The Rancher's Texas Twins

He opened his mouth to say something, then simply shut it again, adjusting his hat, which had come askew in the assault of happiness.

“How about we go help Mrs. Frank with lunch and let Mr. Everett get some peace and quiet to settle in before we eat? I want to see these octopuses before I let you eat them.”

Dinah giggled. “They’re really hot dogs,” she whispered.

“I sure hope so,” Gabe said as he tenderly, but firmly, peeled each girl from his legs.

“Swings, Mama,” Debbie said with wide eyes as she gleefully peered into the box.

“I like swings,” Dinah agreed.

The happiness on the two girls’ faces caused a giant lump to form in Avery’s throat. Danny had always said he would put up swings but never did. Now, someone she barely knew was erecting swings just for Debbie and Dinah. Yes, it might be to gain her cooperation, but the weight of the gesture still touched her. I’ll buy the swings from him when we leave, she promised herself. I’ll pay someone to put them up in our backyard. Little girls ought to have swings.

Chapter Five

Saturday morning, Avery stared at the group of boys who had gathered on Gabe’s front lawn to help put up the swings.

It was hard enough to see all those people gathered to do something just for her girls, but the boys themselves tugged at her heart in exactly the way she feared. It bothered her how she could see right into their hearts. That “I’m unwanted” look that lurked behind the eyes of every child in foster care, even on their happiest of days. Could other people see it? Or just those who, like her, had lived it?

“Morning, ma’am,” they said in coached tones, as if boys ranch foreman Flint Rawlings had rehearsed them to greet her with good manners.

“Good morning, boys. These are my daughters, Debbie and Dinah.” The girls waved, and the boys waved back, sort of. With a collection of boys between twelve and seventeen—near as she could guess—just a shuffle and a grunt was almost too much to hope for.

“Are you building our swings?” Dinah said, squinting up at one tall, lanky teen.

“They are,” Flint said, placing a large tool kit down with a thud beside the boxes Gabe had purchased yesterday. “We figured it was the least we could do seeing as to how you’ve agreed to stay until the celebration.”

She hadn’t actually agreed. She’d only agreed not to leave yet. No one seemed to recognize the distinction. The assumption—and now the swings—made her feel cornered, but she could never quite voice her growing concern. Maybe you could try just being grateful, she told herself as she forced a smile in the direction of the makeshift construction crew. Maybe it won’t be so bad to stay and find out what Grandpa Cyrus is up to.

“I’ll be back in two hours to pick ’em up,” Flint said as he peered at his watch. “That’ll be enough time?”

“I expect so,” Gabe replied as he pulled the assembly instructions from the larger of the two boxes. “Five sets of hands ought to be able to get it done in half the time.”

Avery settled down on the porch with the girls to watch the spectacle of the slowly rising swing set. She had two sets of paint colors and four other website addresses to send to another client to view products, as well as two estimates to send to potential customers, but it felt wrong not to at least watch since she couldn’t hope to help.

Not that the girls didn’t want to try. Avery was grateful for the porch rail to keep them corralled away from the sawing of beams and hammering of nails.

One of the older boys stopped and stared at her as he came back from using the ranch house washroom. “So you’re her? The r-real her?”

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