Chapter 1
Chapter One
It had only been eighteen hours, twelve minutes and nine seconds since his father had left for his month-long cruise with his fiancée, Manuela. Yep, Trevor Porter was already on a countdown, desperate for his pop’s return.
Standing in the kitchen of the gorgeous mansion he had rented while his new house was finished being built in Emerald Ridge, Trevor tried to focus on the calm of the river visible through the huge bay windows instead of the cacophony caused by his nine-month-old triplets wriggling about in their high chairs.
Remembering his father’s advice that Trevor should get back into the dating world, he snorted.
As if any woman would willingly want the responsibility of dating a man with three kids.
Just getting them all dressed and strapped in for breakfast had been a task.
Since Halloween had been the day before and he had purchased two outfits, Trevor had decided to dress them in outfit number two today.
Yesterday they had worn bee rompers with matching caps while he had been their beekeeper.
Today they wore pumpkin outfits, but he’d had to change his Dad of the Patch coordinated T-shirt.
Note to self: Don’t get dressed before giving the kids a bath. And don’t forget to put on their bibs before feeding them.
Within seconds of tucking them into their high chairs, most of their cheerios and scrambled eggs had been scattered on the kitchen floor.
He ran a hand over his beard and groaned.
There was no way he was going to be able to care for the triplets on his own for the next twenty-eight days.
An extra pair of hands made all the difference in the world when you had hungry mouths to feed.
Tending to them was so much easier when Pop was around. He treasured having family around.
It was actually because of newfound family—cousins, Imani and Jonathan—that Trevor had even ventured to Emerald Ridge. He had such a sense of belonging with both his cousins and the land that Trevor had decided to raise his family here.
Sighing, he rubbed between his eyes as his words to his father came back to him. Don’t worry, Pop, enjoy the Caribbean seas, I’ve got this.
If those words could be eaten, his thirty-one-year-old tummy would be full. Because the only thing he had was three squirming, crying babies.
That’s why Trevor had placed an ad for a temporary live-in within an hour of his father’s departure in the town’s online community social page.
He eyed the clock. He had already interviewed two applicants and neither seemed capable of handling one, much less three babies.
His final candidate was due any minute. Hopefully, he would get his children settled before she arrived.
Sasha let out a bellow loud enough to rattle the glassware in the china cabinet.
Covering his ears, Trevor reached over to pluck William’s foot out of his mouth before settling his son back into his high chair.
He ducked his head, narrowly missing the fistful of scrambled eggs James threw his way.
The eggs landed on his T-shirt that his late wife, Claudia, had purchased when they learned they were going to be parents of three and not one baby.
This was the first time he had actually donned it, and he had to scoff at the words.
Being a Dad of Triplets Means Having Three Times the Fun.
He had chosen it to boost his spirits, but the words now only served as a beacon to remind him what a woeful job he was doing since his wife’s passing.
He was surviving minute by minute—no, make that second by second.
Trevor jumped and yelped as something cold and wet hit his cheeks.
That move made Sasha stop mid-cry before her body shook with laughter.
He brushed the eggs off because he wasn’t changing a third time.
“Oh, you think it’s funny that Daddy has egg face,” he said, wiping his face and then playing with her cheeks.
Sasha dissolved into laughter even more.
Trevor looked into the little face, which resembled her mom, and his heart pinched.
Sasha had taken her first step yesterday, and he had managed to capture the moment on camera.
He had cheered so loud that he had startled his baby girl and she’d fallen to her bum before her chin wobbled with tears.
Gosh, he wished Claudia had lived to see their children’s milestones.
But a mere week after childbirth, she had passed suddenly from a weakened heart muscle, and he had found himself a single dad of three.
He had needed family. That’s why Trevor had taken time off from his beef cattle business, Porter Cuts, an hour away in Dallas.
He was fortunate to have the staff and capital so he could wait until the triplets were a year old before returning to work. That was his game plan.
“Dadadadada,” James said, pumping his feet hard enough to move the high chair.
Trevor patted his head and scooped up some eggs out of the blue plastic bowl to give to his son. He gave William a quick glance and sighed. His son’s foot was back in his mouth again, his sock discarded somewhere. It was always the left foot and always the big toe.
“I bet all that toe needs is some ketchup,” he joked.
Trevor looked around for the errant footwear, finding it underneath Sasha’s leg.
After he put it on, he stepped back and decided to take a picture of his children.
With her light brown eyes, olive-toned skin and curly hair, Sasha was already Claudia’s mini-me.
William, however, was all Trevor and his mom, Samira, with skin the color of smooth brown sand, twinkling dark brown eyes and a ready smile.
While James was a blend of the both of them, with Claudia’s deep dimples and complexion and his height.
All three faces and clothes were covered with eggs and milk from their sippy cups.
Seeing those chins tilted up at him with such trust made his eyes well.
Claudia had been so right when she had said there was more to life than work.
His wife’s mantra had been ingrained in him.
But he had been too stubborn to listen, too focused on accumulating his wealth, on making Porter Cuts thrive.
Yes, they had had their problems—he had been a workaholic—but Trevor would trade all his success to have her back with him, to give his children a mother.
He knew what it was like, having lost his own mother when he was eighteen years old. He walked around feeling like his heart was permanently cinched with crab’s claws. And days like today, it squeezed harder than others.
His cell phone rang. It was Jonathan calling. He answered the phone and put on Timmy & Friends on YouTube to entertain the children while they ate.
“How’s the nanny situation going?” his cousin asked.
The fact that he had a cousin made Trevor’s chest expand.
Growing up an only child with a single mom, he’d felt pretty lonely at times, but it wasn’t until Samira was on her deathbed that she had confessed to him his true heritage.
That he was the grandson of tycoon Hammond Porter, a fact he resented.
The discovery of blood relatives near his age had been the only reward so far.
“It’s going,” Trevor heaved out. “I have one more today, and if that doesn’t work out, I don’t know what I’m going to do.” A splat of something hit his back. Something squishy and wet. Reaching a hand behind him, he brushed away the egg.
“Just offer a larger bonus,” Jonathan suggested.
“Great idea.” The doorbell rang. Of course, the triplets broke into a wail. His cousin was saying something and Trevor had to press the phone closer to his ear.
“Whoa. It sounds like you have your hands full. Do you need me to drop over?”
“I might have to take you up on that offer, but I hope to be hiring someone today.”
“Oh, good. Well, keep me posted.”
Praying the person on the other side of the door would be the one, Trevor scurried out the kitchen, past the family room littered with laundry and filled with scattered toys, then swung open the front door.
Even though the triplets were secure, the cries behind him had escalated, putting him on edge.
There was an older woman standing at the door with her arms crossed who introduced herself as Ms. Quinn.
Though it was a beautiful autumn day, she wore a lined business suit, and even with the light breeze, her bun was firmly in place.
He invited her inside, hiding his smirk at her pursed lips once she had taken in the state of his home.
“I have a housekeeper,” he felt compelled to offer. “It didn’t look like this yesterday and it won’t look like this at the end of the day.”
Ms. Quinn poked her nose in the air and sniffed.
“The key is to clean as you go,” she said, her tone disapproving.
“Your children will need order. Structure.” She scanned the area, frowning at the dollop of sweet potatoes on the edge of the coffee table—or at least he hoped that was what that was—and shook her head.
“This is chaos.” Right on cue, his children’s cry level boosted.
Ms. Quinn covered her ears and shook her head.
“Unacceptable. I can see they will need to be kept in line.”
Her stiff tone made his hackles rise. He wanted a doting, loving nanny, not a drill sergeant.
Trevor swallowed his irritation and pointed to the front door.
“I don’t think we need to continue,” he said, jogging toward the kitchen.
“I’ve got to go tend to my children.” He gestured to the front door. “I trust you can see your way out.”
“But you didn’t ask any questions,” she sputtered from behind him.