Her Cowboy's Triplets. Sasha Summers

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СКАЧАТЬ short trek from Alpine to Fort Kyle—rounded things out. “How did we lose a festival?” He ran a hand over his face. “Don’t eat the mud, Suellen, sweetie.”

      “’Kay, Daddy.” Disappointment lined Suellen’s face. But she put her plastic spoon full of mud and dirt back onto her plate.

      “Bet Nana has some cookies,” he offered, reaching for his coffee cup on the porch step. He took a sip, swallowing the now-cold liquid. Cold coffee was the norm. So were piles of laundry, playing pretend and braiding hair. He was an only child, and his mother was just as clueless about little-girl hairstyles as he was. Since tangles were the enemy, learning to braid had been an essential life skill.

      How was he supposed to take care of his daughters, his parents, the ranch and Fort Kyle?

      Amberleigh was going in circles, trying to pull her arm from her sundress. Lollipop, the white puffball of a dog his wife had given the girls last Christmas, spun along with Amberleigh.

      “What’s she got against clothes?” Miss Francis asked.

      Brody shook his head and stood. “Don’t know. But that’s the fourth time I’ve put her dress back on this afternoon.”

      Miss Francis chuckled. “You don’t say?”

      “Water those flowers over there, Suellen. Marilyn, you help.” He smiled at his girls, nodding at the identical watering cans.

      Marilyn was sparing with her water, barely letting a few drops out for each plant.

      Suellen started at one end of the flower bed and walked along, sprinkling the soil with a steady light shower of cool well water. Lollipop followed along, his little pink tongue searching for water. Suellen giggled, pouring the last of her water on the dog.

      Amberleigh walked to one large sunflower and dumped the entire contents of her watering can on the dirt—making a mud puddle. She dropped her watering can and stooped to scoop out the fresh mud.

      He sighed. “Don’t dig up Nana’s flower, Amberleigh.”

      “You’re quite the multitasker,” Miss Francis teased.

      “Not like I have a choice. About my family. But running for mayor? Well, that’s a horse of a different color.” He shot the older woman a look. “Something tells me you’re not going to give up.”

      “Why would I give up?” Miss Francis asked. “Fort Kyle needs young blood and fresh ideas, Brody. You want these girls to grow up having the same experiences you did, don’t you?”

      Brody shook his head as Amberleigh tugged her dress off and tossed it onto the ground. “I wouldn’t have brought them back otherwise.” He picked up Amberleigh’s dress and followed her across the small fenced yard his mother insisted on keeping green and flowering even when West Texas was fighting drought. “Amberleigh.”

      His daughter turned, her huge hazel gaze meeting his. She held her hands up and waited. Even with mud streaked down her arms and across one cheek, she was precious. Each of his girls was unique and special. Amberleigh didn’t talk much, but that didn’t seem to get in her way. He crouched at her side and slid the dress back on. “You don’t like your pretty dress?” he asked. Amberleigh shook her head but kissed his cheek.

      He hugged her close, breathing in her baby-shampoo scent. Baby shampoo and dirt. “You go make some mud pies with your sisters. Keep your dress on.”

      Amberleigh nodded and joined her sisters by the large planter he kept dirt in just for them. They had shovels and funnels, various-sized cups—anything to keep them occupied for a while. He sighed. His three girls, barefoot, with mud-streaked clothes, and playing with dirt.

      Yes, the girls looked like little angels, but they played hard. Chicken chasers. Puppy groomers. Pillow fort builders—and destroyers. And master mud pie bakers. Something his father found highly amusing, and his mother tolerated. As long as he sprayed off the porch and cleaned up when they were done. He didn’t mind—his girls’ happiness made cleanup duty worth it.

      “Have you talked to Gabe Chasen over at the Tourism Department?” Miss Francis asked.

      Brody nodded. Gabe was worried, like Miss Francis, about their small town. Between the fort, the dude ranches, the observatory and how close they were to the Grand Canyon, they should be seeing more tourism dollars. Things like festivals and special events were necessary. And not happening the last two years.

      “You know there’s a problem, then,” Miss Francis pushed.

      “I do.” He glanced at the older woman, then the back door of the ranch house. “I don’t see why I’m the one who needs to fix it. Why don’t you run, Miss Francis?”

      “Honey, I’m old. And tired. I don’t want to be in charge of everyone else’s business, but I don’t mind getting in the middle of it now and then.” She winked. “You can do this, Brody.”

      “Can do what?” His father walked onto the back porch. “Marilyn, that mud’s not for eating.”

      Brody pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and headed toward his daughter.

      “I’m trying to convince your son to run for mayor, Vic.” Miss Francis put her hands on her hips. “You know as well as I do John Draper needs to step aside, for the good of our town.”

      His father grunted. “You thinking about it, Brody? Being mayor?”

      Brody considered his father’s questions as he cleaned up Marilyn’s face. “Marilyn, baby, please don’t eat the mud. It’s almost dinnertime and we’ll eat real food. Okay?”

      Marilyn nodded, wiping off her tongue. “Nasty mud.” She wrinkled up her little freckle-covered nose.

      “Daddy.” Suellen held a long, wriggling earthworm between her fingers. “Look.”

      “You found a friend?” he asked. “Might want to let him go home, Suellen. He lives here, taking care of the flowers.”

      “He does?” Suellen asked, studying the worm.

      “Yes, ma’am. He helps them grow.” He ran his hand over Suellen’s cheek. “Be gentle with him.”

      She cradled the worm in both hands then, stooping to carefully place the worm back in the soil Amberleigh had saturated. “Good, Daddy?”

      “Perfect, baby.” He smiled, nodded and turned to face his father. “I’ve been thinking about it. Miss Francis hasn’t given me much choice.” He glanced at the grinning older woman. “What do you think, Dad? About me running? I’ve been gone for a while—”

      “You’ve always been a Fort Kyle boy, Brody. Even if you did hang your hat in Houston for a while. You came home,” Miss Francis argued.

      “Dad?” Brody pushed. If he did this, and it was a big if, he’d want his father’s support.

      His father stared at him, considering his words. Which meant he was thinking of the right thing to say. “You want to do it, you should.”

      Brody sighed. His father had lumped him into the defector camp the day he’d left for law school. СКАЧАТЬ