Texas Christmas Twins. Deb Kastner
Miranda Morgan wouldn’t even know what hit her.
He was here in front of her cabin, preparing to make certain of that. After he was through with her, the powers that be would want to name a tempest after him.
Hurricane Simon.
It didn’t matter that he hadn’t seen Miranda since high school, or even, as his best friend Mason’s kid sister, that she’d bared the occasional brunt of his pranks and mean jokes. In another situation, he might be considering how to make amends and not additional strife. He was a new man, a man of faith. The Lord had changed his heart, and now Simon’s goal was to change his life to match what had happened internally.
But try as he might, he fell short of being able to forgive Miranda for ignoring her responsibility to the sweet nine-month-old twins now in her care.
If this was a spiritual test, a trial in his bumpy new Christian life, it was a doozy.
Miranda was an eminently successful celebrity photographer. But he couldn’t care less about movie stars and the la-di-da lifestyles of the rich and famous. He was a simple ranch owner and dog trainer and he liked his solitary country life.
What he didn’t like was Miranda. She couldn’t even be bothered to fly home to Texas long enough to attend her own twin niece’s and nephew’s christening, and she was not only Hudson and Harper’s aunt, but had also been named their godmother.
And yet she hadn’t managed to spare even one weekend for them.
Even Simon had been in church that day, though at the time he hadn’t been a churchgoing man. He remembered feeling uncomfortable, but he’d been there. Simon was the twins’ godfather, and to him, it was a big thing, a sacred duty, a promise that he’d always be there for Hudson and Harper in any way they needed.
Obviously, Miranda didn’t feel the same way. Family obligations clearly meant nothing to her.
And now, through a cruel twist of fate, Miranda had been named the twins’ permanent legal guardian.
How could that even be? The very thought of it was both confusing and infuriating.
It was painful enough that Mary, Mason’s youngest sister, and her husband, John, had been taken from this world prematurely by the merciless act of a drunkard who’d made the deadly choice to drive while intoxicated.
But for Mary to name self-serving, high-flying Miranda as the twins’ legal guardian, even after all she had done, or not done, for Mary and the babies—
Well, that made less sense than putting a Border collie in a room full of cats and expecting him to herd them.
What had Mary been thinking? How could she have considered her sister a worthwhile guardian, one with whom she could entrust innocent children? What kind of mother would a woman like Miranda possibly be?
Inconceivable.
Why hadn’t Mason and his wife, Charlotte, been named the twins’ guardians? They already had four children of their own with a fifth on the way. They were wonderful, experienced parents who had been there for Mary and the twins during every stage of their lives.
Mary might have sincerely believed that two more children would have been too much of a burden on Mason and Charlotte, and that they had their own family to think of and provide for.
But choosing Miranda?
Mary might have been sincere, but she’d been sincerely wrong.
However the future played out now that Miranda was the twins’ legal guardian, Simon’s determination to be a positive influence in his godchildren’s lives hadn’t changed one iota. They had always been a priority with him, but even more so now.
If Miranda was anything like Simon imagined her to be, Harper and Hudson would need all the protection and stability they could get.
He was going to step up for those two precious babies.
Unfortunately, that also meant he would, by default, be in contact with Miranda. She would have to let him into her world, whether she liked it or not. And likewise, he’d have to learn to work with her. They didn’t have to be friends, but they would have to get along.
For the twins’ sakes, he reminded himself as he removed his brown Stetson, combed his fingers back through his thick blond hair and knocked on the door.
“It’s open,” he heard Miranda call from somewhere inside the cabin, her voice muffled and distant.
Feeling awkward at having to let himself into a cabin he was unfamiliar with, he opened the door and stepped inside. He didn’t immediately see Miranda, or the twins, either, for that matter.
His attention was instead captured by the insane display of Christmas decorations, red and green, silver and gold, everywhere his gaze landed.
It looked as if the North Pole had exploded in her living room.
An enormous eight-foot Christmas tree stood in one corner, the flashing angel topper just barely clearing the ceiling. Presents wrapped in colorful aluminum paper were piled high underneath the tree.
She’d arranged a large Nativity set, complete with a stable and an angel proclaiming Peace on Earth, on the end table.
Shiny red and gold garland adorned every wall, with evergreen garland gracing the fireplace where the stockings were hung with care, as the poem went. Homemade stockings, with Hudson's and Harper’s names written in flourishes of red and green glitter glue.
This woman was clearly obsessed with Christmas.
And apparently, shiny things.
It took him a moment to focus and find Miranda. He supposed he’d expected to find her changing a diaper or two, or feeding the twins their bottles—or whatever it was that nine-month-old babies ate—as the reason she couldn’t answer the door. Instead, she was right there in the middle of the living room, stretched out on her stomach underneath a card table that she’d draped with sheets, holding a flashlight she was beaming on a picture book as Harper and Hudson cuddled on either side of her.
Of all the crazy, unexpected scenarios, this one took the cake.
Or the Christmas fruitcake as the case might be.
The tent was ingenious. She’d used stacks of hardback books to fasten the edges of the sheet to the sofa on one side of them and an armchair on the other, with the card table holding up the structure in the middle.
Lying on her stomach, jammed under a table only a few feet high, couldn’t possibly be comfortable for her, with her tall, lithe frame, and yet she had an enthusiastic smile on her face and didn’t look the least bit put out by the awkward position. He suspected her feet might be protruding out the back, although he couldn’t confirm that from his current vantage point.
She shined the flashlight at his face, momentarily blinding him, and he held up a hand to block the light.
“Simon?” she questioned, surprise lining her tone. “Simon West?”
He was astonished she recognized him. He’d added a few inches to his frame in the years since they’d seen each other last, not to mention a few pounds. He’d stayed at the outskirts of John and Mary’s funeral and hadn’t spoken to anyone but Mason and Charlotte.
“Uncle Simon,” he corrected her tersely, nodding toward the twins. “It’s an honorary title.”
Of