The Cowboy SEAL's Triplets. Tina Leonard

of ice from the cooler, wrapped it inside his blue bandanna and stuck it against his forehead. “He’s going to know, Daisy. Someone will tell him.”

      “I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. But he can’t know, not yet. He will know eventually,” Daisy said. “You’re going to have to give me time.”

      He nodded. “I know. I get it. I totally understand. You don’t know John like I do, and he’s superstitious as hell. You learn these things about a man in a war zone.”

      “Superstitious?”

      “Yeah. He really bought into all that BC charm and nonsense.”

      “Nonsense!” Daisy sat up. “BC makes its living on that nonsense, and though I may be late to understanding it, I certainly endorse anything that fiscally benefits our town!”

      Sam got back in the front seat, handing her a water bottle and cracking one open for himself. “Whatever happened up in Montana really changed you, Daisy. I don’t know what potion Branch Winters poured over you, but it’s a humdinger.”

      Daisy shook her head. “I fell in love,” she said softly. “Branch helped me see the path, but the fact is, I’ve been in love with John for a long time. I was much too invested in my own pride to see it. And now I’m going to have to earn his, and the town’s, trust. I’m willing to do that, but it’s going to take time, which I won’t have if you go bumping your gums all over BC.”

      “They’ll know as soon as you start showing.” He cast an aggrieved glance at her tummy.

      “I have time.” At least she hoped so.

      Sam shook his head, glanced up at the roof of the truck. “Daisy Donovan, I’m only going to say this once because my whole body is going to go into shock, but there’s only one way to bring my buddy back home, and to his senses, even.”

      “I’ll happily take any advice you can give me.” She meant every word, too. Earning John’s trust wasn’t going to be easy—she’d made quite a mess of things, and Daisy didn’t need Sam, or Cosette or anybody else in town to spell that out for her.

      “You’re going to have to let me put a ring on your finger,” Sam said, before passing out and falling over like a giant bear with its cotton stuffing pulled out.

      She patted his face urgently. “Sam! Don’t be a schmuck, I’m not marrying you!” Grabbing the cold bandanna, she wiped it over his face, shrieking when John knocked on the driver’s-side window.

      “John!”

      He pulled open the door. “What the hell is going on?”

      “Sam fainted!” She patted his face some more, willing color back into the dark skin. “He proposed to me, and then he—”

      “What?” John helped her lay Sam across the seat and Daisy got out of the truck to make room. She worked on Sam at one end of the cab, and John worked on Sam from the driver’s side. “You’re gone five minutes and work a proposal out of Handsome Sam? Wake up, buddy,” he said, touching cold water to Sam’s face, “so I can knock you back out again!”

      * * *

      SAM CAME TO—finally!—and John breathed a sigh of relief. “Helluva a beauty nap you took there, buddy.”

      “What can I say? I need my forty winks.” Sam sat up, glanced over at Daisy, whose face looked tragically concerned for Sam. “But I’m doing fine. This sexy, amazing woman has just agreed to—”

      “Yeah, yeah.” John helped his friend none too gently to sit up. “You big faker.”

      “Faker!” Sam looked outraged, any trace of the fallout he’d had gone for good. “I’m not faking anything!”

      “Oh, you’re a faker all right.” John glared at the man whose back he’d had in Afghanistan, and vice versa. “Yelling at the top of your lungs that you want nothing to do with marriage, and the second I turn my back, you go and get—”

      “What does your back have to do with anything?” Sam demanded.

      “I’d like to know that myself.” Daisy’s concern turned to annoyance. “And what are you doing here, anyway? Last I saw you, you were heading north.”

      “I am heading north.” He could barely meet Daisy’s gaze. The truth was, his good sense had evaporated once he’d realized he was an epic dunce for letting her get away. He’d hopped into his truck and followed, not sure why, his heart driving him like a mad man. “You shouldn’t have to drive all the way back to Bridesmaids Creek with Handsome Sam here. The least I can do is offer to fly you back. However, I had no idea that you and Sam—”

      “Yep,” Sam said, coming out of his coma ever more strongly by the second. He thumped his chest with pride. “Offer me the cup of congratulations, old buddy, old pal, I’m getting married.”

      “So you claimed.”

      John glanced at Daisy, but she didn’t deny Sam’s astonishing brag. Everyone knew that Sam was the last man on earth—the very last of any tribe, clan, or nationality—who would ever marry. Daisy gazed at him steadily, not appearing to be preparing to open her sumptuous, delightful lips for any sort of rebuttal, and John’s heart fell to the ground, rolled around in the dust of the parking lot, then gave up the ghost.

      “In fact, I’m having a baby,” Sam said cheerfully, and the ghost of John’s heart not only gave up, it poofed into nothingness. He felt cold all over, then hot, then drained. “We’re having a baby.”

      “A baby?”

      “It appears I’m going to be a father.” Sam shook his head. “An astonishing thing, no?”

      “Very.” John raised a brow. “Let me get this straight. Daisy came after me, but you wanted her for yourself, and so you offered to drive her—”

      “Just so.” Sam nodded. John glanced to Daisy, who merely shrugged.

      He stepped back from his friend, trying to piece all this together. Everyone knew Sam was a trickster beyond compare—if Shakespeare had still been alive, he could have written plays about this wizard of wackiness—but marriage? A baby?

      John shook his head. “You two are fibbing through your teeth, but I’m darned if I know why.”

      Daisy didn’t say anything, and Sam kept very still, like he was one breath short of hyperventilating again. John sighed. “Are you really this fickle? Or are you trying to make a point? Because I wouldn’t put it past either one of you.”

      “What difference does it make to you?” Daisy asked.

      “None.” It meant every difference. He’d waited years for Daisy to come to her senses and realize he was the man of her dreams. Then, when she had come to her senses, he’d lost every one of his, apparently. Maybe lust had fried his brain. “Anyway, if you’re content to ride home with my loose-marbled friend here, that’s fine. I just wanted you to know that you could go by plane, too.”

      “You couldn’t call to make your generous offer?” Daisy looked at him, and he thought she wasn’t buying his cover story.

      “I could have, but it seemed best to inquire in person.” He looked at Sam. “My friend here means a lot to me. I know he was trying to do me a favor by bringing you after me.”

      “Really?” Daisy put a hand on a slim hip. “A favor? Does Sam truck women after you often, then?”

      “Not at all. Which is why I felt the occasion merited the personal treatment.”

      “Well, thank you so much.”

      Daisy didn’t sound very grateful. In fact, he thought he’d detected a tiny undertone of snark. He looked at her. “A baby? You two expect me to buy that you’re having a baby?” He cast a gaze at her very flat stomach, with which he was intimately familiar, having