Her Cowboy's Triplets. Sasha SummersЧитать онлайн книгу.
see you,” India said. “Really.”
He smiled. “Maybe we’ll run into each other again? Say, Tuesday. The Soda Shop still have a chicken fried steak dinner special on Tuesday, Sara?”
“We sure do,” Sara agreed.
“I might just be here around, say, six o’clock on Tuesday, having one. If you two decide you’re hungry about that time.” He winked at Cal.
Cal smiled. And so did India.
He walked out of the Soda Shop before he did something stupid. Like hug her again. Or ask her to go on a date with him. Or sit there and stare at her...
He was knocked back a few feet, a solid blow to the shoulder catching him by surprise.
“Watch where the hell you’re going—” Woodrow Boone broke off, his eyes narrowing.
“My apologies, Mr. Boone.” Brody touched his hat. “Didn’t see you there.”
The man gave him a slow toe-to-head inspection. “Didn’t see me? How’s that?” He frowned. “Something wrong with your eyes, boy?”
Brody bit back a grin. “No, sir.”
Woodrow Boone grunted and pushed past him into the Soda Shop.
“You have a good day,” Brody called out, not bothering to wait for a response from his father’s self-proclaimed enemy.
Brody climbed into his bright red truck, threw it into Reverse and headed down Fort Kyle’s main drive from town. Miles of dirt roads, cattle guards, cacti and tumbleweeds led him home to Wallace ranch. By the time he’d reached the main house, he’d pushed all thoughts of Woodrow Boone aside. Taking care of his family came first, even if Brody’s father was determined to challenge him.
“You realize there haven’t been fireworks in two years, Brody?” asked Miss Francis, Fort Kyle’s busybody with a heart of gold who had the scoop on everyone. “And we’re not a stop on the West Texas Rodeo circuit. And the bike race we started a couple years back, to help the fort—it’s all but disappeared.”
There was no denying this was a sad development. Fort Kyle received only so much money from the state, a fact he knew from serving on the fort’s nonprofit board. And losing the rodeo? Rodeo brought in dollars, heads in beds and outside marketing—all good things for a small town off the beaten path. But what the hell was he supposed to do about it? Of all the things to fall on his plate since returning home, Miss Francis had been chosen by some “concerned townsfolk” to convince him he was the town’s best option for the upcoming mayoral election.
It wasn’t that he wasn’t interested, he was. But taking on a task that big would conflict with his current family responsibilities—and there were lots of those. He needed to remember that. He glanced up from where he squatted at his daughter’s side, tucking Amberleigh’s arm back into her sundress. Amberleigh wasn’t fond of clothes. Or shoes. A fact that kept him and his mother trailing after his little girl.
“We’ve lost the Monarch Festival. Mayor Draper seems to think it’s silly.” The older woman’s sales pitch was interrupted by sweet Marilyn, offering a mud pie with a smile. “Oh, thank you, Marilyn.” Miss Francis, a grandmother many times over, took the small plastic plate covered in mud.
Marilyn’s grin grew. She was pleased as punch—and covered with mud. “Welcome.”
He could imagine his girls chasing after the clouds of monarchs that visited Fort Kyle on their migratory path. The town had always turned their arrival into something special, closing up shops and keeping as many cars off the road as possible to prevent damage to the hundreds of thousands of monarchs. The festival and cattle drive—the 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?”