The Rancher's Twin Troubles (4 page)

After letting each student pick a cover-up from the pile of men's and women's oxford shirts she'd collected at yard sales, she passed out the oversize paper and spent a few minutes going over ground rules.

“Now,” she asked once she'd finished, “raise your hand if you can tell me where the paint goes.”

Megan Brown was first. “On the paper!”

“Right. Excellent.” Over the years, Josie had learned to never underestimate the importance of explaining this point. “Does anyone have questions?”

Thomas raised his hand. “I forgot how to get the lids off the jar thingees.”

“Like this,” Josie said, holding up a plastic container from the nearest table. “Just twist, and then carefully set your lid on the table. Stick your hand in one finger at a time to get your paint. Kind of like your finger is the brush. Make sense?”

He pushed up his glasses and nodded.

“Any other questions? Okay, let's take the lids off our containers and begin.”

Since the twins were on opposite sides of the room, Dallas spent a few minutes with one before moving on to the other. When he was with Betsy, Josie happened to be alongside him. “My girl's pretty talented, huh?”

“A future Picasso,” Josie said in all seriousness. Betsy had indeed captured her friend Julia's essence in a primary colored abstract extravaganza.

“Their mom was pretty talented.”

Looking up at her dad, Betsy asked, “What'd Mommy make?”

A wistful look settled on his usually stoic features.
It softened him. Gave him a vulnerability Josie hadn't before noticed. “She used to set up her easel and watercolors by the duck pond and paint for hours. I teased her that her long hair rode the breeze like weeping willow branches.”

The warmth in his eyes for a woman long gone knotted Josie's throat.

“Sometimes she'd paint what she saw.” He tweaked his daughter's nose. “Other times, especially when she was pregnant with you, she'd paint what she imagined. Like one day sharing a picnic with you and your sister.”

“Sounds amazing,” Josie said. “I've always wanted to be more artistic.”

Upon hearing her voice, Dallas suffered a barely perceivable lurch—as if until she'd spoken, he'd forgotten anyone but he and Betsy were even in the room.

“Yeah, well…” He cleared his throat. Did he even know what she'd said?

“Stop, Bonnie!” Megan began crying. “I don't wanna get in trouble for you!”

Josie's stomach sank. So much for her peaceful afternoon.

“What happened?” she asked upon facing a horrible mess of what she presumed was Bonnie's making. Her entire paper was coated with paint, as well as the table and carpeting underneath.

“Well…” Bonnie planted her paint-covered fists on her shirt. “Since Megan is tall, I ran out of paper. I tried getting you, but you were talking to Daddy. I didn't have anywhere else to paint, so I painted the floor.”

The girl stated her actions in such a matter-of-fact way that they nearly sounded plausible. Nearly.

Don't yell. Keep your composure.

“Bonnie,” Josie said after forcing a few nice deep breaths, “just because you ran out of paper, that doesn't give you the right to complete your project wherever you'd like.”

“You're not the boss of me,” the girl sassed. “My daddy is, and he—”

Dallas stepped up behind her. “—would like you to follow him to the cleanup closet where you'll get a bucket and sponge to clean
your
mess.”

Looking at her father as if he'd spouted bull horns, Bonnie's mouth gaped. “But—”

“Move it,” Dallas said, not even trying to hide his angry tone.

An hour later, Josie had gotten everyone tidied and on their way home for the weekend. Back in the classroom, Betsy sat cross-legged on a dry patch of carpet. Dallas had found a roll of brown paper towels and sopped the areas where Bonnie had scrubbed.

On her way inside from putting her students on buses, Josie had stopped by the janitor's office and he'd assured her that his steam cleaner would tackle the job. By Monday morning, no one would ever guess the vandalism had taken place. Josie hated thinking of a small child's actions in such harsh terms, but Bonnie had known exactly what she'd been doing.

“Almost done?” Josie asked.

“Uh-huh.” Bonnie looked exhausted, but that hardly excused her from the consequences of her actions.
According to the classroom discipline chart, this was a major offense. Punishable by missing the next week's recesses.

“Miss Griffin?” Betsy asked. “If we buy you a present, can you stop hating us?”

“Why would you think I hate you?” Josie asked, hurt by the very notion.

“Because you always look at us with a frowning face.”

The knot returned to Josie's throat, only this time for a different reason. The Buckhorn family packed quite the emotional punch. “I'm not making a mad expression, sweetie, but sad. When my students break rules on purpose, it makes me feel like I'm not a very good teacher or you would've known better.”

“I guess.” Tracing the carpet's blue checkered pattern, the girl didn't sound convinced.

Dallas took his wallet from his back pocket. “Clearly, Bonnie and I are not going to be able to make this right without a shop vacuum. If I give you a couple hundred, think that'll cover the cost of getting someone out here to clean?”

“This isn't about money,” Josie said, saddened that he'd even asked. “The custodian will handle whatever you can't get up. But, Bonnie, what lesson have you learned?”

The little girl released a big sigh. “I learned if I paint the floor, I don't wanna get caught.”

“Wrong,” Dallas snapped. Bonnie's bratty answer made him sick to his stomach. It reminded him of the epic battles his parents and younger sister, Daisy, had had when she was a kid. When she'd taken off right after her high school graduation, Georgina and Duke blamed themselves for not having used a stronger hand in dealing with her many antics. Now, with the benefit of hindsight, he understood his parents' pain over their own failings. Damn, he hated being wrong, and when it came to his daughters' poor behavior, not only had his mother been right, but their teacher had been, too. As a parent, he looked like a fool and had no one to blame but himself. “The lesson you were supposed to have learned was that if you'd followed Miss Griffin's directions, you wouldn't now be in trouble.”

Bonnie put her hands over her ears and stomped her feet. “You said I'm a princess and that means I only do what I want!”

“Clearly,” he said to Josie, too embarrassed to meet her gaze, “Bonnie and I are failing to communicate.”

“That's okay,” Betsy said while her sister screamed.
“Bonnie does this to me when I tell her to share Barbie's clothes.”

“How do you get her to stop?” Josie asked.

“Tell her if she doesn't stop, I'm going to tell Nanny Stella.”

Great plan, but the middle-aged woman who'd cared for the twins practically since the day they'd been born just happened to have quit.

Grimacing, he scooped up his little hellion, tossing her over his shoulder. “Miss Griffin,” he managed over Bonnie's increased volume, “I'm not exactly sure how, but by Monday, I promise to have this situation under control.”

Betsy rolled her eyes.

By the time Dallas turned his truck onto the dirt road leading home, Bonnie was asleep and Betsy huffed on her window with her breath, drawing stars and hearts in the fog.

He wouldn't have blamed Josie Griffin if she'd laughed him out of the school. Bonnie's behavior had been unacceptable. How had she managed to get so spoiled without him noticing?

At the memory of how many times his mother or one of his brothers or Josie had warned him of impending doom, heat crept up his neck and cheeks. How had Bonnie gotten to this point? He gave her everything she'd ever wanted. What was he missing?

Dallas knew his mother was the logical person to turn to for advice, but he also knew her sage counsel came at a price—admitting he'd been wrong. Only his shame wouldn't end there. She'd delight in telling his brothers
and sister-in-law, neighbors and old family friends just what a disaster he was as a father. Give her twenty-four hours and she'd have blabbed his predicament to everyone between Weed Gulch and the Texas border.

Unacceptable.

Tightening his grip on the wheel, he turned onto the ranch's drive. His brother Wyatt didn't have kids, meaning he didn't know squat about rearing them. Cash and his wife, Wren, had one-year-old Robin, but that cutie could barely walk, let alone sass.

Which left only one option—Josie Griffin.

Not only was the woman highly trained on the inner workings of the kindergarten mind, but by not rubbing his face in his failings, she'd made him feel less of a fool. She could've laughed at him during Bonnie's fit. Instead, she'd quietly and efficiently gathered his girls' things and the cowboy hat he'd hung from the coat pegs at the back of the room, delivering them all the way out to his truck.

At the ranch, Dallas carried Sleeping Beauty into the house, laying her on the sofa. While Betsy tucked a pillow under her head, he took the throw blanket from his favorite chair, draping it over his girl.

“She all right?” his mother asked, wiping her hands on a dishrag on her way into the room. “That child
never
sleeps this early in the day.”

Betsy was all too happy to volunteer, “Bonnie got in
big
trouble at school.”

“Oh?” Dallas's mother sat on the sofa arm, smoothing Bonnie's blond hair. “What happened?”

“Well…” Hands on her hips, Betsy sported a huge smile. “First, she—”

“Can it, squirt.” Dallas could feel a headache coming on. “Go clean your room.”

“No.” Arms folded, chin raised, Betsy retorted, “If Bonnie gets to sleep, I don't wanna work.”

Teeth clenched, Dallas silently counted to five. What was going on around here? He'd never had the slightest problem with either of his girls—especially not Betsy—now, she was also giving him lip?

“Betsy,” his mother warned. “Do as your father asked. Your dirty clothes need to be in the hamper.”

“Yes, ma'am.” Chin to her chest, Betsy pouted on her way toward the stairs.

“Honey,” his mother said, her tone characteristic of a nice, long speech, “you know I don't usually interfere with your personal business, but—”

Dallas snorted. “With all due respect, save it. After the day I've had, I'm seriously not in the mood.” Taking his keys and wallet from the entry-hall table, he asked, “Need anything from the store? I'm going to town.”

“Why? You just came from the girls' school. I don't understand why you'd now be driving all the way back, when—”

“Dogs on a biscuit, Mama, could you just this once leave me alone?”

Shaking her head, she snapped, “I'll leave you alone when you agree to get your head out of your behind.”

 

“K
ITTY, GIMME A BREAK
. Thanks to the Trouble Twins, I'm only twenty minutes late.” Judging by her cat's
frantic meows, he'd had a long, hard day lounging on his window seat in the sun.

Josie set her purse, keys and mail on the kitchen table, abandoning her plan to glance through a Victoria's Secret sale catalog. After taking a can of Filet Mignon Surprise from the cabinet, she popped off the top and spooned it onto a saucer. Kitty not only liked fine food, but eating it on fine bone china.

“You do know you're spoiled rotten,” Josie noted as she set the cat's dinner on the floor. Considering how she catered to her “baby,” was it fair for her to think of Dallas as being such an awful parent?

Had Emma lived, would I be any better?

Sighing, she took an oatmeal scotchie from the cookie jar, then lost herself in making imaginary purchases.

Fifteen minutes later, her phone rang. One glance at the caller ID and her stomach lurched. “Hello?”

“Josie, this is Dallas. Hope you don't mind me calling after hours, but your number was in the book, so I figured—”

“It's fine,” she assured him, kneeling to pick up the cat's empty dish. “Is something wrong with the girls?”

“Not exactly. More like me.”

“Oh?” Dish in the sink, she wasn't sure what else to say. “I'm sorry. Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Yeah, well…” He cleared his throat. “What I was hoping is that if you aren't too busy, you could meet me at Lucky's for a quick coffee. I'd only need a few minutes of your time. This wouldn't be like a date—just me picking your brain for kid management ideas.”

A smile played across her lips. How the great Dallas Buckhorn had fallen after considering himself World's Finest Father. “You're welcome to more than a few minutes. Maybe even sixty.”

“Really?” His tone grew brighter. “That'd be great. How soon can you be here?”

“You mean you want me to meet you now?” Not that she had anything special on tap for her Friday night other than a load of laundry.

“That was kind of my plan—that is, if you're amenable.”

“Sure,” she said, telling herself her pulse had become erratic from pacing rather than thoughts of sharing an intimate booth with the man with no distractions other than an occasional waitress refilling their drinks. It was tough enough keeping her cool around him in front of her class. On her own? Whew. “Um, I suppose I could fit you into my schedule.”

“Oh, hell. I forgot it's the weekend. Do you already have plans?” He actually sounded as nervous as she felt.

“No,” she said, reminding herself that, like the man had told her, this was hardly a date. More like an off campus parent/teacher conference. As such, there was no logical explanation for why she'd taken the cordless phone into her walk-in closet, already searching for the right thing to wear. “Give me a few minutes to change out of my school clothes and I'll be right over.”

 

D
ALLAS STOOD WHEN
J
OSIE
approached.

She'd ditched her simple work dress in favor of jeans,
a tight black T-shirt and those red boots of hers he'd already decided he liked. Her hair hung long and loose and wild. He liked that, too. He tried not to notice how her curls framed her full breasts.

“Sorry,” she said, hustling between tables to get to his booth. “I'd have been here sooner, but got held up by a train.”

“Hazard of small-town living.”

Sliding onto her black vinyl seat, she laughed. “True.”

“Hungry? The coconut cream pie is great.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Thanks, but I'm not a big fan of coconut. Had an incident as a child. Long story.”

“Fair enough.” Had her smile always been so contagious? “Blueberry á la mode?”

“Now,
that,
I can do. With a hot tea, please.”

He signaled to the waitress and gave her their order.

With pleasantries out of the way, Dallas was unsure of his next move. Issues with his girls that'd seemed pressing back at the ranch now felt embarrassing.

“It's okay, you know.”

“What?” He looked up to find her staring. Smiling. Unwittingly making his chest tight with the kind of attraction he hadn't felt for a woman in God only knew how many years.

“For you to ask for help with Bonnie and Betsy. They'll turn out fine. You just need to set boundaries now as opposed to when they're sixteen and drag racing their matching Lamborghinis.”

With a grimace, he said, “Guess I deserve that.”

Reaching across the table, she covered his hands with hers. Not only was her gesture comforting, but joltingly erotic. As if her fingertips were supercharged with emotion and heat. “Promise, I was only teasing. And please, don't take this the wrong way, but in my professional opinion, you've equated loving your girls with letting them have or do whatever they want.”

Nodding, he admitted, “My mom says the same thing. But for the life of me, I can't see why making my girls happy is wrong.” More important, he'd promised Bobbie Jo that no matter what, their children would always be his top priority.

“It's not wrong. It's wonderful. But part of making them well-rounded people is teaching them self discipline and to follow rules and routines. Right now, Bonnie and Betsy seem to struggle in those areas. All I'm suggesting is that you start with baby steps to establish a sort of baseline order.”

“Okay, whoa…” Dallas whooshed his hand over his head. “You lost me back at routines.”

“Take, for instance, their school routines. In order to get my students used to their new classroom setting as opposed to hanging out at home, where their days are less structured, we do the same things over and over until they become second nature. We make lines for hand washing and recess and lunch. We say the pledge and then first thing every morning review our previous days' letters and learn a new one. Because our schedule rarely varies—unless some parent shows up with cup cakes and ponies—” she winked “—by the end of the first quarter, most of my little munchkins could probably
tell a substitute what they should be covering at any given time.”

For the life of him, Dallas failed to see what all that had to do with him. “As far as routines—tooth brushing and bath and bedtimes and stuff—that's all Nanny Stella's domain.”

“Who makes sure they do their homework?”

“Used to be Nanny Stella. Now…” He shrugged. “And chores?”

Starting to get the picture, Dallas reddened.

“Enforcing table manners?”

“My mom, but if the girls are way out of line in playing with their food, I'll growl in their direction.”

Josie frowned.

“What? Dad always ran a tight ship when it came to mealtimes.”

“Uh-huh. So let's see, pretty much the only interaction you have with the girls is at mealtime?”

“Not at all. We fish and go toy shopping and watch movies. They're all the time out in the barn with me, and a few days each week we pack a picnic and take off on trail rides.”

“All of that sounds amazing but, Dallas, during any of that fun, do you ever get to be a disciplinarian?”

Luckily, he was spared answering Josie's latest question by the arrival of the pie and her tea.

The bell over the door jingled as a family of five came in for early supper. With yellow walls, faded linoleum floors and mismatched booths, the diner might have been lacking in decor, but the food was stick-to-your ribs good. A couple soon entered, followed by another
family. Why, Dallas couldn't say, but it made him feel good to see the empty diner filling. There was safety in numbers, and even though he'd asked Josie for help, he felt under attack. Which was ridiculous. His girls loved him and for now, that was enough.

“That was delicious,” Josie said, patting her napkin to her lips. “I can't remember the last time I had pie.”

“Mom makes it at least once a month.”

Pouring herself a second cup of tea, she asked, “Do you ever get tired of living with your mom?”

“Surprisingly not. We get on each other's nerves, but since she lost Dad and I lost Bobbie Jo, we've leaned on each other.”

“Makes sense,” she said, swirling honey into her mug.

“How about you? After your husband died, who'd you turn to for support?”

Turning introspective, she said, “Mostly friends. My parents retired to Maine.”

He whistled. “That's a long haul.”