Tara Quinn - The Cowboy's Twins

He didn’t discipline his kids often. Betsy said not enough. He did what he needed to do. As long as they followed his rules, they were allowed to be free thinkers. To develop their own individual personalities.

Until this weekend, the plan had worked. Almost unfailingly. With some Justin exceptions.

It was time to get a dog. An outdoor dog. One that Justin would have to feed. One who would bark in the yard anytime there was movement—as in kid movement. One who would follow the kids wherever they went. One he could whistle for and, by his response, would tell Spencer where his children were.

Scrap the entire rest of the day’s plans. No full day of fun for the kids. They were going into town to get a dog. And then the kids were going to be yard-bound.

They hated that—not being allowed outside the perimeter he’d designated as the yard for punishment purposes.

He could see the activity at the studio before he was close enough to hear distinct voices. No cooking had happened the day before, but for all of the upcoming weeks, prepared dishes would be transported out on the bus with the contestants, along with any perishable pantry food—bound for homeless shelters, Natasha had told him during one of their original interviews.

Whatever else was going on, he didn’t know. He could see big black equipment boxes going out on the buses. Probably because his barn didn’t have the security of a television studio.

What he couldn’t see, as he strode closer, was his children.

Angela, Natasha’s second-in-command, stage manager, assistant and, he’d concluded, friend, met him before he’d reached the studio.

“You need something, cowboy?” she asked with a grin. The woman had a curious, flamboyant style, dressed in clothes that were as tight as they could be, and yet he was comfortable with her. Like, what he saw was what he got. He liked that. And liked that he wasn’t the least bit tempted to get to know her any better.

She also seemed completely unflappable.

“My kids,” he said, continuing toward her.

“Justin and Tabitha?” Her frown slowed his step. “They aren’t here.”

He stopped. “You’re sure?” They’d hidden from Natasha on Friday. But just for a little while.

Justin could be crafty. But he was only seven. And he had a very black-and-white, mind-the-rules Tabitha with him.

“Positive. I’ve done a final check of the space. We’re out of here in the next five minutes.”

Good. He needed his life back to normal. But...

“Well, thank you.” He smiled. And then, because he wanted to know how long he got to enjoy his freedom from invasion, he asked, “When will you and Natasha be back?”

“I’ll be here Thursday,” she said. “With the crew.”

Yes, that was what he’d meant. Just because the boss lady had been there first this past week didn’t mean she would be again.

“...I’m not sure when Natasha’s going to be here,” Angela was saying. “My guess would be Friday. She’ll want to check things over before Saturday’s show. I’ll ask her and give you a call.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“I figured you’d want to know for whoever’s cleaning her cabin...” He didn’t like the quirk of Angela’s head, the way she was studying him.

“It’ll be done Wednesday,” he told her, backing up. His cleaning lady was handling it all for him. And he had to find his kids.

“Well, I’ll let you know when her plans—”

Shaking his head, he said, “Don’t worry about it. I have to find my kids. Have a good trip back.” And he was around the corner, out of her sight.

“Tabitha! Justin!” He jogged. He called. Checked the barns between the studio and the house, intending to head toward the stream by way of the bunkhouse.

“Justin, don’t!” Tabitha’s stern shriek stopped him as he passed the house.

“You know Daddy says you can’t put your dirty finger in the bowl before he cooks.”

They were in the kitchen?

He was inside before his daughter could make another attempt to corral her wayward brother.

Catching Justin in the act.

The boy jerked his hand back and would have splattered breakfast all over the ceramic tile floor except that Spencer, knowing his son well, was there to catch it.

“Go wash up,” he told his son.

“I already washed when I brushed...”

“And you had your finger in pancake batter. Go.” He didn’t raise his voice.

As soon as his son was out of the room, he gave Tabitha a very firm stare. “Where were you?”

She looked away. “I’m right here, Daddy.”

“I went upstairs looking for you.”

That brought her big brown eyes back to him. “We wanted Natasha to have pancakes. Justin says she’s a good cook, and our Sunday pancakes are the best.”

Sunday was always pancake day. Because the kids didn’t have school and he had the time to make them. Because it was a tradition left from his childhood. Because traditions were important.

Sometimes they were everything.

“You went to Natasha’s cabin?” he asked now.

“Yes.” Tabitha nodded. “But she wasn’t home.”

“She left last night.”

“She didn’t tell us ’bye.”

Yes, well, that was for the best. But he wasn’t going to have his kids’ feelings hurt.

“She’s not our friend, Tabitha. When other workers come to the ranch, they don’t tell you goodbye, either.”

“She is, Daddy.”

“Is what? A worker?”

Tabitha’s tangled hair flopped around her shoulders with each vehement shake of her head. “She’s my friend.”

“No, sweetie, she’s just someone who’s working here...”

The shake of her head stopped him. “She is.”

Tabitha was his reasonable child. “Honey, it’s—”

“I know, Daddy. She is. I know ’cause I asked her, and she said yes.”

“You asked if she was your friend?”

“I asked could we be friends.”

His day just shot to Hades. He had no idea how to handle this one.

Because he needed time to figure it out, he changed the subject. “So, you and Justin, you wanted to invite Natasha to breakfast,” he said, his gaze as calculating as he could make it while looking at the cutest thing he’d ever seen on earth.

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you come to me about it?”

“You were a little mean to her, Daddy. She’s our friend. If you asked, she mighta’ told you no.”

He was the parent. Disciplining his child. So why did he feel like he’d just been chastised?

“You thought you two would just show up here with her? Without letting me know?”

“No.” Her face solemn, she shook her head again. “We were going to run back fast and tell you before she got here so that you could make enough. Or at least, Justin was going to while I walked with her.”

His little mite thought of everything.

And was going to pose far more of a threat to his peace of mind than her brother ever would.

As though they were done with their conversation, she pulled out her chair and scooted her little body up onto it, her chin still only inches from the table.

He’d been against getting rid of the booster seats, but both kids had insisted when they’d started school that they were too old for boosters.

Spencer spooned batter onto the griddle, realizing too late that he’d turned it off before he’d left the house. He turned it back on, figuring it was good they weren’t going to have a professional chef joining them that morning.

He waited until Justin returned. The boy picked up his glass of juice and took a drink before sitting down.

“So... Tabitha.” He included both of them in his glance. “Did you and your brother purposely keep quiet as you came downstairs this morning?”