The Triplets' Cowboy Daddy by Patricia Johns

Author:Patricia Johns
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2017-06-30T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

That evening Easton stood over the open hood of Nora’s truck where it had stalled out in front of his house. It needed a part—one he could swap out of another Chevy that was parked in a shed. The truck would be up and running in no time. He’d get the part tomorrow during his workday and fix her vehicle the next evening. Lickety-split.

The sun was sinking in the west, shadows lengthening and birds twittering their evening songs. He liked this time of day; after his work was done he had the satisfaction of having accomplished something. That was what he loved about this job—yeah, there was always more to do the next day, but a day’s work meant something. He’d been thinking about that trip to the doctor’s office with the babies earlier that afternoon, and he couldn’t quite sort out his feelings. Truth was, he felt protective of those little tykes, but that didn’t sit right with him. He wasn’t supposed to be getting attached.

Their ride home from town had been quiet. He’d wanted to say something—he knew Nora was upset about Ethel Carmichael’s attempt at conversation, but she’d probably be in for a whole lot more of that. People had known Cliff, loved him, which meant he’d left more than just Dina and Nora stunned by the truth. And in spite of it all, Easton still felt like he owed his late boss something more—a defense, maybe. He just didn’t know how.

A cool breeze felt good against his face and arms. The bugs were out—he slapped a mosquito on his wrist. Easton wiped his hands on a rag then flicked off the light that hung from the hood of Nora’s truck, unhooked it and banged the hood shut. Above him, a window scraped open and he looked up.

Nora stood, framed between billowing white curtains, and she lifted her hand in a silent wave. She looked so sweet up there, her skin bathed in golden sunlight, her sun-streaked hair tumbling down around her shoulders. Her nose and cheeks looked a little burned, and squinting up at her like that, he couldn’t help but notice just how gorgeous she was.

“Hey,” he said.

“I just got the babies to sleep,” she said. “Are you fixing my truck?”

“Yup.” He turned his attention to rubbing the last of the grease out of the lines in his palm. “But I won’t be done until tomorrow.”

“Thank you.” She brushed her hair out of her face and leaned her elbows onto the windowsill. “You don’t have to do that, you know.”

“Yeah?” he retorted. “You gonna do it?”

It was a challenge. She’d never been one to tinker with an engine, and he’d fixed her ride more than once when they were teenagers.

“I’d call a garage.”

A garage. Yeah, right. A garage was for quitters. Any cowboy with a lick of self-respect knew how to fix his truck, and only when it was halfway flattened did he lower himself to calling in a mechanic.

“You’re going to be my boss one day,” he said.

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