LITMIR.BIZ

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He was surprised when he clicked the computer on that it opened up to Alice’s e-mail on AOL. At least he wouldn’t have to worry about a password—it was all here, right in front of him. And there was an e-mail addressed to him.

      Hank gawked at what he was seeing. Well, that certainly took a lot of nerve. He clicked on the e-mail and saw a to-do list. Not one word about where she was, what she was doing, or that she was sorry. A damn to-do list. He lashed out with his foot to kick the side of the little desk and was instantly sorry. He looked down at his bare feet and howled in pain, knowing damn well that he’d broken his big toe. What the hell else could go wrong? This was way beyond Murphy’s law.

      Hank read the list.

       Twins get up around 8. Diaper change. Dress.

       Breakfast. Oatmeal with milk and a little sugar. Applesauce.

       Lunch is soup, crackers, cheese cubes, and peaches.

       Milk as often as they want it.

       Dinner is whatever you want, cut up small or mash all food.

       Churchill gets fed at four. His food is in pantry in a bag. Do not let anything happen to that dog or Ben will kill you.

       Do the grocery shopping. List is on the fridge. Money is in the tea canister.

       Buy Christmas tree. Set it up. Decorate it. Buy wreath for front door. Hang wreath.

       Put gas in car, it’s on empty.

       Give Churchill a bath today. His stuff is over the sink in the laundry room. Keep him warm. Build a fire and do NOT let him outside. Walk him. He can jump the fence.

       Twins get bath at 7. They like to play in the water. Do NOT flood the bathroom. They go to bed at 7:30. Give them a treat, ice cream will be fine if you buy it. They will scream for hours if they don’t get it. Churchill gets a dog treat at the same time.

       Do laundry twice a day. Fold neatly and take upstairs. Do not leave in laundry room.

       Do not, I repeat, do not, drink while you are taking care of my sons.

      Nursing his broken toe, Hank looked around wildly for something to hit, to smash. “In your dreams!”

      Miss Sadie hopped up on his lap. She whimpered softly against his chest. “I can’t do this, Miss Sadie. I wasn’t cut out for this. How could she leave me here with this…this mess? Do you see how ill equipped I am to handle this? I don’t even want to handle it. I bet ten dollars she’s frolicking in some hot tub somewhere having a grand old time while I’m here…suffering. What’s wrong with this picture, Miss Sadie?” The little dog licked his chin in sympathy.

      Hank was on his second cup of coffee when the doorbell rang. Clutching Miss Sadie to his chest, he ran to the door just as the twins started to cry. He pulled it open to see the grocery delivery boy and directed him to the kitchen. He’d charged the food to his credit card when he ordered it, so all he had to do was tip the delivery boy. He took five dollars from the tea canister and handed it over. The boy looked at him in disgust, so he popped another five into his hand. “I used to get fifty cents for going to the store for my mother.”

      “Yeah, well, that was then, this is now. That’s so like, some dark-age time. I have to buy gas, use my own car, and drive through snow and hope the person I’m delivering to isn’t going to shoot me dead.”

      The kid had a point, Hank thought as he ushered him to the door just in time to see his new day lady/man walking toward the door. He groaned. Miss Sadie was yapping her head off, and the twins were bellowing at a high-decibel level. There was no sign of Churchill anywhere.

      Hank sighed as he introduced himself to his day lady, who just happened to be an older man who said he was Mason Hatcher. He had quirky-looking hair that stood up in little spikes. Rosy cheeks, wire-rim glasses, and a mouth pursed into a pout. He wore a heavy black coat, sensible shoes with laces, and it looked like he had thick ankles. He was thick all over, Hank decided when Mason removed his coat, hat, muffler, and gloves and folded them neatly on the bench next to the door. Mason looked at him and said, “I don’t much care for dogs.”

      “Yeah, well, the dog goes with the deal. And one is temporarily missing. I’m sure he’ll be back soon. He’s…a little bigger. I’ll pay you extra for the dogs.” Hank hated how desperate he sounded.

      “We’ll see,” was Mason’s response. “Now, where are my charges?”

      “Huh?”

      “The children. Where are they?”

      “Upstairs, second door on the left.”

      Mason stomped his way up the steps as Hank made his way to the kitchen, where he started to unpack the groceries. There wasn’t one thing fit for the twins. Obviously, broken toe or not, he was going to have to go to the market himself with Alice’s list. Damn, his toe was killing him. And, to his horror, his whole foot looked swollen. He also had to go out to look for Churchill. Don’t let Churchill out. He can jump the fence. Ben will kill you if anything happens to him. The words rang in Hank’s ears until he thought he would go out of his mind.

      It suddenly dawned on him that the house was very quiet except for childish laughter wafting down the stairs. Even Miss Sadie, her head tilted to the side, was aware of the sudden silence. A minute later Mason was walking down the steps, a twin in each arm. The little twits were gooing and laughing and tweaking the man’s nose. How was that possible? He’d turned himself inside out to please them, and all they did was pinch, cry, and fight him every step of the way. Obviously, he didn’t have the touch. The right touch.

      “I have to go out,” Hank said. He was stunned at his belligerent tone.

      “I’d put on some shoes if I were you, Mr. Anders. It’s freezing outside.”

      “I don’t know how that’s going to work, Mason. I broke my big toe.” If he hoped for sympathy, he wasn’t getting any from this guy.

      “Soak it in Epsom salts,” Mason said without missing a beat. “When will you return, sir? By the way, is there a lady of the house?”

      “When I’m done doing what I have to do is when I’ll be back. I can’t give you a specific time. There is a lady of the house but not right now. She’s…well, what she is…she isn’t here.”

      “I see. And you’re in charge temporarily, is that it?”

      “No, no, I’m not in charge. Well, I am, but I’m not. I know that doesn’t make a whole lot of sense but…you, Mason, are in charge.”

      “Very well, sir.”

      “Call me Hank.”

      “I can’t do that, sir. You’re my employer. The company frowns on familiarity. Will there be anything else before I feed these little angels?”

      “Nope, that’s it. See ya, Mason.”

      Shoes on, his toe throbbing, Hank dressed and left the house. His game plan was to ride around the neighborhood to look for Churchill before doing anything else. He’d start first by warming up the SUV and brushing the snow off the windshield. He turned around when he heard banging sounds coming from Albert Carpenter’s house. Someone on a ladder was banging with a hammer and stringing lights, and who was it standing next to the ladder but Churchill!

      “Hey!” he shouted.

      A female voice responded, “Hey, yourself!”

      “Do you need any help, other than my dog?”

      “Your dog! This is your dog! I don’t think so! He’s mine now. Possession is nine-tenths of the law. I walked him. I fed him. And he slept at my house last night. That means he’s mine. It was freezing out last night. He could have died out there. You just try and get him back and I’ll…I’ll…” The hammer drove a nail into the post with deadly precision.

      “That’s private property.

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