had decided her unhealthy crush was something she needed to put away. The man was sexy, but as a deacon she had no business mooning after a hunk who had not one good side but two bad. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll just measure, draw some sketches and go.”

He caught her arm as she went by. Cricket jumped, snatched her arm back.

“Hey,” he said, “I think you and I got off on the wrong foot.”

“No,” Cricket said. “We’re fine. Let’s not trouble ourselves about anything except getting your father well.”

Jack looked at her, his gaze direct, sending a shiver over her. “I heard you telling a bunch of fibs to my father last night.”

She shrugged, clearly not remorseful. “So? Is it wrong to want him to be happy? Is it sinful to put him in a happy frame of mind before he has major surgery?”

He eyed her. “A fibbing deacon.”

She raised her chin. “Never you mind what’s between me and the Lord, cowboy.”

He grinned. “Your conscience is your own, my lady.”

“Good.” She started to turn away, but there was that hand again, holding her too close to him. She wished she didn’t feel an unsettling sizzle everywhere he touched her. This time, she stood firm, refusing to allow him to unsettle her.

“And while we’re examining your unusual conscience,” Jack said. “You wouldn’t help my father escape, would you, Deacon?”

Chapter Three

“What are you talking about?” Cricket demanded. “Escape what?”

“Pop left the hospital in the night. Checked himself out.”

Cricket seemed to consider his words, doubting him. She finally said, “He was fine when I was visiting.”

Jack shrugged. “Guess he changed his mind. Now I need to find him.”

“Is he here?” Cricket’s voice contained a dose of worry.

“No. Too obvious, though I was hoping he’d make it easy on me to take him back to the hospital.”

Cricket held her notepad close to her chest. Perhaps she was afraid he might take a bite out of her, a very tempting thought—but he was no Big Bad Wolf, contrary to his father’s opinion.

“If he doesn’t want to go back, you can’t make him.”

Jack smiled. “Maybe you could give me your best thoughts on where he might be. My brothers haven’t seen him, their wives haven’t seen him. The logical conclusion was that he’d had a yen to see the grandchildren. Then we figured he might be here. No luck.”

She shook her head. “I’m sorry I can’t help.”

Thunder clapped outside and a slice of lightning cracked near the house.

“My word,” Cricket said, “that sounded close! If you’ll excuse me, I’ll take my measurements and let you get on with your search. I hope you find him, I really do.”

Jack let her go. She didn’t know where Pop was. Nobody had the faintest idea; no one even knew where all the properties he owned were. He could be anywhere in the United States. Pete had mentioned that he thought Pop had sold the knight’s templary in France, but Jack supposed Pop could just as well have left the country. “He is the most difficult man on the planet,” he muttered, along with a well-chosen expletive or three.

“Did you say something?” Cricket asked, madly scribbling numbers on her notepad.

“Nothing fit for the ears of present company.”

She turned back to what she was doing. “I can’t blame him, you know.”

“Blame him about what?”

“He didn’t want your kidney. He didn’t want anything from you at all. I polished your résumé, tried to make it seem like you were the kind of son who—”

“I heard the polishing.” Jack threw himself into his father’s recliner. “Pop didn’t believe any of that crap.”

Cricket sniffed, went back to ignoring him.