The Rancher's Twin Troubles. Laura Altom Marie

Gwiffin?” She glanced up to find Charlie Elton sporting a broken crayon. He also had several missing teeth. “I bwoke it. Sworry.”

      “It’s okay, sweetie.” Taking the red oversize crayon, she peeled off the paper from the two halves. “See? Now it works again.”

      “Thwanks!” All smiles, he dashed back to his table. Toothless grins were what led her to teaching. Feeling that every day she made a positive difference in her students’ lives was what kept her in the career. Which was why the tension mounting between herself and the Buckhorn twins was so troubling. Not only was her job usually satisfying, but school was her haven.

      This weekend, she’d head into Tulsa. There were some school specialty stores that might have classroom management books to help with this sort of thing.

      The door opened and in shuffled the sources of her seemingly constant consternation.

      “Hi,” Josie said, wiping damp palms on her navy corduroy skirt. “Everything all right?”

      “Daddy brought Green Bean’s jar,” Bonnie said with enough venom to take down a pit viper.

      “He’s got Green Bean and said we need to get our stuff and go home.” Betsy looked less certain about their mission.

      “Sure that’s what you want to do?” Josie asked, kneeling in front of the pair. “We’re learning about the letter F.”

      “Let’s stay,” Betsy said in a loud whisper. “I love to color new letters.”

      Bonnie shook her head.

      At the door, their father poked his head in. “Get a move on, ladies. I’ve still got work to do.”

      “Okay, Daddy.” Hand in hand, the girls dashed to their cubbies.

      “Mr. Buckhorn…” Josie rose, approaching him slowly in hope of attracting as few little onlookers as possible. Today, the stern set of his features made him imposing. Miles taller than he usually seemed. Yet something about the way he cradled Bonnie’s pet in the crook of his arm gave him away as a closet teddy bear when it came to his girls. Trouble was, as a parent—or even a teacher—you couldn’t be nice all the time. “While the twins gather their things, could we talk?”

      He gestured for her to lead the way to the hall.

      With the classroom door open, allowing her a full view of her diligently working students, Josie said, “I’m sorry this incident inconvenienced you. Pets are only allowed on certain days of the year.”

      “So I’ve heard.” Cold didn’t come close to describing the chill of his demeanor.

      “Yes, you see, the snake itself is the least of our problems.”

      “Our problems?” He cocked his right eyebrow.

      “Bonnie and Betsy—well, in this case mainly Bonnie, but—”

      “Hold it right there.” In her face, he whispered, “I’m sick and tired of accusations being made against my kids when their class is no doubt full of hooligans.”

      “Hooligans?” Maybe it was the old-fashioned word itself, or the sight of harmless Thomas Quinn wiping his perpetually runny nose on his sleeve—whatever had brought on a grin, she couldn’t seem to stop.

      “Think this is funny? We’re talking about my daughters’ education.”

      “I know,” she said, sobering, trying not to notice how his warm breath smelled strangely inviting. Like oatmeal and cinnamon. “Mr. Buckhorn, I’m sorry. Really I am. I’m not sure how we’ve launched such a contentious relationship, but you have to know I only have the twins’ best interests in mind. Kindergarten is the time for social adjustments. Nipping problem behaviors before they interfere with the real nuts and bolts of crucial reading and math skills.”

      “Why do you keep doing that? Implying my girls are difficult? Look at them,” he said, glancing into the room where Bonnie and Betsy had gravitated to their assigned seats and sat quietly coloring with the rest of the class. “Tell me, have you ever seen a more heartwarming sight?”

      Nope. Nor a more uncharacteristic one!

      Typically by this time of day, Bonnie had carried out her second or third dastardly plan. Whether freeing the inhabitants of their ant farm or counting how many pencils fit in the water fountain’s drain, the girl was always up to something. Betsy either provided cover or assisted in a speedy getaway.

      “They’re even self-starters,” he boasted. “Their mother opened her own horse grooming shop. Looks to me like I have a couple of entrepreneurs on my hands.”

      “I agree,” Josie was honestly able to say. The girls were already experts when it came to launching funny business. “But with all due respect, the twins are currently on their best behavior. With you here, I doubt they’ll find trouble.”

      “Right. Because it’s not them causing it in the first place.”

      Josie might as well have been talking to a rock wall. “My job is to make sure Bonnie and Betsy are prepared to do their best in first grade, right?”

      He snorted. “Only correct thing you’ve said since I’ve been standing here.”

      “All right, then—” she propped her hands on her hips and glared “—what do I have to gain by making up outrageous stories about your girls?”

      The question stumped him.

      “That’s right,” she continued. “A big, fat nothing. No one wants the twins to be perfect more than me. Their future behavior is a reflection of not only your parenting, but my teaching.”

      “Why are you bringing me into this?” He switched Green Bean to the crook of his other arm.

      Just when she thought she’d broken through the wall….

      “I mentioned this to you before, but I really think it would help the situation,” she said, recalling a child development class she’d had where parents sat behind two-way mirrors, watching the differences in their children’s behavior once they’d left the room. “How about if starting tomorrow, you attend class with Bonnie and Betsy? Just for a few days.”

      It wouldn’t be as idyllic as a blind study, but at least it would give her a stress-free week, plus maybe in some small way show the girls their father cared about their actions at school.

      “Seriously?” He scratched his head. “What good is that going to do?”

      In a perfect world, open your eyes to the scam your angels have been pulling.

      AFTER DINNER, DALLAS MADE a beeline for the barn to muck stalls. He told himself it was because the horses deserved a perfectly clean environment, but the truth of the matter was that he needed time alone to think. As if listening to his mother lecture had been the price for heaping portions of her famous tuna casserole and peas, she’d yammered on and on about what pistols he and his brothers had been at school. And how she wasn’t surprised to now find his proverbial apples not falling far from the tree.

      Usually the scent of straw mingled with saddle leather and horseflesh soothed his darkest moods, but this one he found hard to shake. The principal’s accusatory glare hadn’t sat well. Yes, education was important, but it wasn’t everything. After high school, some of Dallas’s friends had gone on to college, but all he and Bobbie Jo had wanted was to get married and start their family. It didn’t take a degree to learn ranching, but plenty of days spent working in brutal sun, cold and every sort of weather in between.

      Lord, he missed his wife. She’d know what to do.

      “Gonna be out here brooding all night?” His brother Wyatt broke the barn’s peace. Wasn’t there anywhere a man could go to be alone?

      “I’m not brooding.”

      “Uh-huh.” Tugging on leather gloves, Wyatt split a fresh hay bale in