The Rebel Cowboy’s Quadruplets. Tina Leonard
disappeared, allowing him a better look at that full seat. Blue jeans accentuated the curves, and he figured she was so nicely full-figured because she’d just had a baby.
Damn Ty for pulling this prank on him. His buddy was probably laughing his fool ass off right about now, knowing how Justin felt about settling down and family ties in general. Justin was a loner, at least in spirit. He had lots of friends on the circuit, and he was from a huge family. He had three brothers, all as independent as he was, except for J.T., who liked to stay close to the family and the neighborhood he’d grown up in.
Justin was going to continue to ride alone.
Mrs. Harper smiled at him as he took a barstool at the wide kitchen island. “Welcome, Justin.”
“Thank you,” he replied, not about to let himself feel welcome. He needed to get out of there as fast as possible. The place was a honey trap of food and good intentions. Another baby wail joined the first, and Justin’s ears perked up. Two? Maybe she was babysitting. He looked at Mrs. Harper, worried.
Mrs. Harper laughed. “Yes, she probably does need a hand,” she said, misunderstanding the question on his face. “Run on in there and help her out for a second, and I’ll serve up a lunch for you that’ll take the edge off any hunger pangs you’ve got.” She pulled a fragrant pie from the oven—an apple pie, he guessed—and his stomach rumbled.
Okay, he could go check on the little mother for the price of lunch. But then he was heading out, with a “Sorry—this job doesn’t fit the description of my talents,” or something equally polite.
He was going to kick Ty’s butt hard, over the phone, which wouldn’t be nearly as satisfying as doing it in person. He’d driven a day out of his way to apply for what he’d thought might be bona fide employment.
He walked into the den, guided by the baby cries. Mackenzie glanced at him from the sofa. “Don’t be scared—they’ll calm down in a moment,” she said, but he was anyway, unable to stop staring at the four white bassinets, three babies tucked into them like pink-wrapped sausages working free of their casings. Mackenzie held a fourth writhing baby close to her chest, and Justin realized she was nursing.
Holy crap. She had four babies. He backed up a step, belatedly removed his hat. “I’m not scared. I’m something else, but I’m not sure I can identify the emotion.” He looked at the three squalling babies, clearly deciding they all wanted their mother’s attention at once. “What can I do?”
He hoped she’d say nothing, but instead she pointed him to a bottle. “If you’re sincerely asking, Holly’s next in line.”
Holly? He glanced back at the baskets. Tiny nameplates adorned the bassinets, which for some reason reminded him of the carved beds of the seven dwarves. Only Mackenzie was no Snow White under an evil spell, and he was certainly no handsome prince.
But the lady did need help; that much was clear. She was in over her head by any reasonable metric, whether it was the ranch (which she probably would lose, if he were a betting man) or these tiny babies (which would require an army of assistants that he figured she couldn’t afford—again, no hard bet for a man who liked betting on sure things). This would only take an hour, he figured, and an hour he certainly did have, damn his torn PCL.
Justin studied the nameplates to make certain he picked up the right baby. Holly, Hope, Haven and Heather. All chosen, no doubt, to go with the Hanging H of the ranch, which was sort of a hopeless exercise because they’d all get married one day and their last names would change. To Thomas or Smith or whatever. Then he remembered that Mackenzie’s last name was Hawthorne, and she must not have ever changed her name when she got married.
If she’d been married.
Gingerly he picked up Holly, who had a pretty annoyed wail going, grabbed one of the bottles off a wooden tray and slipped it into her mouth. Oh, yeah, that was exactly what she wanted—food—and what he wanted—golden silence.
“Thank you,” Mackenzie said. “They all decide they want to eat at once, every time.”
He sank onto a sofa, carefully holding the baby. “My brothers and I were the same. It lasted through our teens and drove our parents nuts.” He glanced at the other two babies, who were now occupying themselves with listening to the adult voices in the room. “I guess these are all yours.”
She smiled, and he noticed she had very shapely lips. He avoided staring at the blanket at her breast, not wanting to catch an accidental glimpse of something he shouldn’t see. He was a gentleman, even if he found himself at the moment feeling like a fish out of water.
“They’re all mine.” She smiled proudly at her children. “We’re still working out some things, but the girls are coming along nicely now. They have a little better routine, and the health issues are more manageable.”
He turned his gaze back to Holly so the doubt wouldn’t show on his face. The overgrown paddocks, the sagging gutters and the chipping paint stayed on his mind. These four children—was the father totally useless? Did he not care about the state of his property? Or these four sweet-faced babies? Not to mention the sexy mother of his children.
“Their father is in Alaska,” she said, somehow reading his thoughts. “Working on an oil rig. And when he’s not working, he’s otherwise engaged. We don’t hear from him,” she said. “Not before the divorce or after. I’d been on a drug to help me get pregnant, and he was unpleasantly surprised by the results.” She put a now-content baby into the empty basket marked “Heather,” diapered her, kissed her and picked up Hope. “This one was born with lung issues, but we’re slowly getting past that. And Holly has struggled with being underweight, but time has been the healer for that, too.” She smiled at Justin, and he saw how beautiful she was, especially when her face lit up as she talked about her children. “So tell me what kind of work you do, and we’ll see if our needs match.”
He held in a sigh, wondering how to extricate himself from this dilemma. He could help this woman and her brood, but he didn’t want to. Justin glanced at the four babies. They had calmed some as they were getting either bottles or a breast—there was a thought he had to stay away from.
Mrs. Harper bustled in with a tray of food for him and took the baby he was holding. “I heard you say that you need to talk business. I’ll feed this one, and you eat. Your plates say you’re from Montana, so you’ve come a long way to talk about work. I know you’re starved.”
No, no, no. He needed a job, but not this job. And the last thing he wanted to do was work for a woman with soft doe eyes and a place that was teetering on becoming unmanageable. From the little he’d seen, there was a lot to do. He had a bum knee and a bad feeling about this. And no desire to be around children.
On the other hand, it couldn’t hurt to help out for a week, maybe two, tops. Could it?
He ate a bite of Mrs. Harper’s chicken salad, startled by how good it was. Maybe it had been too long since he’d had home cooking. He smelled the wonderful cinnamon aroma of apple pie, and his stomach jumped.
Mackenzie bent over to put the fed, diapered and happy baby she was holding back into the bassinet. He watched her move, looked at her smile, admired her full fanny and breasts—stopped himself cold.
He had no business looking at a new mother. He really had been on the road too long. Glancing around him, Justin took in the soft white-and-blue curtains, the tan sofas, the chairs in a gentle blue-and-white pattern that complemented the drapes. A tan wool rug lay under a blocky coffee table, the edges rounded and perfect for children who would be learning to pull themselves up in a few months.
Taking another bite of Mrs. Harper’s delicious meal, he focused on the food and not the homey atmosphere. That’s what was wrong: this felt like home. It could draw in a man who wasn’t careful, who wasn’t aware of the pitfalls.
Maybe Ty hadn’t sent him here because of Mackenzie’s ad. Maybe she simply needed a grievous amount of help, and Ty had known he needed employment.
He could