Christmas Gifts: Small Town Christmas / Her Christmas Cowboy. Brenda Minton

seat, her hair gathered into a ponytail on each side of her head. “Mrs. Fredericks, Holly tore up my drawing in art class.”

      “I know. Please sit for a moment.” Holly gestured to the benches. “I want you to meet someone.”

      Their heads turned and they scrutinized Amy before eyeing each other, a hint of fear quickly covered by determination.

      Amy’s heart squeezed.

      “Miss Carroll, this young lady is Holly.” She rested her hand on the one with honey-brown hair and the deep frown. “And this is Ivy.”

      Ivy gazed at her, curiosity written on her face.

      Amy stepped closer. “Hi. It’s nice to meet you.”

      Neither responded.

      Mrs. Fredericks eyed them. “Miss Carroll will be your new teacher, starting Monday.”

      “New teacher?” Holly’s ponytail flipped as she swiveled toward Amy.

      “Remember?” Mrs. Fredericks leaned forward, resting her palms on the table. “Mrs. Larch is expecting a baby soon, so she’s taking a leave.”

      Their intent expression flickered as their glances collided. “She told us.” Their responses blended in agreement.

      “Good. Now I’ll leave you with Miss Carroll, and you can have a nice talk.” She turned to Amy. “I’ll be back shortly.” Mrs. Fredericks offered a pleasant grin, then strode toward the door. Before she exited she glanced over her shoulder. “When I return, I’ll introduce you to the girls’ father. I’m sure you’d like that.”

      “Our dad?” two voices rang in unison.

      Amy wasn’t so sure she was ready to meet her first parent quite yet, but she clenched her teeth and agreed. When she looked at the twins, they were peering at her again, Holly with her arms crossed at her chest and Ivy with one fist jammed into her waist.

      Amy pulled her gaze upward, reading the signs written in large black letters that hung above the tables. Citizenship. Responsibility. Apparently, the twins hadn’t read them. She bit the inside of her lip. Every year she’d met children and their parents, but today the meeting seemed more like confrontation.

      “Why are you here?”

      Holly’s blunt question grabbed Amy’s attention. She held back a grin. That’s the question she’d planned to ask them. Instead she slipped around the end of the bench and sat at the table. Both girls scrutinized her before they settled down again, their query still hanging on the air.

      “I came to pick up the textbooks used in your class,” she answered simply. Getting to know the two girls better seemed more important than showing her authority. Still, behind those sweet faces, Amy sensed that some kind of unhappiness or hurt was dredging up their troublesome behavior. She looked from one girl to the other. “I think the more important question is what are you doing here?” She swung her arm toward the cafeteria serving counter.

      “Mrs. Fredericks made us sit here.”

      “Hmm?” Amy tapped her finger against her cheek. “I wonder why? It’s not lunch time.”

      Ivy bit her lip. “Kids who misbehave have to sit in here and wait.”

      Holly’s frown deepened. “I didn’t do anything bad.”

      Ivy rested her palms on the table, pressing her face closer to Holly’s, her look searing through her sister. “You tore up my drawing.”

      “But you said it wasn’t any good.”

      Ivy fell back to her seat. “If I wanted to tear it up, I would have done it.”

      “That’s right, Ivy.” Amy focused on Holly, monitoring her tone. “When something belongs to me, I make decisions about what to do with it. No one else.”

      Holly turned her head toward the doorway and tightened her ponytail.

      Amy didn’t respond to the child’s behavior. “What kind of pictures were you drawing?”

      Holly’s head tilted back, as if she wasn’t sure Amy really cared.

      Hoping to soothe the tension, Amy grinned. “I’d like to hear about what you do in the classroom because I’ll be your new teacher on Monday.”

      Holly’s shoulders relaxed. “We were drawing pictures of pilgrims and Indians for our social studies.”

      “Because it’s almost Thanksgiving, right?” Amy gave them a wink.

      “Uh-huh, and…” A movement by the door caught her attention.

      “Daddy!” Both girls shot from the benches and ran to a harried-looking man who stood inside the doorway, his hands tucked in his jacket pockets.

      Amy’s heart gave a twinge. A five o’clock shadow encompassed his lean jaw and his chestnut hair was tousled as if he’d run his fingers through it many times. His eyebrows stretched above his caramel brown eyes, flashing with emotion. She couldn’t tell if he were ready to blow a gasket or just fizzle.

      Her question was answered when he released a nervous laugh and rocked on his heels. “You must be Miss Carroll, the new teacher.” He strode toward her. “I’m the girls’ father.” He wiped his hand on his pant leg before extending it to Amy.

      Amy met him halfway while the twins hovered at his side. She dropped her palm into his, aware of his warm grip.

      “Nice to meet you.” His frustration couldn’t hide behind his pleasant expression.

      “Good to meet you, too, Mr. Russet.”

      Behind him Mrs. Fredericks watched the scene with seeming interest. “I’ll leave you now. And I’ll see you on Monday, Miss Carroll.” She gave her a wave and vanished.

      When she looked back, Amy saw the girls cringe, and her skin prickled. “Your daughters were telling me about their social studies.”

      “Social studies? Really?” A grin played on his lips before his gaze dropped to the twins. “You know, girls, we have some serious talking to do.”

      The twins lowered their eyes, but in them, she saw consternation. Maybe remorse. Whatever it was, the look caught her attention.

      When she looked up, their father was studying her with curiosity. “I’m sure we’ve met.” Amy drew back. “Met? Where?” “At your grandmother’s. Years ago.” She did a double take. “My grandmother’s?” A crooked smile curved his mouth. “Ellie Carroll. Lake Street. Right?”

      “Yes, that’s it.” But Amy’s memory drew a blank. “We live on Lake Street, too.” The twins’ voices melded together.

      His grin widened. “I thought you’d remember. It was maybe eleven years ago.”

      Her face knotted as she tried to recall. “I don’t think so.” Yet something shimmered in the shadow of her mind. “I was only eighteen then, Mr. Russet.”

      “I was twenty-three, earning money as a handyman while I looked for a job.” He grinned. “Maybe you remember my first name, Mike?”

      Amy gasped in surprise, as the memory came flooding back.

      “You’re the guy who dug out Grams’s old shrubbery and planted new ones.” She pictured him in the summer sun, his muscles flexing while his shirt hung on her grandmother’s deer ornament in the tree-sheltered yard.

      “The same, except a few pounds heavier and some wrinkles.”

      Amy studied his face, seeing only a few worry lines. His unruly hair hadn’t changed. She remembered how it ruffled in the breeze, his lean handsome face taut with concentration. They were young then, and she’d flirted with him. But when she went inside, her grandmother had notified her he was newly married. Heat rose up Amy’s neck at the thought. She hoped he didn’t remember