Wanted: Christmas Mummy

“Can you make cookies?” one of the twins demanded, a smile on his face, as if he already knew the answer.

“I told you I could,” she said, raising one brow.

“That was you?” the boys asked, excited looks on their faces.

“What do you mean?” the man growled. “What is she talking about, Gareth?”

“Didn’t you tell your father about my phone call?” Leslie asked, looking from one twin to the other. Their brown eyes widened to give them a look of innocence, but Leslie wasn’t fooled. She turned to their father. “I’m sorry, Mr. Graybow. I thought you were expecting me.”

“What are you talking about? What phone call? Boys, what have you done this time?”

“But, Daddy, she can make cookies.”

“And she said she likes little boys,” Justin added.

The frustration and anger in the man’s brown eyes, quite like his sons’, gave Leslie the answer to whatever question she might ask. The man wasn’t interested in hiring her, even on a temporary basis.

“Sorry, guys. I guess this was a bad idea.” She smiled at the little boys and turned to go.

“But what are we going to eat for dinner? Daddy gots his hand in the sink, and we’re hungry,” one of the twins repeated.

Leslie hesitated. Though she recognized their plea as one of manipulation, she wouldn’t mind a little dinner herself. It was a long drive back to town. “I make a very good grilled-cheese sandwich. If your father doesn’t mind, I could fix some.”

Though seemingly reluctant, the man at the sink gave an abrupt nod and the boys cheered.

For the next few minutes, they were her guides around the large kitchen. Leslie didn’t find it as well stocked as she would have expected, but she opened a can of soup and heated it on the stove as she made the sandwiches.

The entire time she worked—efficiently, she hoped—the head of the household stood by the sink, his hand under the cold water, glaring at her.

What was his problem? Was he afraid she intended to charge him for her efforts? Maybe they couldn’t afford a housekeeper now. She didn’t know much about ranching, but she supposed a rancher, just like any other businessman, could have sudden catastrophes that affected his cash flow. That would explain the reason for the lack of supplies, too.

That thought sent her sharp glance to him. She noticed his shirt was missing a button, his hair was a little shaggy and his boots well-worn.

Leslie’s irritation melted at once. How terrible not to be able to provide adequately for his family. Since money wasn’t one of the difficulties she faced, she could afford to be generous. But tactful. She’d be very tactful.

After the boys had each received their dinner, she fixed two more sandwiches, one for her and one for the angry man staring at her.

“It’s been about half an hour, Mr. Graybow. I think you can safely take your hand out of the water.”

“The damn thing’s frozen,” he muttered.

Leslie was waiting with a towel and reached out to wrap the chilled skin in it. With a growl, Doug snatched it from her.

“I can do it.”

The sympathetic tolerance she’d been silently extending to him the past half hour almost completely disappeared. She stepped back and gestured to the table.

“Your dinner is ready. I hope you don’t object to my eating also. I didn’t eat supper before I came out here.” But she took nothing for granted, standing stiff and proper until he offered her a seat.

Doug almost groaned aloud. He knew he’d been a bear. Standing there in pain, watching her prance around his kitchen, charming the hell out of his kids, when he’d already told her to get lost, was almost more than he could stand. Now, after fixing a meal, she expected him to kick her out? He must’ve been worse than he’d thought.

“Of course I don’t mind,” he muttered and warily circled her and the table until it was between them.

As they both sat down, the boys, having already begun eating and taken the edge off their hunger, looked up.

“What’s your name?” Gareth asked, his mouth full of sandwich.

“Leslie Hibbets,” she replied as she laid the napkin in her lap.

Doug, having reached for his sandwich, instead picked up his napkin. “Boys, put your napkins in your laps.”

He wasn’t going to have Miss Prim and Proper thinking they had no manners.

“But, Daddy, we don’t—” Gareth began.

“And, Gareth, don’t talk with your mouth full,” he hurriedly added. Both boys muttered apologies and he stared at the woman in triumph. She ignored him and smiled warmly at his children.

“Leslie,” Justin said, staring at her in return.

“Yes?”

“I just wanted to say your name. It’s pretty, like you.”

“Why, thank you. What’s your name?”

“I’m Justin and that’s Gareth. But mostly people can’t tell us apart.”

Gareth giggled. “Our Sunday school teacher hates that. She makes us wear name tags.” He giggled again. “But sometimes we switch and she doesn’t know.”

“Some people just call us ‘the twins’ ‘cause they don’t know which is which,” Justin supplied.

“Yeah, and some people call us ‘the twins from hell,’” Gareth added with another giggle.

She flashed a look, one eyebrow lifted, at their father. He glared back at her.

Hell, what was he supposed to do about the trouble the twins got into while he was trying to run a ranch? He never abandoned them. But cowboys who could handle the toughest bull seemed to disintegrate when left with these two.

“Gareth, eat your dinner,” he snapped and stared at the woman, silently daring her to complain.

Though she met his look with all the coldness of a Wyoming blizzard, she said nothing.

With a sigh, he picked up the sandwich. He didn’t much feel like defending his parental performance. Not when it had been seven hours since lunch. And those hours had been spent on horseback, rounding up the herd to draw them closer to the barns.

Before he even realized it, the soft golden cheese and toasted bread had melted into his mouth. He finished off the soup just as quickly, still hungry. The boys, too, had had a busy day and they had also cleaned their plates.

“Why don’t I make some more sandwiches?” Miss Hibbets offered the boys with a smile. Their eager nods reflected his own thoughts. He only hoped she intended to include him as a recipient of those additional sandwiches.

He had his answer almost at once. She rose from the table, but before moving away she held out her plate to him. “I haven’t touched the other half of my sandwich. Would you like to eat it while I fix more? There’s no need for it to get cold.”