Secret Christmas Twins

Really? “It didn’t look like your children are dressed warmly enough, either.”

She turned her back to him, opened her car door and grabbed a woven, Southwestern-looking purse. “Can I pay you for your help?”

“Pay me? Ma’am, that’s not how we do things around here.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Look, I’d love to hang out and discuss local customs, but I need to get my boys to shelter. Since, as you’ve pointed out so helpfully, they’re inadequately dressed.”

“I’ll lead you back to a road that’s straighter, cleared off better,” he said. “Where were you headed?”

“Holly Creek Farm.”

Jason stared at her.

“It’s supposed to be just a few miles down this road, I think. I should be fine.”

“Are you sure that’s the name of the place? There’s a lot of Holly-this and Holly-that around here, especially since the closest town is Holly Springs.”

“I know where I’m going!” She crossed her arms, tucking her hands close to her sides. “It’s a farm owned by the Stephanidis family. The grandparents...er, an older couple lives there.” A frown creased her forehead, and she fingered her necklace, a distinctive silver cross embedded with rose quartz and turquoise.

A chill ran down Jason’s spine. The necklace was familiar. He leaned closer. “That looks like a cross my sister used to wear.” Sadness flooded him as he remembered the older sister who’d once been like a mother to him, warm and loving, protecting him from their parents’ whims.

Before she’d gone underground, out of sight.

“A friend gave it to me.”

Surely Kimmie hadn’t ended up back in Arizona, where they’d spent their early childhood. An odd thrumming started in his head. “Why did you say you were going to the Holly Creek Farm?”

“I didn’t say.” She cocked her head, looking at him strangely. “The twins...um, my boys and I are going there to live for a while. Our friend Kimmie Stephanidis gave us permission, since it’s her family home. What did you say your name is?”

“I didn’t say.” He echoed her words through a dry throat. “But I’m Jason. Jason Stephanidis.”

She gasped and her hand flew to her mouth. She went pale and leaned back against her car.

Jason didn’t feel so steady himself. What had this redheaded stranger been to Kimmie? And was she seriously thinking of staying at the farm—with babies—when she obviously knew nothing about managing a country winter? “Look, do you want to bring your kids and come sit in my truck? I have bottled water in there, and it’s warm. You’re not looking so good.”

She ignored the suggestion. “You’re Jason Stephanidis? Oh, wow.” She didn’t sound happy as she glanced at the babies in the back seat of her car.

“And your name is...”

“Erica. Erica Lindholm.”

“Well, Erica, we need to talk.” He needed to pump her for information and then send her on her way. The farm was no place for her and her boys, not at this time of year. And Jason’s grandfather didn’t need the stress.

On the other hand, given the rusty appearance of her small car, a model popular at least ten years ago, she probably didn’t have a lot of money for a hotel. If she could even get to one at this time of night, in this storm.

She straightened her back and gave him a steady look that suggested she had courage, at least. “If you’re Kimmie’s brother, we do need to talk. She needs help, if you’re willing. But for now, I need to get the boys to shelter. If you could just point me toward the farm—”

He made a snap decision to take her there, at least for tonight. “I’ll clear the road and you can follow me there.” She’d obviously been close to Kimmie. Maybe a fellow addict who needed a place to stay, dry out.

If he caught one whiff of drug use around those babies, though, he’d have her arrested so fast she wouldn’t know what had hit her.

“I don’t want to put you out.” Her voice sounded tight, shaky. “I’m sure you have somewhere to go.”

“It’s no trouble to lead you there,” he said, “since I live at Holly Creek Farm.”

The detective in him couldn’t help but notice that his announcement made the pretty redhead very, very uncomfortable.

* * *

Erica Lindholm clutched the steering wheel and squinted through the heavily falling snow, her eyes on the red taillights in front of her.

Jason Stephanidis lived there. In the place Kimmie had said belonged to her grandparents. What nightmare was this?

How could she take care of the babies here? Kimmie’s brother, being a detective, was sure to find out she’d taken them and run with no official guardianship papers. That had to be a crime.

And he might—probably would—attempt to take them away from her.

She couldn’t let him—that was all. Which meant she couldn’t let him know that the boys were actually Kimmie’s sons.

Somewhere on the long road trip, caring for the twins and worrying about them, comforting them and feeding them, she’d come to love them with pure maternal fierceness. She’d protect them with her life.

Including protecting them from Kimmie’s rigid, controlling brother, if need be. She’d promised Kimmie that.

In just ten minutes, which somehow felt all too soon, they turned off the main road. The truck ahead slowed down, and a moment later she realized Jason had lowered the plow on the front of his truck and was clearing the small road that curved up a little hill and over a quaint-looking bridge.

A moment later they pulled up to a white farmhouse, its front door light revealing a wraparound front porch, the stuff of a million farm movies.

Behind her, Teddy started to fuss. From the smell of things, one or both of the boys needed a diaper change.

Jason had emerged from the truck and was coming back toward her, and she got out of her car to meet him. He looked as big as a mountain: giant, stubbly and dangerous.

Erica’s heart beat faster. “Thank you for all you’ve done for us tonight,” she said. “I understand there’s a cabin on the property. We can go directly there, if you’ll point the way.”

“No, you can’t.”

“Why not?”

“That cabin hasn’t been opened up in a couple of years. The heat’s off, water’s off, who knows what critters have been living there...” He shook his head. “I don’t know what you were thinking, bringing those babies out in this storm.”

Guilt surged up in her. He was right.

“For now, you’ll have to stay at the farmhouse with me.”

Whoa. No way. “That’s not safe or appropriate. I don’t know you from—”

The front door burst open. “There you are! I was ready to call the rescue squad. Who’d you bring with you?”

All she could see of the man in the doorway was a tall blur, backlit by a golden, homey light that looked mercifully warm.