Tina Leonard - Triplets' Rodeo Man Read online

  “I want you to get to know me,” Jack said.

  Cricket started the engine. “Marry in haste, regret at leisure,” she told him. “Bye, Jack.”

  Jack stared after Cricket as she drove off in the little Volkswagen. She thought he wanted to be with her to get away from Pop. And his mother. His family, in general.

  She was right.

  He got in his truck and followed her.

  CRICKET WAS COMPLETELY aware that Jack was following her down the highway. In a way, she hadn’t expected anything less from him. Jack lived by his own rules. This time, however, he was going to have to bend, although she had to admit to a tingle of excitement that the man was so persistent in his pursuit of her. She had never been the object of a man’s focus before, and the fact that the man was Jack would be enough to make her pulse pound with giddy pleasure under normal dating circumstances.

  Yet they weren’t dating. They were rushing down the road toward parenthood, which for Cricket took some of the romance and giddiness out of the equation.

  By the time she got to her house in Fort Wylie, she’d figured out what she was going to say to him. Go home, Jack, we need some time apart.

  “Hey,” he said, pulling up next to her and getting out of his truck, “if you invite me in, I’ll buy you the biggest diamond I can find in Fort Wylie.”

  Cricket shook her head. “I don’t need a big diamond.”

  “For triplets, you do. I’d say you deserve a medal of honor.”

  She put her hands on her hips. “Jack Morgan, sweet-talking me isn’t going to get you in my house. I need to be alone for a while.”

  “Why? I can be good company, sometimes.”

  “While that may be true, I suffer terribly from morning sickness. You do not want to be around for that.”

  “I’ll watch TV. Don’t worry about it.” Jack grinned. “You think I’ve never seen a sickly woman before?”

  “I’m not sickly!” Cricket frowned at him. “I’m pregnant. This phase will pass eventually, according to the doctor.”

  “Let me carry you over the threshold,” Jack offered. “I need practice for carrying you over when we get married.”

  Cricket opened her front door and waved him in. “I don’t want to be carried.”

  “You’re not the most romantic girl,” Jack told her as he scooped her up anyway and set her gently down in the foyer. “I’m a romantic guy, however.”

  “It can’t all be your way,” Cricket told him.

  Jack sighed. “True, otherwise you’d be a lot easier to get along with. I never thought that the woman I asked to marry me would turn me down. It’s a blow to my ego, I don’t mind saying.”

  Cricket turned on a few lamps, filling the room with soft light. “Make yourself at home on the sofa in front of the TV, keeping your hands to yourself and your thoughts fairly pure.”

  “Wow,” Jack said, “did that come out of the How To Scare a Guy To Death dating guide or something that deacons keep on hand for couple’s counseling?”

  Cricket sighed. “I’m going to change into something more comfortable.”

  “That sounds more promising.” Jack sat on the sofa.

  “If you think baggy kimono robes are promising, you may be in for a surprise. It’s hardly Victoria’s Secret.”

  “Next time,” Jack said. “Anyway, I could romance you if you were wearing a paper bag. As a matter of fact, I’d find that really sexy.”

  Cricket shook her head and slipped into her bedroom to change. All the talk of marriage was making her nervous. “Was your father in a lot of pain?” she called to him from the bedroom.

  “No, he’s just a pain,” Jack said. “It’ll take more than surgery to slow him down.”

  Cricket wrapped the silky kimono robe around her, found some cozy slippers—not the high-heeled mules a woman who had a hot cowboy in her living room might prefer—and put her hair up in a ponytail. She walked back into the living room, finding Jack lounging on the sofa, staring at the ceiling. “Cowboy, what are you doing?”

  “Thinking about how strange life is. Did you ever think when we met that we’d end up together?”

  “Absolutely not. You weren’t in my car twenty seconds and I knew you were bad news.” She went into the kitchen, fishing around for some tea and crackers. “You should have stayed with your father,” she said as Jack followed her into the kitchen.

  “I should be with you,” Jack said. “You’re having my children. My father is merely having fun planning my future.”

  “Was he?”

  “He never takes a break from plotting.” Jack ran a hand through his hair and seated himself on a kitchen bar stool. “I need to meet your parents, you know. I’m very behind in my duties as a father.”

  “Oh,” Cricket said, “I guess.”

  “Hey,” he said, “I’m going to get my feelings hurt if I continue perceiving a decided lack of enthusiasm on your part toward my courtship.”

  “I’m sorry.” She set a glass of tea on the counter that separated them. “I’ve got motherhood on the mind, not matrimony.”

  Jack drank some of the tea. “If you were counseling us as a deacon, what would your advice be?”

  She looked at him. I’d want to say, “Girlfriend, you better hang on to that sexy cowboy with all your might.” “I’d advise that rushing into things is a bad idea when two people don’t know each other very well.”

  He shook his head. “Terrible advice.”

  “What would you say?”

  He hopped over the counter, landing in front of her, and took her in his arms. “I’d say get me in bed as often as you possibly can, you lucky woman. Life’s too short to miss out on the good stuff, and I am definitely good stuff.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Cricket awakened the next morning with a deliciously warm, strong cowboy wrapped around her. Jack’s arm was tucked around her waist, keeping her tightly against him. She could feel muscles, hairy legs, a strong chest up against her, and then something moving in the bed, jutting up against her backside insistently.

  “Good morning,” Jack said, and Cricket hopped out of bed with a gasp, running for the bathroom.

  “Was it something I said?” he called after her.

  Cricket slammed the bathroom door, locking it before getting into the familiar position she assumed every morning. She would have been humiliated, but she was too sick to care.

  Ten minutes later, she dragged herself out of the shower and slipped back between the sheets. Jack placed a ginger ale beside her bed, along with a rose. “Where did you get all that?” she asked, reaching gratefully for the ginger ale.

  “I moseyed over to the store while you were showering,” he said tactfully. “I remember Mom giving us ginger ale when we had upset stomachs.”

  She studied him as he lounged on her bed with a newspaper, completely unconcerned about her performance in the bathroom. She’d probably been making horrible noises in there, and he didn’t seem to care. Some of the awkwardness she felt about being pregnant slipped away from her. “I’d offer you breakfast—”

  “Don’t even think about it.” Jack waved a hand at her. “I grabbed a doughnut while I was out.”

  “Ew,” Cricket said. “If I was in a different place in my life, I’d make you an omelette.”

  “If you were at a different place in your life, I hope you’d offer me seconds of what I had last night.” Jack grinned at her. “You’re a lusty woman, Deacon, a very positive side of you that I never would have anticipated.”

  She blushed. “Lusty may be too strong a word.”

  “Enthusiastic, then.” Jack put away the newspaper.

  “I have to go,” Cricket said.

  “Where?”

  “I have things to do.”

  He stared at her, waiting for more information. She sighed. “I have a doctor’s appointment this morning. Then I plan on driving back out to visit your father.”

  “You can’t keep doing that,” Jack said. “You need
to rest my children.”

  “They like the busy schedule. And soon enough I won’t have that much time to visit Josiah, anyway. The doctor says I’ll be confined to lying around in the not-too-distant future.”

  Jack thought about that. “Cricket,” he said, “we need to pick a home. This dual-town thing is going to get old quickly. We need to be settled for the sake of the children.”

  She waved her hand at him. “I mustn’t be late. Let me show you the door.”

  “Okay,” he said. But he waited until she was ready to leave herself, then followed her to her car.

  “No,” she said, “you are not coming with me.”

  “I need to start learning about this pregnancy stuff. It’ll be good for me to ask the doctor some questions.”

  Cricket shook her head. “Jack, I don’t need any help just yet, thank you. Your father is the one who needs your help.”

  It was obvious he didn’t like that answer, but neither could he argue with the truth. “At least let me wait outside, and then drive you to Union Junction,” Jack said.

  “No,” she said firmly. “Jack, go your own way like you always have.”

  It felt mean to leave him standing there, because he was so convinced he was trying to do the right thing by her. She didn’t want the “right” thing—she wanted something else from him, though she hadn’t quite figured out what that was. The man had a lot on his plate right now, and she was pretty certain he was using her pregnancy as an excuse to get out of facing family matters at home.

  “Cricket!” he called after her. “You’re the most sexy, beautiful woman I’ve ever had the pleasure of arguing with!”

  Cricket watched Jack through her rearview mirror. The man had made love to her last night so gently, so sweetly, that she knew she’d never be able to keep him out of her bed if he wanted in it, which was quite the dilemma for a woman who knew she had no business loving a man who possessed a wild heart.

  TWENTY SECONDS LATER, Jack turned, shocked that Cricket was pulling alongside him as he walked to his truck. He looked at her in her little Bug, wondering if she’d ever let him buy her a truck. There was no way she was going to be able to haul all the children he intended to have in that tiny, bubble-shaped vehicle. She didn’t know it, but she was a big truck girl.

  “Hey,” she said.

  “Hey, you,” he replied.

  “If you really want to come to the doctor with me, I guess that will be all right.”

  He grinned. “Couldn’t live without me for a second, huh?” Jogging around the vehicle, he hopped in. “I knew you’d find me irresistible.”

  She drove off. “Fathers should participate.”

  “Glad you came to that conclusion.” He really was.

  “And on that topic,” she continued, and he waited for the real reason she’d come back to pick him up, “it sort of comes to me that I might not like rodeo any better than your father does.”

  “That’s not true,” Jack said. “I met you at a rodeo. You must have some fondness for it.”

  “I met you when I picked you up hitchhiking,” Cricket reminded him, “something I hope you’re giving up.”

  “You’re so cute when you’re possessive,” he teased.

  “Let’s not digress,” she said, and he sighed.

  “I don’t see myself giving up riding,” he admitted. Yet he sensed this was a test, a crossroads that Cricket might hold against him. He’d have to tread very lightly.

  “This is why I always recommend couples counseling,” Cricket said. “It’s important to discover differences between people that can put stress on their marriage later.”

  “Sometimes people just look for differences,” he said. “This is one of those times.”

  “No, really,” Cricket said. “I don’t imagine raising three children is going to be any easier than what Priscilla and Pete are going through right now with their four.”

  “This isn’t a romantic topic,” Jack said. “Let’s talk about how much fun last night was.”

  “Jack!” Cricket exclaimed, beginning to see a chink in the sexy cowboy’s armor she wasn’t certain she particularly liked. “This is a serious topic to me.”

  “Me, too. Rodeo is part of who I am. I can take a sabbatical for a few months, if you want, but—”

  “And I might never stand at an altar with you,” Cricket said stubbornly. “If my husband is going to be footloose and fancy free, I’d be better off learning to cope by myself.”

  He cheered up. “That might make you better off in Union Junction where you’d have plenty of help.”

  “I have parents and a brother here,” she reminded him.

  “That’s right. I need to swing by and introduce myself to them.”

  “Not yet,” Cricket said. “I’ll let you know when I’m ready.”

  He didn’t like the sound of that. “Cricket, while you claim that I’m the footloose one, you’re awfully hard to tie down for a woman. You’re supposed to jump at the chance to be a Mrs. All women do.”

  She winced. “Jack, sometimes you sound remarkably like your father.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment. Now,” Jack said, “I can make you a solemn vow that I’ll be very, very careful when I ride.”

  “Did I ever tell you that one of my favorite sports is parachuting?” Cricket asked.

  “I doubt that,” Jack said. “You’re more a feet-on-the-ground kind of girl.” How cute of her to try to rattle his cage.

  “I’m most serious.”

  “Cricket, you don’t have to try to show me how you feel. I understand that Pop has probably scared you silly about rodeo. But I assure you that the stories you hear about cowboys getting hurt, and cowboys getting nursed back to health by beautiful, sexy, willing women, are just legends we spin to each other.”

  She turned to stare at him. “Jack Morgan!”

  He laughed. “Just kidding.”

  She shook her head. “I’m not.”

  “I know.” He sighed. “Let’s chalk this up as a loaded topic in our marriage.”

  “No,” Cricket said. “I’m not kidding about parachuting. My brother is a professional parachutist. I’ve jumped ten times.”

  Something lurched inside Jack. Maybe she wasn’t bluffing. Did preacher women fib like other women sometimes did, tell little white lies to get their way? He wasn’t certain if he should try to call her bluff or not. She had a look in her eyes that made him wary—something that looked like calm truthfulness. He’d met a lot of fibbers in his life, and he was pretty certain Cricket wasn’t bluffing. Could he have the bad fortune to fall for the one woman who liked jumping out of planes but wouldn’t jump at a wedding ring? “Does Pop know this?”

  “No.”

  “Does anyone know this about you?”

  “Priscilla does.”

  “Well, it has to stop,” Jack said, “if you’re being one hundred percent honest. I don’t need to be married to a parachuting preacher.”

  Cricket laughed. “That’s what Priscilla calls me. I was a deacon, Jack, not a preacher. It’s different.”

  He frowned. “Not to me. It means I’d be the one praying, and waiting for you to splat on the ground. Let’s have no more of that silly talk.”

  She stopped the car in front of the doctor’s office and got out. He followed, realizing she hadn’t said she would obey his wishes. “Cricket, if you’re pulling my leg, I don’t like it.”

  “Okay,” she said airily, and went inside the doctor’s office to check herself in.

  He felt himself getting a bit hot under the proverbial collar. “I’m sure your parents would never allow their only daughter to do such a thing.”

  “Daughter and son,” Cricket said. “And we all jump together, rodeo man.”

  “This does not bode well for family gatherings.”

  “Parachuting is a lot safer than rodeo, I’ll bet.” Nodding to everyone in the waiting room, Cricket sat down and picked up a magazine. He glanced around at all the other pr
egnant women, realizing with some discomfort that he looked a lot like the other husbands in attendance. We all look as if we’d rather be in a bar drinking a beer, Jack thought wildly. But I bet none of their wives jump out of planes!

  That was the problem—Cricket wasn’t his wife yet, so she didn’t have to obey him. He tried to reassure himself that getting married would change things. Plus, surely being a mother would give her the perspective that she needed to be safe for the sake of his children. “I’d just like to say that parachuting is from several thousand feet up,” Jack said, staying on his point, “and riding a bull only takes you about eight feet off the ground, approximately.”

  “It’s still probably safer,” Cricket said serenely, apparently determined to ignore his good advice.

  Jack thought the conversation had gotten way out of control. He was not happy with his pregnant fiancée at the moment. She was trying to be the one who wore the pants in their marriage, and he needed to make certain she knew right here and now that he wasn’t going to put up with that. “Do any of your wives parachute?” he asked the men in the room.

  Five of six masculine hands went up. Jack’s jaw sagged. “Why?” he asked.

  “It’s fun,” one of the wives told him. “Hello, Deacon Cricket,” she said. “Is this the hot cowboy you’ve told us so much about?”

  Hot cowboy? Did Cricket really think he was hot? He sneaked a peek at her to get her reaction, noting Cricket’s blush. He practically puffed out his chest, recognizing guilt written all over the pretty deacon’s face.

  “This is Jack Morgan of Union Junction,” Cricket said, ignoring the “hot cowboy” comment. “He’s having a wee chicken moment about jumping.”

  “Oh, Mr. Morgan,” another wife said, “we have quite the parachuting club in Fort Wylie. There’s a small airport here. It’s great fun. You’ll be ever so proud when Cricket starts taking your little ones out for their first jumps.”

  Jack felt strange wind whirring around his ears and the next time thing he knew, he was staring up into the face of a worried nurse. Cricket was peering down at him, as well. Considering he was flat on his back, he didn’t feel very soothed. “I’m afraid of heights. Nothing higher than the back of a bull for me,” he told the nurse, and she nodded.