A Daddy For Her Triplets. Deb Kastner

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      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

      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.

      “It’s my fault she stopped,” Clint said with a chuckle. “I asked your mother to dance, but she hasn’t answered me yet.” He crouched down to the triplets’ level. “Let me in on a secret. Does your mama dance, boys?”

      “Yes. Yes. She’s a really good dancer,” Caleb exclaimed.

      “Yeah,” Levi agreed. “She used to be a bal’rina when she was a little girl.”

      Clint chuckled. “Well, I don’t know how much good her extensive ballet training will do with the Texas two-step, but I’m willing to give it a go. How about it, Mama? Shall we show your boys how it’s done?”

      “Dance, Mama. Dance.” The boys echoed each other. All three were physically pushing and pulling her toward Clint. Her face had to be a flaming red. It was too crowded in the hall and the temperature was set too high.

      “C’mon, Olivia. Let’s give your boys something to talk about.” He stood and extended his hand to her.

      Her gaze swept from one eager young face to the next. She didn’t want them to be talking about their mother and Clint sharing a dance, but how could she disappoint them when they looked at her that way?

      “I—er—okay.”

      His hand, rough with calluses, engulfed hers, but that wasn’t the half of it. This entire set of circumstances was swallowing her whole—and she knew who to blame for it. It was all Clint Daniels’s fault.

      “Cheap tactics,” she muttered as he pulled her into his arms. “Using my boys to get me to agree to this. Low blow, if you ask me.”

      He leaned back to meet her gaze and then chuckled. “It worked, didn’t it?”

      “Don’t encourage them.”

      “No worries.” He pulled her closer so she had no choice except to rest her cheek on his shoulder. His hand easily spanned her waist. She was vibrantly aware of his nearness, the deep rhythm of his breath and the warm musk of his aftershave. His shoulder muscles rippled under her palm.

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