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

      “I’ll bring up the bag with their food before the rest of the luggage. Anything else you need right away?”

      “If you could bring up the diaper bag too, that would be great.”

      He nodded and left the room.

      “Well, girls, let’s see what we can do to make you comfortable.” Charlene laughed when Jessie blew a raspberry before smiling beatifically. “Are you going to be the class clown?” she teased.

      Jessie gurgled and tipped sideways before righting herself and reaching for Jackie’s bear.

      “Oh no you don’t, kiddo.” Charlene made sure each little girl had their own stuffed animal before calling the front desk. The clerk assured her he would arrange to have three high chairs from the restaurant sent to the room immediately. He also confirmed that Nick had requested three cribs during check-in and that someone would be delivering and setting them up within a half hour.

      Satisfied that arrangements were under way, Charlene barely had time to replace the phone in its cradle before Nick returned with the box containing baby paraphernalia and two bags.

      For the next two hours, neither she nor Nick had a moment to draw a deep breath. The high chairs were delivered while he was bringing in the luggage. Later, Charlene and Nick spooned food into little mouths, wiped chins and sticky fingers and tried to keep strained carrots from staining their own clothes.

      Neither of them wanted to tackle eating dinner in the restaurant downstairs while accompanied by the triplets, so they ordered in. Nick insisted Charlene eat first, and she hurried to chew bites of surprisingly good pasta and chicken while he lay on the carpet, rolling rubber balls to the triplets. By the time Charlene’s plate was empty, all three babies were yawning and rubbing their eyes.

      The two adults switched places—Nick taking Charlene’s chair to eat his steak, Jessie perched on his knee while Jackie played on the floor at his feet. Charlene toted Jenny into the bathroom and popped her into the tub to scrub the smears of strained plums and carrots from her face and out of her hair.

      By the time she had Jenny dried, freshly diapered and tucked into footed white pajamas patterned with little brown monkeys, Nick had finished eating.

      “Hey, look at you,” he said to Jenny. “What happened to the purple-and-orange face paint?”

      Charlene laughed. “She even had it in her hair.”

      “I think they all do.” Nick rubbed his hand over Jessie’s black curls and grimaced. “Definitely sticky.”

      “I’m guessing that’s the strained plums,” Charlene said. She handed Jenny to him and lifted Jessie into her arms. “Will you watch her and Jackie while I put Jessie in the tub?”

      “Sure—but I can bathe her if you’d like a break. I’m sure I can manage.”

      “No, I’m fine. Besides,” she perched Jessie on her hip and started unbuttoning and unsnapping the baby’s pants and knit shirt, “I’m already wet from being splashed by Jenny. One of us might as well stay dry.”

      Nicholas wished she hadn’t pointed out that she’d been splashed with bathwater. He’d noticed the wet spots on her T-shirt and the way the damp cotton clung to her curves in interesting places. He was trying damned hard to ignore his body’s reaction—and he was losing the battle.

      “Uh, yeah. Okay, then. I’ll keep these two occupied out here.” He perched Jenny on his lap and she settled against him, her lashes half-lowered, apparently content to sit quietly. Nick bent his head, breathing in the scent of baby shampoo from her damp curls.

      Something about the baby’s warm weight resting trustingly in his arms and the smell of clean soap touched off an onslaught of unexpected emotion, followed quickly by a slam of grief that caught him off guard. The sound of splashing and gurgles from the bathroom, accompanied by Charlene’s murmured reply, only heightened the pain in Nick’s chest.

       Stan and Amy must have fed and bathed the girls every night. Stan probably held Jenny just like this.

      How was it possible that Stan and Amy were gone—and their children left alone? In what universe did any of this make sense?

      It didn’t—none of it, he thought. His arms tightened protectively around the baby.

      He was the last person on earth who should be responsible for these kids; but since he was, he’d make damn sure they were cared for—and safe. As safe as he could make them.

       Which means I have to rearrange my life.

      He was a man who’d avoided the responsibilities of a wife and family until now. He enjoyed the freedom of being single and hadn’t planned to change his status anytime soon; but now that surrogate fatherhood had been thrust on him, he would make the most of it.

      While Charlene bathed Jessie and Jackie, Nick considered his schedule at work and the logistics of fitting three babies and a nanny into his house and life.

      He was still considering the thorny subject when the triplets were asleep in their cribs and he had said good-night to Charlene before disappearing into the far bedroom. He lay awake, staring at the ceiling above his own bed while he formulated a plan.

      He’d just drifted off to sleep when one of the babies cried. By the time he staggered into the room next door, all three of them were awake and crying. Charlene stood at one of the cribs, lifting the sobbing little girl into her arms.

      “I’ll take Jessie into your room to change her diaper and try to get her back to sleep. I think she’s running a bit of a fever—probably because of the ear infection. Can you deal with the other two?”

      “Sure,” Nick mumbled. Charlene disappeared into her room. He patted the nearest baby on the back but she only cried louder. “Damn,” he muttered. “Now what do I do?”

      He picked her up and she burrowed her face into his shoulder, her wails undiminished. Feeling totally clueless, Nick jiggled her up and down, but the sobbing continued unabated. Willing to try anything, he grabbed her abandoned blanket from the crib mattress and handed it to her. She snatched it and clutched it in one hand, sucking on her thumb. She still cried but the sound diminished because her mouth was closed.

      Which left him with the baby still standing in her crib, tears streaming down her face, her cries deafening.

      Nick’s head began to pound. He leaned over and snagged the abandoned blanket, caught the little girl with one arm and lifted her to a seat on his hip. Then he lowered the two onto the empty bed, his back against the headboard. He managed to juggle both babies until he could cradle each of them against his chest, their security blankets clutched tightly in their hands. The first baby he’d picked up was crying with less volume, but the second one still made enough noise to wake the dead.

      Vaguely remembering a comment his mother had made about singing her boys to sleep when they were little, Nick sang the only tune that came to mind. Bob Seger may not have intended his classic, “Rock And Roll Never Forgets” as a lullaby, but the lyrics seemed to strike a chord with the babies.

      The loud sobs slowly abated. Nick felt the solid little bodies relax and gradually sink against his own. When the girls were limp and no longer crying, he tilted his head back to peer cautiously at them.

      They were sound asleep.

      Thank God. He eyed the cribs, trying to figure out how to lower each of the babies into their bed without waking one or both of them.

      He drew a blank.

      “Aw, hell,” he muttered. He managed to shift one of the little girls onto the bed beside him before sliding lower in the bed until he lay flat. Then he grabbed a pillow, shoved it under his head and pulled the spread up over his legs and hips. “If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.”

      The sheets were still warm from Charlene’s body, and the scent of her perfume clung to the pillow, teasing his nostrils.