The Rancher's Twin Troubles

“Great.” Her sixteen-year-old had been saving for a car. “He starts at the drive-in on Friday.”

“Wonder—”

“I hate you, Thomas! Take your stupid cake!”

Josie peered through the serving-line door just in time to see Bonnie fling a chocolate square at poor little Thomas Quinn. As if that wasn’t bad enough, she then smashed it into his hair.

“I hate you, too!” Betsy hollered. “Bonnie’s a princess and you should’ve just given her the stupid cake.”

“Girls, knock it off!” Dallas said, surging into the melee.

Thomas started to wail and showed no signs of letting up. “Sh-she g-got cake on my new g-glasses!”

“Let me clean those for you, bud.” Dallas set his lunch tray on the table and then took the boy’s gold-rimmed frames. To Josie, he said, “Be right back.”

“Th-there’s c-cake on my shirt, t-too. Mommy’s gonna yell.”

“No she won’t, sweetie,” Josie assured the boy. To the twins, she demanded, “What were you thinking?”

Hands on her hips, Bonnie said, “He should’ve just gave me that cake.”

“Yeah,” Betsy said, adopting the same pose.

“I’m Bonnie Buckhorn.” Wearing a satisfied grin, Bonnie added, “Daddy says I’m one half of a perfect bunch and that I can do whatever I want.”

After handing Thomas his freshly cleaned glasses, Dallas grabbed the collars of his daughters’ matching pink T-shirts. “Ladies, we need to talk.”

IF DALLAS HADN’T SEEN the whole incident with his own eyes, he never would’ve believed it. Steering the girls into their quiet, dark classroom, he said, “Put your behinds in your chairs.”

“But, Daddy,” Bonnie whined, “why are we in trouble when Thomas was the one being mean?”

“We gave him cupcakes,” Betsy thoughtfully pointed out.

Dallas rubbed his throbbing forehead. “You can’t just take your friend’s dessert. It’s wrong. And—”

“You tell us we can do whatever we want.” His eldest by a minute held his stare.

“Yes, but, hon, that doesn’t give you the right to do bad things.” Was everything else his girls had been accused of true?

“We aren’t bad, Daddy.” Betsy left her chair to crawl onto his lap. Bonnie soon followed.

“I’m sorry, Daddy.” Bonnie wrapped her chubby arms around his neck.

“Both of you need to get it through your pretty heads that just because you’re Daddy’s princesses, that doesn’t give you the right to do whatever you want. At school, you have to follow the rules.”

Bonnie chimed in with, “Miss Griffin never said we couldn’t put cake in Thomas’s hair.”

The statement was so ridiculous, Dallas had to chuckle. “Honey, I can think of very few situations where you should put cake in anyone’s hair.”

“Do you still love us?” Betsy asked.

Hunching over, he made growling, tickle monster noises, attacking their rib cages to the accompaniment of shrieking laughs.

Now that both girls had been scolded, it felt good to return to their usual Buckhorn family fun.

“WHO WANTS COFFEE AND DONUTS?” Friday morning, Josie halted her walk around the classroom to see Dallas and his girls wielding snacks.

“Me, me!” The majority of the class didn’t even bother raising their hands before running over to claim their share.

Betsy and Bonnie beamed.

Thomas sank down in his chair.

“Stop!” Josie hated always being the bad guy, but this was ridiculous. “The school has a healthy snack policy and last I checked, coffee and donuts aren’t on the list.”

“But it’s Friday,” Dallas complained, sounding suspiciously like his daughters. “Plus,” he nodded across the room, “as an apology, my girls wanted to give a special offering to that little fella.”

If Thomas scooted much lower, he’d have dissolved into a puddle on the floor.

“I don’t care if it’s Christmas,” Josie argued, “you’re not caffeinating my kindergarteners.”

“You’re impossible.” Turning his back on her, he said to his crew, “Come on, girls.”

“Where are you going?” Josie asked, following them into the hall.

“Teachers’ lounge. Or will you deny your coworkers a happy start to their weekend, too?”

Beyond furious with the man, she folded her arms and watched them go. Unfortunately, back in the classroom, she was met with much whining and pouty stares.

Nipping that behavior, she refocused her students on their daily writing practice. When Bonnie and Betsy returned with their father, she already had their tablets and pencils ready to go.

“You’re a killjoy,” Dallas noted once she sat at her desk to finish writing next week’s lesson plans.

“And you’re a child disguised in a grown-up’s body.”

“A man’s body,” he said with the slow grin she’d grown to alternately hate and adore. Every time he pulled this stunt, he was usually trying to get himself out of hot water. No wonder his children were such a mess. Look who they had for an example! Worse yet, Dallas wielded that grin like a weapon. Same as his daughters, he knew how to pour on the charm.

“You’re impossible.”

“Thanks.” He had the gall to combine his grin with a wink.

How, she didn’t know, but Josie managed to survive the morning and lunch hour and even afternoon recess without suffering a meltdown. Everywhere she went there was Dallas, being generally helpful and offering to pass out papers. Which only put her that much more on edge.

Friday afternoons, she always introduced an art project that was fun, but also worked on building a sense of community. For this week’s lesson, she’d had the children draw names of a friend. Once paired up, they would then create each other’s portraits with finger paint.

After letting each student pick a cover-up from the pile of men’s and women’s oxford shirts she’d collected at yard sales, she passed out the oversize paper and spent a few minutes going over ground rules.

“Now,” she asked once she’d finished, “raise your hand if you can tell me where the paint goes.”

Megan Brown was first. “On the paper!”

“Right. Excellent.” Over the years, Josie had learned to never underestimate the importance of explaining this point. “Does anyone have questions?”

Thomas raised his hand. “I forgot how to get the lids off the jar thingees.”

“Like this,” Josie said, holding up a plastic container from the nearest table. “Just twist, and then carefully set your lid on the table. Stick your hand in one finger at a time to get your paint. Kind of like your finger is the brush. Make sense?”

He pushed up his glasses and nodded.

“Any other questions? Okay, let’s take the lids off our containers and begin.”

Since the twins were on opposite sides of the room, Dallas spent a few minutes with one before moving on to the other. When he was with Betsy, Josie happened to be alongside him. “My girl’s pretty talented, huh?”

“A future Picasso,” Josie said in all seriousness. Betsy had indeed captured her friend Julia’s essence in a primary colored abstract extravaganza.

“Their mom was pretty talented.”

Looking up at her dad, Betsy asked, “What’d Mommy make?”

A wistful look settled on his usually stoic features. It softened him. Gave him a vulnerability Josie hadn’t before noticed. “She used to set up her easel and watercolors by the duck pond and paint for hours. I teased her that her long hair rode the breeze like weeping willow branches.”

The warmth in his eyes for a woman long gone knotted Josie’s throat.

“Sometimes she’d paint what she saw.” He tweaked his daughter’s nose. “Other times, especially when she was pregnant with you, she’d paint what she imagined. Like one day sharing a picnic with you and your sister.”

“Sounds amazing,” Josie said. “I’ve always wanted to be more artistic.”

Upon hearing her voice, Dallas suffered a barely perceivable lurch—as if until she’d spoken, he’d forgotten anyone but he and Betsy were even in the room.

“Yeah, well…” He cleared his throat. Did he even know what she’d said?

“Stop, Bonnie!” Megan began crying. “I don’t wanna get in trouble for you!”

Josie’s stomach sank. So much for her peaceful afternoon.

“What happened?” she asked upon facing a horrible mess of what she presumed was Bonnie’s making. Her entire paper was coated with paint, as well as the table and carpeting underneath.

“Well…” Bonnie planted her paint-covered fists on her shirt. “Since Megan is tall, I ran out of paper. I tried getting you, but you were talking to Daddy. I didn’t have anywhere else to paint, so I painted the floor.”

The girl stated her actions in such a matter-of-fact way that they nearly sounded plausible. Nearly.

Don’t yell. Keep your composure.

“Bonnie,” Josie said after forcing a few nice deep breaths, “just because you ran out of paper, that doesn’t give you the right to complete your project wherever you’d like.”

“You’re not the boss of me,” the girl sassed. “My daddy is, and he—”

Dallas stepped up behind her. “—would like you to follow him to the cleanup closet where you’ll get a bucket and sponge to clean your mess.”

Looking at her father as if he’d spouted bull horns, Bonnie’s mouth gaped. “But—”

“Move it,” Dallas said, not even trying to hide his angry tone.

An hour later, Josie had gotten everyone tidied and on their way home for the weekend. Back in the classroom, Betsy sat cross-legged on a dry patch of carpet. Dallas had found a roll of brown paper towels and sopped the areas where Bonnie had scrubbed.

On her way inside from putting her students on buses, Josie had stopped by the janitor’s office and he’d assured her that his steam cleaner would tackle the job. By Monday morning, no one would ever guess the vandalism had taken place. Josie hated thinking of a small child’s actions in such harsh terms, but Bonnie had known exactly what she’d been doing.

“Almost done?” Josie asked.

“Uh-huh.” Bonnie looked exhausted, but that hardly excused her from the consequences of her actions. According to the classroom discipline chart, this was a major offense. Punishable by missing the next week’s recesses.

“Miss Griffin?” Betsy asked. “If we buy you a present, can you stop hating us?”

“Why would you think I hate you?” Josie asked, hurt by the very notion.

“Because you always look at us with a frowning face.”

The knot returned to Josie’s throat, only this time for a different reason. The Buckhorn family packed quite the emotional punch. “I’m not making a mad expression, sweetie, but sad. When my students break rules on purpose, it makes me feel like I’m not a very good teacher or you would’ve known better.”

“I guess.” Tracing the carpet’s blue checkered pattern, the girl didn’t sound convinced.

Dallas took his wallet from his back pocket. “Clearly, Bonnie and I are not going to be able to make this right without a shop vacuum. If I give you a couple hundred, think that’ll cover the cost of getting someone out here to clean?”

“This isn’t about money,” Josie said, saddened that he’d even asked. “The custodian will handle whatever you can’t get up. But, Bonnie, what lesson have you learned?”

The little girl released a big sigh. “I learned if I paint the floor, I don’t wanna get caught.”

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