Читать книгу The Triplets' Cowboy Daddy - Patricia Johns - Страница 11

Chapter Two

Easton heard the soft beep of an alarm go off through a fog of sleep, and he blinked his eyes open, glancing at the clock beside him. It was 3 a.m., and it wasn’t his alarm. The sound filtered through the wall from the bedroom next door. He had another hour before he had to be up for chores, and he was about to roll over when he heard the sound of footsteps going down the staircase.

Nora was up—though the babies were silent. It was strange to have her back...to have her here. She’d stayed away, made a life in the city where she had an office job of some sort. She would come back for a weekend home every now and then, but she’d spent her time with friends, cousins, aunts and uncles. Easton didn’t fit into any category—not anymore. He was an employee. He’d worked his shifts, managed the ranch hands and if he got so much as a passing wave from her, he’d be lucky.

Now she was in his home. Her presence seemed to be a constant reminder of his status around here—employee. Even this house—legally his—felt less like his own. There was something about Nora Carpenter that put him right back into his place. For a while he’d been able to forget about his status around here, believe he could be more, but with her back—

He wasn’t going to be able to sleep listening to the soft sounds of a woman moving around the house anyway. He swung his legs over the side of his bed, yawning. The footsteps came back up the narrow staircase again, and he rose to his feet, stretching as he did. He was in a white T-shirt and pajama bottoms, decent enough to see her. He crossed his bedroom and opened the door.

Nora stood in the hallway, three bottles of milk in her hands, and she froze at the sight of him. Her blond hair tumbled over her shoulders, and she stood there in a pair of pajamas—a tank top and pink, pin-striped cotton shorts.

She’s cute.

She always had been, and no matter how distant or uninterested she got, he’d never stopped noticing.

“Sorry,” she whispered. “I was trying to be quiet.”

He hadn’t actually been prepared to see her like this—her milky skin glowing in the dim light from her open bedroom door, her luminous eyes fixed on him apologetically. She was stunning, just as she’d always been, but she was more womanly now—rounder, softer, more sure of herself. They should both be sleeping right now, oblivious to each other. That was safer by far.

“The babies aren’t crying,” he pointed out.

“I’m following the advice of the social worker who gave me the lowdown on caring for triplets. She said to feed them on a schedule. If I wait for them to wake up, we’ll have three crying babies.”

It made sense, actually. He’d never given infant care—let alone infant care for triplets—much thought before. He should leave her to it, go back to bed...maybe go downstairs and start breakfast if he really couldn’t sleep.

“Need a hand?” he asked.

Where had that come from? Childcare wasn’t his domain, and frankly, neither was Nora. He’d been through this before with her—he knew how it went. She batted her eyes in his general direction, he got attached, she waltzed off once her problems were solved, and he was left behind, wrung out. Letting her stay here was help enough. As was picking up the crib for the babies after he brought her to the house. He couldn’t be accused of callous indifference, but he also couldn’t go down that path again.

She smiled at his offer of help. “I wouldn’t turn it down.”

Well, that took care of that. He trailed after her into the bedroom. The crib sat on one side of the room, Nora’s rumpled bed on the other side. A window, cracked open, was between the two, and a cool night breeze curled through the room. The babies lay side by side along the mattress of the crib. Rosie and Riley looked pretty similar to his untrained eye, but he could pick out Bobbie. She was considerably bigger than the other two. But “big” was relative; they were all pretty tiny.

“I was hoping my mom would be able to help me with this stuff,” Nora said as she picked up the first baby and passed her to him along with a bottle. “That’s Rosie,” she added.

She proceeded to pick up the other two and brought them to her unmade bed, where she propped them both up against her pillow. She wiggled the bottle nipples between their lips.

“Time to eat,” she murmured.

The babies started to suck without any further prompting, and Easton looked down at the infant in his arms. He followed Nora’s lead, teasing the bottle into Rosie’s tiny mouth, and she immediately began to drink. It felt oddly satisfying.

“So this is how it’s done,” he said with a soft laugh.

“Apparently,” Nora replied.

They were both silent for a few moments, the only sound babies slurping. He leaned an elbow against the crib, watching the tiny bubbles move up the bottle and turn into froth at the top of the milk. He’d done this with calves on a regular basis, but never with a baby.

“I don’t blame your mom,” Easton said.

“Me, neither,” she replied quietly. “I just didn’t know where else to go. When you feel lost, you find your mom.”

Easton had never had that pleasure. His mom had abandoned them, and his dad...well, his dad could barely keep his own life together, let alone help Easton.

“Sorry...” She winced. “I forgot.”

Yeah, yeah, his pathetic excuse for a family. Poor Easton. He was tired of that—the pity, the charitable thoughts. Be thankful for what you have, because someone else thinks you’re lucky. It was a deep thought for the privileged as they considered how bad they could truly have it, before they breathed a sigh of relief that they still retained their good fortune.

“So why didn’t you come back more often?” Easton asked, changing the subject.

“I was busy.” She shot him a sidelong look. “Why?”

“It just seems to me that two weekends a year isn’t much time with your family.”

“We talked on the phone. What’s it to you?”

He’d struck a nerve there, but she had a point. Who was he to lecture her about family bonds? He didn’t have any of his own that counted for much. Besides, his complaint wasn’t really about how much time she spent with her family. He’d missed her, too. His life kept going in Hope, Montana, and hers had moved on in the wider world. He resented her for that—for forgetting him.

“Mom and I—” Nora sighed. “We locked horns a lot.”

“Yeah...” He hadn’t expected her to open up. “I noticed it, but I never knew what it was about.”

“Everything.” She shook her head. “Politics, religion, current events...you name it, we land on opposite sides of it. When I left for college, it gave me a whole new freedom to be me, without arguing with Mom about it. So I stayed away a lot.”

“Is that why you didn’t tell her about your half sister?” he asked.

He was watching her as she sat on her bed facing the babies, one leg tucked under herself. Bobbie finished her bottle first, and Nora put it down, still feeding Riley with the other hand. She was oddly coordinated as she bottle-fed two infants. Maybe it came from bottle-feeding orphaned farm animals. If you could wrangle a lamb or a calf into taking a bottle, maybe it was a skill like riding a bike.

“I needed to sort it all out in my own head before I told her about it,” Nora said, oblivious to his scrutiny. “It was like anything else. I thought I could have a sister—some semblance of a relationship with her—but I was pretty sure Mom would see that as a betrayal.”

“I get it.”

In fact, he understood both sides of it. It had to be hard for Dina to see her one and only daughter bonding with her late husband’s love child. Yet he could understand Nora’s desire to know her sister. The whole situation was a painful one—the sort of thing that made him mildly grateful for his lack of family coziness. At least he couldn’t be let down any more than he already had been. Rock bottom was safe—there was no farther to fall.

Rosie was almost finished with her bottle, but she’d stopped drinking. He pulled it out of her mouth, leaving a little trail of milk dribbling down her chin.

“Is she done?” Nora asked.

“She stopped drinking.” He held up the bottle.

“Okay. Just burp her, then.”

Burp the baby. Of course. He knew the concept here—he wasn’t a Neanderthal. He lifted Rosie to his shoulder, and she squirmed in her sleep, letting out a soft cry. Great, now he’d done it.

“Just pat her back,” Nora said.

Easton gently tapped Rosie’s back and she burped almost immediately, leaving a warm, wet sensation on his shoulder, dripping down toward his chest. He cranked his head to the side and could just make out the mess.

Nora chuckled. “Sorry.”

Riley had finished her bottle, and Nora reached for Bobbie. It was an odd sort of assembly line as she burped them and he laid them back in the crib. He pulled the white T-shirt off over his head, getting the wet material away from his skin. He wadded up the shirt and gave his shoulder an extra scrub. It was then that he realized he was standing in front of Nora shirtless. Her gaze flickered over his muscular chest, and color rose in her cheeks.

“I’ll just—” He pointed toward the door. He needed to get out of there. He’d fed and burped a baby—mission accomplished. He wasn’t supposed to be hanging out with her, and he definitely wasn’t supposed to be this casual with her, either.

“Okay. Sure—”

Nora’s gaze moved over his torso once more, then she looked away quickly. She was uncomfortable, too. Soiled T-shirt in hand, he headed out of the room. That hadn’t been the plan at all, and he felt stupid for not thinking ahead. Who knew what she thought now—that he was hitting on her, maybe? That couldn’t be further from the truth.

Blast it, he was up now. He might as well go down and make some breakfast. An early start was better than a late one.

* * *

NORA HADN’T EVER seen Easton Ross looking quite so grown-up. And she hadn’t imagined that under that shirt were defined muscles and a deep tan. He had a six-pack—that had been hard to miss—and it left her a little embarrassed, too. A good-looking man might be easy enough to appreciate in a picture or on TV, but when he stood in your bedroom in the moonlight... She laid Bobbie next to Riley and Rosie in the crib and looked down at them for a moment, watching the soft rise and fall of their tiny chests.

It wasn’t because she’d never seen a man without a shirt before. She’d always had a pretty healthy romantic life. But this was Easton—an old buddy, a quiet guy in the background. If he’d looked a little less impressive, she wouldn’t have felt so flustered, but my goodness... When exactly had skinny, shy Easton turned into that?

She was awake now—she’d have to get used to going back to bed after the 3 a.m. feeding, but she could hear the soft clink of dishes downstairs, and she had a feeling that she and Easton needed to clear the air.

Grabbing a robe, Nora pulled it around herself and padded softly down the narrow, steep staircase. She paused at the bottom on a landing that separated the kitchen from the living room. Looking into the kitchen, she could see Easton at the stove, his back to her. He was in jeans and a fresh T-shirt now, his feet bare. The smell of percolating coffee filtered through the kitchen.

“Easton?” She stepped into the kitchen, tugging her robe a little tighter.

He turned, surprised. “Aren’t you going to try to sleep some more?”

“I’m not used to the up and down thing yet. When I get tired enough, I’m sure I will.”

He nodded and turned back to the pan. “You want breakfast?”

“Kind of early,” she said with a small smile.

“Suit yourself.” He dropped several strips of bacon into the pan.

“Look,” she said, pulling out a kitchen chair with a scrape and sitting down. “I think I’m in the way here.”

“Since when?”

“Since I woke you up at 3 a.m.”

“I’ll be fine.” His tone was gruff and not exactly comforting. Was he doing this because she was the boss’s daughter? It had to factor in somewhere.

“This is your home, Easton.”

“You noticed.” He cast her a wry smile then turned around fully, folding his arms across his chest. Yes, she had noticed. She didn’t have to like it, but she was capable of facing facts.

“I should take the babies back to the house with my mom,” she said. “I’m sorry. I hate that my dad left this place to you, but he did. So...”

She was sad about that—angry, even—but it wasn’t Easton’s fault. He could have turned it down, but who would turn down a house? She wouldn’t have, either.

“You don’t need to leave,” he said.

“Oh.” She’d thought he’d jump at any excuse to get her out of his home. If this night had proven anything, it was that this space was very much Easton’s, and that felt awkward. This kitchen, where she remembered making cookies with her great-grandmother, was his kitchen now. She’d imagined she’d find peace here, but she’d been wrong. She shouldn’t be surprised. A lot of her “perfect” memories hadn’t been what she thought.

“You don’t seem comfortable with me here, though,” she countered. “And if I’m bound to make someone feel uncomfortable, it should be my own mother, don’t you think?”

“I don’t have a problem with you staying here,” he replied, turning back to the pan. He flipped the bacon strips with a fork, his voice carrying over the sizzle. “Do you realize that I’ve worked on this land since I was fourteen?”

“Yeah. It’s been a while.”

“That’s sixteen years. And over those years, you and I became friends.”

“I know.”

“Real friends.” He turned back, his dark gaze drilling into hers. “Do you remember when you broke up with Kevin Price? We talked for hours about that. I was there for you. I was there for you for Nathan Anderson, Brian Neville... I was there to listen, to offer advice. I mean, my advice was always the same—pick a better guy—but I was there.”

Easton had been there for her, and she felt a blush rise at the memories. One rainy, soggy autumn day, they’d sat in the hayloft together, talking about a guy who wasn’t treating her right. They’d sat for hours, just talking and talking, and she’d opened up more in that evening than she had with any guy she’d dated. But then her father had found them, ordered Easton back to work and told Nora to get inside. She could still remember the stormy look on her father’s face. He hadn’t liked it—probably assumed more was happening in the hayloft than a conversation.

Nora had talked too much back then. It had just felt so nice to have someone who listened like he did, but she might have led him on a little bit. She was a teenage girl, and her emotional world was vast and deep—in her own opinion, at least. She was mildly embarrassed about that now, but she wasn’t any different than other girls. Easton was just a part-time ranch hand, and a guy. He hadn’t been quite so in touch with his own “vast and deep” emotional life, and maybe he’d been a little in awe of her...maybe he’d nursed a mild crush. But she hadn’t ever considered him as more than a buddy.

“I was an idiot,” she said with a short laugh.

“And then you picked up and left for college, and that was it.”

Well, that sure skipped a lot—like all the college applications, the arguments with her mother about living on campus or off and all the rest of the drama that came with starting a new phase of life. And since when was college a problem?

She frowned. “I went to college. You knew I was going.”

“Thing is,” he said, “you walked away, and life went on. For sixteen years I worked this land, drove the cattle, worked my way up. I’m ranch manager now because I know every job on this ranch and could do it myself if I had to. No one can get one over on me.”

“You’re good at what you do,” she confirmed. “Dad always said so.”

“And when you did come back to visit, you’d wave at me across the yard. That was it.”

Admittedly, their relationship changed over the years. But having him here—that was the awkward part. If they’d just been school friends, then a change in the closeness they shared would have been natural—like the ebb and flow of any relationship. But he’d worked with her father, so unlike her school friends—where some of those old friendships could die a quiet death—she still saw Easton on a regular basis. From a distance, at least. He couldn’t just slide into the past. When she did come home, she only had a few days, and she had to see a lot of people in that time.

“I was busy,” she replied. “Friends and family—”

She heard it as it came out of her mouth. Friends—and she hadn’t meant him. She’d meant people like Kaitlyn Mason, who she’d been close with since kindergarten. She winced. There was no recovering from that one, but it didn’t make it any less true. Easton hadn’t been high enough on her list of priorities when she’d come back.

“Yeah,” he said with a sad smile. “Anyway, I was the worker, you were the daughter. Well, your dad saw fit to give me a little patch of land. I worked for this. I know that your great-grandparents built this house, and I know it means a whole lot to you, but I’m not about to sell it or tear it down. I actually think I might take your dad’s advice.”

“Which was?” she asked.

“To get married, have a few kids.”

That had been her father’s advice to him? Her father’s advice to her had always been “Wait a while. No rush. Get your education and see the world.” The double standard there irritated her, but she couldn’t put her finger on why. Whoever Easton decided to marry and whatever kids they’d have, they’d be no kin of the people who built this house with their own hands. Her family—the Carpenters—had been born here, had died here... Easton might have worked for her father, but he didn’t deserve this house.

“Anyone special in mind?” she asked, trying to force a smile.

“Nope.”

There was no use arguing. The house was his. She couldn’t change it or fight it. Maybe one day she could convince him to sell to her, but that was about as much as she could do.

“If you ever want to sell this house,” she said, “come to me first.”

He nodded. “Deal.”

Easton turned back to the stove and lifted the bacon from the pan with his tongs, letting it drip for a moment in sizzling drops before he transferred it to a plate. She had to admit—it smelled amazing. He grabbed a couple of eggs and cracked them into the pan. Was that it? Was that all she could ask from him—to sell to her if he ever felt like it? Probably, and he didn’t look like he was about to back down, either.

He’d had a point, though. He’d spent more time with her dad than she had...he’d know things.

“Did you know about the other woman?” Nora asked.

He grabbed a couple thick slices of bread, dumped the bacon onto one of them, added 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?