Her Silver Fox Mountain Men (Lucky Lady Reverse Harems)

Chapter 15

15

James

S hopping for Halloween costumes is becoming a bigger hassle each year. As the girls grow, so does their taste in the macabre—which fills me with equal parts dread and admiration. They are brave little girls, barely afraid of anything.

We stop for a break at a quaint café on Main Street. As soon as we enter, Ainsley spots an available table. "Open seats, Daddy!”

“Go grab ’em!” I reply, letting the girls bolt ahead.

I put the shopping bags on a spare chair at our table while Ainsley and Tricia eagerly take their seats. “What are we having?” I ask.

“Can I have a cap… cappa… what’s it called again?” Ainsley gives me the cutest frown, her ginger curls bouncing with every move.

“A cappuccino,” I chuckle softly. “Sure. Without the coffee, though.”

“Can they put vanilla syrup in it?” Tricia asks.

“I’m sure they can.”

“I want hazelnut syrup,” Ainsley declares.

The waitress giggles upon reaching our table. She must’ve overheard the conversation. “My, my, we have diverse preferences, I see,” she quips and gives me a warm smile. “Hey, Mr. McTierney. Welcome back.”

“Hey, Molly,” I reply with a friendly smile.

She’s seventeen and the daughter of the café’s owner, who also happens to be one of our higher-paying customers in Rustic. She’s a sweetheart through and through, and a hard-working girl. “What can I get for you, sir? I already got the vanilla and hazelnut caps for these feisty young ladies.”

“An Americano would work wonders at this point,” I say. “Can you throw in a plate of those mini croissants for us as well? It’s not too late I hope.”

“Not too late; we’ve got plenty left.”

“Thank you.”

She leaves a water jug and three glasses, then heads back to the counter to get our order going.

Tricia smiles as she stares at the shopping bags. “Can we open them now, Daddy?”

“I know you’re excited, honey, but we agreed we’d wait until we get home,” I remind her.

“But I wanna see if the dress fits.”

“Didn’t we check that at the store?”

She rolls her eyes and leans back into her chair, crossing her arms with a slight pout. She’s the spitting image of her mother, I swear. Ainsley watches Tricia and proceeds to mimic her every gesture. Great. They’re both the spitting image of their mother. I may have lost Laura, but I gained two mini-Lauras. And not a day goes by that I’m not grateful for it.

“Where’s Elise?” Ainsley asks.

“She’s at work,” I tell her. “We’ll see her at home later for dinner.”

“What’s for dinner?” Tricia asks.

“I feel like I’ve landed in the middle of an interrogation,” I shoot back with a soft smile.

“Are we having Italian again?” Tricia is relentless.

I can’t help but laugh. “You’re going to make a fine prosecutor someday.”

“What’s a prosecutor?”

The man from the table next to ours bursts into a hearty chuckle, prompting me to look at him. He’s young, in his early thirties maybe, with short hair so blonde it’s almost white. His eyes are cold and emotionless, sending shivers down my spine. There’s something about him that raises my hackles, but then again, my instincts are always on guard in the presence of an unknown male, especially when my daughters are with me.

“I’m so sorry,” he says. “They’re just so darn cute.”

“They can be, but they’re also relentless.”

“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I couldn’t help but overhear while I was enjoying my coffee,” the man says, slowly turning in his seat to fully face us. “I’m Carl, by the way. Just passing through town.”

One look at the guy and that much is obvious. He’s well dressed in a custom-tailored, pinstriped suit, Italian leather shoes, a Maxwell-Scott briefcase on the seat next to him.

“Good to meet you, Carl,” I say.

The girls politely wave at him.

“Pleasure to meet you all,” he responds, raising his cup of coffee as a sign of respect.

Molly brings our order. Within seconds, the twins get busy chomping on the mini croissants, washing them down with their syrupy frothy milk, while I take my sweet time on the Americano.

“What brings you to Rustic?” I ask Carl. He’s trying hard to appear non-threatening, but my caution flags are already waving.

“Oh, just a couple of business meetings in the area. I’m interested in buying a few properties around here and in Boulder. Maybe get a little bed and breakfast business going. I hear the tourism around these parts is booming,” he says.

“Where are you from?”

“I’m a Philly man.”

“Let me try yours,” I hear Tricia say to Ainsley.

“Okay, but then I get to try yours, too,” her sister replies.

“They’re gorgeous,” Carl says, admiring them with genuine fondness. “I would’ve liked to have had a couple of girls of my own.”

“You look young. You still have time.”

He shakes his head slowly. “Unfortunately, my wife and I are separated. There’s no other woman for me.”

“Well, I’m sorry to hear that,” I say, looking back to my girls.

“These are really good!” Tricia exclaims, taking one of the pastries and offering it to me. “Try it, Daddy. This one’s got apricot jam in it.”

“No, try this one,” Ainsley hands over another pastry. “With chocolate!”

“If you leave them on the plate, I’ll try both,” I chuckle.

“They’re quite precocious, aren’t they?” Carl comments.

“They most certainly are,” I reply, ready to end the conversation with this guy who is increasingly setting off alarm bells in the back of my head.

Almost as if sensing my wariness, Carl gets up and tosses a few bills on the table. “Well, I should be going. It was nice talking to you.”

I nod and watch him walk out the door, comically out of place in Rustic. Hopefully, he’ll be on his way out of town soon. Something about him just didn’t sit right with me.

“Who was that, Daddy?” Ainsley asks.

“Not someone we know,” I reply. “A stranger. How’s your cappuccino, missy?”

“I’ll get the caramel next time.”