Triple Trouble / A Real Live Cowboy. Judy Duarte

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      “And she’s too young,” Nick continued.

      “How young?”

      “She’s twenty-five.”

      “Thank God.” Darr pretended to wipe sweat off his brow in relief. “I thought you were going to tell me she’s underage and jailbait.”

      “Might as well be,” Nick growled. “She’s twelve years younger than me. That’s too damned young.”

      Darr pursed his lips. “Let me see if I’ve got this straight. You’re cranky because you’ve got a nanny you can’t make a move on because you’re her boss and she’s younger than you.”

      “Yeah, pretty much,” Nick conceded.

      Darr grinned. “Maybe you should fire her. Then you can date her.”

      “I can’t fire her—and I don’t want to,” Nick ground out. “She’s good at her job. If she wasn’t helping me take care of the girls, I’d be screwed.”

      “So hire someone else—and then fire her.”

      “Yeah, like she’s likely to go out with me after I’ve fired her.” Nick rubbed his eyes. They felt as if there was a pound of sand in each of them. If he didn’t get some sleep soon, he’d need more than the saline eyedrops he’d been using in a vain attempt to solve the problem. “There’s no solution that’s workable. Believe me, I’ve considered all the angles.”

      “Where there’s a will, there’s a way.”

      “Stop being so damned cheerful,” Nick growled.

      “Aren’t you the one who told me there’s always another girl just around the corner? Wait a week and there’ll be another corner, another girl. If things don’t work out with the redhead, why do you care?”

       Because I’ve never met anyone quite like her.

      Nick didn’t want to tell Darr that Charlene was unique. He was having a hard enough time accepting that he’d met a woman who broke all the rules he’d spent thirty-seven years setting.

      “Maybe you’re right,” he said with a slight shrug, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. “Have you heard anything new about the note Patrick got at the New Year’s Eve party? Or about the ones Dad and Cindy received?”

      “No.” Darr didn’t appear thrown by Nick’s abrupt change of subject. “That’s one of the reasons I wanted to talk to Dad and J.R.—to ask if they’ve learned anything more.”

      The Fortune family had gone through a series of mysterious events over the last few months, starting with the cryptic note left in Patrick Fortune’s jacket pocket during a New Year’s Eve party. The strange message—“One of the Fortunes is not who you think”—baffled the family, even more so when they learned the same message had been left anonymously with Cindy Fortune and William, Nick and Darr’s father.

      Patrick had called a family conference at Lily Fortune’s home on the Double Crown Ranch in February, on the very day Red Rock had been hit with a freak snowstorm.

      Darr hadn’t been present at the gathering, since he’d been snowed-in with Bethany in her little house. But Nick had brought him up to speed on everything that happened, including the family’s assumption the notes were the precursor to a blackmail demand. So far, however, no such demand had been made. But two subsequent fires—one that burned down the local Red Restaurant, and a second that destroyed a barn at the Double Crown—were suspicious. And potentially connected to the mysterious and vaguely threatening notes.

      “Let me know if you reach Dad and J.R.,” Nick said. “Meanwhile, I had a message from Ross Fortune when I got back to the office today. We set up a meeting to discuss the notes and fires. Has he contacted you?” Nick and Darr’s cousin was a private investigator with an agency in San Antonio. His mother, Cindy, had convinced the family they should hire him to check into the cryptic threats.

      “Not yet,” Darr said, “but I heard he’s in town. The Chief said he called and asked for copies of the department’s report on the fire at Red.” Darr pushed his empty plate aside and leaned his elbows on the tabletop, his voice lowering. “This isn’t for public knowledge, but I’m sure my boss agrees with us—he has serious reservations as to whether the fire was accidental.”

      “What about the barn that burned at the Double Crown?”

      “He didn’t want to talk about that one—I suspect he believes I’m too close to the subject, since it happened on Lily’s ranch.”

      “Do you have a gut feeling as to his opinion?”

      “Yeah. I’m convinced he believes the Double Crown fire wasn’t an accident, either.”

      “I hope to hell Ross’s investigation gets some answers,” Nick said grimly. “You or someone else could have died in those fires.”

      “Bethany damn near did,” Darr said darkly, his features hardening. “She was barely conscious when I found her on the bathroom floor at the restaurant. She could have died of smoke inhalation.”

      “We have to find out who’s behind these threats to the family before someone loses their life,” Nick said. “I hope Ross is good at his job.”

      “When are you talking to him?”

      “Tomorrow afternoon at one.” Nick glanced at his watch. “I have a meeting in a half hour. Gotta get back to the office.”

      Darr nodded and both men dropped money on top of the check.

      “Thanks, guys,” their waitress called after them as they left the booth and headed for the exit.

      Nick shrugged into his jacket as he stepped outside, a brisk breeze cooling the air, although the sun beamed down, warm against his face.

      “Let me know what Ross has to say tomorrow,” Darr said, pausing on the sidewalk. “I have the day off, but I’m not sure what Bethany’s plans are or if I’ll be home, so call my cell phone.”

      “Sure.” Nick stepped off the curb. “Tell Bethany hello from me.”

      “Will do.” Darr headed down the block to his vehicle.

      Nick climbed into his Porsche, the powerful engine turning over with a throaty, muted roar when he twisted the key. The low-slung car had only two seats—room for the driver and one passenger.

      “Too small,” Nick murmured as he backed out of the slot. “I need to get an SUV.” Or a minivan. He shuddered. He didn’t think he could bring himself to drive a minivan—even for the triplets. Minivans were mommy cars. For a guy who loved fast cars and powerful engines, a minivan was a step too far, vehicle-wise.

      He made a mental note to go SUV shopping on his lunch hour tomorrow. Charlene could use it to drive the babies during the week and he’d use it on the weekends if he needed to take the little girls anywhere.

      If anyone had told him two weeks ago that he’d be contemplating buying a vehicle to СКАЧАТЬ