His-And-Hers Twins. Rita Herron

stumbled toward the door.

      “Come on, Daddy!” Summer and August screamed from the driveway.

      Zeke chuckled at the girls, some of his tension draining away. “This is really nice of you,” he said quietly. “I know you had your day all planned.”

      Paige shrugged again. “I told you, it’s no big deal. I still have time to make class, turn in my project, go to the tea, then come home and get ready for my date tonight.” As soon as she said the words, Zeke’s jaw seemed to tighten again. Or maybe it was her imagination. Then his expression turned blank and he turned and walked toward his car. She followed, trying not to stare at his delectable behind or the way his broad shoulders filled out his starched shirt.

      “Oh, by the way. Where is the tea?” Paige called.

      Zeke pivoted slightly as he opened the car door for the girls. “At Riverwood Day Care. Do you know where it is?”

      Paige nodded, her stomach cramping. Of course, she remembered the day care. She’d gone there herself as a child. And she’d absolutely hated it.

      PERSPIRATION TRICKLED down Zeke’s collar and dampened his shirt. He had to force himself to remain calm and concentrate on the sutures needed to repair the Maltese’s battered leg, but his jaw ached from clenching it. Damn Renee. She’d actually told the twins they were too much trouble. How could she have said something so cruel to her own daughters? Tension churned through his stomach, and he gripped the needle, his fingers trembling with anger. Taking a deep breath, he exhaled, the pent-up air from his lungs wheezing out shakily, then set to work repairing the animal. Thank God the shot had worked and Snowball now lay limply on the table. He wasn’t in the mood to struggle with the dog or be bitten, and although she was normally a sweet, friendly little thing, any animal reacted differently when in pain. He stroked Snowball’s soft white fur, then swabbed antiseptic on the nasty wound to clean it before he added the stitches. His best estimate—she’d need about fifteen. She had taken quite a beating from a much larger German shepherd, no doubt coming out the loser. Just the way his daughters had from someone who was supposed to love them.

      He swallowed, blotting the girls’ early morning crying jag from his mind. At least Paige had agreed to serve as their temporary mother figure for the day. But they didn’t need a temporary mother figure. They needed a real mother, someone who’d be there at night to hold them, someone who would cuddle them when they were sick or scared, someone who wouldn’t desert them for her own selfish interests. And Paige wasn’t that someone. Knowing she had a career in mind, he couldn’t let them become too attached to her or raise their hopes, or they would be hurt even more.

      “Dr. Blalock, call on line two.” His receptionist, Clara, poked her head in the treatment area.

      “Can you take a message?” he asked threading the needle with the synthetic suture thread.

      Clara frowned. “It’s from the day care.”

      Zeke’s heart paused, then began beating frantically against his chest. What if one of the girls were hurt? He instantly dropped the needle on the table and hurried across the room. “I’ll take it in here.”

      Clara shut the door and he picked up the phone in the lab area. “Dr. Blalock here.”

      The second it took for the woman on the other end to answer seemed like an excruciating eternity. “This is Edie Benson. I’m one of the four-year-olds’ teachers.”

      “Yes, Ms. Benson, is something wrong with Summer or August?” he asked impatiently.

      “No, oh, no, they’re fine.” She hesitated, the silence unnerving him. “But we’re having some problems at school with the girls.”

      “Problems? What kind of problems?”

      “Well, Summer seems to get upset over little things. She cries a lot.”

      Tell me something I don’t know.

      “And August has become quite volatile lately,” she continued. “The other day she hit another child.”

      Zeke relaxed, leaning against the whitewashed walls. “Yes, I know. She told me you’d be calling. Do you really think hitting someone is that abnormal for a four-year-old?”

      “Not really,” the woman said in a sympathetic voice. “Some children are naturally more aggressive than others. But lately August has been hitting a lot. And this morning she punched a little boy in the stomach. I thought it might help if you’d talk to her.”

      “Now?”

      “Yes, she’s sitting right here.”

      Zeke sighed. “Put her on.”

      “Daddy, he’s a big fat meanie,” August argued.

      “Sweetheart, if you’re upset or he’s bothering you, tell your teacher. You can’t go around hitting other children.”

      “But it’s no fair, he called me a dummy.”

      “I’m sorry, honey. But you still can’t hit him.” He ran a hand through his hair, exasperated. “August, sweetie, put your teacher back on the phone. We’ll talk some more tonight.”

      “’Kay, Daddy,” August said in a pouty voice.

      Zeke sighed when he heard the teacher’s voice. “Ms. Benson, August says this boy is being mean to her.”

      “I know, and we’ve reprimanded the boy and are also calling his parents.”

      “Good. I’ll talk to August again tonight.”

      “Thank you.” Relief lightened the middle-aged woman’s voice. “She’s a precious little girl. I know being a single parent isn’t easy.”

      Zeke’s fingers encircled the handset so tightly his knuckles ached. “You think I’m not a good parent?”

      “Oh, heavens, I didn’t mean that,” the woman said kindly. “But parenting is hard on everyone. And sometimes when there’s a change at home, children’s behavior is affected.” She hesitated, then spoke softly. “I don’t mean to pry, but have you considered counseling for the girls?”

      Zeke’s stomach clenched. “No.”

      “Well, it might be worthwhile. I’m afraid this mother-daughter tea we’re having may have triggered some emotions. Holidays are always difficult for kids from single parent homes, especially at first.”

      Zeke swallowed, his voice thick. “Did the girls tell you my neighbor’s coming today?”

      “Yes, that’s great. But still, Dr. Blalock, consider counseling. Some of the local churches offer support groups, as well as seminars and counseling for divorced families.”

      “Fine. I’ll think about it.” He rolled his shoulders to relieve the ache coiling in his neck. And he would consider counseling for the girls, he decided, as he hung up the phone. But first, he’d talk to August and see if he could understand why his sweet, darling little daughter had suddenly become a four-year-old terrorist at nursery school.

      Because her mother had left her?

      Renee had been gone less than a year and had said she was moving back this summer, but he didn’t harbor hopes of her returning for good. Even if she changed her mind and decided she wanted family life, he wouldn’t want her. His taste for flighty blondes had run its course with their disastrous short marriage. And they’d only married because of the pregnancy. When the girls had been born, he’d grown up and accepted responsibility for them. Too bad his former wife hadn’t done the same.