The SEAL's Christmas Twins

by Laura Marie Altom

  As if she knew her aunt was talking smack about her, Vivian upped the volume on her wail.

  He snorted. “Sounds like you and your sister.”

  For the first time since the funeral, Hattie genuinely smiled. “Never thought of it like that, but you nailed your assessment—which makes me an awful person, right?”

  “Not even close,” he said over the infant’s cry. “Melissa was a handful and were she here with us, she’d be first to admit it—with a proud smile.”

  “True.”

  When they each cradled an infant, they settled on the sofa in front of the fire.

  Hattie plucked off the twins’ hats and mittens, then gave Vivian her bottle. The sudden silence save for the fire’s crackle and the twins’ occasional grunts and sighs made for much-welcomed peace.

  “Sorry about what happened at my parents’. That was an ugly scene.”

  “No worries.” He shifted Vanessa to hold her in the crook of his other arm. “I don’t blame them for being upset—Alec’s folks, too. They’ve got to be feeling out of the loop.”

  “I suppose. But it doesn’t have to be that way. They’re welcome to see these two whenever they’d like. They chose to run back to Florida.”

  “I know, but think of this from their perspective. Alec used to be my best friend, then I caught him sleeping with my wife and never spoke to him again. Cindy and Taylor were like second parents to me. Growing up, I ate more dinners at their house than mine. Everything’s so mixed up, you know? Part of me was glad to see them at the funeral—at least until I remembered they were part of the enemy team. I imagine they feel the same?”

  “Probably.” Vivian had thankfully drifted off to sleep. Hattie gently leaned forward, setting the empty bottle on the coffee table. “Wonder if my sister even talked about her will with Alec? Or her prophetic dreams?”

  “Guess we’ll never know.”

  On the surface, Mason’s words were simple enough, but the finality of that word—never—hit Hattie hard. Up until now, she’d been too wrapped up in the ceremony of her sister’s death to consider the impact of losing someone she’d dearly loved.

  At the hospital, during Melissa’s last hours, Hattie had stayed strong for her parents—especially her mom. Then there’d been planning the funeral and reception. Steeling herself for the reading of Melissa’s will. Now there was nothing left to do except begin her new life by essentially stepping into her sister’s.

  How many times when Melissa had been married to Mason had Hattie prayed for just such a thing?

  In light of her current situation, this fact shamed her. So much so that the tears she’d so carefully held inside now spilled in ugly sobs.

  After handing Vivian to Mason, Hattie dashed upstairs, not even sure where she was going, just knowing she needed to be alone.

  Chapter Four

  Swell.

  Mason glanced over his shoulder at Hattie’s departing back, then down at the two sleeping infants. What was he supposed to do now? How had he even landed in this impossible situation?

  From somewhere upstairs, a door slammed. But the house wasn’t solid enough to mask Hattie’s cries.

  His heart went out to her. Losing Melissa had to be tough.

  He’d have no doubt been upset himself if he hadn’t already mourned their relationship’s death. Then there was the stunt she’d pulled with her letter—the matchmaking bit. What the hell? Poor Hattie had plenty to be upset about, and he hoped she didn’t think he’d taken any of her sister’s ramblings seriously.

  “Ladies,” he mumbled to what amounted to maybe twenty pounds of snoozing babies, “I should probably check on your aunt, but that leaves me in a bind as to what to do with you.”

  They didn’t stir.

  Since he already cradled one, he made an awkward position change on the couch in order to scoop up the other. Holding both, he slowly rose, then headed for the kitchen, assuming the kiddy corral would be safe enough until he got back.

  Their little arms and legs jolted upon landing.

  The house was still on the chilly side, so he left them on their backs, wearing their coats.

  At the top of the stairs was a loft library he ventured through to gain access to a hall. He forged down it, intent on not just finding Hattie, but stopping her tears. The sound ripped through him. Took him back to when she’d been thirteen and broke her ankle after using scrap sheet metal for a sled. He’d carried her home and made sure she was okay back then and he’d sure as hell do the same now.

  He passed a bedroom, the nursery and a bath before reaching the one closed door Hattie had hidden behind. He opened it to step into what could only be the master. A miniversion of the living room’s A-frame window wall overlooked a spectacular snowy night scene.

  Hattie sat hunched over and crying on the foot of a king-size bed positioned to take maximum advantage of the view.

  Mason’s first thought should’ve been comforting her, but all he seemed able to focus on were Alec and Melissa. What they’d done in that cozy bed. How his wife and best friend had betrayed him to an unimaginable degree.

  Snapping himself out of his own issues with the deceased, he sat next to Hattie, easing his arm around her as naturally as he always had. “I’m sorry.”

  She cried all the harder, struggled to escape him, but he drew her closer, onto his lap, where he held her for all she was worth, all the while gently stroking her hair. “Shh...everything’s going to be okay.”

  “No,” she said with a sniffle and shake of her head. “Part of me feels like I did this. I hid so much resentment that she had not one amazing man, b-but two. Then she got the perfect babies I’d always wanted. H-her life was everything mine wasn’t. I used to wish I could be her—just for a day. But I never wanted her gone, Mason. I—I loved her so much....”

  Sobs racked Hattie’s frame, and for the first time since losing Melissa to divorce, Mason felt helpless. As a SEAL, he’d been trained to handle any contingency. Make flash life-or-death decisions, but this one had him stumped. How did he begin comforting Hattie when he harbored such ill will toward her sister and brother-in-law? Now that he was both legally and honor bound to care for their children?

  It was too much.

  “What if she’s somehow looking down on me? And knows I coveted what she had? But I never in a million years wanted it like this. She meant the world to me. More than anything when we were all kids, I wanted to be just like her. As an adult, I realized that wasn’t going to happen, but that didn’t stop the yearning. Still, I did love her. She has to know. Has to.”

  “I loved her, too, Hat Trick.” He used to call Hattie that when she’d challenged him to pond hockey. “For her to leave you her children, you have to know she loved you every bit as much?”

  She nodded.

  Drawing back, he lightly touched her chin, urging her to meet his gaze. Though the room was dark, moonlight reflecting off the snow reinforced the fact that she was far from being the little girl and teen Mason remembered. Hattie was all grown up. Even tear-stained, her face was one of the loveliest he’d ever seen. In many ways, she resembled her sister—big brown eyes and long dark hair. Yet she had higher cheekbones, fuller lips. Where she lacked Melissa’s petite stature, her full curves made her more womanly.

  Pushing back, she turned away, fussing with her hair. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to flip out on you like that. Some parent I’ll make, huh?”

  “Give yourself a break. This is a full-on nightmare—even if neither of us had any issues simmering on the old back burner. Honestly, I didn’t even want to come to the funeral and figured the will could be handled via email or over the phone. Dad convinced me I’d regret it if I didn’t come.”

  “Speaking of him, have you let him know?”

  Mason shook his head. “I’ll give him a ca
ll.”

  A few feet away, she shivered. She crossed her arms and ran her hands up and down them.

  He should’ve gotten off the bed to hold her—at least find a blanket to wrap her in, but his feet were frozen in place.

  “Guess I should check on the babies.”

  “They’re fine. As open as this place is, if they were in trouble, we’d hear them crying.”

  “Still...”

  He sighed. “They’re fine.”

  Ignoring him, she left the room, heading toward the stairs. A few minutes later, just as he’d suggested, the sound of her cooing over them carried all the way to where he still sat.

  Honestly, he felt more than a little shell-shocked by the whole turn of events. Now he was not only mad at Melissa for hooking up with Alec, but for apparently thinking so highly of herself as to presume he’d want her matchmaking services. As if that weren’t despicable enough, she’d thought it a good idea to use her own babies as manipulative tools? The whole thing was psycho. He might’ve long ago loved her, but at the moment, he didn’t even kind of like her.

  Hattie’s big brown eyes flashed before him, reminding him why he hadn’t told Benton to take a flying leap. His being here, in this house, in the very room where Alec and Melissa had made love, wasn’t about allegiance to his ex, but her sister.

  Hattie had always been there for him and he now owed her the same.

  He made a quick call to his dad, bringing him up to speed on the will and how he’d be staying at Melissa and Alec’s until his day in court. His dad wasn’t the chatty type, so once the facts were delivered, Mason hung up.

  Downstairs, he found Hattie removing the girls’ coats and soft boots. “Want me to help you get them in their cribs?”

  “Sure. But they both need fresh diapers.”

  He blanched. “Not my idea of a good time, but show me what to do.”

  Together they took the babies upstairs, and Hattie walked him through a diaper change. “Diaper removal is pretty self-explanatory. From there, use a few wipes, assess if you think she needs rash cream or powder, then—”

  “Okay, whoa—I’m great at assessing, but I usually have a list of parameters to work with.”

  Hattie wrinkled her nose, and damned if she didn’t strike him as cute. “You lost me.”

  “What am I supposed to look for in order to know if either of those contingencies apply?”

  She cocked her head. “In English?”

  “What am I looking for? Like, if I’m supposed to use the powder or cream, how will I know?”

  “Oh. Well, the cream you’ll use if anything looks red or irritated. As for the powder...” She shrugged. “Honestly, let’s table it for now. I’ll look it up online or ask Mom. Pretty sure it’s a moisture thing.”

  “Want me to research it? I’m much better with that than diapering.”

  “Sure. Thanks.” She returned her attention to the baby. “No sign of rash, so we’ll grab a fresh diaper, open it, then slide the back part under her—like this.”

  Stepping alongside her for a better view, he nodded. “Got it. Next?”

  “Pull up the front, fasten it with the sticky tabs, put her clothes back on and you’re good to go.”

  “Wait—you didn’t say anything about the clothes. All of them come off?”

  She sighed. “Now you’re being deliberately obtuse.”

  “No, really. For whatever time I’m here, I want to be as much help as possible. I’m viewing this as a mission.”

  “Wow. Please tell me you didn’t just equate my sister’s babies with battle.” Keeping one hand on the now-squirmy baby, she grabbed a pair of footie pj’s from a nearby drawer.

  “What? You don’t want my help?”

  “Mason, Vanessa and Viv are real-live babies—not burp-and-feed dolls you’d read about in a manual.”

  “Duh. Why do you think I’m concentrating on what you tell me? I want to get this right. We’re in a zero-tolerance mistake zone, right?”

  “Wow. Just wow.” She finished her task without so much as looking his way.

  Whatever. He took her ignoring him as an opportunity to study the nursery layout. Two cribs, built-in shelves loaded with toys and books. Two upholstered swivel rockers. Changing table. Adequate stockpile of supplies on shelf beneath said table. Easy-access traffic flow—although down the line, the potted Norfolk pine in front of the window could pose a spooky shadow problem.

  Overall impression? Way too much pink.

  Once Hattie placed her baby in the crib, Mason took his turn at diapering. Forcing a deep breath, he rolled down minitights. It was still chilly, so he left the baby’s long-sleeved dress, undershirt, sweater and socks on her.

  Watching Hattie, the diaper process had seemed straightforward enough. He easily undid the sticky tape but, upon lifting the front flap, was accosted by a smell so vile he damn near retched.

  “Oh, my God...” He stepped back. Fanning the putrid air, he asked, “What the hell? Is she sick?”

  Hattie glared. “Welcome to the wonderful world of babies. Lesson 101—poop stinks. Standard operating procedure.”

  “If that last part was a dig at me, stow it. I’m doing the best I can here, okay?”

  Her indifferent shrug told him she wasn’t impressed.

  Had he really only a few minutes earlier felt sorry for her? Regardless, he forged ahead. “You didn’t mention Number Two in your lesson. Any special spray needed? Protective gloves or eyewear?”

  “Want me to do it?”

  “No.” And he was offended she’d asked. “I’ve got this.”

  Dear Lord. Mason struggled to maintain his composure while cleaning the baby’s behind. Was this poop or tar?

  He made the mistake of looking at the kid’s face and their gazes connected. Was she smiling? This one had to be Vivian—the baby whose personality matched Melissa’s. She’d get a kick out of seeing him tortured.

  Finally finished wiping, with Hattie supervising, Mason found a fresh diaper and tried grabbing the kid’s ankles to raise her behind, but she kicked so hard it was tough to grab hold. Settling for one ankle, he tried lifting her sideways, then sneaking the diaper under.

  “Not like that,” Hattie complained. “You’ll put her in traction before her first birthday.” Nudging him aside, she dived right in, catching the baby’s ankles one-handed on her first try.

  “As much as it pains me to admit this,” Mason said with a round of applause, “you’re good.”

  “I’ve had at least a little practice. You’ll get the hang of it.” She took the diaper from him and, once she had it properly positioned, stepped aside for him to finish. “She’s all yours.”

  When Mason stepped back into place, their arms brushed. The resulting hum of awareness caught him as off guard as practically flunking his first diapering lesson. He and Hattie had never been more than friends, so what was that about? Had she felt it, too? If so, she showed no signs, which told him to chalk it up to his imagination, then get his job done. Another part of him couldn’t get Melissa’s words from his head. Hattie has harbored quite the crush on you for as long as she could walk well enough to follow you around. Could it be true?

  Perhaps an even bigger question was, what did he feel for her?

  Nothing romantic, that was for sure. For as long as he could remember, she’d been his friend. For sanity’s sake, he planned to ignore that rush of attraction in favor of putting Hattie safely back in the friend zone.

  Subject closed.

  It proved no big deal to get the diaper perfectly positioned, and while a few of his new-father SEAL friends whined about the whole sticky-tab thing being tough to tackle, Mason thought that part a piece of cake. He liked lining them up perfectly straight. Precision in all things—especially diapers—was good.
/>   “There.” He couldn’t help but smile upon completing his goal. “Now what?”

  “Take her dress off and put these on.” Hattie offered a pair of pj’s that matched Vivian’s sister’s.

  “Just a thought—” Mason struggled to unfasten the row of tiny buttons up the back of the dress “—but what if we started color-coding the twins? That way, we’d know who’s who.”

  “You mean dress Vivian in one color and Vanessa in another?”

  “Exactly. That way, they won’t be sixteen and realize their whole lives they’ve been called by the wrong names.”

  “While I applaud your suggestion, I don’t think we’re in danger of that. Besides, they already have so many pretty matching clothes, I’d hate to toss everything Melissa bought and was given as shower gifts.”

  “Hadn’t thought of that. When I’m researching powder, I’ll see if I can find tips on telling twins apart.”

  “You do that.” Though she didn’t smile, he’d have sworn he saw laughter spark her still-teary eyes.

  Once both girls had been tucked beneath matching fuzzy pink blankets, Mason asked, “Now what?”

  “Know how to do laundry?”

  “Sure.”

  She pointed toward an overflowing hamper. “Mind tackling that while I’m out?”

  “Where are you going?”

  “I have to at least make an appearance at the bar. I haven’t been in since first hearing the news.”

  “But it’s Sunday. Thought no alcohol was sold or served?”

  She patted his back. “You have been gone awhile. Two years ago, the new mayor, who’s a huge Cowboys fan, exempted every Sunday during football season.”

  As a general rule, Mason never pouted, but he was damn near close. “But I’d rather go with you than be stuck here doing laundry.”

  “Sorry.” She flashed a forced, unapologetic smile. “One of us has to bring home the bacon.”

  “Hattie Beaumont, you turned mean.”

  “Nah.” She ducked across the hall and into the bathroom. “Just practical.”