They could have told me what they were doing when Molly got hurt, because I know they were up to something. Molly didn’t get hurt from a snowball fight. That was a cut next to her eye, a clean cut, with clean edges. Something made that cut and I want to know how it happened, and the kids know. But they’re not talking, so they’re in their room. End of story.”

She nodded, wondering if now was when she should tell him what Paul and Lewis had told her, about the ax and the tree, but she didn’t want to get the kids in more trouble.

“What’s wrong?” Brock asked. “You think I’m too hard on them?”

The kettle whistled, saving her from immediately answering.

She grabbed a pot holder and moved the shrieking kettle to a back burner. The kettle fell silent. “Would you like a cup?” she asked, motioning to the kettle.

He shook his head. “But I am interested in your opinion. You’ve been here a few days with them now. Do you think I’m too hard on them?”

She squeezed the pot holder. “I’m not the best person to ask.”

“Because you don’t know kids?”

“Because they’re your kids. I think you have to raise them according to your values.”

“My brothers say I’m too hard on the twins, but they’re bachelors. They don’t know what it’s like to have a child, to be the only one responsible for a child, never mind suddenly becoming the only person responsible for two infants still just breastfeeding when their mom is killed.”

Harley couldn’t imagine what it’d been like for him to bury his wife even as he had to become both mother and father to two babies. “Must have been awful,” she said quietly.

“It was hell.” His brow furrowed and he stared blindly across the kitchen, grief etched across his features. “Amy was such a good mom, too. She was such a natural... calm, and patient. Nothing flustered her.”

“Good thing, considering you had twins.”

“That was a surprise, but not a huge shock. Twins run in the Sheenan family, I have brothers who are twins—Troy and Trey—and my dad had brothers who were twins, but Amy and I were a little overwhelmed when Mack and Molly were born. They were small and needed round-the-clock feeding, and Molly had colic. She was so fussy.” He smiled ruefully. “She still is.”

“But Mack was easy?”

“Mack was born easy. He’d just sit there in his infant seat and chill while his sister wailed.” Brock shook his head. “Thank God Mack was so good-natured. I don’t think I could have handled two fussy babies on my own.”

“You’re a good dad,” Harley said quietly, meaning it.

“I make mistakes.”

“Everybody makes mistakes.”

“I guess we are managing, the three of us, but I thought the hard years would be the baby years. Instead, it’s getting tougher as they get older. They’ve got ideas and opinions and they’re starting to test me—”

“They’re becoming teenagers.”

“They’re only eleven.”

“And a half.” She smiled. “They told me they were born in early May. Apparently they are hoping to do something fun with you for their twelfth birthday... something about going to Orlando?”

“I have not agreed to Orlando. I would never agree to Orlando. Flathead Lake, yes.