The Rancher's Texas Twins. Allie PleiterЧитать онлайн книгу.
always found it far too quiet. Oh, I know Gabriel says he likes his peace and order, but I think it’ll be nice to have some happy noise around for a change,” Marlene said as she walked into the room. “Now,” she said, pointing to one girl, “are you Dinah or are you Debbie? I’m gonna have trouble keeping you two straight.”
Any version of the “who’s who?” game sent Debbie into peals of laughter. “I’m Debbie,” she said, rolling over to grin at Marlene and point at her dark hair.
“Well, I’m glad for that hair,” Marlene said as she eased herself onto Debbie’s bed. “I need all the hints I can get. Tell me, Debbie, are you ready for lunch? I have bologna sandwiches cut out into heart shapes with carrots and sweet, juicy peaches.”
“Dinah’s a notoriously picky eater,” Avery offered from the doorway, hoping to spare dear Mrs. Frank one of Dinah’s all-too-frequent mealtime tantrums.
“Oh, that don’t scare me none. I raised three sons and five grandchildren. I’ve seen it all.” She winked at Avery. “This grandma’s got a few tricks up her sleeve.”
Avery couldn’t help herself. “Use any on Gabe?”
Marlene gave a hearty laugh. “Don’t tell. It works best if we let him think he’s in charge.”
“That’s because I am.” Gabe’s voice came from the hallway behind Avery. His dark eyebrows furrowed down over the man’s astonishingly blue eyes as he peered into the room. “Where’d all this come from?”
“Rhetta’s twins outgrew their beds last year. Jethro went over and borrowed them early this morning.”
“It’s a whole lot of princess pink!” Dinah called with glee.
“I’ll say,” Gabe said, wincing. “My teeth hurt just looking at it.”
“Girls, you should say thank you to...” Avery stopped, realizing she wasn’t quite sure how to finish that sentence. “What do you want them to call you?”
It seemed like a land mine of a question. Gabriel Everett was an imposing figure of a man. Tall and dark-haired with strong, solid features, he certainly wasn’t the “Uncle Gabe” type. Not even “Mr. Gabe.” Still, Mr. Everett sounded like a mouthful for a four-year-old.
“Do they have to call me anything?” Gabe seemed to find the question just as daunting.
“Well, of course they do,” Marlene said.
Gabe gave a bit of a twitch, as if he’d just realized housing the girls was going to mean he’d have to actually talk to them on occasion. Avery would have classified his behavior yesterday as an awkward tolerance—or perhaps it was more of a cornered surrender, now that she thought about it. The discomfort seemed to grow larger as Gabe scratched his chin and considered how the girls should address him. “Mr. Everett?” he offered halfheartedly, as if he couldn’t come up with anything better.
Avery was afraid he’d say that. She really didn’t think she could refuse, so she was especially glad when Marlene countered, “Don’t you think that’s a bit formal for someone their age?” The housekeeper shot a disapproving look Gabe’s way.
Avery was wracking her brains for a suitable moniker when Debbie bounced off the bed and walked right up to Gabe with the air of a woman in possession of the solution. “Boots,” she declared, pointing to Gabe’s large brown cowboy boots.
Gabe looked around, waiting for someone to pronounce what a bad idea that was.
“You can be Mr. Boots!” Debbie said again, this time squatting down to pat her hand up against the dusty leather.
Dinah, not to be outdone, slid off her bed and began to chant “Mr. Boots” while pointing at Gabe’s other leg. Poor Gabe, he’d been christened against his will now; once the girls latched on to something like this, they rarely let go.
“Could have been worse,” Marlene offered with a grin that broadcast just how much she was enjoying this. “They might have picked ‘Mr. Scowl.’”
Avery felt like she had to at least try. “Don’t you think you girls could learn to say ‘Mr. Everett’?”
In reply, the girls only chanted “Mr. Boots!” louder.
“Um, I’ll try to keep that down to a minimum,” she said above the noise as the girls began to circle around Gabe’s legs like little pink cats, patting Gabe’s boots while he stood there in mild shock and not-so-mild annoyance.
Avery was composing a suitable apology when Gabe just seemed to shrug and resign himself to the new nickname. “I’ve been called worse.”
The man was huge and intimidating—she didn’t doubt he’d been called a great deal of things. Only right now, she called him her host, and that deserved whatever kindness she could provide. “If it helps, I promise I’ll never use it.” It seemed slim consolation to a man whose spare bedroom had just been transformed into a tidal wave of pink gingham.
Gabe stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Well, I’d be much obliged for that.”
“Well, I’m making no such promises,” Marlene offered with a wink and a grin. “I rather like ‘Mr. Boots.’”
Gabe gave her a dark look and carefully extracted his long legs from the girls’ endless circles. “I’ve got to return a couple of calls, ladies. Marlene, how long before lunch?”
“We were just discussing lunch now. It’ll be ready in twenty minutes. So no cookies.” Marlene slanted a sideways glance at Avery. “That man always sneaks food into his office.”
“Too late!” Gabe called, and Avery caught sight of the man producing a stack of cookies from his shirt pocket and waving them in the air like a schoolboy who’d just gotten away with a prank. Clearly, Marlene and Gabe one-upped each other on a continual basis.
Such behavior didn’t fit the domineering, driven Gabriel Everett she’d met on her first day in Haven. That man was bent on getting what he needed, pressing for her compliance, pushing hard for whatever it took to secure the boys ranch. His own ranch was huge and clearly prosperous—those sorts of businessmen didn’t sneak cookies or open their homes to little girls.
Of course, Gabe Everett had opened his home because he needed something from her—she knew that. He hosted to keep her from leaving because he needed her here for the celebration. Cyrus’s will stipulated that she, as well as the three other original residents of the Lone Star Cowboy League Boys Ranch, had to be present on March 20. If not, the property left to the ranch would be sold to a strip mall, which would send half the ranch’s current residents elsewhere. Well, she told herself as she led Dinah and Debbie to the bathroom to wash up for lunch, if I’m going to be stuck between a rock and a hard place, at least the hard place is looking nicer every minute.
“I hate him, you know.”
Gabe looked at Avery later that evening as she stood on the porch watching the stars come out. Jethro had taken the girls inside to read them one of his cowboy stories—Jethro had written down stories for as long as Gabe could remember, and was taking full advantage of his tiny new audience. The quiet of the falling dusk was as thick as a blanket after the commotion of moving-in day. Gabe felt like he could exhale for the first time since that wild meeting on Roz’s porch.
“Who?” Gabe replied. He had a notion who she meant, since she’d just refused a tour of the ranch—her grandfather’s home—but felt he ought to ask anyway.
“Grandpa Cyrus. Well, Cyrus Culpepper to all of you. Even before I knew who he was, I hated him.”
Between the imposter Avery and the real Avery, Gabe was having trouble keeping his Cyrus stories straight. “I thought you never knew Cyrus.” Of course, Gabe knew knowing didn’t