Triple Trouble / A Real Live Cowboy: Triple Trouble. Judy Duarte

      “Sure.” Nick stepped off the curb. “Tell Bethany hello from me.”

      “Will do.” Darr headed down the block to his vehicle.

      Nick climbed into his Porsche, the powerful engine turning over with a throaty, muted roar when he twisted the key. The low-slung car had only two seats—room for the driver and one passenger.

      “Too small,” Nick murmured as he backed out of the slot. “I need to get an SUV.” Or a minivan. He shuddered. He didn’t think he could bring himself to drive a minivan—even for the triplets. Minivans were mommy cars. For a guy who loved fast cars and powerful engines, a minivan was a step too far, vehicle-wise.

      He made a mental note to go SUV shopping on his lunch hour tomorrow. Charlene could use it to drive the babies during the week and he’d use it on the weekends if he needed to take the little girls anywhere.

      If anyone had told him two weeks ago that he’d be contemplating buying a vehicle to transport babies, he would have laughed at the sheer insanity of the idea.

      He didn’t do kids. Never had. And kids hadn’t been part of his plans for the future.

      There was some kind of cosmic karma at work here. Nick couldn’t help but wonder what fate planned to hit him with next.

       Chapter Four

      Nick returned to the office, where he forced himself to concentrate on meetings. By the time he reached home that evening, he’d almost convinced himself he’d overreacted that morning.

      Surely he’d overestimated the power of his attraction to Charlene.

      The neighborhood was quiet, the street lamps casting pools of light in the early darkness when he slotted the car into the garage and got out, tapping the panel next to the inner door to close the garage door smoothly behind him. He unlocked the door leading from the garage into the utility room and passed through, stopping abruptly in the open doorway to the kitchen when he saw Charlene. She stood at the stove across the room, her back to him as she poured steaming water from the stainless steel teakettle into a mug. A box of tea sat on the counter next to the cup. Her hair was caught up in a ponytail, leaving her nape bare above a short-sleeved green T-shirt tucked into the waistband of faded jeans. She wore thick black socks and she looked comfortable and relaxed, as if the kitchen were her own.

       Coming home after a long day at work and finding a pretty woman in my kitchen is kind of nice.

      The thought surprised him. He’d never really understood married friends when they insisted that walking into a house that wasn’t empty was one of the great things about being married. He liked his privacy and didn’t mind living alone. In fact, he thoroughly appreciated the solitude of his quiet house after a day spent in meetings.

      But finding Charlene in his kitchen, clearly comfortable and making herself at home, felt good.

      Of course, he thought wryly, maybe I’d feel differently if she was a girlfriend with marriage on her mind and not the nanny. Maybe her employee status erased the natural wariness of a bachelor when confronted with an unmarried, attractive woman puttering in his kitchen.

      Whatever’s going on here, Nick thought, I’m definitely glad to see her

      Before he could say hello, Rufus bounded in from the living room, his nails clicking against the tile floor. Woofing happily, he charged. Nick quickly lowered his leather computer bag to the tile and braced himself. The big dog skidded to a halt, reared onto his back legs, planted his front paws on Nick’s shoulders and tried to lick his face.

      “Hey, stop that.” Nick caught Rufus’s head in his palms and rubbed his ears.

      “Hi.” Charlene looked over her shoulder at him. She set the kettle on the range and carried her mug to the island where a notebook lay open beside her laptop computer. “I thought I heard your car pull into the garage. How was your day?”

      “Busy,” he said, releasing Rufus and bending to pick up his computer bag. The big dog followed Nick to the island and flopped down next to Charlene’s chair. “How was yours?”

      “Busy.”

      He laughed at her dry, one-word response. “Yeah, I bet it was. How did it go with the girls?”

      “Fine.” Charlene spooned sugar into her tea and stirred. “Jackie bonked her chin on a chair rung and has a new little bruise. Jessie smeared oatmeal in her hair and had to have a second bath this morning barely an hour after her first one. And Jenny…” She paused, her eyes narrowing in thought. “Come to think of it, Jenny had a fairly quiet day.”

      “That doesn’t sound possible.”

      “I know,” she laughed. “But she doesn’t seem ill, so I’m happy—but surprised—to report that although I’ve only known them for three days, there’s a possibility that maybe one of them has an uneventful day on occasion.”

      “Well, that’s a relief.”

      “Did you talk to the employment agency today?”

      “Yeah, they might have three candidates for me to interview soon. They’re running background checks and verifying references for each of the women.” Nick turned on the tap and washed his hands, turning to lean against the counter as he dried them. “What did Melissa make for dinner?”

      “Lasagne, french bread and salad—she left a plate for you in the fridge and the bread is in the pantry.” Charlene set down her mug and shifted to stand.

      Nick waved her back. “Stay where you are, I’ll get it.” The stainless steel, double-door refrigerator was only a step away. He located the plate and salad bowl, took a bottle of dressing from the inner-door shelf and let the door swing closed behind him as he walked back to the counter. He peeled the plastic wrap off the lasagne and slid it into the microwave to heat, tapping the timer before closing the door.

      “What do you want to drink?”

      He glanced around to see Charlene at the fridge, glass in hand.

      “Ice water sounds good, thanks.”

      He heard the clink of ice and the splash of water behind him as he walked to the island and pulled out one of the low-backed stools. The microwave pinged just as he finished pouring vinegar and oil dressing on his salad and he returned to the counter, grabbing a knife and fork from the cutlery drawer. Charlene set his glass of water down next to his salad bowl and returned to her seat as he carried his steaming plate back to the island. He sat across from Charlene and folded his shirt cuffs back, loosening and tugging off his tie.

      “Tell me about the triplets,” he said. “How did Melissa survive the day?”

      “She said she’s going to cancel her gym membership. Evidently, lifting and carrying three babies for eight hours is more fun than weight lifting with her trainer.” Charlene laughed. “Seriously, she’s great with them, and they seem to like her as much as she likes them.”

      “I thought they would,” Nick commented. “She’s good with Rufus, and dealing with him seems to be a lot like having a toddler in the house—he makes messes, demands food regularly, requires massive amounts of attention and sometimes wakes me up in the middle of the night.”

      “So, what you’re saying,” Charlene said dryly, arching one eyebrow as she eyed him, “is that three little girls can cause as much havoc as a hundred-and-twenty-five-pound dog?”

      “Pretty much,” Nick agreed, grinning as she shook her head and frowned at him. The effect was ruined by the small smile that tugged her lips upward at the corners. “As a matter of fact, I can pick him up. I doubt I could juggle all three of the girls at the same time.”

      “You could, if you had a baby carrier,” she said promptly.

      “What’s a baby carrier?”