an eye.”
All too true. Callie rubbed at an imaginary spot on her wool skirt. “That’s because...”
Maggie ventured wryly, “You didn’t kiss any of them back?”
Callie paused. “How do you know that?”
“Because I’m your twin. And I know the way you think. Always have, always will, remember? Plus, I saw the way you looked at him when he came into the bunkhouse today.” She waggled her brows. “Like you wanted to gobble him right up.”
Callie blushed despite herself. “Okay. I admit there’s a definite physical attraction there. But that’s all it is.”
Maggie chuckled. “You keep telling yourself that.”
And Callie did.
All through the rest of her late-evening gabfest with her twin, all that night as she tossed and turned in her bed, and into the next morning. Fortunately, she had a lot to keep her busy. Breakfast to prepare for the family still gathered there, a holiday to-do list a mile long and a whole lot of distant whining chain saws in the distance to ignore.
First on the list was the purchase of two Christmas trees. As they lingered at the breakfast table, her brother-in-law listened to her plan. “Of course I don’t mind driving into San Antonio to pick them up for you,” Hart said. “But don’t you think it’s a little silly to go all that distance and drive all that way back with two trees lashed to the pickup truck when there is a perfectly reputable business selling them—likely at wholesale no less—on the ranch right next door?”
Callie had been afraid he would bring that up. Especially since she now knew that Hart and Nash were childhood friends. “Nash is not in the retail business,” Callie argued.
Her former mother-in-law shrugged. “He seemed like a reasonable guy. Why don’t you just ask him?”
“Or better yet, text him and see,” Maggie said, still keeping an eagle eye on the two preschoolers playing in the next room.
Noticing the two little boys were beginning to get a little too rowdy, Hart went on in to supervise directly. “You have his cell phone number, don’t you?” he said over his shoulder.
Callie nodded, as Hart settled onto the floor and began building a wooden block tower. Two-and-a-half-year-old Brian and three-year-old Henry immediately joined in.
“He gave it to me when we were setting up the Thanksgiving dinner,” Callie admitted.
“Then...?” Maggie persisted.
Everyone stared at her, wondering why she was so reluctant to make the holiday decorating as easy as she possibly could.
Because, Callie thought, I don’t want to end up kissing him again.
But knowing there was little chance of that, with the group of four adult chaperones at her side, she shrugged off her lingering desire and went to get her cell phone.
All eyes were upon her as she texted Nash. I need two trees. One for the house and one for the bunkhouse retreat. Can I buy them from you?
She hit Send.
Thirty seconds later, her phone chimed. No problem, Nash texted back. What size?
Twelve foot for the bunkhouse, and six foot for the ranch house, Callie typed in return.
Again, the reply coming in was nearly instantaneous. I’ll get them to you this morning, Nash wrote, with the symbol for a wink. Last night was great, by the way. Especially before you kicked me out.
Reading it, Callie had to stifle a laugh but could do nothing to contain the telltale heat climbing to her cheeks.
“What?” Maggie asked, drawing nearer.
Callie shook her head and slid her phone into her pocket. “He was talking about the dinner, how much everyone enjoyed it,” she fibbed. “That’s all.”
Maggie lifted a speculative brow.
But before anyone had another chance to say anything, a ruckus broke out in the adjacent family room. “My daddy!” Henry shouted.
“No,” Brian disagreed, climbing onto Hart’s lap and wrapping his arms around Hart’s neck. “He’s mine!”
Henry attempted to push his cousin aside. “No,” Henry shouted back emotionally. “He is your uncle Hart. He’s my daddy!”
Hart wrapped both boys in his arms. “Hey now,” he soothed, holding them both close—to no avail. “I’m here for both of you...”
Brian let out another outraged howl, and Henry followed suit. Her heart breaking, Callie rushed to the rescue.
But Brian did not want to go with her. Or his grandparents. Or his aunt Maggie. So Callie did the only thing she could do, the thing she always did, and she went to get Brian’s picture of Seth.
* * *
NASH COULD HEAR the ruckus inside, the moment he pulled up to the Heart of Texas ranch house in his pickup truck.
Inside, Nash found, it was little better. Callie was in tears. So were both preschoolers. Hart and Maggie were doing their best to separate—and soothe—the two quarreling little boys, but emotions were at an all-time high. Only Callie’s in-laws were calm.
“This is exactly why you’ve got to think about remarrying,” Doris was telling Callie.
Rock agreed. “We loved our son dearly, honey, and we will always miss him, but we know, like it or not, that life goes on. It has for us. And it must for you and our grandson, too.”
Callie shook her head, understanding—if not agreeing. She wiped the moisture from her face and, picture in hand, went to her son. She hunkered down beside him. “Brian, honey, we have to talk.”
The tyke turned to Callie with a heartfelt glare. “No, Mommy,” he said. “No talk. No picture!” He pushed the framed photo in her hand away.
Deciding to do what he could to break the tension, Nash stepped forward and interjected brightly. “Who wants to see how many Christmas trees I have in the back of my pickup truck?” He squinted at the two boys. “I’ll bet you anything you can’t count them.”
Henry straightened. “I can, too!” he said with importance.
Brian scrambled off Hart’s lap and headed for Nash, doing his best to push his cousin out of the way in the process. “I want to see!” Brian declared.
“Well, okay then.” Nash put out a hand to each child. “Let’s go see. You think you fellas are old enough to see into the bed of my pickup truck, if I lift you up?”
“Yes,” Henry and Brian shouted in unison.
Out the door they went. When they reached the tailgate, Nash bent down to take a boy in each arm and lifted them high. Their quarrel forgotten, they leaned over to look into the bed of his truck, where four unwrapped, fresh-cut pines, of varying sizes, lay.
“Wow,”
