The Rancher's Twin Troubles. Laura Altom Marie

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      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.”

      “KITTY, 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,” СКАЧАТЬ