The Bride’s Matchmaking Triplets. Regina Scott

attitude of the daughter and sister of clergy, she’d gazed up at him, blue eyes shining with tears, fingers pressed against his arm.

      “I’m so sorry, Brandon, but Elizabeth is adamant that you will not suit. She needs a man of wealth and position to counter this scandal if she is to regain her place in society. Knowing how she was raised, I’m sure you understand.”

      He’d understood. His family did not take part in society, for all his father had once been considered a gentleman. Marcus Stillwater had managed his affairs well. Everyone who met him at civic functions and during business considered him a determined, successful man.

      But his father had doubted himself—his abilities, his place in other people’s affections. Brandon had never been sure why. His grandfather had died when he and Bo were little, but family stories told of a harsh man. Or perhaps the responsibility of building his business had weighed on their father. Either way, to bolster his flagging confidence, his father had cut down every other member of the family. Nothing Brandon’s mother could do was good enough. Nothing Brandon and Bo did was acceptable. It seemed only by making others feel small had his father been able to feel big. If Brandon had had a nickel for every time his father had called him worthless, he might actually have been the wealthy man Elizabeth had needed.

      Given that upbringing, Brandon could well imagine he wasn’t good enough for her. Even while they were courting he’d wondered why she would settle for a divinity student when the very best of Boston society came to call. Still, he’d thought himself genuinely in love, had convinced himself she felt the same way. Florence had tried to console him, but he had pushed her and everyone else away, determined only to finish his studies and escape the stifling confines of Cambridge.

      “I don’t believe our love was never meant to be, Elizabeth,” he told her, alternating his gaze between the babies he jostled in his arms. Both were regarding him as if fascinated to hear how his story would end. “Circumstances prevented it from continuing. That’s all.”

      He could hear her sigh. “Perhaps you’re right. But those circumstances haven’t changed. I still need a way to support myself, and you still have a responsibility to your congregation.”

      A responsibility he took seriously. His kitchen was stocked by well-meaning young ladies who had hopes of one day changing their name to Stillwater. But he had an inkling that being married to the local minister would not be the glorious position they all envisioned. His wife would have to be willing to have her life interrupted for the illness, injury and death of others, the destruction of other people’s hopes, their property. She’d have to celebrate every wedding, birth and civic commemoration, be part of planning each church activity and contribute to every charitable cause. Women for miles around would call on her, expecting to find her house perfect, her life perfect.

      He’d seen his mother wilt under impossible expectations, although of a different kind. He did not feel comfortable foisting that burden on another.

      “For the moment, you have a way to support yourself,” he said, nodding to the babies. “But I’ll ask around, see if there’s another family in the area who needs a governess.”

      Some of the fire seemed to have left her. “Thank you. I’d appreciate that.”

      “It would be my pleasure. And I hope, Elizabeth, that, whatever our differences in the past, we can be cordial now.”

      He chanced a glance her way to find himself slipping into the blue-green depths of her eyes.

      “Cordial,” she said, and the word held a world of doubt.

      “Friends, even,” he insisted, giving the babies an extra jiggle that made Jasper smile. “I am the minister of Little Horn, after all. I’m expected to be friendly with everyone.”

      The fire flashed once more, as if she was building up a head of steam.

      “Well, certainly we should be friends, Pastor Stillwater,” she drawled. “After all, I wouldn’t want to damage your reputation.”

      Brandon blew out a breath. She simply could not accept his word that his reputation was not the issue. “This isn’t about my standing in the community,” he tried again. “It’s about what’s best for the triplets.”

      Her look eased, and she returned her gaze to Eli, whose eyes were closed as she rocked him in the warm shade. “I suppose you’re right. They get upset even when I raise my voice.”

      So did he. He would much rather put a smile on her face, make her laugh, than be cause for consternation.

      “Then let’s start over,” Brandon suggested. “Pretend we just met.” He gave her a nod. “How do you do, Miss Dumont? I’m Brandon Stillwater, the pastor of the Little Horn church. I’d shake your hand, but mine seem to be full at the moment.”

      She shifted on the quilt, the movement making Eli crack open his eyes a moment.

      “A pleasure to meet you, Reverend,” she said softly, as if afraid to believe they could return to anything approaching normality. “I’m Elizabeth Dumont, and I have the honor of looking after these three delightful gentlemen.” Her smile faded. “At least for now.”

      Both of Brandon’s babies were nodding off as well. He crouched and laid each on the quilt. Elizabeth did the same, and he pulled up the edge to cover them all.

      “What will happen to them after I’m gone?” she asked, straightening as he did.

      She was leaving? Well, of course she’d leave if she couldn’t find employment in Little Horn. Why should that fact concern him?

      “David McKay is planning to set up a children’s home,” he told her, offering her his hand to help her rise. Her fingers were supple in his, yet they had a strength he didn’t remember from before. “I learned today we may have a house.”

      Behind him, he heard a rustling sound, as if something moved among the bushes at the end of the yard. Before he could turn and look, Elizabeth brightened. “Oh, that would be wonderful.”

      “It won’t be ready for a while,” he cautioned, focusing on her. “The railroad is building a new home for our stationmaster, Mr. Crenshaw. As he won’t be needing the one he had built before he became stationmaster, he’s offered to donate it to the church. It will need to be renovated first. Those funds will have to come from the Lone Star Cowboy League, as the church benevolence fund is empty after seeing to those affected by the drought.”

      “Will you need someone to run it?” she asked, cinnamon-colored brows up in obvious hope.

      Brandon shook his head. “I’m fairly sure the league will want a couple, and I quite agree. It won’t just be the boys, you see. Other orphans are scattered about the area, living with distant relatives or friends of the family who are hard-pressed to care for them. The house will be full before we even open the doors.”

      “I suppose it will be good for the boys to have other children around,” she allowed, tucking a strand of red hair back behind her ear. “I’ve seen how much they enjoy Maggie’s company.”

      David McKay’s eight-year-old daughter, Maggie, was something of an adventurer, climbing out of her bedroom window to escape scolds, swimming in the stream on their ranch with the skill of a fish. David had told him how she’d come to regard the triplets as her little brothers and had been inconsolable when they had to leave the Windy Diamond, the McKay ranch. She’d found solace only because she’d gained a mother in Caroline.

      “They’ll have brothers and sisters at the children’s home,” Brandon promised Elizabeth. “And I still haven’t given up hope that someone will want to adopt all three.”

      Something flickered across her face, and he wasn’t sure if it was emotion or a shadow from the tree.

      “They’re such darlings,” she murmured, gaze on her slumbering charges. “I can see Jasper as the leader, guiding his brothers. Eli is going to be the planner, determining how to make Jasper’s ideas real. And Theo will be the one who comes