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

he said, nodding. “Remind me to get one of those. Then, if either of us ever has to take all three of the girls somewhere alone, we won’t risk dropping one of them.”

      “That sounds like an excellent plan,” Charlene agreed. “I met your neighbor LouAnn today.”

      “Did you?” Nick grinned and lifted an eyebrow. “What did you think of her?”

      “She’s a very interesting woman.”

      He laughed outright. “Got that right. She’s a character. I hope I have that much energy when I’m seventy-something.”

      “Me too,” Charlene agreed, smiling as she remembered LouAnn playing on the floor with the triplets. “She’s wonderful with the babies. I’m not sure who had more fun playing peekaboo, her or the girls.”

      Nick chuckled, the sound sending shivers of awareness through Charlene’s midsection. As he ate, they discussed the wisdom of keeping all three girls in the same bedroom.

      Charlene sipped her tea, staring with fascination as Nick tipped his head back slightly and drank from the water glass. He’d unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt when he removed his tie earlier, and the strong, tanned muscles of his throat moved rhythmically as he swallowed. There was something oddly intimate about sitting in the cozy kitchen with him as he ate and they discussed his children.

      “…What do you think?”

      “Hmm?” She realized with a start that he’d been speaking while she’d stared at him, mesmerized, and felt embarrassed heat flood her cheeks. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that. What do I think about…?”

      His expression was quizzical. She suspected he noticed her pink cheeks, but she was determined not to become flustered. So she met his gaze with what she hoped was a serene look.

      “I asked if you thought it was a good idea to give the girls a week or so together before we decide if they need to sleep in separate bedrooms.”

      “I think it makes sense to see whether they continue to wake each other, as they did last night.” Charlene didn’t want to remember the intimacy of the babies’ darkened bedroom and the mental image of Nick wearing navy boxers and nothing else. Resolutely, she focused on the other bedrooms she’d seen during the tour of the house Melissa had given her that afternoon. “There’s certainly plenty of room if you decide to have them sleep apart. Do you know if their parents had their cribs in separate bedrooms or if they all slept in the same room?”

      Nick paused, his expression arrested. “The foster mother had the beds in two small bedrooms but I never thought to ask what the arrangements were at Stan and Amy’s.” He put down his fork with a thunk. “I should have asked,” he said with disgust. “It never even occurred to me.”

      “If you have a phone number, I can try to reach her tomorrow,” Charlene offered, touched by the sheer frustration on his face as he thrust his fingers through his hair and raked it back off his forehead.

      “I’d appreciate that. I have her contact information in my desk in the den. Remind me to look it up before I leave for the office in the morning, will you?”

      “Of course.” Charlene sipped her tea and considered what she knew about the triplets’ situation while Nick ate the last few bites of his lasagne. “Did the attorney have any estimate as to how long it might take to locate the babies’ aunt?”

      “No.” Nick rose to carry his empty china and dirty cutlery to the sink. He turned on the tap. “He asked me to let him know if I remembered anything Stan or Amy may have said that would help find her. So far, all I’ve come up with is going through the photographs.”

      “Photographs? Does the investigator need a picture?”

      “No, he has one.” Nick slotted his rinsed dishes and utensils into the rack of the dishwasher and closed the door. “But Amy loved taking photographs—so did Stan—and Amy almost always jotted little notes on the back of the pictures. I’m sure some of the holiday photos they sent included her sister. I’m hoping there might be something in one of Amy’s notes that will help locate Lana.”

      “That’s a great idea,” Charlene said, encouraged at the possibility of finding a clue.

      “I hope it’s a productive one, but who knows whether I’ll learn anything new.” He shrugged. “Still, it’s one place we haven’t looked yet, and given how little information the investigator has, any small piece might make a difference. When I moved in, I shoved the photo boxes into the back of a closet upstairs. I thought I’d bring one downstairs tomorrow night and start looking.”

      “I’d be glad to help you search through them,” she offered.

      “Thanks, but I should warn you, I’ve never organized the pictures. All the photos I have are tossed in a couple of boxes, and the ones from Stan and Amy are mixed in with all the rest. There might be hundreds of pictures to look at. My mom divided family photos a few years ago and gave me a carton full.”

      “I’ll still volunteer,” she said. “Did the attorney search the triplets’ house for an address book? I keep a notebook with family and friends’ addresses and phone numbers in a drawer by the phone. And in a computer file too,” she added as an afterthought.

      “Sanchez and the investigator both checked Amy’s home computer but didn’t find anything helpful. They also looked for an address book at the house,” Nick said. “They didn’t find one. Whether she carried one with her is unknown because they didn’t find her purse at the accident scene. They’re assuming it was probably lost or destroyed, if she even had it with her.”

      “What about old letters from her sister? Didn’t Amy keep correspondence?”

      “Yes, but the last letter Amy received from Lana was several months ago—just after Thanksgiving. The investigator tried contacting her using the phone number at that residence, but she’s no longer living there. The landlord didn’t have any forwarding information.”

      “So, what will he do now? Surely she just didn’t disappear?”

      “I’m guessing the agency will send someone to Africa to interview the landlord in person, talk to her former employer, et cetera. It’s hard to investigate someone’s whereabouts from halfway around the world—on another continent,” Nick said grimly.

      “Yes, I’m sure it is. Who knew it could be so difficult to locate someone?” she murmured. “This is a real wake-up call for me. I should think about what personal files and paperwork to organize in the remote chance I might suddenly disappear. I’ve never given any thought to the subject before now.”

      “Most people don’t,” Nick said, a slightly gravelly edge to his deep voice.

      “Of course,” she agreed, her tone softening. “It must have been a shock to get that phone call. Had you known each other a long time?”

      “Since college.” Nick’s expression shuttered.

      Charlene sensed his withdrawal. His expression didn’t invite further questions. Without further comment, she logged off her computer and closed it before picking up her mug and walking to the sink.

      “It’s late. I think I’ll try to get some rest while the triplets are all asleep.”

      “Not a bad idea.” Nick yawned. “I need to let Rufus outside before I come up.”

      “Good night.”

      He murmured a response and Charlene left the room. She heard the click of a latch behind her and paused, glancing back. Nick was turned away from her as he held the door open for Rufus. The big dog trotted through and Nick followed, his tall frame silhouetted against the darkness by the kitchen light spilling through the open door.

      She was struck by how very alone he looked, standing in the shaft of golden light, facing the black night, before she turned away and climbed the stairs.

      He’s