Marin Thomas - Twins Under the Christmas Tree

“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 boys off.”

“I’m sorry, but you’ll have to use the lot across the street.”

“I’ll only be a few minutes.”

“Doesn’t matter.” She planted her hands on her hips and he had no doubt that she’d tackle him to the ground if he tried to get out of the truck.

“Hang on, guys.” Conway backed out of the spot.

“That’s Mrs. Schneider,” Miguel said. “We call her Mrs. Spider ’cause she’s creepy.” The boys giggled.

“She is creepy.” Conway parked across the street then helped the boys out of their booster seats. The school bell rang, echoing above the noise from the traffic.

“We get a flag by our name if we’re late,” Miguel said.

Conway tucked both boys against his sides like footballs and said, “Hold on.” Bypassing the crosswalk he dashed across the street then set his cargo on their feet. “Lead the way.”

As soon as they entered the building, Miguel marched up to the front desk and said, “This is Conway Twitty Cash.”

The day-care employee rolled her eyes. “And I’m Loretta Lynn.”

Conway fished his wallet from his pocket. “Isi Lopez called the school and informed someone that I’d be dropping the boys off and picking them up.” He set his license on the counter.

The woman read his license. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No, ma’am. I’m Conway Twitty Cash.”

Miguel grinned at the lady.

“Shouldn’t you guys hang up your backpacks?” Conway asked.

The lady handed him a clipboard and pen. “Fill out this form.”

He wrote down his full name, cell phone, social security and license numbers plus the color, make and model of his truck. Hell, he was surprised they didn’t ask for a credit card. When he finished, he turned away from the desk and plowed into Javier, who’d been standing behind him the whole time.

“Javier doesn’t like to come here,” the lady whispered then walked off to speak with a parent.

Conway guided the boy to a chair in the waiting area and sat down. “You don’t like to come here?”

The kid scuffed his shoe against the floor.

“Are the teachers mean?”

Javier shook his head.

“Are the kids mean?”

He shrugged.

Javier’s shyness probably made him an easy target for bullies. Conway peeked into the main room and saw that Miguel sat on the floor with a group of boys. He didn’t know what to do. If he left Javier at the school, he’d worry about him being picked on.

“Are you ill?” He touched the boy’s forehead. “You feel kind of warm. You think you might be coming down with a cold?”

Javier’s eyebrows scrunched together.

“Because if you’re getting sick, you shouldn’t stay here and infect the other kids.”

The boy blinked then he faked a sneeze.

“You are coming down with a cold.” Conway spoke with the head of the preschool then waited while she asked Miguel if he wanted to go home with his brother. Miguel elected to remain at school.

Now what? Conway sat in his truck staring at Javier in the rearview mirror. He’d planned to use the time the boys were in school to browse orchard sprayers at a local farm-equipment store. He needed to apply insecticide to the pecan trees before the weevils got out of hand. “You ever been to a tractor store, Javier?” The boy shook his head. “Then it’s about time you met John Deere.”