A Daddy For Her Triplets

“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 (#ulink_2f0b9e8d-66c3-599b-9fca-135a06a455f8)

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.