The Cowboy's Triplets (2 page)

Creed, Rafe, Judah and Sam all crossed their arms, gazing with interest at the fortune-teller. They seemed very interested in the tale she was about to spin. Pete would have to keep a close eye on Fiona since no one else seemed inclined to play protector to their giddy aunt.

The next thing Pete knew, Jonas was lying on the
floor staring up at the wood-beamed ceiling. Madame Vivant stood over him, staring down at his brother. Jonas said, “My lucky, lucky eyes,” and Pete wondered if Jonas had hit his head on the way down. Pete was getting really nervous. He glanced at Fiona to see if she was worried about the effects of her Secret Plan, but she seemed more interested in the warm drink Burke was handing her.

“What happened?” Jonas asked as Madame Vivant moved to help him up.

“You fainted,” she told him.

Jonas raised a disbelieving brow that made Pete proud. For a moment he'd feared his older brother was going to drown in a pool of misplaced desire.

“I'm a doctor, and a damn good one. I think I'd know if I'd fainted.”

“You fainted, bro,” Rafe said. “Went down like a sack of hammers.”

“Made a real funky sound when you fell, too,” Aunt Fiona said. “When you were just a little thing, I used to ask you if you'd stepped on a frog when you made that noise, Jonas. Brings back memories—”

“That's enough.” Jonas stared at the petite redhead. “You did something to me.”

“You don't believe in spells,” she replied. “A doctor wouldn't believe in such things, would you?” She took his hand in her much smaller one and helped him to his feet with a surprisingly strong yank.

“I felt fine before you walked in,” Jonas replied, his voice crabby, and Pete relaxed. Jonas had obviously recovered his good sense when he fell out of his chair, or whatever the hell he'd just done.
We're all working too hard. Or we've had too much Christmas vacation with the holiday-loving aunt.

“Can we get on with this?” Aunt Fiona asked, her
tone impatient. “Madame Vivant can't stay long. The carnival's train moves on tonight.”

“After she's stolen the family heirlooms,” Pete muttered.

“We don't have any of those,” Sam said. “Bro, sit over here so I can keep an eye on you. You're making an ass of yourself.”

This was tough coming from the baby. He'd changed that boy's diapers! Pete felt tired suddenly, and not soothed by the brandy Burke pressed on him.

“Your aunt asked me here to interpret—explain—the dream she had while in my tent,” Madame Vivant said. “Your family home is in jeopardy.”

Pete rolled his eyes. He couldn't help it. He knew he was being churlish, and a thirty-one-year-old man shouldn't be. Of course the family home was in danger. The culprit was sitting next to his aunt on her velvet footstool. Why couldn't anyone but him see this?

His brothers were mesmerized. They leaned forward like schoolboys, hanging on every word that dropped from Madame Vivant's sweet ruby lips. Even Jonas went back to being spellbound, looking as if he might jump into her lap any second. Pete just glared at her. “In danger from what?” he demanded. “Or whom?”

As if he didn't know.

“That has not been revealed to me,” the fortune-teller replied, her voice soft.

He shook his head. “And so we're all supposed to get married, and have a child—”

“That's your aunt's solution,” the gypsy said.

“Look,” Pete said, tired of the conversation. He and his brothers had work to do on the ranch. He didn't want to leave this woman here to prey on his innocent aunt's fears. She loved Rancho Diablo with all her heart. She'd
kept it running after their mother and father had died, had raised all of them to manhood. He was always up for a joke on his hammerheaded brothers, but Aunt Fiona's scheme was getting out of hand.

Suddenly, Jonas spoke. “I'm not going to allow you to continue this charade until you tell me your real name. This Madame Vivant crap is for beginners, and I am no easy mark. I want your name in case I have to have the law hunt you down.”

Her eyes widened.

“Jonas!” Fiona leaned forward. “I'm going to ask you to leave if you insist upon being a pest.”

Jonas refused to release the gypsy's gaze. Something was definitely happening to his normally uptight brother.

“My name,” she finally said, “is Sabrina McKinley.”

“Your real name? Or one of many aliases? I've got a good mind to call the cops right now,” Jonas stated, and Pete was pretty certain his brother meant it. Jonas seemed to be fluctuating between protecting their aunt and rampant sexual desire, and if he wasn't so worried, Pete might have enjoyed the drama.

“It's my real name.” She stared back at Jonas, unafraid of his growing ire. “I might remind you that I don't know any of you. I came alone, knowing there would be six men and only a frail elderly woman here—”

Pete expected his aunt to utter a loud “ha!” but she only sighed and pulled an afghan around her shoulders.

“You've convinced her she's ill,” Jonas said, outraged. “She was fine last I saw her. You've toyed with her mind, made her think she's dying—”

Madame Vivant—Sabrina—shook her head. “I have no dark powers.”

“Hypnotism isn't a dark art?”

She gasped. “How dare you?”

“Let her finish, Jonas,” Rafe said, interrupting the two verbal combatants. “She's not going to hurt anybody by saying whatever she wants to say.”

“I'm going to do this,” Fiona said, “in fact, I've already changed my will. Regardless of what misguided thoughts you have about my mental state, the time has come for me to make a decision about Rancho Diablo.” She looked around at all of her nephews. “Which of you truly feels a special connection to Rancho Diablo? Would want it to be yours? You, Jonas, are the eldest,” Fiona said, “and marriage might suit you.”

“And you have a bid on a ranch sixty miles to the east,” Sabrina said. “You've been thinking about having your
own
working ranch.”

Pete supposed she expected them to be amazed that she knew this bit of information, as if they were in the presence of a mystical mind-reader. Pete
was
surprised his brother was thinking about owning a ranch in New Mexico, since he had a successful surgical practice in Dallas, Texas. Fiona must have told Sabrina.

“Sorry, I don't feel like cooperating,” Jonas said, sounding more in control of his faculties, to Pete's relief. “I'm not getting married, having a baby or playing hoodwink-the-gentle-aunt.”

“Nevertheless, you will be considered, Jonas,” Fiona said, her tone firm. “Should you marry and produce multiple heirs, you will be considered for Rancho Diablo.”

“Multiple heirs?” Creed asked.

“Naturally,” Fiona said. “Whichever of you has the
largest
family should inherit the property, which makes sense on several levels. That's what Madame Vivant suggested, and I think it's an excellent plan to ensure that none of you try to hire a woman with a child to fool me
or my executor.” She shot Jonas a stern look. “It's not like my own kin doesn't know a little something about hoodwinking the gentle aunt.”

Pete silently conceded Fiona's point. Over the years they had done their best to pull the wool over the bright aunty eyes, with varying degrees of success. She'd grown up on a farm in Ireland with eleven brothers, so she knew a lot about what boys—men—could get into. It had been like living with a kindly old jailer.

Still, they'd done their best—and had occasionally succeeded.

“Now, I don't expect any of this to happen overnight,” Aunt Fiona continued. “In fact, given the nature of your extreme bachelorhoods, it could be
years
before any of you settle down. Therefore, I have set forth these plans with an executor in an airtight will and testament.
Airtight.
”

Pete rose to his feet. “Jonas, you get the job of trying to talk sense into our beloved aunt.”

Jonas smiled a lazy come-and-get-it smile at the gypsy. “I'm not so certain Aunt Fiona's plan doesn't have some merit. I'm not totally opposed to settling down.”

Pete had expected all five of his brothers to follow him out the door in a cavalcade of loyalty and righteous indignation. But to a man, they wouldn't look at him.

He was outnumbered, voted down. Aunt Fiona's Secret Plan was surely succeeding beyond her wildest dreams.

“Fine. I'm going to check on the horses. Then I'm bedding down. None of you, and that includes you, Jonas,” he said, sweeping a hand toward his brothers, “come crying to me when you find yourselves ensnared by Mata Hari here.”

By that moniker he meant their aunt as well—she was
such a bad storyteller—but Sabrina looked at Jonas with big, sexy, fake-concerned eyes.
Oh, boy,
Pete thought.
That's danger dressed in a sweet tight top all right. Jonas is a marked man.

He decided it would be fun to watch Jonas fall like a granite boulder for a woman. Pete grinned, suddenly feeling no guilt at all.

Jonas stood, catching Pete by surprise. “Well, I'm out like a trout,” Jonas said. “It was a pleasure meeting you,” he told Madame Vivant.

“You can't leave,” Pete said, “The fun's just beginning.”

“I've got patients,” Jonas reminded him. “Got to catch a plane back to Dallas. Pete, I leave tonight's discussion and everything that follows in your more-than-capable hands.”

“Oh, hell, no,” Pete said. “Don't you leave me holding the bag, Jonas.”

“Sorry. Duty calls.”

“Duty?” Pete realized Jonas was really leaving. This was bad for Fiona's trap. Pete didn't want her trap slamming shut on
him.
“Jonas, we have a problem here.”

“No worries,” Jonas said, kissing their aunt goodbye. “You'll take care of everything, Pete.” He departed as though he hadn't spent the past half hour ogling the gypsy like a tomcat eyeing a nice, juicy mouse.

Pete glanced at his aunt, wondering if Jonas's exit blew up her plan, but she was staring at him as though she expected him to do something, and Pete sighed.

It was hell being Mr. Responsibility.

Pete hadn't exactly meant to tell Jonas to blow it out his ass, but when his older brother pulled a fast escape, leaving him in charge of a room full of lunatics, Pete wondered if he'd yanked Jonas's chain a bit hard. He hadn't seen his brother's gaze light on a woman like it had lit on Madame Vivant in…well, since Nancy had left him at the altar five years ago.

Madame Vivant—Sabrina McKinley—wasn't a woman who had accosted their tender aunt with a wild story to prey on her feebleness. Pete had taken Fiona and her blue-rinsed friends to the fair. He'd happened to be standing outside the tent when Fiona and her three co-conspirators had hatched the plan with Sabrina. Hatched and hired, while he'd listened through the walls of the tent. He'd tried hard not to laugh. It wasn't such a bad plan. And he would never give away Fiona's Secret. His brothers had this one coming to them. If there had ever been a group of guys who needed to be thinking about their futures a bit more, it was probably the Callahan brothers.

Himself excluded, of course. He could just sit back and watch the fun as his brothers scrambled to win the ranch.

He eyed the door through which Jonas had departed.
Their more surly, tightly controlled brother wouldn't be able to stand the suspense. He'd be back, unable to keep himself from interfering. Jonas loved Fiona. The doctor in him wouldn't be able to stand the thought that he hadn't given her a decent evaluation. He'd think
strong pulse, lungs clear, heart rate excellent,
but all the while Jonas would be worrying like crazy. That was part of Fiona's MO, tugging on just the right heartstrings.

Pete leaned back, winked at Madame Vivant, and grinned. This would be great entertainment during January, a traditionally long, cold month on the ranch.

“Get your popcorn,” he told Sabrina.

“I beg your pardon?” She glanced back at the door through which Jonas had exited.

Pete smiled. “He's a bit of a hothead.”

She raised her chin and turned to Fiona. “I must be going, Miss Callahan.”

Four brothers jumped up to walk her to the door. “Stay,” Sabrina said. “I don't need to be walked to my car.”

“Goodbye!” Fiona got up and made her way to the door, gently pushing her nephews out of her way. “Thank you so much for coming out. Good luck at your next stops!
Adh mór ort!
”

Sabrina went out with a jingle of bells and reluctant sighs from his brothers.

“You shouldn't listen to people like that, Aunt Fiona,” Creed said. “Cute as she is, that fortune-teller doesn't know any more than the weatherman about what lies in the weeks ahead.”

“That's right,” Judah said. “We're going to take good care of you.”

“Always,” Rafe said.

And Sam said, “You better believe it.”

Fiona blinked. “I don't want you boys looking after me. I want you looking for wives!”

Pete chuckled, deciding to give Fiona's plan a boost. “Wouldn't hurt to have some pretty ladies around this place.”

Creed glared at him with indignation. “Women cause nothing but trouble.”

“That's true,” Judah said. “Did you ever see a more miserable man than Jonas when Nancy ran off?”

Rafe shook his head. “It would take more than a woman to get me to the altar. I love this ranch, Aunt Fiona, but damn, I'm not putting my neck in a noose to get it.”

Sam shrugged. “I'm afraid I agree with them, Aunt. A woman just isn't worth all the heartache.”

Fiona's jaw dropped. Pete almost felt sorry for her.

“Do you mean you intend
never
to marry? None of you?” she demanded.

Four brothers shook their heads.

“I've got plenty to do around here,” Creed said. “No woman wants to be abandoned for the life of a cowboy.”

“They all want to play
Desperate Housewives
these days,” Rafe said. “High maintenance is not for me.”

“But surely there are women out there, women from this very town, who are of stock that can appreciate this way of life?” Fiona said.

“Aunt,” Judah said, his voice gentle, “we live two hundred miles from the nearest city. We live on five thousand acres of dirt. There are no malls, no restaurants—”

“There's Banger's Bait and Tackle,” Fiona said. “They serve a mean catfish. Not to mention Mr. Sooner has been grilling burgers in his backyard for the last twenty-
five years, and they're the best I've ever put in my mouth. You can't get a finer burger!”

Sam rearranged the wool afghan around his aunt's shoulders. “Don't worry,” he said, kissing her cheek. “You and Burke can live here as long as you want. We'll work the ranch, the way we always have. We just don't want you getting so upset.”

Fiona blinked, then looked at Pete. “You're awfully quiet, nephew.”

He didn't know what to say. Truth was, he'd had his eye on a gal for quite some time, in fact, for the past fifteen or so years. But Jackie Samuels was less inclined to settle down than he was. She'd said a hundred times that what was between them—
their big secret
—was all she wanted. He couldn't figure that out. Wasn't a girl supposed to want to drag a man to the altar? Wasn't that part of the fun? She did the chasing, and he did the complaining, while she enticed him to the state of wedded bliss?

When Pete had asked her that, Jackie had shot back, “Why should I buy the steer when I can get the steak for free?” It was a question he hadn't considered before.

Pete went to stare out the window. Darkness had fallen so that all was visible was a wide range of inky nothing. They needed to put spotlights up in the trees around the ranch, and maybe some lamps on the fences. That reminded him—Jackie had a window or two at her tiny cottage he'd noticed needed repairing as well.

“I'm going out for a while,” Pete announced. He felt sorry for Fiona because her Secret Plan had blown up on her, after she'd gone to the trouble of hiring an actress to help spin her diabolical and amusing web. Pete felt more sorry for himself, though, because he didn't stand a chance with the woman he loved.

 

J
ACKIE
S
AMUELS HAD NURSED
enough grumpy patients in her life to develop a fairly thick skin, but Mr. Dearborn was about to make a dent in her good temper.

“I don't want to take any medicine,” Mr. Dearborn said.

Jackie said, “Doctor's orders, Mr. Dearborn. You need to take this antibiotic, and then I'm going to give you a pneumonia shot. It's important to keep you well this winter so you don't have to come back.” She handed him a glass of water.

Recognizing the take-no-prisoners tone of her voice, Mr. Dearborn took the medicine, then bared an arm for the injection.

“All done. Didn't hurt a bit, did it?”

“No,” Mr. Dearborn said, “but I'd rather you quit bothering me.”

“And you'd rather not be in this hospital.” She covered him with a warm blanket and gave him a smile. “Try to get some rest before I bring you a small treat.”

His face lit up. “Chocolate?”

“Yes.” She placed a hand on his wrist, taking a pulse while he was thinking about his treat. “But you have to stop complaining every time I bring you your medicine. Please.”

He wrinkled his nose, his white brows beetling. “You realize that when I complain, you bring me chocolate.”

She sighed and took her clipboard from the table. “Yes, I do, Mr. Dearborn. I'll be back later.”

She left his room and returned to the nurses' station. “Why do men have to play games?” she asked Darla Cameron.

“It's in their DNA,” Darla answered. She looked at Jackie, her bright-blue gaze excited. “You're never going
to believe it, but Candy Diamond has decided to sell her wedding-gown business.”

Jackie blinked. “Isn't that bad? Diamond's Bridal is the only place to shop for gowns and nice dresses for two hundred miles.”

“It might be bad,” Darla said, “except you and I are going to buy the business.”

Jackie shook her head. “I want no part of wedding gowns and nervous brides. I get enough complaining around here as it is.”

Darla flopped some papers down in front of her. “And yet, check out the income from Candy's business.”

Jackie stared at Darla for a moment, realizing her friend was serious. Her gaze moved to the column of figures and the paperwork Darla was tapping with a graceful finger. “Why is she selling if her business is so lucrative?”

“Needs to retire. And so do we,” Darla told her. “Think of it, Jackie. No more bossy doctors. No more grumpy patients. We'd be our own bosses.”

Jackie thought about Mr. Dearborn, one of her favorite patients. She liked caring for people. Sometimes the hours were long, but she was single. There was no one to inconvenience in her life. No family counting on her.

No husband, either. Pete Callahan, the secret love of her life, didn't care when she worked. Pete was the only man she'd ever made love with. He would marry her in a flash, he always told her—not that she believed him. He was an inveterate footloose cowboy, an enigmatic Prince Charming who claimed he was in it for the real kiss, only to drift off at the last second.

This bridal shop might be the closest she ever got to
being a bride. “I don't know,” Jackie said. “What do we know about running a business?”

“My mom runs the Books 'n' Bingo,” Darla said. “I've learned a bit about managing a mom-and-pop shop.”

“But brides,” Jackie said, thinking about all the drama involved with weddings, “there's a reason they're called bridezillas.”

Darla shrugged. “It'd be nice to do something new for a change. I wouldn't mind smelling gardenias and lilies instead of antiseptic and other things. Not that I don't love most of my patients,” Darla said, “but I'm ready for a new challenge.”

“I guess you're right.” Jackie looked at the line of figures again, her heart beginning to race with some excitement and a little trepidation. “Let me think about it tonight, okay? I need to come up with all the reasons I can why this is a very bad idea.”

“I'd let your name be first on the door,” Darla said.

Jackie blinked. “Samuels and Cameron's Bridal Shop? I think we'd be better off with something else.”

Darla smiled. “Or Callahan,” she suggested. “Callahan and Cameron.”

“No.” Jackie grabbed a wrapped piece of chocolate from her purse to take to Mr. Dearborn. “Even if I go into the wedding-gown business with you, Darla, I guarantee none of those gowns will ever be on my body.” She only loved Pete, and the fact was, Pete only loved Rancho Diablo. He teased her about marriage, but both of them knew that he wasn't serious. Underneath it all, Pete was happy with their noncommitted-committed relationship. They kept quiet about it, they met in absolute secrecy, keeping the town busybodies from planning their wedding and naming their future children—and after all these years, she couldn't change the game. She
had nothing to offer him in the way of family, if he wanted that, and surely he did.

They'd never talked about it. But even Pete had to notice, with his penchant for making love “bareback” as he put it, that a pregnancy had never arisen. There'd never even been a false alarm. It wasn't that she was taking unnecessary chances; she was over thirty. She would have been thrilled to become pregnant. Even just making love on Saturday nights should have produced a bingo at some point.

She was infertile.

“Maybe once Pete sees you around all those beautiful white gowns, he'll pop the question,” Darla said.

“I don't think I can get pregnant,” Jackie said, “and I'm pretty sure he would want a big family like his own.”

Darla stared at her. “Aren't you on the pill?” she asked in a whisper.

Jackie shook her head. “I rarely have a cycle. In all my life, I've probably had ten.”

Darla thought about that for a minute. “Maybe Pete's been fixed. Or maybe he has a problem.”

Jackie laughed. “He has problems, but I don't think fathering a baby would be one.”

“Some men have low sperm counts.”

“Maybe.” Pete was pretty virile, though. Jackie wouldn't bank on him having a problem.

“Well, anyway. Think about the bridal shop. We'll worry about getting Pete Callahan to the altar later. I'm sure we can spring a proper trap if we put our heads together.” Darla went off, whistling, to check her patients.

“That's not what I meant!” Jackie called after her. Darla waved a backward hand at her and kept going.
But it was true. Jackie wasn't ever going to marry Pete. She knew it just as certainly as she knew the stars were going to shine in the dark New Mexico skies tonight. If she could get pregnant—maybe. But a family man would want a family, and so far, she wasn't a baby-mama kind of girl.

I'd love Pete's babies.

Short of magic, it wasn't likely.

 

“D
ON'T WORRY SO MUCH
,” Pete said as he climbed back through the bedroom window of Jackie's small house. “If you're going to jump around like that, I'm going to nail my finger. Then you'll have to nurse me.”

Since there was nothing sexier than Jackie in her nurse's uniform, he really wouldn't mind her taking very good care of him. But she didn't laugh, the way she usually did. She watched him fit the frame a second more, then she left the room. He made sure it slid shut without a whisper, then followed her into the kitchen.

“Coffee?” she asked, avoiding his hands when he reached to grab her.

“Just you,” he said, “as usual.”

“Pete,” Jackie said, “I think I'll go to bed early.”

He looked at her, admiring her dark hair, darker eyes. She had springy little buns and an energy he loved, and he couldn't wait to get her in the sack. Why else did a man fix a woman's windows when they warped from drifting snow? He couldn't wait to run his hands over that perky butt. She had a back that curved just right into his body, and a—