The Rancher's Twin Troubles. Laura Marie Altom
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window air-conditioning unit and grown-up chairs. Dallas hadn’t realized how many muscles in his back could possibly ache until he’d spent his morning pretzelled into munchkin chairs.
“Since you asked…” Her eyes narrowed. Was she fixing to yell at him again? “I didn’t invite you here to throw a party, but observe your daughters in their daily setting. My hope is that they’ll soon grow comfortable enough with you being in their surroundings to revert back to their usual naughty behavior.”
“Whoa. What you’re essentially saying is that you’ve set a trap you hope they spring?”
She at least had the good graces to flush. “I would hardly call a long acknowledged child psychiatry technique a trap. More like a tool. I can sit here telling you about the girls’ sins until I run out of breath, but that still won’t make you a believer. I want you to catch them in action. Only then will you understand how disruptive their pranks are to my class.”
“And if they turn out to be the good kids I expect them to be?”
She damn near choked on a carrot stick. “Not that I’m a betting woman, but if I were, I’d put down a hundred on Bonnie and Betsy finding some form of trouble by the end of the day.”
“You say that with such glee,” he noted, wadding up his trash. “Like you want my daughters in hot water.”
“Far from it. They need to understand that school is for learning, not horseplay. But wait—with this morning’s stunt, you’ve pretty much blown that lesson out of the water.”
“For the record—” he eased his legs out in front of him to cross at the ankles “—Cookie and Cinderella aren’t horses, but ponies.”
JOSIE WAS BEYOND MORTIFIED when Thursday morning had come and gone and still the twins hadn’t so much as dropped a pencil shaving. Had she been wrong about them? Overexaggerated their penchant for mischief?
“Hungry?” Dallas asked as twenty-one squirming bodies raced for the door.
“I am,” she said, motioning for the line leaders to guide them to the hand-washing station. “It’s fried chicken day. Want to brave the cafeteria?”
“Is it safe?”
She laughed. “On turkey tetrazzini day,” she wrinkled her nose, “not so much, but you’re actually in for a treat. Mashed potatoes and white gravy with big yeast rolls. If we’re really lucky, chocolate cake for dessert.”
“I’m in.” His white-toothed grin was made brighter by faint golden stubble. Not enough time to shave before beating the first bell?
After getting everyone through the line, Josie turned to Paula the lunch lady and said, “Please give Mr. Buckhorn a double serving and put it on my tab.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Heaping on gravy, the bosom-heavy brunette asked, “How’s your cat? Heard he had a sick spell.”
“Better, thanks.” Josie loved how everyone in the school was an extended family. What she lacked for company at home, she more than made up for at work. “How’s Teddy’s job hunt?”
“Great.” Her sixteen-year-old had been saving for a car. “He starts at the drive-in on Friday.”
“Wonder—”
“I hate you, Thomas! Take your stupid cake!”
Josie peered through the serving-line door just in time to see Bonnie fling a chocolate square at poor little Thomas Quinn. As if that wasn’t bad enough, she then smashed it into his hair.
“I hate you, too!” Betsy hollered. “Bonnie’s a princess and you should’ve just given her the stupid cake.”
“Girls, knock it off!” Dallas said, surging into the melee.
Thomas started to wail and showed no signs of letting up. “Sh-she g-got cake on my new g-glasses!”
“Let me clean those for you, bud.” Dallas set his lunch tray on the table and then took the boy’s gold-rimmed frames. To Josie, he said, “Be right back.”
“Th-there’s c-cake on my shirt, t-too. Mommy’s gonna yell.”
“No she won’t, sweetie,” Josie assured the boy. To the twins, she demanded, “What were you thinking?”
Hands on her hips, Bonnie said, “He should’ve just gave me that cake.”
“Yeah,” Betsy said, adopting the same pose.
“I’m Bonnie Buckhorn.” Wearing a satisfied grin, Bonnie added, “Daddy says I’m one half of a perfect bunch and that I can do whatever I want.”
After handing Thomas his freshly cleaned glasses, Dallas grabbed the collars of his daughters’ matching pink T-shirts. “Ladies, we need to talk.”
IF DALLAS HADN’T SEEN the whole incident with his own eyes, he never would’ve believed it. Steering the girls into their quiet, dark classroom, he said, “Put your behinds in your chairs.”
“But, Daddy,” Bonnie whined, “why are we in trouble when Thomas was the one being mean?”
“We gave him cupcakes,” Betsy thoughtfully pointed out.
Dallas rubbed his throbbing forehead. “You can’t just take your friend’s dessert. It’s wrong. And—”
“You tell us we can do whatever we want.” His eldest by a minute held his stare.
“Yes, but, hon, that doesn’t give you the right to do bad things.” Was everything else his girls had been accused of true?
“We aren’t bad, Daddy.” Betsy left her chair to crawl onto his lap. Bonnie soon followed.
“I’m sorry, Daddy.” Bonnie wrapped her chubby arms around his neck.
“Both of you need to get it through your pretty heads that just because you’re Daddy’s princesses, that doesn’t give you the right to do whatever you want. At school, you have to follow the rules.”
Bonnie chimed in with, “Miss Griffin never said we couldn’t put cake in Thomas’s hair.”
The statement was so ridiculous, Dallas had to chuckle. “Honey, I can think of very few situations where you should put cake in anyone’s hair.”
“Do you still love us?” Betsy asked.
Hunching over, he made growling, tickle monster noises, attacking their rib cages to the accompaniment of shrieking laughs.
Now that both girls had been scolded, it felt good to return to their usual Buckhorn family fun.
“WHO WANTS COFFEE AND DONUTS?” Friday morning, Josie halted her walk around the classroom to see Dallas and his girls wielding snacks.
“Me, me!” The majority of the class didn’t even bother raising their hands before running over to claim their share.
Betsy and Bonnie beamed.
Thomas sank down in his chair.
“Stop!” Josie hated always being the bad guy, but this was ridiculous. “The school has a healthy snack policy and last I checked, coffee and donuts aren’t on the list.”
“But it’s Friday,” Dallas complained, sounding suspiciously like his daughters. “Plus,” he nodded across the room, “as an apology, my girls wanted to give a special offering to that little fella.”
If Thomas scooted much lower, he’d have dissolved into a puddle on the floor.
“I don’t care if it’s Christmas,” Josie argued, “you’re not caffeinating my kindergarteners.”
“You’re impossible.” Turning his back on her, he said to his crew, “Come on, girls.”
“Where are you going?” Josie asked,