Twins Under the Christmas Tree. Marin Thomas

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СКАЧАТЬ we have to do what Conway Twitty Cash says?” Miguel asked.

      “Yes.” Isi opened the refrigerator door. “You two wash up while I make lunch.” Miguel raced to the bathroom but Javier remained beneath the table. Isi peered at him. “What’s the matter?”

      “I don’t want you to go to school.”

      “I have an important test this afternoon,” she said.

      “Are you gonna go to school forever?”

      “I hope not.” This was her final semester and as long as she passed all her classes, she’d earn an associate degree in business before Christmas. She pulled on her son’s shirt until he crawled into the open then she sat him on her lap. “Tell me what’s really bothering you, mi corazón?” Javier laid his head against her chest. “Mr. Conway’s a very nice man,” she said. “Did you know he has five brothers and a sister?”

      Javier shook his head.

      “Maybe when he gets here, you can ask him what it’s like to have to share toys with all those brothers.” She checked the wall clock. Conway would arrive shortly to drive the boys to preschool—three hours during which she wouldn’t have to worry about her sons. It was what went on after Conway picked them up from school that concerned her.

      “Everything’s going to be okay.” She set Javier on his feet and gave him a gentle push in the direction of the bathroom. “Wash your hands.”

      A half hour later, the boys had eaten their peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and had fetched their backpacks from the bedroom when the doorbell rang.

      “It’s Conway Twitty Cash!” Miguel raced to the door.

      “Use the peephole,” Isi said.

      Miguel climbed onto the chair next to the door and peered through the spy hole. “It’s him.” He hopped down and flung open the door. “Hi, Conway Twitty Cash.”

      Conway grinned. “Hi, Miguel Lopez.”

      “How come you know I’m Miguel?”

      “Because you talk more than your brother.” Conway stepped inside. “Hello, Javier.”

      Javi peeked at Conway from behind Isi’s legs. “Thanks for arriving early,” she said.

      “No problem.” His brown-eyed gaze roamed over her body and she resisted glancing at herself to see if she’d spilled food on the front of her blouse.

      She motioned to the kitchen table where she’d left a notebook open. “Important numbers are in there. The boys need to be dropped off at school by twelve-thirty and picked up at three-thirty. Supper’s between five and six. Bath time is seven. Bedtime eight. I should be home shortly after midnight.”

      “Where’s the school?” Conway asked.

      “Over there.” Miguel pointed at the kitchen window.

      “The Tiny Tot Learn and Play is a mile down the road next to the McDonald’s.” Isi peeled Javier’s arms off her legs, kissed his cheek then gathered her backpack and laptop before kissing Miguel. “Be good for Mr. Conway. If I get a bad report, we won’t be going to the carnival this weekend.”

      She took two steps toward the door before Conway blocked her path. His cologne shot straight up her nose and she sucked in a quick breath. He always smelled nice when he came into the bar. Her eyes narrowed. “What’s different about you?”

      “I got a haircut,” he said.

      His shaggy golden-brown hair usually hung over the collar of his shirt. The shorter style made him appear older, more mature. Less like a playboy. “I like it.” His lips curved in his trademark sexy smile. If she didn’t leave soon, she’d be tempted to run her fingers through his locks.

      He followed her outside. “Don’t you want my number in case you need to get in touch with me?”

      Duh. She dug her phone from her purse. “What is it?” He recited the digits. “Thanks. My cell number is in the notebook.” She turned away then stopped. “I notified the school that you’d be bringing the boys and picking them up for a few days. You’ll need to show your license each time. And don’t forget to put their booster seats in your truck.” She waved at the seats on the porch. “Thanks again!”

      Conway watched Isi get into her clunker and drive off then studied his charges. The boys stood side by side, their backpacks strapped on. They wore the same outfit. Jeans, striped T-shirts—Miguel’s was red and blue and Javier’s was green and blue.

      “Aren’t we gonna leave, Conway Twitty Cash?” Miguel asked.

      “We can’t.”

      The brothers looked at each other, then Miguel asked, “Why not?”

      Conway stared at Javier’s feet.

      Miguel shoved his brother. “You got different shoes on, stupid.”

      “I know.” Javier jutted his chin.

      Conway suspected the kid hadn’t meant to wear mismatched shoes and was trying to save face. “Cool. I used to wear a different cowboy boot on each foot when I first began rodeoing.”

      “Why?” Miguel asked.

      “For good luck,” Conway said. “Is that why you wear different shoes, Javier?”

      The boy jiggled his head.

      “I wore my good-luck boots all the time and you know what happened?”

      “What?” both boys asked.

      “They ran out of luck.”

      Javier raced from the room and returned with matching sneakers.

      “Smart man, Javier. Gotta save the good luck for stuff that matters.” Crisis averted, Conway ushered the boys out of the trailer and they raced to his truck.

      “Hey, does your mom lock the door when she leaves?”

      Miguel returned to the porch and plucked a key from the flowerpot of fake daisies on the first step. After Conway secured the trailer, he slipped the key into his pocket and picked up the booster seats. “You guys sit in the front while I figure out how to install these things.” Five minutes later, he said, “Okay. Get in them.”

      The boys climbed in the truck, their shoes dragging across the front seat of the cab as they crawled into their boosters. “Watch the shoes, amigos.” Conway’s black Dodge was only a year old—he didn’t even allow his dates to put their makeup on in his truck. Once the boys were buckled in, he drove off.

      There was nowhere to park his big truck in the preschool lot when he arrived, so he pulled into a handicapped spot. He’d no sooner turned off the engine than a woman knocked on the window.

      “You can’t park here,” she said. “You don’t have a permit.”

      “I’m dropping the СКАЧАТЬ