Wanted: Christmas Mummy. Judy Christenberry

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      “Break her car. Then she couldn’t leave.”

      “Hey, yeah! But how do we do it?”

      “MRS. WILLIAMS? This is Doug Graybow at the Bar-G. I had an accident last night and—no, it’s nothing serious, just a broken leg. Yes, thank you. The reason I’m calling is I need someone to take care of me and the twins for a— Mrs. Williams, I promise— Mrs. Williams?”

      He hung up the receiver. Mrs. Williams made her feelings clear. And who could blame her after the fiasco the last time that she baby-sat? The twins had almost flooded the house.

      Who else could he call? He’d talked to Ben, but he said Meggy wasn’t feeling well.

      The widow Hicks had gone to stay with her daughter in Chicago.

      Mrs. White had told him she’d sprained her wrist, but Doug didn’t believe her. She prided herself on keeping everything in its place, and his twins wouldn’t cooperate.

      He’d even called the pastor of his church, but the man had had no idea of anyone who could help. When Doug had admitted that Leslie had stayed overnight to help, the pastor had suggested he plead with her to stay.

      Damn. Instead, he’d done the opposite.

      Well, they’d just have to manage. There were some things he couldn’t do, even for his sons, and marrying was one of them.

      “DO YOU LIKE COOKING, Leslie?” Justin asked. Once she had returned from the bunkhouse, the boys had attached themselves to her side.

      “Why, yes, sweetie, I do. Why do you ask?”

      “’Cause you was humming a song. Agnes wouldn’t even let us stay in the kitchen with her, and she was always frowning.”

      “Maybe she was tired,” Leslie suggested diplomatically. The more she heard about Agnes, however, the less she thought she’d been good for the boys.

      “Leslie, do you have any kids?” Gareth asked, resting his chin in one palm as he watched her.

      “No,” she told him as she lifted the piecrust she’d been rolling out onto a pie plate. She shot a quick glance at the boys and then looked away. She sure was enjoying her time with these two kids.

      “Don’t you want any?” Justin chimed in, moving to get on his knees in the chair with his brother and lean against the cabinet.

      “Well, someday. I have to find a husband first.”

      “Why?”

      That question stopped Leslie. She shot a quick look at the concentration on the boys’ faces and hid her smile. “Because that’s how you do it. First you get married and then you have kids.” At least that was the way people should do it.

      Before they could ask any more questions, she gathered the scraps of leftover piecrust. “Now it’s your turn to cook.”

      She taught them to butter the dough, sprinkle it with sugar and cinnamon and put it in the oven.

      “Does it taste good?” Gareth asked, his gaze glued to the pan.

      “Sure does. My mother used to help me make them when I was your age.”

      “She sounds like a great mama,” Justin said with a sigh.

      “Yes, she was.”

      “Isn’t she your mama anymore?”

      Leslie smiled at his serious little face. “She’ll always be my mama, Justin, but she’s dead now.”

      “Oh. So’s our mama.”

      “Do you remember her?” Leslie asked, even though she felt guilty about doing so. She knew their father wouldn’t like her asking questions.

      Both boys shook their heads no.

      “We was little babies.”

      The buzzer on the oven halted their conversation and for the next few minutes both boys were more interested in eating the pie dough treats with a glass of milk.

      “There’s only three left, Leslie. Do you want one?” Justin asked.

      “No, thanks.”

      “What are you making now?”

      “A chicken casserole that can be frozen for dinner tomorrow night.” Concentrating on her cooking, Leslie didn’t notice the silence for several minutes. When she did, she turned to observe her audience, only to find the two of them whispering.

      “Is anything wrong?”

      “We was wonderin’, Leslie, if we could take these three pieces to Daddy?” Justin asked. “He would like them.”

      She checked her watch. It was a little after three. He might be waking up from the last dose of medication. “That’s very thoughtful of you, boys. If you’ll be careful, you can take some milk up, too.”

      “Aren’t you coming with us?”

      “No. I’m sure you can manage on your own.” Truth was, she had no intention of going to that man’s bedroom ever again. Every time she did, all she could think about was how it felt to be pressed against his long body.

      The boys climbed the stairs carefully. When they pushed open the door, they discovered their father lying in bed, his eyes open.

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