Tina Leonard - Triplets' Rodeo Man (8 page)

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 show
ering,” 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.

 

T
WENTY 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 pregnant 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.

“It's okay,” she said. “You'll get over that fear the first time you jump, Mr. Morgan.”

Jack wasn't feeling any better by the time Cricket went in for her appointment. The physician seemed competent, but he had a hundred questions and felt silly asking everything he felt he needed to know. So he abstained, assigning himself the role of interested listener.

“I assume it's still okay to have sexual relations?” Cricket asked, and Jack perked up. This was a question to which he very much wanted to hear a positive response.

“As long as you feel like it,” Dr. Suzanne said, music to Jack's grateful ears. “At least to a certain point,” the doctor qualified. She measured Cricket's stomach, the same tummy that Jack had taken his time kissing last night. He noted that it was a very shapely tummy, almost enough to give him sexual thoughts he didn't need to have at the moment. He shifted in his chair, and the doctor smiled at him.

“Don't worry,” she told him, “a lot of fathers have fears about hurting their partners during intercourse.

And some worry that the baby will grab them,” she said, laughing. “So please feel free to ask any questions you want to, Mr. Morgan.”

Grab him? He blinked. What a horrible thing to say to a man! It was almost guaranteed to make a man anxious about things that weren't worth worrying about. “I don't have any questions,” he said firmly.

She looked at Cricket. “Are you tired?”

“Just a little.”

“Taking your prenatal vitamins?”

Cricket nodded. He made a mental note to make certain she was getting enough rest and taking her vitamins.

“Still nauseated?”

“It's getting better,” Cricket said. “I think.”

The doctor smiled. “Good.” She rubbed some clear stuff on Cricket's stomach and touched a wand there. “Mr. Morgan, say hello to your children.”

Like magic, he saw waves and curves on the screen. He saw a lot of black and white but nothing that looked as much like babies. Still, he fancied he could see something. “Are there really three?”

“It's quite a jumble in there,” the doctor explained. “But they seem content for the moment.”

“Can you tell how big they are? Can you estimate how long I have before I'll need full bed rest?” Cricket asked.

“Considering your size, I don't expect you to go past October, Maybe November. We'll do what we can to keep them inside you and growing healthfully as long as possible.”

Jack blinked. October! That didn't give him a lot of
time to get Cricket to the altar. He needed to get his father out of the hospital and on his feet. Laura was due with her baby any day. He swallowed, realizing that if he was going to convince Cricket to marry him, he needed to do it quickly, because she wasn't likely to feel the same need after the babies were born. He'd seen the slight embarrassment on her face in the waiting room; he'd known what she was thinking:
Here sits Deacon Cricket, local good girl gone bad.

Those were
his
babies in her belly—he had to help her see the urgency of the matter. There was a lot that needed to be settled between them. The whole parachuting thing had thrown him. Frankly, he and Cricket needed to start developing a relationship where he would have some say in her life. If they weren't married, Cricket might begrudgingly label him a friend and nothing more.

“You're very quiet over there, Mr. Morgan,” the doctor said, and Jack swallowed. Cricket looked at him with big brown eyes.

He needed to say something appropriate to the moment. But he was so lost.

“I'm gonna be a dad,” he said slowly, wondering if he'd be any better at it than his father.

Could he be?

 

“C
RICKET
, I
NEED TO MEET
your parents. And your brother. Soon, like today.”

“Don't you think you should go home and see your father? He's recuperating from major surgery.”

“Pop's got an army of people taking care of him. He'll appreciate my desire to introduce myself to your family.”

“They're still digesting the fact of my pregnancy,” she said. “I was slow to confess my situation.” Truthfully she hadn't confessed it at all—yet. In fact, she was still deciding how to best tell them. She didn't have a lot of time before the Fort Wylie grapevine got to them, but still, Cricket didn't want Jack to know she was reluctant to disappoint her parents.

“I'd really like to meet them,” he said, and Cricket sighed.

“I should warn you that they may not welcome you with open arms.”

“I suppose that's fair,” he said. “They looked forward to better for their daughter?” He wanted to know what he was in for, felt some determination to make things right in his life, at least do a better job with her family than he'd done with his own. “Did they feel that you'd been swept off your feet by a man who had no potential and no intention of settling down?”

“Well, I wouldn't—”

“Then they were right.” Jack took her keys, opened the passenger-side door for her. “No more driving for you, Deacon. It's rest from now on. I don't want you lifting your littlest finger. I will take care of everything, just like Dr. Suzanne said.”

“Jack!” Cricket hung back, refusing to sit down. “The doctor didn't say I was on bed rest yet.”

“
I
say you're on bed rest. I intend to carry you and my babies around on a pillow.”

“No,” Cricket said stubbornly. “I don't want that. I'm used to being independent.”

“Me, too,” Jack said, “but I'm changing.”

“No, you're not. You're exactly the same person who jumped into my car in January. You're avoiding your own family by focusing on me and mine.”

“You need me more than they do,” he pointed out. “Call your parents and ask them if they feel like meeting your Prince Charming.”

Cricket shook her head. “Prince Charmings aren't supposed to be so bossy. And can you let the clutch out gently? This is a vintage Bug and I intend to keep it forever.”

He looked at the floorboard and then the long stick shift. “Cricket,” he said, “I hate this car.”

She smiled and shrugged. “You don't like a lot about me, cowboy.”

“No, I'm serious. This isn't a car, it's a tin can. I feel like I'm in the Flintstonemobile.”

She looked at him, one eyebrow raised knowingly. “Can't drive a stick?”

No man liked to be caught looking inadequate, especially when he was applying for the role of chief protector in his lady's life. “Only in an emergency, and only if the vehicle isn't ancient. Where did you get this ‘vintage' car?”

“My father won it years ago in a raffle.” She gave him an airy glance. “My brother, Thad, keeps my car running for me. I can teach you how to drive it.”

He wasn't sure he wanted to be taught anything by
a woman who was pregnant with his triplets. Shouldn't he be taking care of her? “I'm going to buy you a minivan. That will solve everything. Where's the nearest dealership?”

He meant it. Today he was going to buy her the safest, biggest minivan on the market, complete with OnStar in case she got lost between here and Union Junction.

Cricket's lips pinched. Her pretty, brown eyes narrowed. With some trepidation, Jack recognized a storm brewing. “Is there a problem, little mama?”

“Yes,” she said. “You. Get out of my car, you stubborn ape.”

 

C
RICKET LEFT
J
ACK
standing on the pavement in front of the doctor's office. The man could just find his own way home. He had plenty to deal with in his own house—he could just quit worrying about her. “My children, my car, my family,” she muttered, motoring away from the cowboy. “My hobbies, my business, my pregnancy.”

That was the problem. He wanted to worry about everything about her—he wanted to take over her life.

She liked her life just the way it was, thank you.

He said she was stubborn.

What she was was a shade dishonest.

She hadn't told her parents about the babies, and she hadn't mentioned she'd quit her job. In short, she couldn't take Jack home to her parents. Ultimately, she was worse about dealing with family matters than he was.

All the time she'd been trying to get him to tend to Josiah, she'd really been avoiding him getting to know her own family. “Where's an unmarried and pregnant gal's fairy godmother when she needs one?” she asked, and decided it was time to face life without one.

 

C
RICKET PRESSED IN
the numbers on the electronic keypad, and drove through when the massive wrought-iron gates parted. She rang the doorbell, her heartbeat suddenly racing. This visit was long past due.

“Cricket,” her mother said, “how nice to see you.”

“Hello, Mother.”

She stepped into the highly polished marble foyer, waiting for her father to appear.

“Reed, Cricket's come to pay us a visit.”

“Excellent, Eileen,” her father said. “Cricket, dear, we've been expecting you.”

Of course they were. By now they'd probably had fifty phone calls updating them on her downfall. Cricket sighed. “I've been trying to work things out on my own.”

“I suspected as much,” her mother said. “We wish you didn't have such an independent streak, dear. Your father and I hate standing on the sidelines when we wish we could help you.”

Cricket followed her parents into the palatial living room, taking a seat near the huge bay window. “Everyone wants to help me,” she said. “I feel a great need to stand on my own two feet.”

Eileen blinked. “We know. That's why we didn't call.”

Cricket glanced around. “Where's Thad?”

“Your brother is playing polo at the club. He told us you resigned from the church.” Eileen looked sorry about that. “Cricket, dear, we know that working in the church was your dream.”

“I've had a lot of dreams that haven't worked out,” Cricket said. “I seem to be a bit unfocused these days.”

“Well,” Reed said, “entrepreneurs don't always hit the right note the first time out.”

“That's the problem,” Cricket said. “I'm not an entrepreneur. I was a deacon. But then, I fell for an inappropriate man, a man I knew wasn't right for me, who is the furthest thing from stable that he could ever be. The only thing I ever did that was stable was the Lord's work,” Cricket said. “And now I'm pregnant and unmarried. How's that for not exactly practicing what I preach?”

“Oh, dear,” Eileen said. “Reed, did Cricket just say we're going to be grandparents?” She fanned herself, looking faint.

Reed patted his wife's hand. “We hadn't heard
that
piece of news, Cricket.” He looked as if he didn't know what to say.

“I just told the father and his family yesterday.” Cricket felt small and selfish for visiting this shock on her parents. “I've really made a mess of things.”

“Now, listen,” her mother said, sitting up and accepting a glass of whiskey from her husband, “babies are not messy.”

“No, but the parents are. At least these babies' parents are.”

“Babies?” Eileen repeated, her voice very faint.

Cricket nodded. “I'm having triplets.”

Eileen and Reed stared at their only daughter, their faces frozen.

“My goodness,” Eileen said after a moment, “your cowboy must be in shock.”

“I'll say,” Reed said. “Three children and a wife will certainly cut into his winnings.”

Cricket's mind was made up for her with that comment. “I'm not about to be a burden.”

“What do you mean?” Eileen asked.

“I'm going to raise these children on my own.” Cricket nodded, feeling all the pressure fall away from her. “Single motherhood, the most independent thing a woman can do.”

“I'll say,” her father said. “Ever changed a diaper?”

“Some,” Cricket said, but now that she'd made her decision, she knew she was right. With the power of prayer and maybe a dozen child-rearing books, she could give being a mother her very best effort.

Independence was the only reason she hadn't accepted Jack's offer of marriage. Otherwise she'd always wonder if that footloose cowboy had proposed because he'd had to; she'd always wonder if she'd said yes because she was too afraid of standing on her own two feet when faced with three pairs of tiny eyes trusting her to do everything right.