His Unexpected Valentines

Clint Daniels knows he is nobody’s sweetheart. The rugged mountain guide has lived most of his life alone, and with his heartbreaking past, he can’t imagine a domestic future with anyone. Especially not a warm and graceful widow like Olivia Barlow. But when her three towheaded little boys approach him at the Lone Star Cowboy League’s annual Valentine’s dance, he finds it impossible to turn them away. Clint isn’t prepared to be a father, but these boys draw out his paternal side. And somehow, vulnerable Olivia and her children begin to make the cowboy suspect their wary hearts might actually be a perfect match…

Relationship.

It was a heavy word, and one that would have sent him literally running for the safety and anonymity of his beloved mountains.

Not this time.

This time, he wanted to stay.

It was Olivia who should be running, as far as she could go. He was no good for her. He didn’t even know what a long-term relationship ought to look like. And as wonderful as he felt whenever he interacted with the triplets, he could hardly be the father figure they needed in their lives.

What did he know about being a father? Trying to pursue a long-term relationship was simply setting himself up for failure, and with that, Olivia and the triplets would also crash and burn.

What had he been thinking, spending all this time with Olivia? Giving her the wrong impression?

He hadn’t been thinking at all. He’d been acting on his emotions.

He should end this relationship now—before it got too serious. It didn’t matter that it was already serious to him. He wasn’t who counted here.

* * *

Lone Star Cowboy League:

Bighearted ranchers in small-town Texas

A Reunion for the Rancher by Brenda Minton, October 2015

A Doctor for the Nanny by Leigh Bale, November 2015

A Ranger for the Holidays by Allie Pleiter, December 2015

A Family for the Soldier by Carolyne Aarsen, January 2016

A Daddy for Her Triplets by Deb Kastner, February 2016

A Baby for the Rancher by Margaret Daley, March 2016

Award-winning author DEB KASTNER lives and writes in beautiful Colorado. Since her daughters have grown into adulthood and her nest is almost empty, she is excited to be able to discover new adventures, challenges and blessings, the biggest of which is her sweet grandchildren. She enjoys reading, watching movies, listening to music, singing in the church choir, and attending concerts and musicals.

A Daddy for Her Triplets

Deb Kastner

www.millsandboon.co.uk

There is no fear in love;

But perfect love casts out fear,

Because fear involves torment.

But he who fears has not been made perfect in love.

We love Him because He first loved us.

—1 John 4:18–19

To my Lord Jesus Christ. May every word I write always serve to glorify, adore and bring honor to my Savior. There would be no books without His Spirit working in and through my life.

Special thanks and acknowledgment to Deb Kastner for her contribution to the Lone Star Cowboy League miniseries.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

Acknowledgments

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Dear Reader

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

“Olivia Barlow, as I live and breathe. Finally! There you are. I’ve been looking all over for you. I was beginning to think you weren’t going to show up tonight at all. Then what would I have done?” Elderly Miss Betty Leland had clearly been watching for Olivia, because the sprightly old woman made a beeline for her the moment she herded her triplet six-year-old boys into the league’s brightly decorated red-and-pink-crepe-papered banquet hall.

A cold finger of premonition skittered up Olivia’s spine. Miss Betty was clearly up to something. Olivia could see it in the pale blue sparkle of the aged woman’s eyes. Nothing good could possibly come out of that kind of mischief, however friendly and well-intentioned.

Olivia forced a laugh she didn’t feel and returned the elderly woman’s smile. It wasn’t Miss Betty’s fault Olivia wasn’t in the mood for a party, especially Little Horn’s Lone Star Cowboy League’s Valentine Roundup.

Valentine’s Day anything was more than widowed Olivia wanted to deal with. She felt out of place here among seeking singles, newly engaged couples and newlyweds. It seemed as if everyone was in love except her—not that she wanted to be. She had her plate full to overflowing already.

The local band was warming up its fiddles, playing a lively Texas two-step for eager dancers. Various couples and hopeful single men and women were flooding into the Grange hall. There were also quite a few teenagers. The boys were roughhousing and trying to look cool for the groups of giggling girls watching them, but Olivia knew they hoped to pair up before the night was over.

She spotted Carson Thorn and Ruby Donovan, a newly engaged couple who were laughing together as they helped serve the punch. Engaged couple Finn Brannigan and Amelia Klondike were already testing out the dance floor. In a far corner away from the noisy speakers, Grady Stillwater stood with his grandma Mamie and his fiancée, Chloe Miner. Chloe was bouncing Grady’s seven-month-old nephew, Cody, on her shoulder in time to the music.

Tyler Grainger, the local pediatrician, had recently married pretty Eva Brooks, and Olivia had heard they’d already started the process to adopt a baby.

Yep. Pretty much everyone but her—not that she minded. Much. Of course she didn’t begrudge anyone their romantic happily-ever-after. She just didn’t want to have to watch it. Not right now when her heart was still so tender after the loss of her own husband, Luke.

At least the planning committee had nixed the usual romantic mixing and matchmaking this year, what with all the problems the locals were having with recent thefts in the area. People were looking over their shoulders at every turn, afraid that what had happened to other ranches would happen to them.

It didn’t make for a festive atmosphere, but the Lone Star Cowboy League had decided to go through with the dance nonetheless, perhaps to take folks’ minds off their worries for a bit.

“If I’m being honest, I almost didn’t come tonight,” Olivia admitted, bending her head to speak into Miss Betty’s ear. The woman was mostly deaf even without the loud din of music around her, although she’d never admit as much if you asked her. She just pretended she knew what a person was saying and then continued speaking to state her own fill of words.

Olivia brushed her dark brown curls behind her ear and gestured to her identical, towheaded sons, Noah, Levi and Caleb. “I probably would have passed on it, except the boys wouldn’t let me off the hook. Apparently at school today they put a lot of effort into making Valentine’s Day cards. They insisted they had to come to the dance in order to post them up on the Sweetheart Wall where their friends can see them. I just couldn’t find it in my heart to say no to them.”

The wall in question was already papered with hearts of all shapes, colors and sizes. In addition to hanging the schoolchildren’s artwork, it was a town tradition for the adults in the crowd to publicly post their romantic notions and even the occasional marriage proposal. Over the years more than one engagement had come out of it.

Olivia was not in a place in her life where she was searching for romance, and she doubted she ever would be, between single-handedly raising her triplets and struggling to keep her small quarter horse farm afloat. Three boys and Barlow Acres was more than enough to fill her days. She fell into a dead sleep most nights, although occasionally rest would elude her and a spot of loneliness would creep in.

“I think it’s some kind of competition between them and their classmates as to who made the most elaborate valentine,” she continued. “Or at least a competition between the three of them. You know boys. The triplets like to make a contest out of everything.”

Honestly, she found the whole thing to be more than a little ridiculous. What six-year-old boy wanted anything to do with a holiday steeped in romance and kissing? Her sons didn’t even like girls yet, and wouldn’t for a good long while. Several years at least.

She hoped.

“Well, good for them,” Miss Betty replied, nodding so vigorously that her short gray curls bobbed in response. “I’m glad they pushed you off your farm and into the community for the dance. It’s good for you to get out from time to time and mingle a little bit. It will do you a wealth of good. Mark my words.”

She started to deny Miss Betty’s statement but then realized that what the older woman was saying was spot-on. Olivia hadn’t meant for that to happen, nor had she even been aware of her actions—or lack thereof. But she had to admit she’d been somewhat of a recluse lately. She hadn’t been in the mood to participate in town activities nearly as much as she had before, but since her husband passed two years earlier, social activities just didn’t seem the same.

Frankly, despite Miss Betty’s kind words, Olivia wasn’t sure it would do her any good to be at the party tonight. As stressed as she was about the farm, she was bound to be a downer in even the most mundane of conversations. It wouldn’t lift her spirits, and in her current mood she wouldn’t be much good to her friends.

There was a time in her past when she used to be social and upbeat, but at the moment it was all she could do not to break down in tears. The mortgage was due on the house, several of her mares were due to foal in the spring and she had no idea how she was going to come up with enough money to keep her dwindling herd in hay and oats until the horse market opened in early summer.

“Which reminds me,” Miss Betty continued, either not recognizing Olivia’s hesitation or refusing to acknowledge it. She reached into the oversize, glossy red purse dangling from the crook of her elbow and withdrew a small stack of folded pink and red heart-shaped notes. “Pink for the ladies, red for the gentlemen,” she explained as she shuffled through them. As if that would mean something to Olivia—which it didn’t. “Oh, here we go. Olivia Barlow.”

Olivia automatically accepted the missive Miss Betty thrust at her. “Thank you. I—”

She stared down at the garish, fluorescent-pink, heart-shaped paper and her sentence abruptly stalled. Her name had been carefully stenciled onto the heart, but that wasn’t what caught her eye. It was the name written beneath her own that kicked her adrenaline into overdrive.

Olivia Barlow

Clint Daniels

The floor fell out from underneath her and she gasped for breath against the sudden shock. Suddenly it was as if she were in junior high again, being paired up with a boy for square dancing by the physical education teacher. Philip Whitmore had been the boy’s name, as she recalled, and he hadn’t been able to dance his way out of a paper bag. Her toes had hurt for weeks afterward. Not her favorite memory.

But this was worse. Much worse. Even though she hadn’t yet determined exactly what the this part of the plan was that Miss Betty had concocted, if it involved Clint Daniels, it couldn’t be good.

“I don’t understand,” she muttered, trying without success to hand the note back to its owner.

“All in good fun, sweetie,” Miss Betty assured her. “All in good fun. Just trust me on this. Your Miss Betty is looking out for your best interests. Find Clint. Talk to him. You may surprise yourself.” She winked. “And him.”

Oh, she would surprise him, all right, if she barreled up to him and tried to start a conversation right out of the blue, especially given the subject. Valentine cards. Matchmaking. Little old ladies with too much time on their hands.

Talk to Clint, huh? And say what, exactly? It wasn’t as if they had anything in common. She wouldn’t be able to come up with much more than saying hello to the man, and even that would be awkward in the extreme.

Clint was a surly, intimidating loner, a rough-edged man who preferred mountain living to spending time in town. He wasn’t a people person. He didn’t care for community events. In fact, she would be surprised if he even—

She hadn’t even finished the thought when she glanced at the door and caught a glimpse of golden-haired Clint walking into the banquet hall, his foster mother, Libby Everhart, on his arm.

It figured. It just figured.

The one time Clint Daniels decided to show up for a town function and it had to be this one.

What a night Olivia was having. And the dance had barely started. If it was just her, she’d grab her coat and be out the door and into the cool air in a second. But with her boys here...

She was well and truly stuck.

She watched as Clint smiled casually and bent his head toward Libby to better hear what she was saying over the combined din of music and conversation. While Olivia didn’t have any inclination to follow Miss Betty’s suggestion, she had to admit he was handsome—in a rough kind of way. He wore his thick hair long enough to brush his collar and his hazel eyes were an intriguing blend of green and gold. He hadn’t shaved in a couple days, and scruff shadowed the sharp planes of his cheeks and chin. Tall with broad shoulders, he looked every inch the mountain man he was.

She imagined his rugged good looks appealed to some women, but she didn’t count herself among them. Her late husband, Luke, had been clean-cut, with a gentle gaze and winsome smile. Those were the kinds of features that attracted Olivia.

Clint’s expression wasn’t unkind, but it certainly couldn’t be described as gentle. His smile was extremely confident, possibly even tipping the scale into arrogant territory.

She couldn’t help the grin that crept up the corners of her lips as she watched him with his foster mother. Clint wouldn’t be smiling in a moment. Miss Betty was headed straight toward him with his valentine missive in her hand.

A woman on a mission. A matchmaking mission.

Olivia chuckled. At the very least it would be an amusing exchange, and her gaze lingered. Could she help it if she wanted to watch the show?

A show that directly involved her.

Heat rushed to her face and she quickly turned away, her stomach churning. What was she thinking? As humorous as Clint’s reaction would be, it was hardly something she’d want to see. How embarrassing. He probably wouldn’t be rude to an old lady, but she suspected he’d toss the paper heart with her name on it into the trash can the moment Miss Betty turned her back. What a humiliating notion.

Leaving the dance altogether was sounding better and better by the moment. Now would be good.

Olivia searched for her sons and found them still lingering by the Sweetheart Wall, but they were no longer interested in the notes pinned there. Instead, they were rolling around on the floor and wrestling with each other, their hard work on their valentines long forgotten.

“Where are the cards you made?” she prompted, affectionately ruffling Noah’s hair as he got to his feet, and separating Levi and Caleb.

Noah proudly pointed to the wall where a jaggedly cut heart was written on in pencil with large, uneven print. Several of the letters held telltale smudges indicating they had been erased and rewritten. But it was the words themselves that caused Olivia’s heart to drop into her stomach and her throat to clog with emotion.

For: My New Daddy

Love, Noah

She didn’t have to ask where Levi and Caleb’s valentines were located. She found them easily. Close to the bottom of the board where little ones’ hands could reach, they were the only two on the wall with the same request as Noah’s.

For a father.

The one thing she could not give them. She would do anything for her boys. Anything. But some things were beyond her control.

Her heart ached for her boys, partly because they’d known grief at such a young age, having lost their father to an accident, and also because she was painfully aware that she could not fulfill their wishes. She had no clue how she was supposed to explain to them that she wasn’t looking to get remarried. They wouldn’t equate their idea of getting a new daddy with the fact that, in the process, she’d have to find a new husband. They were only six years old. How could they possibly understand?

She didn’t want them to know anything about the strain she was under. She wanted them to grow up innocent and happy. With the death of their father, they’d had to mature far too much already. She worried about their not having a good male role model in their lives, but there was little she could do to change that, at least not at present and possibly never. Male friends and neighbors would have to do.

“What’s that, Mama?” Levi asked, pointing to the crumpled heart in her fist. She’d forgotten she was still holding it. “Did you get a valentine? Who’s it from?”

“I—no—” she stammered, but Caleb had already loosened her grip enough to pry the paper away.

“It says Mama and Mr. Clint!” Caleb exclaimed. He was the best reader of the three and had no problem sounding out the words. This one time she wished that he wasn’t quite so good at it.

The triplets simultaneously broke into excited chatter about Mama’s valentine.

“Boys, please.” She felt as if she was watching a spark skittering down a long fuse toward a barn full of explosives. “This isn’t...” She frowned and lowered her brows. “Wait. How do you guys know Clint—er—Mr. Clint?”

“He came to our class,” Levi explained.

“Yeah,” Caleb added. “He talked about camping and rock climbing and horseback riding and search and rescue. He is so cool, Mama. He works in the Deep Gulch Mountains. I want to work in the mountains.”

“And he even brought his dog, Pav,” Noah exclaimed, talking over his brothers. “Pav is a golden ’triever. He likes to catch balls in his mouth.”

“Pav?” Olivia was barely keeping up with the babbling triplets, but it didn’t take a genius to add the boys’ thoughts together and come up with a frightening sum.

One man plus one woman plus three young boys and a dog named Pav.

Oh, no.

“Boys,” she said, hoping the tone of her voice alone would corral their high spirits. But it was too late. With a whoop and a holler they took off, sprinting across the room as fast as their legs could carry them.

Straight toward Clint without a single detour.

From bad to worse to a total disaster in a matter of seconds.

Olivia groaned and absently combed her fingers through her hair, then realized what she was doing and immediately dropped her hands to her side. She was not going to worry about how her hair looked, or if her makeup had smeared, because it didn’t matter how Clint saw her. His perceptions wouldn’t make a bit of difference to her.

That was her story and she was going to stick to it.

* * *

Clint kept his hand on his foster mother’s elbow, not so much because she needed an escort as that he did. This whole Valentine Roundup thing made him antsy and uncomfortable, even if the league had promised there’d be no matchmaking this year. At a mixer like this with most if not all the members of the Lone Star Cowboy League and their families present, there were bound to be single women on the prowl for a husband, and Clint wasn’t interested. He was a confirmed bachelor with a capital B.

He was not in the market for a wife. Unfortunately, women weren’t so quick to pick up on that.

He’d had a few relationships over the years, but it never worked out long term—and he readily admitted he was the reason. He’d start dating an attractive woman only to have her go and get all serious on him, usually sooner rather than later. She’d start pushing him to “define the relationship.” Or worse yet, she’d go and use the L word. Even the thought made him shiver.

He didn’t like feeling boxed in, and there was nothing like a woman trying to hog-tie him to make him claustrophobic. Freedom to come and go as he pleased was paramount to him. Women just didn’t get that. Or want it.

Which suited him just fine. He liked his life the way it was. His golden retriever, Pav, was all the company he needed. Marriage and family? He had nothing to offer.

As they passed through the room, Clint took a moment to shake hands with Grady Stillwater, a wounded ex-army special ops buddy who, up until recently, had also been a certified bachelor—at least until he’d fallen head over heels for his physical therapist, Chloe Miner. Now, suddenly, he was all but crowing about the virtues of matrimony.

“How’s Ben?” Grady’s twin brother, Ben, had been in a horse riding accident that had left him in a coma for several months. Thankfully, he’d recently awakened, but he’d had a mini stroke and was fighting to regain full use of all his faculties.

“Grumpy,” Grady replied with a shrug. “Which Chloe tells me is a good sign. He’s getting better every day.”

Clint clapped a hand on Grady’s shoulder. “Glad to hear it, man.”

Clint returned his attention to Libby, who was deep in conversation with the elderly Miss Betty Leland. He didn’t realize Miss Betty was speaking to him until Libby swatted him on his biceps with her palm.

“Clint, pay attention,” she admonished. Libby Everhart was the one and only woman who ever got to tell him what to do. He loved her like a mother and she’d earned his respect. “Miss Betty just asked you a question.”

“Yes, ma’am. I apologize, Miss Betty. My mind was miles away. You were saying?”

“Just wondering where your thoughts were, sweetheart. Oh, and I wanted to give you this.”

Clint automatically took the paper heart Miss Betty offered him, although he couldn’t fathom why she would want to give him a valentine. Oh, well. He couldn’t help it if his natural charm affected ladies of all ages. He gave her his best grin.

“Got your perfect match on it,” she explained.

“My what?” The smile dropped from his face.

“Be a good sport.” Libby’s voice held a note of warning he couldn’t ignore.

“I—er—okay.” There went any possibility of getting through this night unscathed. He watched his freedom fly right out the window along with any peace he’d hoped to maintain.

He glanced at the paper and immediately wished he hadn’t. He took a breath and choked on it.

Olivia Barlow

Clint Daniels

What was that about? Miss Betty couldn’t possibly think he ought to spend time with Olivia Barlow. The very thought was preposterous. Olivia being a match for Clint was about as far out for him as suggesting the moon was made of green cheese. The woman was a widow with three young sons. Surely Miss Betty didn’t think he’d—

“Just talk to her,” Miss Betty said with a crisp, knowing nod and a mischievous sparkle in her pale blue eyes. “That’s all I’m asking.”

Oh, so that’s all it was.

On what planet? Clint wanted to huff in protest, but with Libby there, he didn’t dare.

“Ask her to dance,” Libby said in a tone that was much too severe to be a mere suggestion. How was he supposed to ignore the mother voice? Clint winced inwardly.

What could Libby be thinking, agreeing with Miss Betty in this? And why were they ganging up on him?

His asking Olivia anything was so not going to happen, no matter what the older ladies thought was best for him. He had no inclination whatsoever to spend time with the triplets’ mama, even if she was a pretty woman with dark brown curls and sea-blue eyes. No one outside of Miss Betty—and Libby, apparently—would fault him for sitting this one out.

He scanned the room. Maybe Olivia wouldn’t even be here. A man could hope.

But no. There she was, over by the Sweetheart Wall, her palms pressed to her flaming cheeks.

And she was staring right at him.

Of course she was. Miss Betty had probably delivered an identical missive to her.

Their gazes met and locked. His heart thudded in an irregular tempo, but he refused to be the first to look away. He raised an eyebrow.

She shook her head, so briefly he wasn’t positive he’d seen it.

Had Miss Betty gotten to her, too? Did Olivia have any idea what the old woman had planned for them?

“Mr. Clint! Mr. Clint!” Three young, identical blond-haired boys accompanied those boisterous voices. Clint immediately recognized them as Olivia’s triplets.

And just when he’d thought things couldn’t get any more complicated. Now it wasn’t just about Olivia, it was about her kids, who were yammering on about something. “Come see! Come see!”

Every word out of their mouths seemed to be punctuated with an exclamation point. All three grabbed at his arms at once and started pulling his sleeves with all their might. Clint set his heels. They could tug all day and would not move him unless he wanted to be moved, but...

He turned his gaze on his foster mother, silently pleading with her to rescue him.

“Oh, go on. Don’t be a spoilsport,” Libby said with a laugh, waving him away.

Not what he wanted to hear. It was one thing to bow out of an obligation to the mother. But kids? How was he supposed to do that?

With a reluctant groan, he allowed the boys to lead him across the room. Maybe if he just followed them to whatever it was they wanted to show him, they’d leave him be and his problem would be solved. He wondered how quickly he could cut out if he saw an opportunity to do so.

It occurred to him that they might be guiding him toward their mother and that she’d put them up to accosting him, but Olivia had moved over to the punch table and was speaking to Carson and Ruby. The boys were clearly leading Clint toward the Sweetheart Wall.

“We made Valentine’s cards in school,” one of the boys said proudly. “We cut them out with scissors and everything.”

“Yeah? That’s...nice.” And it had absolutely nothing to do with him. So why were the triplets so intent on showing him their valentines?

He looked from one to another, feeling stymied. He didn’t know their names, and even if he did, he had no idea how he’d ever be able to tell them apart. They were especially daunting when they were all speaking at once.

“See?” another one of the boys said, pointing to a heart covered in childish print. “This one’s mine. And that’s Noah’s, and that one over there is Caleb’s.”

As dark as the room was, Clint had to lean forward to read their cards, and what he saw blew him away.

Their notes were for their new daddy?

That was an odd thing for a kid to write, but one thing was for certain. It had nothing to do with him. Maybe Olivia already had a man on her horizon. Good for her. Clint hoped so for his own sake, so he could get out of this ridiculous matchmaking scheme unscathed.

“So does this mean you’ve got a new dad lined up to replace your old one?” he asked hopefully, then immediately wanted to kick himself. All three of the boys’ smiles disappeared and sadness filled their gazes.

He was really, really not good with children. How insensitive could he be? He’d heard about Luke Kensington’s accidental death a couple years back. These kids had been through a lot.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” Clint said, crouching before them. He searched his mind for the right thing to say. “I’m sure you loved your daddy very much.”

“He’s in heaven,” they said simultaneously. “With Jesus.”

Poor kids. Clint didn’t know about the “heaven” part of the equation, but he did know what it felt like to grow up without a father.

“My dad l—” Clint stumbled over his words. He’d been about to say left. Somehow he sensed that would make things worse for the boys. “—went away when I was about your age. So I know what it’s like to grow up without a father.”

“You’re just like us,” one of the boys said, excitement returning to his voice.

Not exactly.

Clint hadn’t had a mother like Olivia to care for him. He’d ended up in the foster care system until he’d aged out. He’d been blessed to land at the Everharts’ ranch near the end of his tenure, but his life had been anything but easy.

He nodded anyway. “Yeah. I guess I am.”

“We’re six.”

“And we are in first grade. You came to our class to talk to us, remember?”

Now that he thought about it, he did remember seeing the triplets when he’d come to speak at the elementary school. It was part of his job as a trail guide to visit the kids’ classes and encourage them to take wilderness tours. He didn’t care for public speaking, but he did like getting paid to work in the mountains doing what he loved best, so he thought this was a decent compromise.

“We want to raise chickens and ducks, but our mom said we have to be more responsible first,” one of the boys informed him.

“Yeah. Like we have to unload the dishwasher every night before dinner.”

“And Mama makes us put our clean clothes away in our drawers.”

The boys were animated and talking all over each other. Clint couldn’t keep up and wasn’t sure he wanted to. What was that they’d said about chickens?

“Hold on, guys,” he said, lifting his hands in surrender. “I can’t understand any of you when you’re all talking at once. Slow down, and one at a time.”

The sudden silence was more jarring than the chatter. Three sets of wide blue eyes stared at him, waiting for him to do—something. He had no idea what. At least they’d stopped pelting him with innocuous facts about their lives.

“You listen to your mama and do what you’re told, and maybe you’ll get those chickens someday. I think it’s a good life lesson for boys to learn to be responsible for the care and feeding of living creatures.”

“But we want them now.” Clint noticed that the boy speaking had a bit of a cowlick in front.

“What’s your name, son?”

“Noah.”

Okay, so Noah was the one with the cowlick. Clint studied the other two for subtle differences. One had deeply carved dimples in his cheeks and the other did not. He pointed to the dimpled one. “And you?”

“Caleb.”

“And I’m Levi.” The boy grinned. He was missing his two front teeth.

So now Clint knew their names, and with effort could put the names with faces. He didn’t know why it mattered. It wasn’t as if he was going to see these kids again, never mind spend any time with them.

Which reminded him—according to Libby and Miss Betty, he was supposed to be chatting up the triplets’ mother. He didn’t want to give the old ladies any indication that he was conceding to their matchmaking in any way, shape or form, but he didn’t know how else he was going to get rid of three clingy young boys besides guiding them back to Olivia.

“What do you say we go and find your mother?” he suggested. “She’s probably wondering where you are.”

“Will you ask her if we can have some chickens?” Caleb queried eagerly.

“And duckies?” Levi added.

Clint choked on a laugh. These kids were nothing if not persistent. “Well, I don’t know about that. I think your mother ought to be the one making that decision.”

“Making what decision?” A female voice sounded from behind his left shoulder.

He turned to find Olivia staring at him, her eyebrows raised and her hands perched on her hips. He didn’t know why, but her demeanor made him feel she was scolding him.

He bristled. He hadn’t done anything wrong. He was just trying to console her nosy kids. If she couldn’t keep them corralled, he didn’t know how she could expect him to do anything about it.

“Chickens,” he replied, pressing his lips into a flat line. “Chickens and ducks, apparently.”

“May I dare ask why you are speaking to my sons about chickens?”

“Hey, they were the ones who brought it up. I was just trying to be nice.”

“Yes, well, thank you—I think. I apologize if they’ve been bothering you.”

“No. They’re fine. Really.”

He didn’t know why he’d said that. The kids had been bothering him—hadn’t they? So why was he reassuring Olivia of just the opposite?

“Boys, leave poor Mr. Clint alone. Let’s go grab a cookie before they’re all gone.” She pointed her sons toward the dessert table.

He watched her turn and walk away, herding her offspring with a deft hand, guiding them by the shoulders in the direction she wanted them to go.

He breathed a sigh of relief. At least that was over. He’d talked to her, right? That ought to soothe over any ruffled feathers with Libby and Miss Betty.

Only...

“Hey, Olivia. Wait up just a sec,” he called. Even as he jogged toward her, he wondered at the wisdom of what he was about to do.

Olivia turned, her eyes widening in surprise. She looked as if he’d startled her. Maybe he had—but not as much as he was about to.

“You want to dance?”

Chapter Two

Olivia was certain she was gaping. Somehow she’d entered into an alternate universe, a twilight zone where Clint Daniels had just asked her to dance. She couldn’t even begin to wrap her mind around it.

She’d never seen Clint dance. Ever. And even if he did dance, she was certain she would be the last woman on the planet he would choose as a partner, even with Miss Betty’s blatant matchmaking.

And yet, there he was, standing in front of her, his hands casually jammed in the front pockets of fraying blue jeans as he waited for her reply. He must really be feeling the pressure. It was amazing what a simple valentine card could do to a man.

His gaze rapidly turned from questioning to impatient. “Well? Are you just going to leave me hanging here or are you going to dance with me?”

She opened her mouth but no words emerged. Absolutely she was not going to dance with him. It was totally out of the question. The triplets were bound to get the wrong impression, and in any case, she hadn’t planned to hit the dance floor tonight. With anyone. But Clint was a formidable man to reject off-the-cuff.

“Please—don’t feel obligated.” There. That ought to do it. Let him off whatever hook he felt caught on. “I appreciate what Miss Betty was trying to do but, honestly, this really isn’t necessary.”

His brow lowered over stormy eyes, the green overshadowing the gold. “I don’t feel obligated. Now do you want to dance with me or don’t you?”

“The triplets—”

“Will be fine for the five minutes we’re on the dance floor. We can both keep our eyes on them.”

That wasn’t what she’d been about to say. She didn’t want the boys to leave the roundup tonight thinking they had a new daddy arriving in the near future, most especially not in the form of Clint Daniels. They had already hit him up once this evening, and goodness only knew what they’d been telling him. Whatever it was, she had to admit they’d been happy and animated.

And to her surprise, he’d been gentle with them. She wouldn’t have expected a man like Clint to have a soft spot for children.

Hopefully, the boys hadn’t mentioned anything in regard to her being on the lookout for a new husband. Their saying they wanted a new daddy could definitely be interpreted that way. She didn’t want Clint to misconstrue anything her sons might have said, however innocently they’d meant it.

But maybe she was worried for nothing. All she’d picked up when she’d joined the conversation was some vague comment about chickens.

In hindsight, she should have headed off the triplets long before they’d shared anything personal about their lives—about chickens.

Oh, dear.

“Mama,” Noah said, throwing his arms around her waist. The boys had realized she wasn’t following them and had returned to her side. “I thought we were going to get cookies.”

“We’re hungry,” Levi added, tugging on her arm.

“So am I.” Take a hint, Clint.

“It’s my fault she stopped,” Clint said with a chuckle. “I asked your mother to dance, but she hasn’t answered me yet.” He crouched down to the triplets’ level. “Let me in on a secret. Does your mama dance, boys?”

“Yes. Yes. She’s a really good dancer,” Caleb exclaimed.

“Yeah,” Levi agreed. “She used to be a bal’rina when she was a little girl.”

Clint chuckled. “Well, I don’t know how much good her extensive ballet training will do with the Texas two-step, but I’m willing to give it a go. How about it, Mama? Shall we show your boys how it’s done?”

“Dance, Mama. Dance.” The boys echoed each other. All three were physically pushing and pulling her toward Clint. Her face had to be a flaming red. It was too crowded in the hall and the temperature was set too high.

“C’mon, Olivia. Let’s give your boys something to talk about.” He stood and extended his hand to her.

Her gaze swept from one eager young face to the next. She didn’t want them to be talking about their mother and Clint sharing a dance, but how could she disappoint them when they looked at her that way?

“I—er—okay.”

His hand, rough with calluses, engulfed hers, but that wasn’t the half of it. This entire set of circumstances was swallowing her whole—and she knew who to blame for it. It was all Clint Daniels’s fault.

“Cheap tactics,” she muttered as he pulled her into his arms. “Using my boys to get me to agree to this. Low blow, if you ask me.”

He leaned back to meet her gaze and then chuckled. “It worked, didn’t it?”

“Don’t encourage them.”

“No worries.” He pulled her closer so she had no choice except to rest her cheek on his shoulder. His hand easily spanned her waist. She was vibrantly aware of his nearness, the deep rhythm of his breath and the warm musk of his aftershave. His shoulder muscles rippled under her palm.

Everything she should not be noticing about him.

“Maybe you don’t think so, but I’d rather not put ideas into their heads. It’s bad enough that they discovered the valentine Miss Betty wrote that matched me up with you. Dancing? Only going to make it worse.”

His chest rumbled with laughter. “So that’s what it was. I was wondering why they chose to share the valentines they’d written with me.”

“Exactly. If we’re not careful, they’ll be lobbying for you to be their new dad. I’m sure that wasn’t what you had in mind when you showed up here tonight.”

“Huh.” He spun her around. “I think that may already have happened.”

“What?” Olivia groaned.

Please, please, please let this not be happening.

He leaned down close to her ear. The music was so loud it was nearly impossible to carry on a conversation, even as close as they were—and they were close. Much too close for Olivia’s liking. She couldn’t seem to be able to still her racing pulse. She coached herself to breathe evenly, but all that did was cause her to get another good whiff of Clint’s masculine scent. He must be wearing too much. It was making her giddy.

“It’s just one dance. We’ll pacify Miss Betty’s penchant for matchmaking, and then we can walk away from each other and go on with our separate lives. Your boys will forget about me the second I’m gone. Sound good?”

Good was an understatement. She wasn’t comfortable with the myriad of emotions coursing through her, and the sooner she got out of Clint’s arms, the better.

As large as he was, and for someone who didn’t dance much, Clint had a natural rhythm. He took the lead, but subtly and surprisingly gently. He twirled her around until her head was spinning. She refused to believe that her rapid breathing had anything to do with the man who held her in his arms.

Olivia sent up a silent prayer of thanksgiving when the music ended. Now, as Clint had said, they’d each go their own way, only slightly worse for the wear. She glanced around, looking for the boys.

“They’re over there,” Clint said, pointing to the far end of the room. It was a little disconcerting that it seemed as if he’d read her mind. “My foster mother, Libby, rounded them up and got them all cookies and punch while we were dancing.”

It bothered Olivia that while Clint had been keeping his eyes on her children, she’d been completely lost in their dance. What must he think of her?

Heat rose to her cheeks. Again. She didn’t fluster easily, and yet her interaction with Clint tonight had her thoughts going every which way including loose. She didn’t like feeling scatterbrained.

It didn’t help matters when he flashed a lady-killer grin and enveloped her hand in his.

“Don’t worry. Libby has been a foster parent for years. She’s great with kids.”

“I can see that. And I wasn’t worried.” Olivia was mortified at her own conduct, maybe, but she wasn’t worried about her children.

“There now, you see?” Libby said to Clint as they approached. “Aren’t you glad you took my advice and asked Olivia to dance? You two made such a lovely couple out there. You were obviously enjoying yourselves.”

Olivia gasped and then choked on her breath, feeling as if she’d just been hit behind the knees. It was a wonder she didn’t fall over.

So that was the reason Clint had asked her to dance—and had been so intent on it. Not because he wanted to dance with her, or even, as he’d said, to pacify Miss Betty. Rather, he was favoring his foster mother’s request.

Olivia’s cheeks burned. She couldn’t imagine why Clint’s motivation mattered in the least. She’d been going to turn him down before the triplets got involved. And yet there it was—that small niggling feeling of rejection worming its way through her chest.

She was being ridiculous. This train had to stop now, before it jumped the tracks.

“Thanks for taking care of my sons.” Happily, her voice had returned to normal, even if her knees were still shaking.

“It’s absolutely been my pleasure,” Libby responded with a kind, maternal smile. “You have some really wonderful boys right here. Three special blessings.”

“Yes, they are.” At least that was something they could all agree on.

“They’ve been telling me all about how their daddy used to take them camping and climbing, just like Clint.”

Olivia’s stomach lurched. The triplets had been only four years old at the time and she didn’t know how much they remembered about Luke, who’d been a passionate outdoor enthusiast.

In fact, she’d lost Luke to a rock climbing accident, although she’d never shared that information with the triplets. Maybe when they were older and were in a better place to be able to understand. But for now she kept it silent and close to her heart.

“As it happens, my Clint here is a trail guide. He works full-time in the Deep Gulch Mountains teaching camping skills and wilderness survival tactics to young folks just like these handsome fellas. Your sons would love it.”

Olivia nodded, more to be polite than really agreeing with Clint’s foster mother. “I’m sure they would,” she murmured courteously.

“Perfect,” Libby exclaimed. “Clint can take your boys on a day trip, a beginner’s challenge, and teach them all about wilderness safety. That would be fun, wouldn’t it, Clint? Do you have a weekend opening where you can fit them in?”

Clint’s wide-eyed gaze traveled from Olivia to Libby and back again. He looked as if he’d just swallowed a porcupine. Olivia felt exactly the same way and knew her expression probably mirrored his.

Unfortunately, the boys had been listening to the conversation. At Libby’s suggestion, all three started cheering and chattering on about what they were going to learn when they went out with Mr. Clint.

Which was never going to happen. There was no way Olivia was going to allow her boys to go up into those mountains again, not even with a trail guide as experienced as she imagined Clint must be. Certainly not until they were much, much older, and even then Olivia knew she would have reservations. If Luke, who’d been a master rock climber, could meet his death climbing, who knew what could happen to three rambunctious six-year-olds?

There were too many variables.

Even if her fears didn’t play into the equation, she wouldn’t be inclined to let her children go anywhere with Clint. He might be a wonderful trail guide, but what did he know about kids? He’d been gentle and patient tonight, but she had no doubt her boys would wear him down in a flash. Olivia knew from experience what mischief they could get into in a short amount of time.

She shook her head. This had to stop now.

* * *

What was Libby thinking, offering his services without consulting him first? Clint rocked back on his heels and threaded his fingers through his hair. He was supposed to be done with Olivia Barlow, not planning to take her kids on an outing.

The dance was supposed to be the end of this fiasco. Now, apparently, it was just the beginning.

Even a beginner’s challenge would be difficult for a six-year-old, never mind three of them. He might be able to keep their attention for a little while, but a day trip? Not so much. He imagined they’d be little terrors out there in the woods, running off in every direction at the drop of a hat. How on earth was he going to keep track of them and keep them reeled in? The very thought made him shudder.

But he could hardly beg off after Libby had made the suggestion. He pressed his lips together to keep from doing just that, afraid of what might come out of his mouth if he didn’t.

“Thank you for offering, Libby,” Olivia said, laying her hand on the woman’s arm. “I appreciate you thinking of my boys. I’m sure a day trip with Clint would be fun for them, but I’m afraid we’re going to have to pass this time.”

Wait—what? Had she just turned Libby down?

Turned him down?

He bristled and stood an inch taller, squaring his shoulders and pressing forward on the balls of his feet.

She thought he couldn’t do it, did she? She thought that he couldn’t teach her boys how to enjoy the mountains, how to survive in the wilderness? Did she really believe that he couldn’t keep them safe?

Who knew the Deep Gulch Mountains better than he did? Who else spent their days and many a night in the forest with only the light of the stars for a ceiling? He was far better than any boys’ organizations that he knew of. His guided trail experiences were up close and personal, molded into whatever his clients most needed and wanted.

Pride flooded his chest, but it was a tender, guarded emotion. If he didn’t watch out, she’d pop his ego like a sharp needle on a balloon.

“It will be good for them to learn new skills,” he prodded. “Boys like being out in the open, and everyone needs a good survival course. Can’t start too young.”

Stop talking.

What was he doing? Digging himself into a hole? Probably, but he couldn’t seem to stop the flow of his words.

“Be that as it may,” Olivia said, lifting her chin and meeting his gaze square on. He wasn’t intimidating her—not that he really wanted to, but she was calling his career into question. What did she expect? He wouldn’t go down without a fight.

“What?” His emotional walls were in place. Impenetrable no matter what she said next.

“It’s too soon.”

That caught him off guard. What was too soon?

“Oh, Olivia, dear. I’m so sorry,” Libby said, pulling her into a bear hug. “You’re thinking of your Luke, aren’t you? Well, of course you are. Clint and I are being completely insensitive, aren’t we?”

Olivia’s shoulders shook. Was she crying? Please—anything but that. Clint did not do well with a woman’s tears.

Libby’s gaze pleaded with him from over Olivia’s shoulder. But for what? What did she want him to do? Press forward? Back off? He didn’t know what to do with Olivia’s tears. He didn’t even know what they were talking about.

Olivia stepped back and swiped her suspiciously wet cheeks with the palms of her hands.

“It’s nothing against you,” she said, motioning to Clint. “I’m sure you’re a wonderful trail guide. It’s just that—” Her sentence broke off as she looked at her boys. “Guys, why don’t you go grab another cookie, huh?”

The boys squealed and took off toward the dessert table.

Clint silently waited for an explanation.

“I’m sure you remember that my husband passed away a couple of years ago. What you may not know is that he died in a freak rock climbing accident. They said one of his clamps gave way. And he was an expert. The triplets are not. I can’t risk my boys getting hurt up there. They’re completely inexperienced—and they’re a handful during the best of times. One or another of them could easily slip away from you. Trust me, it happens all the time.”

Clint nodded. “I get where you’re coming from, but I assure you—they’re totally safe with me. I won’t let anything happen to them. Not on my watch.”

Not like Clint’s own father, who’d brought him up to the mountains and then just walked away. No. Nothing like that.

“I believe you,” Olivia assured him. He didn’t know whether she meant it or not, but her words were a balm to his bruised ego. “I just can’t let them go with you. It’s about me, not you.”

That was that, then. It kind of sounded like a breakup line, but he would take what he could get. He thought that was the end of the subject, and he couldn’t help but feel a little bit relieved. Going their separate ways—that was what he wanted, wasn’t it? What they’d talked about? Agreed on?

Yet a small part of him wanted to prove to her that he was responsible, capable of leading her sons on a successful day trip. That they’d have fun and learn everything he had to teach them.

“I have a splendid idea,” Libby said, jovially squeezing Olivia’s shoulder.

Olivia smiled, but it was shaky at best. Her chin was still quivering.

“Why don’t you go with them? It would do you good to get out and get a little fresh air, and that way you’ll be right there to take care of the triplets and see that they don’t come to any harm.”

Clint’s gaze widened. Come to any harm? Surely Libby didn’t believe he couldn’t handle three kids for one day.

“Isn’t that a good idea, Clint, darling? Olivia accompanying you on the day trip?”

No. It was not a good idea. In fact, it was the worst idea he’d ever heard. What was he going to do with Olivia on the beginner’s challenge? By default it would be targeted at six-year-olds. Surely she wouldn’t be interested in a children’s wilderness safety course.

And to top it off, he knew he’d get distracted. By her sparkling blue eyes. By the beautiful, full curve of her lips. By the rich oriental scent of her perfume. Everything he’d discovered about her when they were dancing.

He wasn’t marriage material, but he was a man, and he couldn’t help but be attracted to a pretty woman. Olivia was definitely that and then some.

This whole thing was a disaster in the making.

“Maybe Olivia is right,” he suggested, running a hand across the stubble on his jaw. “She’s not ready to venture out yet. And the boys are still young. There’s plenty of time for them to learn mountain skills.”

“But we want to go now, Mr. Clint!”

He hadn’t even seen the kids return, but there they were, and their expressions punched Clint right in the gut. He’d never seen such downcast features, complete with quivering lips and the onset of tears. These boys really wanted to spend time in the mountains. He got that. He felt the same way.

“Well...” he hedged. “What do you think, Olivia? We can take it as easy as you and the boys need to. It doesn’t have to be a big production. We don’t have to do the official beginner’s challenge. I can tailor it to whatever your needs are. It might even be kind of fun.”

Sure, if “fun” meant wrangling three overexcited youngsters for an entire day. He didn’t think that qualified as a good time.

Olivia sighed and rubbed her fingers on the tense muscles at the nape of her neck. “I just don’t know.”

“You can trust Clint,” Libby said, curling a hand in the crook of his elbow and patting his biceps.

“No, I know. Clint is the expert. So what exactly does this day trip entail?”

She was cracking, not that he could blame her. How could she not give in, with Libby’s gentle persuasion? In his experience, Libby could pretty much talk anyone into anything, himself included.

This whole taking-the-Barlows-on-a-day-trip thing being a case in point.

“We can take horses up Pine Meadow Trail. It’s an easy ride and there are several places to stop and enjoy nature.”

“It’s just for a few hours, right?”

“Sure. Whatever you want. Give the boys a little taste of the mountains. Have a picnic.”

She nibbled on her bottom lip and he couldn’t look away. See? She was already distracting him, and they hadn’t even started the beginner’s challenge yet.

“Okay. But if we’re doing this, I insist on bringing the picnic.”

“I’m all for that,” Clint agreed. “I can’t cook a lick. Grab a package of hot dogs and we can roast them with a stick over a fire.”

“And marshmallows?” Her eyes glinted, the first sign of interest she’d shown.

He chuckled and nodded. “Absolutely. Marshmallows, chocolate and graham crackers. What is a picnic in the mountains without s’mores?”

He pulled out his cell phone and opened his calendar. “I’ve got next Saturday available, or—”

His sentence was interrupted by a shouted exclamation and the murmur of the crowd.

“It’s Robin Hood. He’s here!”

Chapter Three

An icy finger of alarm skittered down Olivia’s spine.

Robin Hood—the name of the thief who’d been casing Little Horn, rustling cattle and stealing supplies, only to turn around and fence them, making gifts to some of the less-fortunate, struggling ranchers in the area.

Hence the Robin Hood moniker—stealing from the rich to give to the poor.

He was here? At the Valentine Roundup?

He probably got a kick out of mingling with everyone, with no one the wiser as to his secret identity. It sounded cartoonish, except that it was not. It was frightening, especially to someone like Olivia.

With her tiny, struggling quarter horse ranch, she definitely fell into the latter category. She suspected Robin Hood would take one look at her and feel sorry for her, but that didn’t stop her from worrying that she might be robbed next.

Who knew what the criminal was thinking—what he really wanted? His behavior was erratic at best and no one really knew what he was ultimately after. She couldn’t afford to lose even a single horse in her already dwindling herd, never mind the trivial amount of equipment she owned.

But as much as the thought of losing any of her costly breeding stock horrified her, what concerned her the most was that the thief posed a possible threat to her children, however indirectly.

It was well-known in Little Horn that she was a widow. That made her vulnerable. An easy target. The thought that her triplets might not be safe on her own land frightened her more than she was willing to admit. She could hardly keep her squirrelly boys locked inside all day. They practically lived outside, running and playing and riding and wrestling. What if her triplets accidentally stumbled across Robin Hood when the thief was in the act of stealing something?

So far the guy hadn’t been violent. He’d covered his tracks well. No one had had more than a glimpse of him, and as far as Olivia knew, Sheriff Lucy Benson hadn’t had much success following whatever leads she had on him, nor had the Rustling Investigation Team that had been set up by the league for that purpose.

But a criminal was a criminal and in Olivia’s mind, that made him dangerous. He had to know if he got caught he would be going to prison for his crimes. Put him in a corner and she was fearful that he’d come out biting.

Clint took her elbow and braced his palm against the small of her back. “Are you okay, Liv? You just turned white as a sheet.”

She stared up at him, momentarily speechless. She didn’t know whether she was more surprised by the fact that he was acting so compassionate toward her, or that he’d just used an unfamiliar nickname with her. No one in Little Horn called her Liv.

She shook her head. “It’s Olivia,” she corrected. “And I’m fine.”

His brow lowered. “You’re not fine. Let’s get you seated on a chair and I’ll go find you a bottle of water.”

“No, really. You don’t have to do that.” What did he think? That she was Scarlett O’Hara, ready to pass out at the very thought of a crisis? Olivia had a lot more strength than he was giving her credit for. “I don’t know about you, but I want to hear what’s happening over there.”

She gestured toward the Sweetheart Wall, where folks in the community appeared to be gathering—specifically, board members of the Lone Star Cowboy League and a small group of men and women who were unofficially investigating the crimes. They’d dubbed themselves “the posse.” The name amused Olivia, though she knew Little Horn’s sheriff, Lucy Benson, wasn’t too happy to have inexperienced townspeople practically deputizing themselves.

“Fine,” Clint said, following the direction of her gaze. “Have it your way. We’ll find you a seat over there. But I’m still getting you a bottle of water.” She thought she might have heard him mutter the words stubborn woman under his breath.

She considered herself entirely self-sufficient and it galled her to think he might be even the tiniest bit on target, but at least internally, she had to admit she was feeling a little light-headed—from the rush of adrenaline surging through her and concern for her farm. It had absolutely nothing to do with the man who wrapped his muscular arms around her as he guided her across the room, assuring himself as much as her that she didn’t waver when she walked.

When they reached the Sweetheart Wall, she decided to ignore his dictatorial attitude in favor of a chair. Her own decision, not his. He had the bedside manner of an ogre, but she sensed that he meant well.

He led her to one of the nearest chairs, which were set up in a line against the wall near where everyone was gathered, mostly for use by elderly women and wallflowers. And widows, she supposed.

Clint waited until Olivia was seated before shifting to the side so he could take a glance at the missive that was causing all the commotion. He frowned and threaded his fingers through the hair curling around his collar. She’d been around him only for an hour but she already recognized the action as one he used when he was frustrated. Something he read had disturbed him.

“What is it?” The muscles in her shoulders and neck contracted painfully as she awaited his response. She held her breath.

“Robin Hood. He left a message on the wall in the guise of a valentine card.”

“What’s it say? Is it a threat?”

Clint swallowed and his Adam’s apple bobbed. “Kind of, although it’s not the sort of thing I would expect from a real criminal.”

He cleared his throat and read:

“To all struggling ranchers: Funny how the Lone Star Cowboy League spends tons of money putting on a fancy event for themselves but doesn’t seem to have enough to help those who are really in need.

“Jerks. Whatever. If they won’t help, we will.”

“That doesn’t bode well for members of the Cowboy League.” Olivia frowned.

“For any of us, really,” Clint agreed, scrubbing a hand over his jaw. “I don’t like the sound of it. I’m not a member of the league, but the Everharts are. I’m not convinced my presence on their land is enough to keep the Everharts from becoming a target. They don’t have a large ranch, but it’s relatively prosperous, and other comparable ranches have been hit. The thief might have started with the richest ranches in town, but they’re working their way down. It’s only a matter of time before they run out of league ranches and start robbing everyone else.”

She reached for Clint’s hand. He scowled at the Sweetheart Wall.

“We’ve got to find this guy,” he growled. “And sooner rather than later.”

“Guys,” Olivia corrected, noting the worry lines creasing his face. He was clearly genuinely concerned about his foster parents. In Olivia’s opinion, how a man treated his folks said a lot about him. That Libby and James were Clint’s foster parents and not his biological ones made it even more touching.

“What?” He arched his blond eyebrows.

“The note says we’ll help. Plural. Do you see what I’m saying? Clint, there’s more than one thief out there.” Her logical deduction did not make her feel any better. More thieves meant more opportunities for crimes to be committed. “Did the handwriting look familiar to you?”

The corner of Clint’s jaw ticked. “Afraid not. It’s typewritten.”

Carson Thorn, the president of the Cowboy League, pressed his fingers to his lips and whistled shrilly over the uproar of the crowd. Folks immediately stopped talking and turned their attention to him.

“Can I get the remainder of the members of the league board and the investigation team over here? The rest of you can go back to the party and enjoy yourselves.” He gestured for the band to strike up another tune. “No sense having this low-down criminal ruin the day for everyone. Don’t worry, folks. The board and the sheriff’s department are on it.”

“And the posse,” added thirty-something Amanda Jones with a frown.

Olivia chuckled under her breath at the name the group had given themselves. Right out of an old Western movie, where the sheriff “deputized” the good guys and they rode in to save the day.

In a sense, she supposed, the Lone Star Cowboy League was the good guys, providing much-needed support and services to struggling ranches around the area. They’d even developed special programs for the youth.

Her great-grandmother Lula May had been the only female founding member of the Little Horn chapter of the Lone Star Cowboy League, but Olivia hadn’t been asked to join the investigatory group, possibly because her ranch was inconsequential compared to the ones that had been robbed, not to mention that she was a widow busy raising three young boys. She was struggling just to keep her twenty acres above water and even if she wanted to, which she didn’t, she didn’t have time to put into chasing local thieves.

Clint had just said he wasn’t a member of the league, so he personally had no more at stake in catching the thieves than she did, but when their gazes locked and he arched a golden eyebrow, she knew he was thinking the same thing she was. They both wanted to know what was going on—firsthand.

The intentions of the thieves’ movements were shifting, and it was anybody’s guess where they were going next.

Clint reached for Olivia’s hand and drew her to her feet, tucking her arm into the crook of his elbow. He glanced down, concern evident in his eyes. Maybe he still thought she was ready to swoon like an actress in an old-time film, but she was made of sterner stuff than that.

She smiled up at him. He nodded briefly and stepped into the rapidly forming group as if he belonged there. As if they belonged there.

“I’ve had enough of this nonsense,” Byron McKay growled. “Lucy, when are you going to do your job and bring this thief to justice? I want him behind bars and prosecuted to the full extent of the law.”

Byron, middle-aged and portly, was the vice president of the league and by far the richest land owner in the county. He was also the one who complained the loudest. Olivia supposed she couldn’t completely blame him. He was the only rancher in the area to have been hit twice. Even so, his annoying blustering wasn’t helping matters. Folks needed to remain calm and levelheaded if they were going to get anywhere with this.

“Thieves.” Clint spoke up, his voice strong and steady. “Olivia was the one who first noticed this. Look here,” he said, pointing to the typewritten missive. “These guys wrote ‘we will,’ not ‘I will.’ It appears we’re looking for more than one criminal here.”

She tightened her grip on Clint’s forearm and he laid his hand over hers. As if one thief wasn’t bad enough.

“There’s something else in the wording of the letter that strikes me,” Lucy said thoughtfully, curling her short blond hair behind her ears and peering at the thieves’ card through her fringe of bangs. “The way it’s written sounds...juvenile. Like teenagers. It’s possible our profile is off and we need to adjust the age range of our thieves.”

“I don’t care how young they are,” Byron bellowed, snorting like an angry bull. “Juvenile delinquents or hardened criminals. What difference does it make? It’s your job to catch them and put them away for good.”

Carson held up a hand. “We all want them caught, Byron. As you well know, we’ve got every rancher in town on high alert. Most of us have installed security cameras, and our wranglers are on the lookout for anything suspicious. Everyone is doing the best they can to find the culprits, both officially and off the books.”

“Well, it’s not enough.”

That didn’t seem fair. Olivia frowned. Sheriff Benson was working overtime on the case. She looked so drawn out and tired that Olivia felt sorry for her.

What more could Byron ask than her best effort? But then again, that was the way the McKays operated. Just because they had money they thought they were entitled to everything being handed to them on a platter.

Including, apparently, the Robin Hood—Hoods.

Only this time, it wasn’t quite so simple.

Her gaze shifted to Byron’s teenage fraternal twin sons, Gareth and Winston, expecting them to have the same snooty expressions on their faces as their father did. To her surprise, they looked embarrassed, maybe even a little angry that their dad was spouting off his mouth.

She didn’t blame them. She’d be embarrassed, too, if Byron was her father. The man didn’t know when to leave well enough alone. Hopefully, Byron’s boys would grow up wiser and kinder than their father, taking a better path and becoming cooperative members of the Little Horn community.

To her credit, despite the personal attack on her capabilities as sheriff, Lucy ignored Byron’s raging and focused on the typewritten missive. “It’s too bad the note isn’t handwritten,” she remarked, intensely studying the veiled threat. “Someone might have recognized the print. As it is, I think we’ve made good strides today in further developing our working profile of the thief—er, thieves.”

Carson nodded and folded his arms. “Right. So from the language of the missive, we’re guessing they’re youth. Teenagers, maybe?”

“Or they could be young adults,” Olivia offered, thinking out loud.

Even an extended profile of the thieves was discouraging. She glanced around the room. There were probably close to a hundred teenagers in the room, and if she added everyone under thirty into the mix, that was a lot of people to investigate.

“The Robin Hoods are definitely old enough to drive a truck with a trailer attached and are familiar both with stock and ranch equipment,” Lucy said. “There is no doubt that they grew up in the country, probably on a ranch and most likely in Little Horn. At least one of them is likely a male, since it would require a modicum of strength to move many of the stolen items. Based on everything else we’ve learned, I’d hazard a guess that we’re looking for two or more young men.”

“And one other thing,” Olivia said, her breath catching as the realization dawned on her. The letter. The thieves had walked right into the grange and posted it to the wall and no one had even noticed. They weren’t strangers, then. They were neighbors.

She shuddered. The thieves could be in the room with them at this very moment. She probably knew their parents.

“The note is pinned on the Sweetheart Wall,” she said, raising her voice to be heard over the din.

Clint’s brow lowered. “And?”

“And no one is allowed in the banquet hall unless they are a member of the league, or a member’s guest.” She gestured around the room. “Whoever put up this note is not only welcome at league functions, but has the ability to walk among us with no one the wiser. We aren’t seeing them because they don’t look out of place. They’re one of us.”

“So we need to narrow it down to league members,” Lucy concluded. “We need to be especially aware of teens and young adults, although I don’t want to rule out other possibilities at the present time.”

The tone of the room immediately shifted. It was alarming that no one had noticed anyone posting the missive on the wall, because whoever it was was here—and belonged here.

People’s gazes started shifting around the room as they examined and discarded possible culprits. Folks whispered among themselves. Pointed fingers and then shook their heads. Nodded and made quiet accusations.

Lucy held up her hands and turned to the secretary of the Little Horn branch of the Lone Star Cowboy League, a tall, gawky young redhead with an oversize orchid corsage on her wrist.

“Ingrid, I want a list of all league members and their families delivered to the station. We’re closing in on the thieves. I can feel it in my bones.”

“I agree,” Carson said. “I think we’re going to get these guys, especially because they’re probably here tonight. We need to make a plan—question folks to see if anyone noticed a youngster putting a typewritten letter on the Sweetheart Wall—but we should organize our movements. Try not to stir up too much of a scene.”

“Spread out and mingle. Don’t rile people up. Perhaps someone saw something we can use,” Lucy added.

“I hope so,” Clint murmured in Olivia’s ear.

“You’d better find something if you value your job,” Byron said, a great deal louder than was necessary.

Clint met Olivia’s gaze and briefly shook his head at Byron’s nonsense. Then he winked at her and his mouth curled up in an endearing crooked grin that sent her stomach tumbling. “Don’t worry about your sons, Olivia. Byron’s huffing aside, we’re closing in on the thieves. Those Robin Hoods don’t stand a chance now that I’m on board.”

An hour ago she would have thought Clint was the most egotistical, narcissistic man ever if he’d made such a presumptuous statement. But now?

Now she saw a thoughtful, determined man who wouldn’t stop until the thieves were behind bars. He might not be a superhero, but she was glad he was on her side.

* * *

Clint wasn’t a member of the Lone Star Cowboy League, much less the Rustling Investigation Team, but he wanted these thieves caught as much as the next guy. More, even, now that he had Olivia on his arm. Who would have thought one hour with a woman could change his entire perspective?

How could he not be concerned about Olivia? She hadn’t shared much with him, but she was clearly upset by the prospect of being robbed, and who could blame her, a woman alone with three young children? Her quarter horse farm might be one of the smaller and less flourishing ranches in Little Horn, but with no man around to protect them, she and her boys were especially vulnerable, ripe for criminal picking.

The targets the Robin Hoods were pursuing didn’t have much rhyme or reason to them, even with the additional clue of the valentine card. At first they’d gone after the larger ranches and Byron had even been twice robbed. Some folks were pillars of the community. Others, like Byron, likely had made some enemies along the way.

Now the thieves were sometimes reversing their behavior, leaving gifts for those they considered needy instead of robbing. At best it was hit or miss and not typical criminal behavior at all, the medieval Robin Hood notwithstanding.

James and Libby, on whose property he lived, were also possible targets. Their ranch was also small but unlike Olivia’s meager holdings, the Everharts were relatively prosperous. It was hard to say whether the thieves would think it was worth their time to target their ranch. Clint lived in a small cabin on the land. He didn’t have any enemies that he knew about and he tried to be a good person, but he wasn’t well-known in town. For all he knew, the Robin Hoods would use him as an excuse to rob the Everharts. Then again, his presence might be enough to deter any criminal activity.

Those thieves better hope they never had to mess with him, because he wasn’t kidding around.

But what about the times he was away from the ranch? He spent many nights out in the Deep Gulch Mountains working as a trail guide and in search and rescue. He couldn’t be everywhere at once.

And now he had Olivia and her boys to consider. What was he going to do about them? Odd that the Barlows hadn’t even been on his radar before this evening, but if he’d learned one thing in his years as a foster child, it was that life could change in the blink of an eye.

As of now, he would do whatever he had to in order to get these thieves behind bars. On that one subject, he agreed with mouthy, arrogant Byron McKay, although Clint was willing to pitch in to catch the thieves and Byron expected everyone else to do the work for him. Entitlement was his middle name.

The man didn’t know when to hold his peace. Even his kids were clearly tired of his ranting. Both Gareth and Winston looked as if they’d rather be anywhere but standing by their father. Gareth kept glancing at a small group of teenage girls who were giggling and gossiping. Winston just stared at his feet.

Clint’s gaze zoomed in on the young men. In some ways they fit the profile of the thieves. They were male teenagers who knew their way around a ranch.

He considered bringing that point up to Lucy but then quickly discounted the notion as not worth mentioning. The McKays’ ranch had already been robbed twice. It wasn’t as if Byron’s own sons would rob their father. Anyway, they were both too high in the instep to get their hands dirty.

There were so many teenage boys running around here that it would be impossible to narrow the field without interviewing each and every one of them, and even then, they might come up with nothing. Most of these young men had been born on ranches and worked cattle with their parents.

Jed Parker and Chris Cutter were fooling around with the sound equipment. It looked as if they might be sneakily rigging it up to play some of their music and taking over from the band. They could very well be the thieves the town was looking for.

Clint sighed. It seemed everyone was a suspect.

“What if they’re right?” Carson asked, his expression grim. He leaned against the Sweetheart Wall and gestured at the missive. “About the Cowboy League, I mean. Are we doing enough to help struggling ranchers around here? We’ve got a few programs going, but we also throw events like the Valentine Roundup. Do you think anyone else in the area feels slighted besides these young men?”

“I know how much the league helped me after Luke’s death,” Olivia said, her voice both strong and thoughtful. Whatever her fears, she wasn’t going to voice them to the team. Clint respected that. “If I recall correctly, y’all came out and helped me mend fences. And then several of you painted the barn for me one weekend.”

She brushed a dark strand of hair behind her ear and continued. “I’m not the only one who has benefited from the league. Don’t forget the programs and scholarships we offer to the young people. Future Ranchers, for one. The Stillwaters have done a lot with the teenagers in that program. Think about all the students we’ve helped over the years, and there’s far more to that than monetary value. They feel our backing, the love and support the league members offer them.”

The small group erupted in murmurs of agreement. Clint was impressed. The small-statured quarter horse breeder had turned out to be an impressive orator. Who would have thought?

“Tyler Grainger, for example. He was able to go to school and become a doctor because of the league. We have a real sense of community in Little Horn. The league was formed to help ranchers look after their own, and that’s exactly what we do. My great-grandma Lula May would be proud.”

As Clint recalled, Lula May was the only female member of the original Cowboy League. That was back when women didn’t usually have much of a say. She must have been one tough lady—much like her great-granddaughter.

“You think other ranchers feel that way? That the league is beneficial?” Carson asked, not sounding completely convinced. “Obviously someone doesn’t.”

“The missing town-limit sign,” Lucy said, shaking her head. “‘Welcome to Little Horn, Texas.’ I get it now. That’s what this is about. The message they’re trying to send. They don’t believe the league supports our community, or maybe they don’t feel like they are being acknowledged in it.”

“I can’t speak for everyone, but I know all my friends and neighbors respect the league,” Olivia assured Carson.

The rancher snorted in derision.

Clint clenched his fists. Somebody needed to give the man a good shaking, and at the moment he’d be happy to be the one to do it. Byron was vice president of the league, but that was just for show and so he could throw his weight around. If he started picking on Olivia, Clint would not apologize for his next actions.

“Folks ought to look after their own and not depend on the league to bail them out.” Byron flung an arm around each of his sons’ shoulders. They squirmed and looked miserable, and who could blame them? “Thanks to my own hard work, my sons will never rely on charity.”

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