Christmas at Copper Mountain

“Can I help you?” she asked, pulling her sweater closer to her body as she glanced from the blond man to the two children at his side. The children, dressed in school uniforms, looked half-frozen without proper winter coats, their navy wool blazers with the red and gold school insignia on the chest, inadequate for the low Montana temperature.

“I’m Sheriff O’Dell,” the man said, introducing himself, before pointing to the kids. “These two look familiar?”

Harley glanced down at the two pre-adolescents, the boy with dark hair, the girl’s a light reddish brown. Both of their pale faces were lightly freckled. “No,” she said, confused. “Should they?”

The sheriff frowned. “They say they belong here.”

The girl rolled her eyes. “We live here.” She pushed past Harley to enter the house, her back pack knocking the door wide open. “Where’s Dad?”

“Dad?” Harley repeated, hugging the wall, watching the boy follow the girl in.

“Yes, Dad,” the girl replied, glaring at Harley. “Brock Sheenan. Heard of him?”

Harley blinked, taken aback. “Uh, yes. Of course. I’m his housekeeper—”

“Where’s Maxine?” the girl interrupted. “Don’t tell me Dad got rid of Maxine?”

“No,” Harley answered, bundling her arms across her chest, shocked, chilled, unable to process that Brock had kids. He’d never once mentioned kids to her. “She took a personal leave but will be back in January.”

“Good.” The girl’s narrowed gaze swept Harley. “’Cause for a minute there I thought Dad had a girlfriend.”

Harley stared at the girl, absolutely blindsided. “And you are...?”

“Molly,” the girl said promptly. “And that’s Mack.”

“We’re twins,” Mack said, giving Harley a shy smile as he set his back pack down in the hall. “Don’t mind Molly. She was just born this way.”

“Shut up, Lady Gaga,” Molly retorted, punching the boy’s shoulder, but it wasn’t very hard. “And I got us home. You didn’t think I could.”

“Well, actually Sheriff O’Dell got us home—”

“From Marietta. But I got us to Marietta from New York,” she flashed, nose lifting. “And that was the hard part.”

“Just glad we’re here.” Mack glanced around. “Where is Dad? Is he here?”

“No,” Harley said shivering. She honestly didn’t know what to make of any of this. “He should be back anytime though. I’d actually expected him before now.” She gestured for the sheriff to enter the house so she could close the door.

“Is he out of town?” The sheriff asked, taking off his hat as he entered the house.

“No. He’s... out on the property.” Harley grimaced. “On horseback.”

The sheriff frowned but the kids didn’t look perturbed. Mack actually nodded. “He’s probably looking for a cow,” he said.

Harley glanced at the boy. “Yes.”

“That’s Dad. He can’t sleep if he thinks one of them might be in trouble.”

The sheriff looked from the kids to Harley. “So I can leave them here with you? I’ve got a little girl of my own at home with a sitter, and I ought to get back... if you’re okay here.”

Harley looked at the pale, wan faces of Brock’s twins. They were obviously exhausted. And cold. “Yes,” she said, wondering just what the story was here. Surely Brock should have mentioned that he had kids arriving tonight...

Surely he should have mentioned he had kids...

Surely at some point in the hiring process someone should have mentioned that he had kids...

The Sheriff reached into his pocket and gave her his card. “If there’s a problem, you’ve got my number, and the office number. Call me.”

Harley thanked him for his time and assistance, and then he was off and the front door closed again behind him, leaving her alone with the two kids in the hall.

For a moment they all just stood there and then Harley drew a deep breath, not at all sure what to say, but something needed to be said. “This is a surprise. Your... dad... didn’t mention you were coming.”

The twins exchanged glances. For a moment there was just silence. Then Mack spoke. “Dad didn’t know we were coming... now. He’s uh... going to be... surprised.”

Brock was going to be surprised?

Things were getting even more interesting. “So he didn’t expect you?” Harley asked,

Mack shook his head.

“Why not?”

The kids glanced at each other again. Molly made a face. “School doesn’t get out for the Christmas for another week.”

“Ten days, actually,” Mack muttered.

Harley’s eyebrows lifted. “And you go to school where?”

“New York.” Mack looked up at her from beneath his lashes. He had a mop of thick, dark hair and his dark brown eyes were exactly the same shade as his father’s. Definitely Brock’s boy. “It’s a boarding school.”

“Which we hate,” Molly said fiercely, shortly, shivering. She had dark shadows beneath her blue-gray eyes that made her freckles stand out even more. “So we’re home.”

Harley gazed down at the children, thinking they couldn’t be much older than ten or eleven. “And you got to Marietta from New York on your own?”

They nodded in unison.

“We took a train and then a bus.” Molly sounded proud, even though she was still shivering. “But now we’re broke.”

Harley still had a dozen more questions but realized they weren’t important now. The kids were freezing and had to be hungry and tired. “Grab your back packs. Show me your rooms,” she said, unable to imagine the kids in the two guest rooms on the second floor, rooms she kept clean and pristine with daily dusting but it was impossible to picture the kids in those rooms. They were handsome enough rooms, but totally impersonal.

Upstairs, Harley’s heart fell as Mack opened the first door on the right. “My room,” he said, swinging his back pack onto the full size bed with rustic headboard. The walls were recycled barn planks, just like her room and a red, taupe, and green Native American blanket covered the duvet. A framed antique flag hung on the wall and some old iron brands hung on another wall and those were the only decorative elements.

Harley had been in this room daily and it had never once crossed her mind that it belonged to a child. Where were the toys and posters and framed pictures? Where were the bright colors and fun pillows and stuffed animals?

“This looks so adult,” she said, trying to sound complimentary, even as she remembered the murals she’d painted in her own children’s rooms, and the colorful matching duvet covers and shams she’d sewn to match the murals. Each of her three had picked out his or her own theme: Ariel and Under the Sea, Peter Pan and Never-Never Land, The Cheshire Cat from Alice and Wonderland.

Molly smothered a yawn. “Dad doesn’t do baby-stuff.” She gestured toward the door. “Let me show you my room.”

Mack followed them down the hall, and the three entered the second bedroom.

Molly switched on the light. “This is my room,” she said. Her back pack fell to the floor with a dull thud.

Harley could see it was a slightly more feminine room. The headboard was an old European piece from the 1800s. Harley imagined the tall, austere headboard had come over with a German or Scandinavian immigrant family. The linens were pale and a deep red velvet tapestry blanket was folded across the foot of the bed. An antique oval mirror hung on one wall. A small framed quilt hung on another wall.

“Very pretty,” Harley said, heart falling a little more, because the rooms were comfortable and the furniture was solid and the linens were attractive. But the bedrooms lacked life and warmth. They needed photos and knick knacks and posters to make the space personal. The twins were pre-teens. Shouldn’t their bedrooms reflect their style?

She turned to look at the kids. They were drooping with cold and exhaustion. She hadn’t planned on children being here, but now that they were here, she couldn’t ignore them.

Not when they looked so pitiful. She drew a quick breath, mustered a smile. “Why don’t you two shower and change and get warm, and I’ll go make you something to eat?”

Mack nodded eagerly. “Yes, please. I’m starving.”

“Haven’t had dinner,” Molly said.

“Or lunch,” Mack added.

The kids exchanged quick glances.

“Or much of anything since we left the school yesterday,” Molly said wrinkling her nose.

Harley felt her insides tighten, churn. These kids had been through a lot and it troubled her but right now the most important thing was getting them warm and fed. “Grilled cheese sound all right?” she asked.

Both kids nodded.

“Good. I’ll bring dinner trays up to your rooms, okay?”

“Okay,” Molly said.

Mack shook his head. “We can’t.” He looked at Molly, and shook his head again. “You know we can’t eat in our rooms. It’s one of Dad’s rules.” He glanced to Harley, his expression apologetic. “We’re only allowed to eat at the dining room table.”

“Not in the kitchen at the counter?’ Harley asked, trying to figure out the rules, because there seemed to be quite a few of them.

“No.” Mack shrugged. “But it’s okay. Some people never eat at the dining room table together. We’re lucky we do.”