The Cowboy SEAL's Triplets

“A baby?”

“It appears I’m going to be a father.” Sam shook his head. “An astonishing thing, no?”

“Very.” John raised a brow. “Let me get this straight. Daisy came after me, but you wanted her for yourself, and so you offered to drive her—”

“Just so.” Sam nodded. John glanced to Daisy, who merely shrugged.

He stepped back from his friend, trying to piece all this together. Everyone knew Sam was a trickster beyond compare—if Shakespeare had still been alive, he could have written plays about this wizard of wackiness—but marriage? A baby?

John shook his head. “You two are fibbing through your teeth, but I’m darned if I know why.”

Daisy didn’t say anything, and Sam kept very still, like he was one breath short of hyperventilating again. John sighed. “Are you really this fickle? Or are you trying to make a point? Because I wouldn’t put it past either one of you.”

“What difference does it make to you?” Daisy asked.

“None.” It meant every difference. He’d waited years for Daisy to come to her senses and realize he was the man of her dreams. Then, when she had come to her senses, he’d lost every one of his, apparently. Maybe lust had fried his brain. “Anyway, if you’re content to ride home with my loose-marbled friend here, that’s fine. I just wanted you to know that you could go by plane, too.”

“You couldn’t call to make your generous offer?” Daisy looked at him, and he thought she wasn’t buying his cover story.

“I could have, but it seemed best to inquire in person.” He looked at Sam. “My friend here means a lot to me. I know he was trying to do me a favor by bringing you after me.”

“Really?” Daisy put a hand on a slim hip. “A favor? Does Sam truck women after you often, then?”

“Not at all. Which is why I felt the occasion merited the personal treatment.”

“Well, thank you so much.”

Daisy didn’t sound very grateful. In fact, he thought he’d detected a tiny undertone of snark. He looked at her. “A baby? You two expect me to buy that you’re having a baby?” He cast a gaze at her very flat stomach, with which he was intimately familiar, having spent hours kissing that very toned, very delectable flesh. “Something’s off about this whole story.”

It was indeed off. He’d used condoms with Daisy. She’d been very fine with that, in fact, one might even have said helpful, a foreplay which had stretched his manly capabilities to the max. John practically got stiff thinking about it. “A baby,” he repeated. “I just don’t think you have it in you, old man.”

“What?” Sam squawked, sitting straight up with indignation. “I think I can handle parenthood just fine, thanks.”

John shook his head. There was an alternate reality in here, he knew there was, but these two were thick as thieves about something. He looked at both of them, and then it hit him: his buddy was attempting to paint a bull’s-eye on him with one of his infamous pranks.

Yes, Handsome Sam Barr was trying to pull a fast one.

And the only way to neutralize having a bull’s-eye painted on one’s hindquarters was to pull a faster one.

“You know,” John said, “as I recall, Vegas is only a couple hours from here. Probably quite doable as a wedding destination in one day, considering how you like to apply your boot to the pedal.”

Sam nodded vigorously. “We should be able to make it by nightfall for a romantic destination.”

John looked at Daisy. “I wish you two well.”

Daisy nodded, but she seemed uncertain. “Thank you.”

“All right, then.” Taking a deep breath, John got into the double cab, seating himself behind Sam and Daisy, and belted himself in with a grin.

Chapter Four (#ua01bbaba-c527-59ec-90c5-d961eb3ffb97)

“What are you doing?” Daisy turned to meet John’s mischievous gaze.

“I’m riding with you to Vegas.” He put his hands behind his head, looking very comfortable and even pleased with himself.

Daisy frowned. “Why?”

He clapped Sam on the shoulder. “I can’t let my buddy get married without a best man. And I am the best man. You may not know this about Sam and me, but we’ve seen some very dark days. Together, we survived.”

Daisy glanced at Sam. He shrugged, and she thought she saw a little what-can-we-do? in his expressive eyes.

“We are best friends,” Sam said.

Daisy turned to stare out the window. “I don’t care.”

“You don’t mind if he tags along?” Sam asked.

“Hey! I prefer to think of myself less as a tagalonger and more as part of the wedding party.”

Daisy didn’t turn to look at John to sanction this silly statement. She was well aware he was taking Sam’s role of being a trickster, but she wasn’t going to be the one to cry “uncle.” If these two wanted to play chicken, it was probably a game they’d played before. “I don’t care one bit.”

Sam turned to glare at John. “You can’t cause any trouble.”

“Me?” John feigned surprise and innocence. “I never cause trouble.”

“Never cause trouble,” Sam muttered under his breath, starting the truck, and Daisy wondered how this situation was going to end up by nightfall. John appeared determined to call Sam’s bluff, so there was a great possibility that Sam might find himself at the altar saying “I do,” something he’d always proclaimed he would never do.

Until today.

This was terrible. With John sitting in the backseat goading his friend on, Sam might not feel as if he could bow out. Sam had just been trying to bring John to his senses—but like other plans in Bridesmaids Creek had been known to go, this one appeared to have taken a turn for the worse.

I don’t even need anyone to marry me.

With the two men dug in for the long haul, apparently, Daisy decided she might as well take a nap. Pretend to take one, anyway—as if she could ignore John’s long, lean body in the backseat. She could feel his gaze on her, studying her. Waiting to see if she’d crack.

The man really believed she was so hung up on him that he could haul out of town without saying goodbye—then show back up in her life and throw the equivalent of a cold, wet water balloon to explode her plans.

Ass.

“I’m sorry, pumpkin, did you say something?” Sam asked, clearly intending to play the This Is Chicken and I’m Not Gonna Lose scenario to its incongruous end. “It sounded like you said ass.”

Daisy shook her head, kept her eyes closed. “I didn’t say ass.”

“I thought I heard her say ass,” John said, putting his two cents in from the backseat.

“Guys, leave me out of the rooster-like posturing, please,” she said, and they had the nerve to guffaw.

“Daisy, lady, you’re far too much for my gentle friend to handle,” John said.