Free Christmas At Copper Mountain (A Copper Mountain Christmas) by Jane Porter Page B

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. Florida, no.”
    “Why not Orlando?” she asked.
    “Too many people. Don’t like crowds. Not a big fan of amusement parks.”
    “Have you ever been to an amusement park?”
    “No.”
    “You can’t blame them for being curious.”
    “They’re Montana kids. They’re just as happy camping and fishing. So if they really want to go somewhere for their birthday, I’ll take them to Flathead Lake. Amy’s parents have a cabin there and we can fish and hike.”
    “Molly fishes?”
    “For their tenth birthday I gave each of them new poles and tackle.”
    Harley squashed her smile. She couldn’t imagine her Emma or Ana ever being excited about a fishing pole and tackle, but her girls were good athletes and had loved skiing and snowboarding and having adventures with their dad. That’s how they’d died, too. Setting off on an adventure with their dad.
    David should have never taken off in that bad weather. Never, never, ever.
    But he never did listen to her. He was always so sure he knew what was best.
    Her smile faded.
    She realized Brock had stopped talking and was looking at her. “What are you thinking about?” he asked.
    She shook her head, unable to talk about the kids, or how they died, or how selfish their father had been, piloting his own plane when there had been severe weather warnings.
    “Nothing,” she whispered, pushing back the flood of memories, heartsick all over again. Emma and Ana and Davi, her little boy. Gone. All gone.
    She turned to the cabinet, stared blindly at the boxes of tea, waiting for her vision to clear.
    “I’m sorry,” Brock said, after a moment. “I forgot that this is a difficult subject for you.”
    “It’s okay,” she said thickly. She turned to face him a few moments later. “I’m sure you know it, but you’re lucky. You have such sweet, smart kids. You should be proud.”
    “I’d be prouder if they didn’t run away from school and if they’d tell me the truth when one of them gets hurt.”
    “Maybe they’re scared that if they tell you the truth they’ll get in trouble.”
    “I’ve never hit them. There’s no reason for them to be afraid of me.”
    Harley regarded him a moment, still feeling the ache of grief that accompanied thoughts of her children. “Maybe they just need you to talk to them more. Reassure them that they can trust you—”
    “Of course they can trust me. I’m their father.”
    “You can be a little intimidating,” she said gently, thinking that right now he looked about as soft and receptive as the granite counter slabs in the kitchen. “Maybe just try to talk to them as a friend.”
    His big arms crossed over his chest, drawing the knit shirt tight at his shoulders, revealing those hard carved abs again. “I’m not here to be their friend.”
    Suddenly JB’s words came to Harley’s mind. Mr. Sheenan’s been a bachelor too long . Is that what this was?
    She dropped her voice, softening her tone. “Don’t you want to know who they are? Don’t you want to know about their ideas... their feelings... their dreams?”
    His upper lip curled. His expression was openly mocking. “For a woman who never had kids, you certainly seem to have a lot of opinions on how to raise them.”
    She flinched,