The Triplets' Cowboy Daddy. Patricia Johns
the eggs sunny side up, and slapped the second piece on top. He turned toward her slowly and met her eyes.
“I get that you’re mad at him,” he said. “And you’ve got every right to be. But he wasn’t my father, and what he did inside of marriage or outside of it wasn’t my business.”
Nora stared at him, shocked. Was that the kind of man Easton was? He was just talking about a marriage and family of his own. She’d thought he’d have a few more scruples than that.
“But did you know?” she demanded.
“I’m saying he was my boss,” Easton retorted, fire flashing in his eyes. “His personal life wasn’t my business. I had no idea about the other woman—how could I know? We were working cattle, not cozying up to women. I’m not going to bad-mouth him, even if that would make you feel better for a little while. He was good to me. He was honest and fair with me. He taught me everything I know and set me up with this house. If you’re looking for someone to complain about him and pick him apart with, you’d better keep looking. I’m not that guy.”
He dropped his plate on the table and squashed the sandwich down with the palm of his hand. Then he grabbed a few pieces of paper towel and wrapped it up.
“You’re nothing if not loyal, Easton,” she said bitterly. Loyal to the man who’d given him land. He should have been loyal to a few basic principles.
Easton tossed the wrapped sandwich into a plastic bread bag then headed to the mudroom.
“I’m sorry for what he did to you,” he said, not raising his head as he plunged his feet into his boots. “I get that it was a betrayal. But I’m staff, and you’re family. I know the line.”
The line? What line? Was he mad that they’d grown apart over the years, that she’d moved away to Billings for a degree in accounting? What line was so precious that he couldn’t stand up for the women who had been wronged?
“What does that mean?” she demanded. “Do you want me to go? Have I crossed a line with you?”
He grabbed his hat and dropped it on his head.
“No,” he said quietly. “Stay.”
He didn’t look like he was going to expand upon that, and he pulled open the door, letting in a cool morning draft.
“You forgot your coffee,” she said.
“I leave it on the stove to let it cool down a bit,” he said. “I’ll have it in an hour when I get back.”
With that, he stepped outside into the predawn grayness. Then the door banged shut after him, leaving her alone with a freshly percolated pot of coffee and three sleeping babies.
Easton had made himself clear—his loyalty belonged to her dad. Well, her father had lost hers. Ironic, wasn’t it, that the one person to stand by Cliff Carpenter’s memory was the hired hand?
Around midmorning, Nora heard a truck rumble to a stop outside the house. She looked out the window to see her mother hop out of the cab. She was wearing a pair of fitted jeans and boots, and when she saw Nora in the window, she waved. Nora hadn’t realized how much she’d missed her mom until she saw her, then she felt a wave of relief. It reminded her of waiting to be picked up at Hope Elementary School. All the other kids got on the bus, and Nora had to sit on the curb, alone. Her heart would speed up with a strange joy when she finally saw her mom in the family truck. She felt that joy on that school curb for the same reason: sometimes a girl—no matter the age—just needed her mom’s support.
The babies were all sleeping in their bouncy chairs, diapers changed and tummies full. Nora’s ridiculously early morning was already feeling like a mistake. She was exhausted. Back in the city, she’d been working in the accounting office for a company that produced equestrian gear. She’d worked hard, put in overtime, but she’d never felt weariness quite like this. A work friend had told her that her twelve weeks of parental leave would be more work than the office, but she hadn’t believed it until now.
Nora pulled open the side door and ambled out into the warm August sunshine.
“Morning,” she called.
“Mackenzie Granger dropped this by,” her mother said, pulling a collapsed stroller out of the bed of the truck. “She said she got the triplet stroller for the boys and the new baby, but hasn’t used it as much as she thought she would.”
Nora couldn’t help the smile that came to her face. She’d been wondering how she’d ever leave the house again with three infants, but thank God for neighbors with twin toddlers and new babies.
“I’ll have to call her and thank her,” Nora said. “And thank you for bringing it by.”
Her mother carried the stroller over and together they unfolded it and snapped it into its open position. It was an umbrella stroller with three seats lined up side by side. It was perfect. Not too big, not too heavy, and she could transport all three babies at once.
“I had an idea.” Dina shot Nora a smile. “Let’s load the babies into this and you can come pick the last of the strawberries with me.”
They used to pick strawberries together every summer when Nora was young. They’d eat as they picked, and even with all the eating, they’d fill bucket after bucket. Dina would make jam with some of them, freeze a bunch more and then there would be fresh strawberries for everything from waffles to ice cream. Nora used to love strawberry-picking. Then she became a teenager, and she and her mother stopped getting along quite so well.
Nora met her mother’s gaze, and she saw hope in Dina’s eyes—the flimsy, vulnerable kind of hope that wavered, ready to evaporate. Maybe her mother was thinking of those sweet days, too, when they used to laugh together and Dina would let Nora whip up some cream for the berries.
“Yeah, okay,” Nora said.
They transferred the babies to the stroller quickly enough, and the stroller rattled and jerked as Nora pushed it down the gravel road—the babies undisturbed. Maybe this was why Mack hadn’t used it much. The wheels were quite small, so every rock could be felt underneath them. But Nora had gotten them all outside, and that was a feat in itself.
“So what are you going to do about the babies?” her mother asked as they walked.
“Would it be crazy to raise them?” Nora asked.
“Three infants on your own?” her mother asked.
“Three infants, you and me.”
Her mother didn’t answer right away, and sadness welled up inside Nora. It was crazy. And it was too much to ask of her mom right now. Maybe ever. Her mother reached over and put a hand on top of Nora’s on the stroller handle.
“I’ve missed you,” Dina said quietly. “It’s nice to have you home.”
It wasn’t an answer—not directly, at least—but it was clear enough. They were still on opposite sides, it seemed, even with the babies. But Nora had always been stubborn, and she wasn’t willing to let this go gracefully.
“I came home because I thought you’d help me,” Nora pressed.
“And I will. As much as I can.”
They all had limits to what they could give, and Nora had taken on more than she could possibly handle on her own. The problem was that she was already falling in love with these little girls. With every bottle, every diaper change, every snuggle and coo and cry, her heart was becoming more and more entwined with theirs. But was keeping them the right choice?
The strawberry patch was on the far side of the main house, and Nora parked the stroller in the shade of an apple tree then moved into the sunshine where Dina had the buckets waiting. Dina came back over to the stroller and squatted down in front