Christmas At Copper Mountain (A Copper Mountain Christmas) (7 page)

Heading toward the barn, dogs at his heels, Brock shied away from thinking about all the different things that could have gone wrong.
There were bad people in this world, people Mack and Molly had never been exposed to, and for all the twins’ confidence, they were hopelessly naïve.

Pushing open the barn door, Brock heard the scrape of shovel and rake.
Good. The twins were working. He’d told them they couldn’t play until they’d mucked out the stalls, a job that would take a couple of hours, and when he’d checked on them twenty minutes ago, he’d discovered they’d cut out to go sledding.

Now they had to muck the stalls and clean and oil the leather bridles… and there were a lot of bridles.

Mack glanced up glumly as Brock came around the corner.

Molly didn’t even look at her dad.

“Looks good,” Brock said, inspecting the completed stalls. “Just the bridles and you’ll be free for the day.”

“We really have to take all the bridles, all apart?” Mack asked, groaning.
“We just can’t wipe them down with leather cleaner?”

“We already talked about this,” Brock answered.
“I want every buckle undone, all leather pieces shiny with oil and then rubbed down so you get the old wax and dirt off. With a clean cloth, polish the leather up, use an old toothbrush on the bit, cleaning that too, and then put it back together... the right way. If you have to draw a sketch, or take a picture to help you remember how each bridle goes together, then do it, because the job’s not finished until the bridles are back hanging in the tack room.”

Molly glared at him.
“That’s going to take all day.”

“You’re not on vacation, Molly.
You were supposed to be in school.”

“I
hate
the Academy.”

“Then you should enjoy helping out around here.
You’ll be working all week.”

Harley didn’t see the kids again until just an hour before dinner. It was dark outside when they opened the back door to troop dispiritedly through the kitchen. They’d forgotten to take their boots off and they left icy, mucky footprints across the hardwood floor before disappearing upstairs.

Harley paused from mashing the potatoes to run a mop across the floor.
She was just finishing by the back door when it opened again and Brock stood there.

“Careful,” she said.
“It’s wet. You don’t want to slip.”

“Why are you mopping now?” he asked, easing off his boots and leaving them
outside.

“It’d gotten dirty and I didn’t want everyone walking through it, tracking mud through the rest of the house.”

He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. “The kids?”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine. They know to take their boots off. That’s one of Maxine’s big rules. She’d throw them out if they tramped mud and snow through the house.” He walked into the laundry, flipping on the light. “Where are their dirty clothes?”

Harley straightened.
“I don’t know.”

“They haven’t brought them down yet?”

“I haven’t seen them, no.”

“They’re testing you, Miss
Diekerhoff. They know the rules.”

“I don’t know the rules,
Mr. Sheenan.”

“Then maybe you need to ask.”

Harley lifted her chin, refusing to be cowed. “What are the house rules, Mr. Sheenan?”

“I’ll send the twins down.
They’ll fill you in.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Harley went to bed Monday night, exhausted and frazzled.

She’d gone from relishing each day at Copper Mountain Ranch to counting down the days until she could leave. The twins didn’t like her much. And Brock Sheenan seemed to like her even less.

It was one thing to feed and clothe people.
It was another thing to feed and clothe unhappy people. And the twins were certainly unhappy.

Fortunately, Tuesday passed without incident.
Brock gave the twins chores, and the kids did their chores, and stayed out of her way.

Tuesday night Brock and his hands didn’t come in for dinner as limbs on a
massive tree, weighted by snow and ice, snapped, taking down a long section of fence, allowing cattle to wander.

While Brock and the hands repaired the fence and tracked down the missing cattle, Harley fed the
twins dinner, serving them at the kitchen counter.

“We’re not supposed to eat here,” Mack reminded her.
“Dad’s rules.”

Harley filled their glasses with milk.
“I asked your dad about that. He said it was Maxine’s rule, not his, and since Maxine isn’t here, I’m feeding you where I want to feed you.”

The twins looked at each other.

“Dad might get mad,” Mack added.

Harley placed the milks in front of the kids. “I’m not afraid of your dad, or Maxine.
And besides, its nicer eating in here. It’s warm and cheerful. The dining room depresses me.”

The kids looked at each other again.

“Why does it depress you?” Molly asked, intrigued.

“It’s not very
cozy.”

“Dad doesn’t do
cozy,” Molly said. “Or holidays, or anything festive.” She sighed, and stabbed her fork in her chicken. “He used to like Christmas. But not anymore.”

Harley turned down the oven to make sure she didn’t dry the chicken out.
“What do you do for Christmas? How do you celebrate? I noticed you don’t have any Advent Calendars out.”

“What are Advent Calendars?”
Mack asked.

Harley drew a stool out and sat down.
“They’re a calendar to help you count down to Christmas. Some of them have chocolates, others have little toys. They’re just fun.”

“Oh, then we definitely wouldn’t have them,” Molly said.
She took a bite and chewed for a long time. After she swallowed, she shrugged. “We don’t even decorate anymore.”

Harley couldn’t believe this.
“Nothing?”

“Nope.”

“What about a tree?”

“Nope.”

“Not even a wreath or garland or candles?”

Molly shook her head.
“Dad stopped a couple of years ago with all that stuff. He said it was a waste of time, and expensive.”

Harley struggled to hide her horror.
“What about presents? Stockings?”

“We get a few presents, mostly practical stuff.
But we didn’t have stockings last year. Dad said we’re too old. Santa doesn’t exist.” Mack made a face. “And I know Santa isn’t real. We figured that out a long time ago, but he didn’t have to say it like that. It kind of made us feel bad.”

Harley could believe it.
Just listening to the twins talk made her feel bad. “Well, maybe we could do something fun while I’m here.”

The twins looked
skeptical. “Like what?” Molly asked.

“Bake cookies or make a gingerbread house.”

Mack frowned. “I’ve never made a gingerbread house.”

“I don’t know that I’d want to make a gingerbread house,” Molly retorted.

Harley shrugged and rose from the stool. “You’re right. Why frost cookies or decorate a gingerbread house and drink hot spiced apple cider, when you can shovel manure and stack hay bales?”

Wednesday morning after starting the laundry and tidying all the bathrooms and giving the hardwood floor a good sweep, Harley put on her snow boots and heavy jacket and gloves and headed outside to cut some fragrant pine boughs.

JB, who was on the smaller
snowplow, clearing the path between the house and barn, and barn and bunk house, turned off the engine to ask Harley if she needed help.

“I think I’ve got it,” Harley said, shaking the armful of branches to remove excess snow.
“But thank you.”

“What are you doing, Miss Harley?”

“Just adding a few festive touches to the house. Give it a little holiday spirit.”

JB adjusted his
leather work glove. “Have you asked the boss? He’s not real big on holidays.”

“The kids told me he used to have more holiday spirit.”

“It’s been a few years.”

“What happened?”

“He’s just been a bachelor a long time. Hard to do everything and be happy about it.”

Harley glanced down at the green fragrant branches in her arms.
“You really think Mr. Sheenan will be upset that I’ve spruced things up for Christmas? I’m just making some garland, adding some candles on the mantels.”

He thought for a moment.
“If that’s all, Mr. Sheenan might be okay. But I wouldn’t push him. He’s not a man that likes to be bossed around.”

Brock entered the house through the kitchen door, which was how he always entered in his work clothes, but he was stopped short this afternoon by the sight of the twins hunched over the island counter carefully frosting sugar cookies that had been cut into stars and stockings, ornaments, candy canes and Christmas trees.