Rose’s brow had Stephen obediently extending his hand. “Hello.”
“Hi.” Clint noted the boy had a surprisingly strong and confident grip.
Continuing her introduction, Rose pointed to the daughter clad in a denim dress and deep purple cowgirl boots. “Scarlet.”
The little girl holding an open storybook had long, curly, strawberry-blond hair, green eyes and glasses.
Scarlet smiled at Clint sincerely. “Hello.”
Clint grinned back. “Good to meet you, Scarlet.”
“And Sophia,” Rose concluded, gently guiding the shyest of the three children forward. Clad in a ruffled skirt, matching knit shirt and ballet slippers, the little girl had long, dark-brown hair that was straight and silky, and clear blue eyes.
She shook Clint’s hand mutely.
“Nice to meet you-all,” he said.
Stephen muscled his way to the front. Unable to stand still, he put his weight on one leg, then the other, peering up at Clint curiously all the while. “We’re three and a half.” He gestured importantly at himself and his two siblings. “How old are you?”
Rose jerked in a breath and lifted a chastising palm. “That’s not a question we ask grown-ups. Not ever. Remember?”
If there was one thing Clint remembered, it was how insatiably curious he had been at the same age. “I don’t mind.” He looked back at the kids. “I’m thirty-three.”
“Mommy’s twenty-nine,” Scarlet announced.
“And a half,” Sophie said.
Rose blushed again.
Letting their gazes collide, then linger, Clint said, “Good to know.”
Looking adorably flustered, Rose whirled away from him, then made a little shooing motion with her hands. “Just let me get them seated.” Her kids darted through the hall, past the corner, and into the cozy space at the rear of the home. Comprising almost all of the first floor, it was at once kitchen, casual dining and living area. “And then—”
“Do you like mini-corndog muffins, Mr. Clint?” Stephen interrupted.
If the golden-brown confections were half as good as they smelled and looked, heck yeah.
“It’s bite-size cornbread with very small chunks of wiener tucked inside,” Rose explained. “A kid-friendly version of a corndog without the hazard of a stick in the center.”
“’Cause if you do like them,” Scarlet said, taking charge, “we can share. That’s polite, isn’t it, Mommy?”
Rose swiped a hand across her face, spreading the aforementioned flour from her cheek to her ear. “Sweetie, I don’t think we want to put Mr. Clint on the spot.”
Trying not to think how long it had been since he’d had lunch—had he stopped to have lunch?—Clint cut the reluctant hostess off with a smile, knowing it would irritate her. He owed her that. He pulled up a chair at the round oak table. “Thanks. Don’t mind if I do,” he drawled.
“You really want to have dinner. With us?” Rose clearly enunciated every word, giving him time, it seemed, to come to his senses.
He shrugged, figuring laying down the law to her could wait a little while longer. At least until he had part of his appetite sated. “Unless there’s not enough?”
* * *
ROSE COULDN’T PLEAD THAT, much as she might like to. With three kids and herself to feed, and the closest restaurant a good twenty minutes away, she always made enough to feed an army.
“Of course there is.” It was having him underfoot, looking—and smelling—so ruggedly handsome and sexy, wreaking havoc with all her senses that was the problem. A fact he seemed to know darn well, judging by the pure masculine devilry in his smile.
A tingle of awareness swept through her. Firmly ignoring it, she went back to get the rest of the serving dishes. She had promised herself she wasn’t going to ever let her sensual side rule her life again, after her ex-husband had left her and the kids. She meant it.
“What about green beans?” Stephen asked, making a face at the bowl she set in the center of the table. “And celery? Or carrots?”
“Do you like those, Mr. Clint?” Sophia asked.
“Because we don’t like any of them!” Scarlet declared.
Clint looked at Rose. She doled out two muffins per child, as well as a carrot stick, a piece of celery, and two green beans. “Slight aversion to v-e-g-e-t-a-b-l-e-s these days,” she explained.
Wasn’t that ironic, given what she did for a living.
Sophia rested her chin on her hand and stared at Clint, warming up to him with surprising quickness despite her shyness. “Yeah, we don’t like veggies.”
“So much for spelling it out,” Clint quipped.
Rose mugged at him comically. Then she brought an extra place setting for Clint. Serious once again, she told her children, “You may not remember it now, but all three of you did like veggies when you were little. And you would again if you would just try them with an open mind.”
“Nope. We won’t,” all three kids said, their heads shaking stubbornly in unison.
The doorbell rang again.
Not exactly unhappy about the reprieve—she didn’t know what it was about Clint that had her tingling all over every time she saw him—Rose lifted a hand. “I’ll get it.”
Leaving the kids and Clint to entertain each other, she rushed toward the door. And was surprised to see Miss Mim and Miss Sadie on her front porch, from the Laramie Gardens retirement-home complex.
“We heard about the berries,” Miss Mim enthused. As always, she was dressed in an outrageously colorful outfit that clashed with her flame-red hair. “Any chance we could get some tonight?”
Looking as elegant as always, Miss Sadie smiled. “We’re having an ice cream social.”
Rose grinned. “No problem. If you want to head for the barn, I’ll catch up with you.” She dashed back to the kitchen.
Clint was sitting with the kids, mischief gleaming in his eyes. Rose didn’t know what had been said, but they were all laughing as if he were the most charming guy on earth. Relieved, as well as a little peeved she had missed out on the hilarity, she asked him, “Would you mind watching them for a couple of minutes while I take care of something?”
He smiled genially, as relaxed as she was stressed. “Sure.”
She raced out, still a little stunned to find the four of them getting along so well.
The lonesome cowboy was always so grumpy and contentious around her! Who would have thought he would enjoy being around her kids?
*
