The Rancher's Texas Twins. Allie Pleiter
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sanity since her arrival.
Gabe, who laughed, must have felt the same way, for he replied, “Well, if it came in spray bottles, I can think of a few people I’d douse in a heartbeat these days.”
Avery walked up to the boxes to see a combination of wood planks, plastic pieces and lengths of rope. Sanity, evidently, came with the label Some Assembly Required. It struck her as a fitting metaphor. “Seriously, what are these?”
Gabe sat back on one hip. “Well, if all goes as planned, these will be swings tomorrow. Some boys from the ranch are coming over to help me put them together so Dinah and Debbie have some swings to play on while they’re here.”
Gabe was building swings? Was this some sort of incentive to keep them beyond a short stay? Gratitude and suspicion tumbled together in Avery’s stomach—she didn’t like being indebted to anyone, much less someone like Gabe Everett. And now she’d meet the boys from the ranch. She’d met supporters and volunteers from the ranch—Haven was full of them, as if the whole town had taken up the boys ranch cause. But until now, she’d deftly avoided spending any time with the actual residents. Or on the grounds. She didn’t want to know the people whose lives would be directly affected if she didn’t stay.
“You don’t need to put up swings for us,” she blurted out a bit more sharply than she ought to have.
“As a matter of fact, I do. I found markers in my study, and a pink blob colored on my desk blotter. Marlene suggested that if I wanted to avoid my house being overrun with tiny pinkness, we needed some outside playthings.” He pushed the boxes up against the trunk of an expansive tree and started walking toward the house. “I’ve discovered I have a low tolerance for tiny pinkness.”
His voice held the not-quite-disguised hint of irritation, making Avery think the “box of sanity” metaphor wasn’t all fiction. Which, of course, only made everything worse.
As if to prove Gabe’s point, Debbie and Dinah came barreling through the doors with Marlene behind them. “Mr. Boots!” they shouted, entirely too excited to see their host.
“We’re getting octopus for lunch,” Debbie proclaimed with a ridiculous air of authority.
Both Gabe and Avery looked up at Marlene for an explanation. Preschoolers didn’t eat octopus. She certainly didn’t, either.
Evidently Gabe did. “You’re feeding the girls calamari?” Avery was glad to hear the same shock in his voice that currently iced her stomach.
That made Marlene laugh. “Of course not. I’d never think of such a thing.”
“Hot dogs,” Dinah said, looking as if she couldn’t fathom why the grown-ups weren’t catching on. A “box of sanity” was starting to look like a very good thing indeed.
Marlene planted her hands on her hips. “Land sakes, child, didn’t your mama ever make you hot-dog octopuses growing up?”
The prickly ball of “I didn’t have that kind of childhood” that usually stayed sleeping deep under Avery’s ribs woke itself up. Foster homes weren’t full of warm fuzzy childhood memories. The urge to mutter “I didn’t have a mama like that—I didn’t have a mama at all” crawled to the surface with startling strength. Avery took a breath, swallowed hard and answered with a simple “No.”
“Me, neither.” Gabe didn’t sound eager for the new experience, either, despite the girls’ delighted faces.
“Well, then, lunch ought to be a barrel of fun.” Marlene clapped her hands together and headed back into the house for whatever preparations hot-dog octopuses required. Avery couldn’t imagine what those might be.
“Watcha got?” Dinah said to Gabe, her eyes on the big boxes under the tree.
“A surprise for you and your sister,” Gabe said. He started up the ranch porch stairs, clearly thinking that would settle the matter until after lunch, but he had no idea how wrong he was. At the mention of the word surprise, both girls launched on him with pokes and grabs and questions. Debbie grabbed his hand and practically dragged him over to the boxes.
At the mention of the word swings, the girls were all over him with squeals and hugs and even one squishy kiss on his elbow. It would have been totally charming if Gabe hadn’t been turning shades of red and looking as if he’d contracted the adult version of “cooties.”
Trying not to laugh at Gabriel Everett draped in tiny pinkness, Avery said, “What do you say, girls?”
A chorus of thank-yous erupted, complete with one girl clutching each of Gabe’s pant legs so tightly he couldn’t even walk. He stood there, enduring the outburst, with a face that was mostly long-suffering but not without a tiny sliver of amusement. “I hope it’s nice to be appreciated,” she offered.
He opened his mouth to say something, then simply shut it again, adjusting his hat, which had come askew in the assault of happiness.
“How about we go help Mrs. Frank with lunch and let Mr. Everett get some peace and quiet to settle in before we eat? I want to see these octopuses before I let you eat them.”
Dinah giggled. “They’re really hot dogs,” she whispered.
“I sure hope so,” Gabe said as he tenderly, but firmly, peeled each girl from his legs.
“Swings, Mama,” Debbie said with wide eyes as she gleefully peered into the box.
“I like swings,” Dinah agreed.
The happiness on the two girls’ faces caused a giant lump to form in Avery’s throat. Danny had always said he would put up swings but never did. Now, someone she barely knew was erecting swings just for Debbie and Dinah. Yes, it might be to gain her cooperation, but the weight of the gesture still touched her. I’ll buy the swings from him when we leave, she promised herself. I’ll pay someone to put them up in our backyard. Little girls ought to have swings.
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