Her Cowboy's Triplets. Sasha Summers

and a son who was more interested in books than ranching—she was an all-around embarrassment to the Boone name. She’d come home because she wouldn’t let her pride keep Cal hungry. She shoved thoughts of her past and her father aside and opened the door of the Soda Shop for her son. “Ready for the Monarch Festival? And the cattle drive?”

      Cal nodded. “Think Papa will let me ride a real horse? On my own?”

      India wrinkled her nose. “We’ll see, Cal.” But she knew the answer. Her father wouldn’t spend the time teaching his grandson how to ride, even though it was tradition for Boone men. Cal hadn’t grown up on the ranch. He’d grown up in Dallas, a city boy with little time in the saddle. Like her ex-husband.

      Cal’s father always said Fort Kyle was too remote and too backwater for a man like him. But India knew the truth. He’d never been welcome in her hometown. She’d met Jim Thomas Cleburne—JT to his friends—while away at college and had gotten so swept up in their relationship, she’d eventually dropped out of school. Marrying into the wealthy Boone family had suited JT just fine, but not her father. Woodrow Boone pegged JT as bad news from the first time she’d brought him home to the ranch on a school holiday, and he’d done his best to drive the man away while they were dating. India had been too outraged by her father’s meddling and harsh treatment of JT to consider he might be right.

      As a self-described man of high ideals, JT liked the idea of success—but not the work. A pattern developed. JT chased after the latest get-rich scheme to wealth only to take his disappointment out on her when it all fell apart—and she had the scars to prove it. When he’d finally left, she’d been physically bruised and emotionally damaged, with a pile of debt and a vague assurance that he’d found a sure thing.

      That was three years ago. Three years with no letters, phone calls or birthday or Christmas cards, which suited India just fine.

      India and her son each took a seat on the bar stools lining the service counter.

      “Hey, Cal. Hey, Miss India. What’ll it be?” Sara asked from her spot behind the counter.

      Cal grinned at the teenager, the shop’s namesake. “You don’t know?”

      She tapped her chin with a finger. “Let me think. Hmm, a hot-fudge brownie sundae?” she asked, smiling. “And some water for Tanner?”

      Tanner’s ear perked up at his name, but he stayed seated at India’s feet—on his best behavior.

      Cal nodded, tipping his straw cowboy hat back. “Yes, ma’am.”

      “Hats off inside, Cal,” India whispered, pleased when he did as she said.

      “What would you like, Miss India?” Sara asked.

      “A single scoop of peach ice cream in a sugar cone.” Brody Wallace’s voice rang out, the slight gravel a pleasant surprise. He was the last person she’d expected to find sitting on the bar stool beside Cal. But there he was, all tawny eyes and red-gold hair, broad shoulders—broader and bigger than she remembered. But then, it had been years since she’d seen him last. “If I remember correctly?” He grinned, his brows rising in question.

      India stared at him, stunned. By his transformation. And his presence. It was so good to see him. “Brody?” She hopped off her stool, hesitating seconds before wrapping her arms around his neck. “It’s so good to see you. It’s been too long. When did you get back in town? You visiting? Is your dad okay?”

      He pulled back, his eyes crinkling from his grin. “Hold on, now. I’ll pick one. My dad’s fine. Ornery as ever, but fine.” His gaze explored her face, his smile never wavering. “You look good, Goldilocks.”

      His nickname for her made her hug him again. Brody Wallace had been her very best friend in the world. Having the comfort of his arms around her now reminded her just how much she’d missed him. He’d been her shoulder through thick and thin, her confidant and her adviser. The last few years, when things had been so damn hard, she’d thought about reaching out to him. But calling him after all this time had seemed wrong—selfish.

      “You okay?” he whispered.

      She nodded, forcing herself to step back. “It’s just so good to see you.”

      His eyes narrowed just a hint, stared a little too hard. “You, too.”

      “Mom?” India felt Cal’s tug on her arm. “Goldilocks?”

      She stepped back then, sliding an arm around her son. “Cal, this is Brody. He was my best friend growing up here.” She squeezed her son’s shoulder. “Brody, this is my son, Cal.”

      Brody held his hand out. “Nice to meet you, Cal. And who’s this?” he asked, nodding at Tanner.

      “That’s Tanner.” Cal shook his hand. “You got Mom’s order right.”

      Brody nodded. “Thought so. Her love for peach ice cream was unrivaled by just about anything.”

      Cal smiled.

      “You want something?” Sara asked him.

      Brody sighed, staring at the old-fashioned chalk menu.

      “A root beer float,” India said. “With chocolate ice cream.”

      Brody chuckled. “Haven’t had one of those in a long time.”

      “Chocolate ice cream?” Cal asked. “Is it good?”

      Brody nodded. “Last time I checked, you can’t really go wrong with chocolate.”

      Cal nodded slowly. “Can’t argue with that.”

      India glanced at Brody. He winked, the slight shake of his head so familiar. He’d always had a ready smile and a big, contagious laugh, and a kind word for everyone—and she’d admired him for it. He’d been a refreshing change from the other guys in her life. She and her father had tended to butt heads over every little thing. And the other boys in school were either too full of themselves or too eager to get into her pants to take the time to get to know her.

      Of course, things were different now. But she hoped Brody, the man, hadn’t outgrown the generous spirit and easy nature she’d held so dear through school.

      His gaze was just as thoughtful, just as warm. Which was nice.

      Most of the men in her life stirred up other reactions. More like doubt. Insignificance. Defeat. Not that her father meant to undermine and belittle her. But he was a concrete sort of man. It didn’t matter if you tried, only if you succeeded.

      Unlike JT. If JT was upset or disappointed, his words didn’t hurt half as much as his fists. JT had instilled all sorts of cold, hard feelings—fear being right at the top. She hadn’t missed him much the last three years.

      “Here ya go,” Sara said, interrupting her thoughts.

      Her hand was shaking as she took her ice-cream cone, so bad she almost dropped it.

      “Careful, Mom,” Cal said, already scooping into his brownie sundae.

      That was the plan. Being careful. As long as she stuck to the plan—save every penny and pass her school counselor certification exam—she and Cal would be on their way to bigger and better things. None of which included staying in Fort Kyle much longer. Until then, she’d be extra careful with her ice cream, her son and her still-battered heart.

      * * *

      BRODY SHOULD HAVE outgrown staring at India Boone like some lovesick teenager. He was a man now. A man with more than his fair share of responsibilities. Responsibilities that included a curmudgeon of a father, a high-strung high-needs mother, almost three-year-old triplets and one hell of a decision to make. He didn’t have time to sit beside India Boone, sipping on a root beer float. And watching her savor every lick of her ice cream...well, that was downright dangerous. India Boone had always made his brain short-circuit.

      Dammit. He was older, wiser and a little harder now.