“Gunnar has a gun.”
“What!” Hallie shrieked.
Kit sped past her into the afterhouse. He returned seconds later with the gun in one hand and Gunnar tucked safely under his arm. He set the boy down, none too gently, and put the gun on the tool shelf above his head.
When he turned again, he paused, and then his eyes narrowed at the twins, who were now standing side by side.
“Guns are not toys,” he said sternly.
“But we don’t have any more toys,” one boy announced.
“They all burnt!” finished the other.
“But playing with a gun is dangerous!” Hallie scolded. “You two are nev—”
“Let me handle this, Hallie,” Kit interrupted.
“Wait just a minute—” Hallie said, wondering who the heck he thought he was. They were her brothers.
“I’ll handle it!” Kit picked up Hallie and plopped her down on the nearby hatch hood.
She felt like a pesky fly that he’d just swatted away. All right, mister, she thought, you want to handle this? Fine.
Hallie sat back, wondering what Kit would do. While her heart went out to the bored twins, guns were not something to play with. She shuddered at the thought of what might have happened. Da would have tanned Gunnar’s hide, lack of toys or no.
But with Kit, she just didn’t know how he’d handle Gunnar. She had been the boys’ authority figure for months now, and suddenly here was Kit Howland trying to step in and take over.
Kit stepped closer to the twins, still staring intently, and then he looked at Knut. “Which one are you?”
The twins looked at each other and smiled. Hallie could see their plans register all over those devious and identical little faces. Neither of them would pass up a chance to fool someone. With the family, they would tattle and argue, but with others, the twins had an unbreakable bond of loyalty, especially if it meant that one of them was going to get in trouble.
Hallie chewed on her cheek to keep from laughing at Kit’s frustrated expression. When he turned to her for help, she gave him an exaggerated shrug. “You were going to handle this, remember?”
His look was not happy.
Hallie took great pleasure in thoroughly examining the nails on her left hand before she asked, “What do you intend to do?”
“Teach him a lesson. Now tell me which one is which.” Kit crossed his arms and waited, arrogantly, expectantly.
“Teach him how?”
“Just never you mind.”
“Are you going to hit him?”
“I want to teach him a lesson. What do you think your father would have done?” The volume of Kit’s voice grew.
“That doesn’t matter since you’re not our father.”
“I’m your guardian, hand-picked by your father. You all had better get used to doing as I say.”
“Then don’t look to me for help. You’d better learn to tell them apart yourself.” Hallie heaved a sigh and smirked just a little. “Since you’re going to be doing all this ordering around.”
Kit stooped down, eye level with the boys. In utter silence he stared at them, appearing to be memorizing every pore, every freckle, every burn mark on their suddenly serious little faces. “I’ll tell you both this just once. Guns are not for children. They are not toys. Never, never are you boys to touch any gun, do you understand?”
They nodded.
“Our toys were all burnt up,” Knut repeated, and then both boys began to whimper.
