Lone Star Daddy. Cathy Gillen Thacker

drawn an airplane in the clouds. Sophia had colored her version of a fairy princess. Scarlet had drawn the pet dog she one day hoped to have. They had all printed their names on the bottom, just as they had learned to do in their Montessori preschool.

      Clint studied the awkward-looking letters beneath the heartfelt drawings and the earnest expressions on the children’s upturned faces. “Well, thank you, kids,” he said, his voice suddenly sounding a little rusty.

      “You’re welcome,” the triplets said happily in unison, relieved to have gotten themselves out of trouble. Again.

      Rose glanced at her watch. “It’s almost time for baths, but you have ten minutes, if you want to go outside and play on the swing set.”

      “Okay, Mommy!” With yells of delight, they raced off.

      The adults exchanged glances rife with even more questions. Not about to have another inquiry start, Rose took the handsome cowboy by the elbow. She half expected him to resist her direction. Instead, he leaned into her touch, much the same way he had when he’d been kissing her.

      A tingle went through her palm. Another welled in her middle. Ignoring both, Rose lifted her chin stubbornly. “Clint was just leaving...” she said.

      Her sisters looked contrite.

      “Listen, we had no idea the two of you were dating,” Lily said quickly, running a hand through her honey-blond hair. “Otherwise we wouldn’t have just barged in.”

      “That’s for sure. And he’s a lot better than some of the other duds you have spent time with recently,” Poppy put in cheerfully, one hand resting on the laptop bag looped over her slender shoulder.

      Clint quirked a brow. “Thanks. I think.”

      Rose shot him a look that said, Please don’t encourage them! She turned back to her sisters. “We’re not dating.”

      Unexpectedly, Clint draped an arm across her shoulders. “We could be,” he said with a wicked smile.

      Ignoring the amusement on her sisters’ faces, Rose removed his arm. Stepped to one side. Looked up at him with a warning glance. “I don’t think so.”

      “Why not?” he drawled.

      Rose ignored the sexual heat in his sable-brown eyes. “You wouldn’t have to ask that if you’d ever been married.”

      Hooking his thumbs through his belt loops, he rocked forward on the toes of his boots. Shrugged carelessly. “Actually, I almost was.”

      She refused to let down her guard. “Almost doesn’t count,” she retorted.

      He tilted his head to one side, thinking, clearly aware he was annoying her terribly. “It does if you’re the one who nearly made a life-altering mistake.”

      “Wow,” Poppy said, looking ready to break out the popcorn and take a seat. “It just gets better.”

      Rose scowled at her oldest sister, who was one to talk since she was the most independent and had never really risked anything in the romance department. “Or worse,” she returned dryly, “depending on your point of view.”

      Clint waved like a highway worker, trying to get her attention. “I’m still hanging in here.”

      “Not wisely,” Rose huffed.

      Lily peered at them curiously. Then she continued, using her skills as an attorney turned mayor turned mediator. “So if the two of you aren’t dating, and aren’t going to date—”

      “That’s yet to be decided,” Clint interrupted mildly, more confident than ever.

      Rose drew in a deep breath. And stared at him like he’d grown a second head.

      “Well,” he said, refusing to back down, “it hasn’t been.”

      “Maybe not by you,” Rose snapped, temper flaring, reminding herself yet again why she was not going to let herself be distracted by passion, or even the potential of it.

      If—and it was a big if—she ever got involved with someone again, it would be because they were perfect for each other in all ways outside the bedroom. Not just in.

      “Then why is he here?” Violet asked. “And why were you obviously, ah...in his arms...if the two of you, ah, aren’t...?”

      Aware her sisters were jumping to far too many conclusions and the man opposite her was way too handsome—and distracting—for comfort, Rose rubbed her temples and shut her eyes. “He came over to talk to me.”

      “About?” Lily pressed.

      Good point! Rose sucked in a breath, curious now, too. “I was just about to find out.” She opened her eyes again. Put one palm on Clint’s back, the other beneath his elbow. Steered the big guy deliberately toward the front door. “So if you, dear sisters, will excuse us...and keep an eye on my kids, to boot...” she said over her shoulder.

      “Not to worry,” Lily called out merrily. “Take your time!”

      Clint chuckled and shut the door behind them, once again leaving the two of them very much alone. “Oh, I plan to,” he replied.

      * * *

      THIS TIME, CLINT NOTED, Rose did not even try to stifle her groan.

      “You are not going to kiss me again,” she said, marching him down the sidewalk to his pickup truck.

      She sure had a one-track mind.

      Not that he hadn’t been ruminating over the first time he’d taken her in his arms, too.

      Even though he knew darn well it would be asking for trouble.

      “Wasn’t planning to,” he shot back. The enormity of her relief prompted him to add teasingly, “Now.”

      Soft lips twisting into a pretty glower, Rose adapted a militant stance. “What did you want to see me about?” she asked, folding her arms in front of her.

      Trying not to notice the way the action plumped up her breasts, he countered, “Sure you don’t want our conversation to wait, with your sisters peering out the windows and all?”

      Rose cast a glance over her shoulder. She waved her family away. The blinds closed completely. “I’d rather hear it now.” Still he hesitated. “Come on, Clint, spill it. I’m curious.”

      So much for trying to keep the unexpected feelings of intimacy and cautious goodwill flowing between them.

      But since she’d made it abundantly clear that she was not going to drop it, Clint figured he might as well bite the bullet. So he sobered. Straightened. And adapted his own semi-militant stance. “Well, if you must know,” he muttered, “I did not appreciate the dozen women you sent out to help me this morning. Again, without warning.”

      It took her a moment to understand what he was talking about. “Oh, the co-op moms!”

      A group of women who had never stopped talking—to each other and, unfortunately, to him. Thereby eradicating his dream of long days spent outdoors amid peace and quiet. “I didn’t need their help.”

      “Oh, really.” The sass was back in her eyes, reeling him back in. “And how long would it have taken you today to get a truckload of berries without their assistance?”

      He wouldn’t have achieved that at all. Not in one day. He clenched his jaw. “That’s not the point.”

      She hovered closer, surrounding him with a drift of citrus on a sunny day. “It’s exactly the point, cowboy. Blackberries are very perishable once they are picked. They need to be refrigerated quickly. Having co-op members come over to your ranch and help get them onto the refrigerator truck goes a long way to preserving the fruit’s great taste and longevity.”

      Clint shoved a hand through his hair, aware that, as usual, he needed a haircut. “As