thicker, longer styles, where Rosemary’s was short. Still, scooched down, heads against the couch back, the three looked as if they belonged together. Belonged like a family. Free to be yourself—that kind of comfortable. That kind of belonging.
The house filled up with smells. Pine, cloves, oranges. Outside the rain stopped, leaving a glistening cold afternoon. He brought out sandwiches and mugs of wassail. The group weaved their garlands of popcorn on the tree, then strung his cloved-oranges from wherever they could find a hook—lamp arms, window latches, wooden chandeliers.
More smells showed up after that—almond and cinnamon. The girls destroyed the kitchen, leaving flour and crusty bowls everywhere, and eventually sheets of snickerdoodles emerged from the oven, finally cooled enough to devour. After that came a couple batches of sugar almond cookies.
The females claimed they were too tired to clean up—naturally, when the kitchen was in such bad shape the health department would likely have condemned it. He let them get away with it. It wasn’t that hard to hurl stuff in the dishwasher, swipe down counters, wrap up cookies.
When he finished, he ambled to the doorway. They’d all moved to the floor by the Christmas tree. Rosemary was lying on her side, the curve of her hip a fabulous view for a man who was already fiercely, helplessly smitten. The conversation had turned mighty serious, seemed to be about the icky boys in their class, the unfair teachers.
He strolled forward, making enough noise so they knew they were being interrupted, and gave each a slight whip with the dish towel. “We’ve been inside all day. Time for a walk.”
The young ones took out their usual bag of complaints. It was too wet. Too cold. They were too tired. They were happy right where they were.
“Did I just do the dishes for you all? Did I sample your cookies so you could be sure they weren’t poisoned? Did I make the wassail? Did I carry the trees in?”
They conceded to a short walk. Very short. The agreement only came after hard-won union negotiations—their union consisting of the two of them, and no one in the universe could out-negotiate his twins. They wanted to watch some chick flick the following Tuesday that was just coming out. They wanted a sleepover after the first of the year.
They were still tacking on demands as he coaxed them toward their jackets and gloves and shoes—still fine-tuning the details, when he opened the door and delicately pushed them all out. It was like herding cats. They could do spin moves. Evasive tactics. He resorted to carrying Pepper upside down, which was guaranteed to make them both shriek nonstop.
When he finally had all three outside, he turned a beleaguered sigh on Rosemary. “They’re monsters. You’d think they’d been raised by wolves.”
She was no help. Her cheeks were already pink from laughing so hard. He obviously wasn’t going to get any sympathy from her, but damn...she was gorgeous when she laughed. Her eyes picked up sparkle, her skin seemed to glow.
“You have so much fun with them!”
He raised his eyebrows. “Of course I have fun with them. What’s the point of having kids if you can’t torment them now and then?”
“That’s not every parent’s attitude.”
“I know. But I never understood it. Why people have kids if they don’t want to spend time with them.”
Talk came easily, nothing demanding or heavy. Outside was a shine-soaked afternoon. The chill had a bite, but raindrops hung on branches like teardrops. Pine needles carpeted the old woods, all washed clean from the midday rain. The house smells had been fabulous, enticing.... The fresh oxygen outside was also enticing, just in a different way. Whit needed that blast of sharp air to clear his head.
Although he already knew what he wanted to do.
The girls pranced on ahead. The gravel path down the mountain was easy to follow, trails just as easily marked. The woods up here were
The house filled up with smells. Pine, cloves, oranges. Outside the rain stopped, leaving a glistening cold afternoon. He brought out sandwiches and mugs of wassail. The group weaved their garlands of popcorn on the tree, then strung his cloved-oranges from wherever they could find a hook—lamp arms, window latches, wooden chandeliers.
More smells showed up after that—almond and cinnamon. The girls destroyed the kitchen, leaving flour and crusty bowls everywhere, and eventually sheets of snickerdoodles emerged from the oven, finally cooled enough to devour. After that came a couple batches of sugar almond cookies.
The females claimed they were too tired to clean up—naturally, when the kitchen was in such bad shape the health department would likely have condemned it. He let them get away with it. It wasn’t that hard to hurl stuff in the dishwasher, swipe down counters, wrap up cookies.
When he finished, he ambled to the doorway. They’d all moved to the floor by the Christmas tree. Rosemary was lying on her side, the curve of her hip a fabulous view for a man who was already fiercely, helplessly smitten. The conversation had turned mighty serious, seemed to be about the icky boys in their class, the unfair teachers.
He strolled forward, making enough noise so they knew they were being interrupted, and gave each a slight whip with the dish towel. “We’ve been inside all day. Time for a walk.”
The young ones took out their usual bag of complaints. It was too wet. Too cold. They were too tired. They were happy right where they were.
“Did I just do the dishes for you all? Did I sample your cookies so you could be sure they weren’t poisoned? Did I make the wassail? Did I carry the trees in?”
They conceded to a short walk. Very short. The agreement only came after hard-won union negotiations—their union consisting of the two of them, and no one in the universe could out-negotiate his twins. They wanted to watch some chick flick the following Tuesday that was just coming out. They wanted a sleepover after the first of the year.
They were still tacking on demands as he coaxed them toward their jackets and gloves and shoes—still fine-tuning the details, when he opened the door and delicately pushed them all out. It was like herding cats. They could do spin moves. Evasive tactics. He resorted to carrying Pepper upside down, which was guaranteed to make them both shriek nonstop.
When he finally had all three outside, he turned a beleaguered sigh on Rosemary. “They’re monsters. You’d think they’d been raised by wolves.”
She was no help. Her cheeks were already pink from laughing so hard. He obviously wasn’t going to get any sympathy from her, but damn...she was gorgeous when she laughed. Her eyes picked up sparkle, her skin seemed to glow.
“You have so much fun with them!”
He raised his eyebrows. “Of course I have fun with them. What’s the point of having kids if you can’t torment them now and then?”
“That’s not every parent’s attitude.”
“I know. But I never understood it. Why people have kids if they don’t want to spend time with them.”
Talk came easily, nothing demanding or heavy. Outside was a shine-soaked afternoon. The chill had a bite, but raindrops hung on branches like teardrops. Pine needles carpeted the old woods, all washed clean from the midday rain. The house smells had been fabulous, enticing.... The fresh oxygen outside was also enticing, just in a different way. Whit needed that blast of sharp air to clear his head.
Although he already knew what he wanted to do.
The girls pranced on ahead. The gravel path down the mountain was easy to follow, trails just as easily marked. The woods up here were
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