Secret Christmas Twins. Lee McClain Tobin

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      Suddenly, it swung open, and there was Erica, her hair glowing like fire in the hallway’s golden light. “Oh, wow, what can I do?” She hurried out to hold open the storm door for him, regardless of the cold. “Want me to grab towels? A blanket?”

      “Both. Closet at the top of the stairs.”

      She ran up and came back down and into the front room quickly, her green eyes full of concern. Her soft jeans had holes at the knees, and not the on-purpose kind teenagers wore.

      After she’d spread the blankets on the floor in front of the gas fireplace, he carefully set the dog down and studied him. Dirty, yellow fur, a heavy build: probably a Lab-shepherd mix. The dog didn’t try to move much but sighed and dropped his head to the floor as if relieved to have found a safe haven.

      “Go take off your wet things,” Erica ordered Jason. “I’ll watch the dog.”

      “The twins are asleep?”

      “Like logs.”

      Jason shed his jacket, boots and hat, got two bowls of water and a couple of thin dishrags, and came back into the warm room. It hadn’t changed much since he was a kid. He half expected his grandmother to come around the corner, bringing cookies and hot chocolate.

      But that wasn’t happening, ever again.

      “Was he in a fight?” Erica asked. She was gently plucking sticks and berries out of the dog’s fur. “His leg seems awful tender.”

      “I’ll try to clean it and wrap it. He’s friendly, like he’s had a good home, though maybe not for a while.” He put the cold water down, and the dog lifted his big golden head and drank loud and long, spilling water all over the floor.

      “He’s skinny under his fur,” Erica said. “And a mess. What are all these sticky berries on him?” She plucked a sprig from the dog’s back, green with a few white berries.

      “It’s mistletoe.” Made him think of Christmas parties full of music and laughter. Of happy, carefree times.

      Erica didn’t look at Jason as she pulled more debris from the dog’s fur. “Then that’s what we’ll call him. Mistletoe.”

      “You’re naming the dog?”

      “We have to call him something,” she said reasonably. “You work on him. I’ll be right back.”

      He puzzled over Erica as he carefully examined the dog’s leg. She seemed kind and helpful and well-spoken. So how had Kimmie connected with her? Had Kimmie gotten her life together, started running with a better crowd? Was Erica some kind of emissary from his sister?

      He breathed in and out and tried to focus on the present moment. This homey room, the quiet, the dog’s warm brown eyes. Letting his thoughts run away with him was dangerous, was what had made him okay with administrative leave. The only crime he’d committed was trusting his partner, who’d turned out to be corrupt, taking bribes. With time, Jason knew he’d be exonerated of wrongdoing.

      But still, he was all too aware that he’d lost perspective. He’d been working too hard and getting angrier and angrier, partly because of worrying about his sister’s situation and wondering where she was. He’d had no life. Coming here, taking a break, was the right thing to do, especially given his grandmother’s death earlier this year.

      He should have come home more. He’d made so many mistakes as a brother, a son, a grandson. And a fiancé, according to what Renea had screamed as she’d stormed out for the last time. Funny how that was the weakness that bothered him the least.

      Erica came back into the room and set a tray down on the end table beside the couch.

      A familiar, delicious smell wafted toward him. Déjà vu. “You made hot chocolate?”

      She looked worried. “Papa Andy showed me where to find everything before he went to bed. I hope it’s okay. You just looked so cold.”

      He took one of the two mugs and sipped, then drank. “Almost as good as Gran’s.”

      Her face broke into a relieved smile, and if she’d been pretty before, her smile made her absolutely gorgeous. Wow.

      “How’s Mistletoe?” She set down the other mug and knelt by the dog.

      He snorted out a laugh at the name. “He let me look at his leg. Whether he’ll let me wash it remains to be seen.” He put down the hot chocolate and dipped a rag into the warm water.

      “Want me to hold his head?”

      “No.” Was she crazy? “If he bites anybody, it’s going to be me, not you.”

      “I’m not afraid.” She scooted over, gently lifted the dog’s large head and crossed her legs beneath. “It’s okay, boy,” she said, stroking his face and ears. “Jason’s going to fix it.”

      Jason parted the dog’s fur. “Don’t look—it’s not pretty.”

      She ignored his instruction, leaning over to see. “Aw, ouch. Wonder what happened?”

      “A fight, or clipped by a car. He’s limping pretty bad, so I’m worried the bone is involved.” As gently as possible, he squeezed water onto the wound and then wiped away as much dirt as he could. Once, the dog yelped, but Erica soothed him immediately and he relaxed back into her lap.

      Smart dog.

      Jason ripped strips of towel and wrapped the leg, aiming for gentle compression. “There you go, fella. We’ll call the vet in the morning.”

      “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Erica eased out from under the dog’s head, gave him a few more ear scratches and then moved to the couch, picking up her mug on the way. “I love hot chocolate, but in Phoenix, we didn’t have much occasion to drink it.”

      Jason picked up his half-full cup and sat in the adjacent armchair. “How did you know Kimmie?”

      The question was abrupt, and he meant it to be. People answered more honestly when they hadn’t had a chance to relax and figure out what their interrogator wanted to hear.

      She drew in a deep breath and blew it out. “Fair question. I met her at Canyon Lodge.” She looked at him, but when he didn’t react, she clarified. “It’s a drug rehab center.”

      “You’re an addict, too?”

      “Noooo.” She lifted an eyebrow at his assumption. “My mom was. I met Kimmie, wow, ten years ago, on visits to Mom. When they both got out, we stayed in touch.”

      And yet she hadn’t turned to her mom when she’d needed a place to stay. “How’s your mom doing?” he asked.

      She looked away. “She didn’t make it.”

      “I’m sorry.”

      “Thanks.” She slid down off the couch to sit beside the dog again, petting him in long, gentle strokes.

      “Where’s Kimmie now? Is she in Phoenix?”

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