Carol Ross - The Rancher's Twins

Gen groaned. “Do I have to take a shower?”

“What’s a sembly line?” Abby asked. “Is that French, too?”

“Yes, you do have to take a shower, Gen. It’s as-sem-bly line, Abby,” she said, enunciating carefully. “And an assembly line is an organized way of doing things. As far as I know, it’s not French.”

“Why?” Gen demanded, still fixated on the apparent torture of sanitization unfolding before her.

“You don’t smell like flowers for one thing, and for another you both need your hair washed.”

“Flowers?” Gen repeated, her face scrunched thoughtfully.

“I hate getting my hair washed.” This from Abby, whom Lydia had already deduced was slightly more amenable to hygiene and civilized behavior than her sister.

“Why’s that?”

“It hurts.”

“What do you mean it hurts? Washing your hair shouldn’t hurt.”

“It’s the after part. It gets all snarly like a rat’s nest—that’s what Daddy calls it—and it hurts to brush it.”

“I see. Well, that’s no good.” Lydia took a moment to scope out the toiletries—soap, toothpaste, toothbrushes and basic first-aid supplies. Another cupboard held fluffy orange and yellow towels. The shower curtain featured brightly colored jungle animals. No razors, shaving cream, aftershave, cologne or other manly potions in evidence. Blackwell apparently had his own personal domain, which was a relief. She didn’t relish the idea of sharing a bathroom with him. In the shower, she spotted a single bottle. She picked it up and said, “‘Shampoo and conditioner in one.’” That explained it.

“Wait right here. No more rat’s nests for you.” She started to walk out the door and then stopped as it occurred to her that there was a good possibility they might not be here when she returned. Nibbling her lip, she thought for a second. “I have two important things I need you guys to do while I’m gone. Abby, can you find some cotton balls? Gen, can you gather up all the hair bands in that basket and put them in a pile?” Lydia pointed to a container on the counter, where she’d noticed the hair accessories were kept. “Can you guys do that?”

They both nodded solemnly, neither questioning their assigned task.

Lydia dashed to her bedroom. She’d only brought one small suitcase but it included a travel-sized bottle of leave-in conditioner. Three heads of long hair meant it wasn’t going to last long. She added conditioner to the supply list she’d already started. Under boots and jeans she wrote conditioner .

Upon reentering the bathroom, she assessed the work they’d done. “Thank you. Great job, girls. Now, I’ll make you a deal. If you let me wash your hair, and you take your showers without complaint, we’ll watch a little TV before bed.”

“We don’t have TV. We can watch movies in Daddy’s pickup.”

No TV? Lydia thought quickly. There were lots of things that might motivate a five-year-old. The problem was that she’d just got here and didn’t know the girls yet or the resources she had to draw from.

“We have internet,” Abby announced. “We watch movies on the computer sometimes.”

“Perfect.” Lydia smiled. “I have a computer. We’ll see what we can do.”

* * *

JON NOTICED TWO things when he stepped inside the house the next morning—it smelled like bacon and it was very quiet. Heaving out a tired breath, he lowered himself onto the bench and pulled off his boots. He took a moment to enjoy the silence, but mostly used it as an excuse to rest his aching back and think about the day’s chores ahead.

The calves born last night and this morning put them approximately halfway through the calving. The heavies, or most heavily pregnant cows and heifers, were waiting. Close to labor, they’d been moved into a smaller pasture, where they were monitored by Jon, Tom and his hired hands. Mother Nature had blessed them with a week of mild weather, allowing the cows to give birth outside like they preferred. It also meant less work because they didn’t have to cut the cows who were in labor from the rest of the herd and get them into the shed. It was a tedious job because that herd instinct was a strong one and they balked at being separated.

Grabbing a towel, he saw to Trout and then stood. He headed into the kitchen, where he discovered evidence that the nanny had been cooking. He could hear muffled conversation in the next room.

As he neared the doorway, a voice asked, “What about this one? What letter is this, Gen?”

Jon froze and Trout followed his cue, standing at attention beside him. “Um, is it a P ?” It pained his perpetually raw heart to hear the uncertainty in his daughter’s voice. Genevieve was struggling to learn her letters and numbers. Jon knew he needed to spend more time teaching the girls and he planned to as soon as calving season wound down. All the things he needed to do bore down on him like a full-out stampede.

“That’s close. It’s a D .”

“ Dagnabbit! I always get that one wrong. I’m sorry. I’m not smart like Abby.”

“You’re not supposed to say that,” Abby said. “It’s almost a bad word.”

“Listen here, young lady,” Lydia said, “you are incredibly smart. Anyone who can recite every breed of horse on this planet, where they live and what they’re used for is completely brilliant. There are all kinds of smarts out there. You’ll get this. I promise. Then you can read all about horses yourself. And, just so you know, dagnabbit starts with a D .”

Jon smiled. The words and the encouragement in Lydia’s tone eased a bit of his ache. Sounded like she had the teaching skills—too bad she couldn’t stay. Jon had already called the agency, but Eileen, the woman who’d handled his application, was on vacation until the middle of April. No one else seemed to be familiar with his situation. He’d been informed he could start the application process all over or wait for Eileen to return. He doubted Lydia could teach Gen to read in two weeks. Doubted she’d want to stay, anyway, after he told her she wasn’t suitable.

Jon motioned to Trout and the dog bolted forward into the room. Jon followed, his lungs constricting so tight at what he found that it took several seconds before he could draw a proper breath. Abby was lounging against a pillow on the sofa, an open book across her lap. Gen sat on the floor in front of Lydia, who was doing her hair. Lydia deserved a bonus for this task alone. Little-girl hair was a mystery to him. He had a difficult time even getting a brush through their curls. The ponytails he managed rarely lasted through a day.

“Hi, Daddy!” Gen cried. “How many new calves?”

“A bunch.”

“Yay! How are they?”

“Feisty, healthy, hungry fuzzballs. Cute as can be.”

“I can’t wait to see them!”

“After breakfast.”

Abby sat forward, turning to look at him. “We already had breakfast.”

“Oh,” he said, noticing her hair was already done. Braided and twisted into a pretty little bun on top of her head. Clean clothes, clean face, even clean hands clutching that book in her lap.

“Did you—”

“Yep,” she interrupted, “already brushed my teeth. Seeee ,” she drawled, “showing” him the evidence as if he could tell from her clownlike grin.

“Excellent job. Shiny and white, just like the dentist ordered.” Which reminded him that they had upcoming appointments. A wave of dread rolled over him. The last one had not gone well.

Lydia looked up and smiled. “The girls told me they usually eat in the bunkhouse with you, but I didn’t know what time you’d be back in this morning and we were hungry. There’s bacon and pancakes keeping warm in the oven in case you haven’t eaten? And I can scramble a couple of eggs.”