The Cowboy's Triplets (10 page)

The next day, Pete decided the first thing he was going to do when he got back to Rancho Diablo was punch his brother Sam in the nose. He'd do it right now, he thought, fuming, except that Jonas was on the way and would probably take exception. Jonas and Sam might be seven years apart, but Jonas looked out for the youngest Callahan. “Just buy the damn horse and let's go,” Pete groused.

“I don't know.” Sam ran one hand over the ebony stallion's back. “We may not need another champion breeder.”

“Why?” Pete glanced around the well-lit barn at Monterrey Five ranch, located just outside of Las Cruces. Workers milled around blanketing horses and filling water buckets. Outside, in a lighted ring, a woman was giving a teenager jumping lessons. They'd done business with Monterrey Five before, knew they were getting an honest deal. Pete didn't know what was holding up his brother, but it wasn't the horse. And if Sam wasn't going to buy the beast, Pete wanted to get on to the next stop on their list. The sooner they finished their errands, the faster he'd be back to Jackie. A week was a long time to be away from her.

“Oh, boy,” Pete muttered.

Sam looked up. “What?”

“I just realized something.” Realized that he'd always spent a week away from Jackie at a time, and never had he missed her this much. “I'm changing.”

Sam stared at him. “Yeah, Dad. Growing up is probably normal for an expectant father.”

“Not that kind of change.” Pete revisited the notion of poking Sam in the nose. “Why are you being such an ass tonight?”

“I don't know. Full moon or something.” Sam shook his head. “I'm not going to buy this pony.”

“Pony?” Pete snorted. “He's got hooves the size of dinner plates.”

Sam sighed. “I think Fiona's in trouble, Pete. And maybe the ranch.”

“What ranch?” Pete glanced around him. Monterrey Five looked great to him. Well-run, busy, clean, well-stocked—the way he liked a ranch to run. “Our ranch.”

Pete looked closely at his brother. “What are you talking about?”

“Come on.” Sam jerked his head, and Pete followed him from the barn. “Thanks, Pio, we'll let you know about the horse. He sure is fine.”

Pio waved at them. “Thanks for swinging through. Come by on your way back if you can.”

They got in Sam's truck, and Sam turned down the gravel road. “So?” Pete said.

“So Fiona's acting funny. I'm worried.”

“Fiona's always acting funny. Big deal. I'd be more worried if she wasn't being lovably eccentric. Look, there's Jonas.” Pete waved at his brother, who was coming up the drive. Sam stopped the truck and rolled down the window.

“Why are you leaving?” Jonas asked. “Didn't Pio have the horse on site?”

“We were just about to call you. Sam got cold feet.” Pete shrugged.

Jonas glanced at Sam, who nodded confirmation. “Where are we headed now?” Jonas asked.

“You sure you want to do this?” Sam asked. “You don't have to go all the way with us.”

“Yeah, I do.” Jonas nodded. “I'll at least spend a day with you before I go back to Diablo.”

“Let's head to the Cracker Barrel on the main road,” Sam suggested. “I'm in the mood for fried chicken and mashed potatoes.”

Pete waited until Sam started driving again. “Does Jonas know you're worried about Fiona and the ranch?”

“I've only told you. If Jonas knows I'm worried, he might not buy that ranch he wants. He'll want to come in and save the day at Rancho Diablo.”

“Isn't that a decision you should let him make?”

“Maybe,” Sam said, “which is why I'm talking to you.”

“Oh.” Pete felt warmed by his brother's trust. “I say tell him. What can it hurt? Six heads are better than none.”

“Well, you're the most responsible one of us,” Sam pointed out, and Pete frowned.

“Jonas takes that prize.”

“Jonas is a doctor. That doesn't make him the most responsible or the smartest. That would be you.”

Pete raised his brows. “I'm a simple ranch hand, doing what I've done all my life.”

“Jonas knows a lot about medicine. You know a lot about life.” Sam pointed at him. “Not that I'm saying you know a lot about women, because you don't.”

“I think I know more about women than about most other stuff.” Pete was pretty sure he should be taking offense. Any minute now he probably would, but the New Mexico night sky was so pretty, like black velvet, and the stars so numerous, that it was hard to get up the energy to be annoyed anymore. The desire to punch his slowpoke of a brother had left him as soon as they'd hit the road.

“Not really,” Sam said. “Look how you've screwed up the whole thing with Jackie. Major fumble, bro.”

The urge to poke Sam's nose returned full-force. Pete sat up. “I haven't fumbled anything.”

“Are you engaged?”

“No.” Pete sat up. “But I will be.”

“Word around town is that Jackie took out an insurance policy.”

Pete glowered. “So?”

“Life insurance.”

Pete sat back, stunned. “Fiona told you that?”

“Not this time.” Sam grinned. “Darla Cameron.”

“I don't believe you.”

“It was all accidental. I happened to ask how they'd managed to secure financing for The Magic Wedding Dress so fast, and Darla said Jackie had an almost instant approval because she had so much cash on hand for a down payment. She didn't even put up the house for collateral. Just cash. And I said that was damn brave of her in this economy, and Darla said that Jackie was a great businesswoman, and not to worry, that she was insured to the teeth in case anything happened to her.”

Pete wondered why he should care about any of this. “Jackie's smart. She wouldn't conduct business without proper insurance.”

“And I kidded around and said that they better not
get into any pincushion battles or anything or Jackie wouldn't have anyone to leave her estate to.” Sam paused for dramatic effect. “Darla said Jackie's estate goes to her baby. She's already had it all drawn up.”

“That's nice, but really none of my business.” Pete warmed up just thinking about his son. He should be the one thinking of providing for his child—a thought which instantly irritated him. His baby
was
his business. He and Jackie were raising this child together, whether she liked it or not. They should make financial decisions regarding the baby's future together—
together
being the operative word. He was supposed to be the responsible Callahan, right? “We need to hurry and get this trip over with,” Pete practically snarled, and Sam laughed.

“None of your business, huh?”

Pete leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Sam had no idea how close he was coming to having that nice Callahan nose totally rearranged.

 

T
HE ROADSIDE
C
RACKER
B
ARREL
was hopping, which was a good thing, because Pete was in the mood for company. Color. Movement. Anything to keep his mind off his brother's remarks about Fiona. Anybody with half an eye could see that there was some truth to Sam's worry about their little aunt—she
was
acting differently. Pete had noticed it when she'd arrived at the bridal shop. She wasn't her usual giggly self. Oh, she was pleasant and social and had her pod of blue-haired friends with her, but she wasn't lighthearted Fiona.

He was going to have to have a gentle aunt-and-nephew private chat with her. Pete made up his mind to do that as soon as they got home. First Fiona, then his darling turtledove. His smart, business-minded, love apple, who was busily making plans without him about
her life, about their baby. It was admirable, but she was also just a wee bit too determined to be Miss Independent for his liking. At this rate, he might not ever get back in Jackie's bed.

The thought depressed him. He lost his appetite and glared at Jonas. “So what's happening with that land you want to buy east of Rancho Diablo?”

“I'm still pondering it. I may have you come out and take a look at it.” Jonas slathered a roll with butter, and munched on it happily.

Pete slid a glance at Sam, who nodded at Pete.
What was that sagacious nod for? Am I supposed to do the dirty work here?
He sighed. “Jonas, Sam's worried about Fiona. Did you ever give her a subtle check-up?”

“She slapped my hand when I tried to put my stethoscope near her.” Jonas looked injured. “She's never done that before. Usually she says she likes to take advantage of what she calls my expensive over-education.”

Pete nodded. “But you were persistent. Not wimpy.”

“No, I was wimpy.” Jonas ordered a slice of pie, apparently determined to eat the contents of the restaurant on his own, Pete thought. “I bailed. With all due respect to the little aunt, I might admit.”

“I guess you can't force a patient if they don't want care,” Pete said.

“Yeah, that, and the fact that she has a pretty mean slap for a tiny woman.” Jonas dug into his pie with gusto. “You'd be surprised.”

“Okay.” Pete was getting tired of his brothers' company. “Look, she said she hadn't been feeling well. Maybe we can convince her to see Doc Graybill in town.”

“Tried that. No go.” Sam looked at Jonas's pie with
longing. “Are you going to be a pig or are you offering a bite to your brothers?”

“Pigging out. Get your own.”

Pete looked at the checkers set up on a nearby barrel where a couple of kids were playing a game. He glanced at the fire in the fireplace, noting the happy families enjoying a meal out together. Why did their family always have to have so much drama? Nothing was ever simple. He sighed, feeling the weight of his thirty-one years. “For some reason, Sam thinks the ranch might be in trouble.”

“How can it be?” Jonas asked. “Even if it had a thirty-year mortgage, it's been paid off. Mom and Dad bought it right before I was born. Surely Fiona's been making payments properly, and I doubt she's taken any liens. Any work that's ever done on the ranch, we do ourselves. And we pay cash for purchases like horses and feed and equipment. We pay the taxes out of the Callahan general fund.” He speared Sam with a glance. “Why would you think that?”

Sam shook his head. “Just a strange hunch I have.”

“I think she's just ready to get us married off. She's going to fix our lives.” Jonas nodded. “It's preoccupying her these days.”

Pete picked up his tea glass and drank. He looked at the checkers set with longing, wondering for a brief second if either of his brothers would want to play. There was no time, though. Sam was right. In some dim corner of his mind, he, too, had noticed Fiona not quite being Fiona. A little more sharp, perhaps, a bit less cheerful. “Is there a reason we don't ask Fiona to have a discussion with us on the entire business side of the ranch? Not just the buy-sell side and daily operations, which we already know about, but the financial aspect?”

Sam and Jonas looked at him.

“She's never been inclined to do so before,” Jonas said.

“We've never asked. Maybe she doesn't think we're interested,” Pete pointed out.

“Maybe you'd like to be the one to ask her,” Sam said.

“She's going to think we think she's on her deathbed,” Jonas said. “I can just hear her now.”

“All the more reason to know the ranch details in-depth.” Pete was warming to his topic. “Have you ever thought that she's the only person, besides Burke, I guess, who knows everything? What happened to our parents? Why did they settle here? We don't know anything. I was five when Fiona and Burke came. I don't remember much.” He looked inward for a moment. Hell, his first memories were of Fiona making lunch for them, taking them to church, reading to them. Most of his memories of their parents came from the photos Fiona had put in the bunkhouse on the mantel.

Sam and Jonas stared at him, their jaws slightly agape. Pete shifted in his chair. “Well, it's true,” he said, feeling defensive. “She doesn't like to discuss the past. So we've never asked. We've never even pushed her about the old Navajo who shows up on the ranch once a year. Come on. She has us totally cowed.”

Fiona could cow anyone. She could cow the U.S. Marines, the Pope and the Queen of England. Pete swallowed. “In fact, I think Fiona is the one thing on Earth we're all a little bit afraid of.”

“And I don't know why,” Sam said. “She's been a great guardian.”

“But not soft,” Jonas said, “she wasn't a soft guardian. Having eleven brothers made her tough as hell.”

“But maybe,” Pete said, “and I'm going out on a limb here, maybe it's time to get practical. If everybody's worried, and if she's starting to do things like bring in fortune-tellers, maybe it's time to tell her we have questions. She's got answers. We want them.”

Jonas and Sam sat blinking at him like owls. He wished they wouldn't do that.

“Well, you're Mr. Responsibility,” Sam said.

“We elect you as spokesman. We'll back you up,” Jonas said.

Pete looked at the ceiling. This was partially his fault. He'd heard Fiona hiring the fortune-teller to give his brothers some oogie-boogie story to get them to the altar. He hadn't ratted her out because he'd thought it was cute of her, in a devious-little-aunty sort of way. Frankly, he'd thought it was a great joke on his brothers. And now their suspicions were aroused. “I've got enough on my plate worrying about Jackie,” he said, going weasel.

His brothers glanced at each other, then back at him. In the depths of their dark-blue eyes, he saw grave disappointment. He went to defense. “Jonas, you're the oldest, damn it. You beard the lion in its sweet little flowered kitchen.”

Jonas put down his fork, pushed his plate away. “She slapped my hand just for trying to listen to her chest,” he reminded them. “I don't know if I'm in particularly good graces right now. She's still miffed about that.”