The SEAL's Christmas Twins

by Laura Marie Altom

  * * *

  WITH HER PRACTICAL boots crunching on the city sidewalk’s hard-packed snow, Hattie realized she had never been happier to be away from someone in her whole life. Was she really supposed to live with Mason for however long it took him to get unattached from her sister’s will? Couldn’t he just fly up when it was his turn in court?

  Aerosmith’s “Walk This Way” spilled out the bar’s door at the same time as Harvey Mitchell.

  “Got a ride?” Hattie asked.

  Breath fogging in the cold night air, he hitched his thumb toward the road. “Wife sent the daughter to pick-me-up.” His last three words slurred into one. Looked as though someone should’ve gone home a few drinks earlier.

  Hattie waited outside for the few minutes it took for Harvey’s sixteen-year-old, Janine, to show. The bar stood at the end of a pier. She took a deep breath, appreciating the water’s briny tang.

  With Harvey safely gone, she headed inside, glad for the warmth and cheerful riot of Halloween decorations she’d put up weeks ago before knowing how tragically the month would end.

  “Hey, sweetie.” Her best friend, Clementine Archer, stepped out from behind the bar, enfolding her in a hug. They’d gone to school together since kindergarten. When Clementine’s husband had lost his job at the fish-canning factory, Hattie had suggested her friend take an online bartending class, then come work for her. Five years later, Clementine’s husband had run off to Texas, leaving her on her own with their two sons, but she still worked behind the bar four days a week. Her mom watched the boys. “How’s it going? You’ve gotta be a mess.”

  “Oh—I passed mess a long time ago. I’m currently a disaster.” Hattie deposited her purse in a lower cabinet beside the fridge. Before leaving, she needed to run upstairs to switch it out for her usual cargo-style bag. Might as well grab extra clothes, too.

  “You leave Mason with the twins?”

  Hattie nodded. “He wasn’t happy about it. Pouted like a second grader.”

  “How is it?”

  “What?” Hattie poured herself an orange juice on the rocks.

  Hands on her hips, Clementine shook her head. “Don’t even try playing it cool with me, lady. I’m the one person aside from Melissa who ever knew exactly how much Mason meant to you. No way is his being here not impacting your life.”

  Hattie looked at her drink. “Yeah, so maybe I’d like a splash of vodka for this, but you know...” She stared at the crowd of regulars: some played pool, others poker, others still watched one of the four flat screens or just talked. Everything about the night was normal, yet not a single thing in Hattie’s life felt the same. Her eyes welled with tears again. She blotted them with one of the bar’s trademark red plaid napkins she’d had monogrammed with Hattie’s. “It’s all good.”

  “Oh, sweetie...” Clementine ambushed her with another hug. “You don’t still have a thing for him, do you?”

  “No. Of course not.” Which was why when he’d swooped her into his arms outside of the lawyer’s her heart had skipped beats. When he’d stood beside her in her sister’s kitchen or they’d shared feeding time on the couch or he’d tugged her onto his lap for a comforting hug, everything she thought she knew turned upside down.

  And that was bad.

  It didn’t matter that Melissa was no longer with them. Mason would always belong to her. Their bond had been unbreakable. So much so that not only had her sister reached from beyond her grave to ask Mason to raise her girls, but she’d had the audacity to suggest he also be Hattie’s man.

  Chapter Five

  “Thanks for bringing all of this by, Dad—and thank you, Fern, for driving.” His ditty bag and iPad couldn’t be more welcome sights in this unfamiliar home.

  While his dad grunted, prune-faced Fern waved off Mason’s appreciation in favor of snooping about the kitchen. She’d tossed her red down coat on the granite counter, but still wore her orange cap and a hot-pink sweat suit with striped blue socks. She’d abandoned her sturdy Sorel boots at the front door. “Where’d Melissa keep her coffee?”

  “Couldn’t tell you.”

  “Times like these folks need coffee. Hattie didn’t make any? And Danish. Doughnuts. At the very least, she could’ve set out a bag of Oreos.”

  Mason tried like hell not to smile. “In Hattie’s defense, she hardly expected anyone to be here. I’m sure her mother’s got plenty of food left from the wake if you two want to head over there?”

  “Lord...” Hands on her hips, Fern surveyed Melissa’s top-of-the-line Keurig K-Cup–style coffeemaker. “Prissy and downright pretentious is what this is. If I were you, I’d run this straight out to the dump and get you a nice stove-top percolator.”

  “Sure. I’ll see what I can do.” What he failed telling Fern was that he thought the whole single-cup thing pretty damned cool. He’d never known coffee technology existed until his friend Heath’s new bride, Patricia, had it listed on her bridal-shower registry. The damn thing had been pricey, so Mason and his pal Cooper had gone halvsies on it. Which reminded him, he needed to call his CO and SEAL team roomie about not being home as scheduled.

  “Ready?” His dad, Jerry, joined them. “I’ve got shows.”

  Fern furrowed the caterpillars she called brows. “For cryin’ out loud, Jer’, step into this century. Haven’t you heard of a DVR?”

  “Haven’t you heard the government uses those things to bug your house—they put pinhole spy cams in there, too.”

  After a grand eye roll, Fern sighed. “S’pose next you’ll be telling me sittin’ too close to my TV’ll make me blind?”

  Jerry shrugged. “Judging by your outfit, you may want to push your recliner a ways back.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake...” Mason grabbed Fern’s coat and held it out to her. “Get a room and leave me in peace.”

  “I wouldn’t sleep with your father if he laid gold nuggets.”

  “Thanks for that visual.” Wincing, Mason held out the garment, wagging it in hopes of enticing Fern to slip it on and then slip right out the door. “I appreciate you two bringing my gear, but if you don’t mind, I’ve got baby-care research to do. Oh—and, Dad, here are your keys.” Mason fished them from his pocket. “Thank you for letting me use your ride.”

  “No problem, but what’re you gonna drive now?”

  “I suppose Alec’s Hummer.”

  “Talk about pretentious.” Fern snorted. “I don’t mean to speak ill of the dead, but I never did approve of that car—if you could even call it that. More like a tank.”

  Jerry snapped, “You didn’t seem to mind much last winter when you stuck your Shirley Temple curls out the sunroof for the Christmas parade.”

  “Shut your pie hole, old man. You’re just jealous no one asked you.”

  Fingers to throbbing temples, Mason counted to ten to keep from blowing. Fern and his dad had always been combustible neighbors, but he’d forgotten to what degree. At least they could now retreat to separate vehicles.

  After ten more minutes’ bickering, Fern and Jerry finally left Mason in peace. Only, even then he didn’t truly feel calm because of the emotions warring in his head. Guilt for not feeling more sadness in regard to Melissa’s and Alec’s deaths, confusion over the sheer logistics of caring for their infant twins, hurt over being treated like a pariah by two families he’d once very much loved and felt a part of.

  Thank God for Hattie.

  Even though she’d temporarily left him in charge, he appreciated knowing he wasn’t ultimately alone. Knowing that by the time the babies woke she’d be back comforted him when otherwise he’d have been in a panic.

  Mason tossed a couple logs on the fire, then grabbed his iPad, only to find the battery near dead. He rummaged through his bag for the charger but, when he returned to the sofa to do baby research, found his cord wasn’t
near long enough.

  In need of an extension cord, he headed downstairs to the utility room. His first trek to the home’s lowest level, he hadn’t ventured farther than the heater. Now he noted the kind of party room he and Alec had only dreamed of when they’d been teens. A fully stocked wet bar complete with two kegs on tap and a loaded wine fridge. A few half-empty beer mugs sat on a counter covered in longneck twist caps sealed in clear acrylic. Mason had never seen anything like it. Had the creation been his idea or Melissa’s or their architect or designer’s?

  A pool table sat lifeless with all the balls scattered as if fresh from a break.

  Bright lights from three vintage slots and an assortment of pinball machines and video games stood out in the gloom.

  A dozen or so weary red balloons hung at various elevations. Some waist-high. Others an inch from the floor. What had the happy couple been celebrating? Was their current group of friends comprised of the same old crew he’d once also considered his?

  He caught a movement in his peripheral vision and discovered Hattie reflected in the mirrored wall behind the bar.

  “Impressive, huh?” She trailed her fingertips along a felt-covered poker table still littered with cards and chips. “Almost as nice as my bar on the wharf, but I have more than one TV.” Gesturing to a wall-mount model that was damn near half the size of his truck, she swiped at glistening tears. Her faint smile twisted his heart. He couldn’t imagine what she must be going through.

  “If you don’t mind my asking...” He swatted a balloon. “What were they celebrating?”

  “Remember Craig Lovett from your senior class?”

  He nodded.

  “It was his birthday.” Behind the bar, she took the three mugs and washed them in the sink. “I’m surprised Melissa left even this little of a mess. Practically her only hobby was cleaning.”

  “Fun.” He snagged the nearest balloon. “Want me to grab all of these?”

  “Sure. Thanks.” Though it’d been years since their last meaningful conversation, Hattie’s current cool demeanor unnerved him. A childish part of him wanted things back the way they used to be between them. Hattie had been his go-to girl for when he’d just wanted to chill. They’d always been able to talk about anything from sports to politics to, hell, even stupid issues like annoying road construction.

  Now he wasn’t sure what to say.

  Her new, more polished, infinitely more curvy look threw him for a loop. Not only didn’t she look the same, but she carried herself with more confidence. Shoulders back, long hair loose, wind-tossed to the point of being a little wild. Her scent even threw him. Gone was the tomboy blend of sweat and bubble gum, replaced by a complex crispness that on this snowy night embodied the town’s conifer trees and ice.

  “Here’s a trash bag.” She held the top open for him while he shoved in the balloons. She was quiet for a moment and then said, “What’s wrong?”

  “Not sure what you mean?” He focused on his task rather than her uncomfortable proximity.

  “You’re tensed up—kind of like when we were in grade school and all of you guys used to freeze when the girls threatened to give you cooties.”

  “Whatever...” He shook his head. “I’m just tired.” Of the whole situation. If Melissa and Alec hadn’t died, he’d be safe and sound back in Virginia—even better, off on a mission where his thoughts were occupied 24/7 by things that mattered. The issues currently fogging his brain were the kinds of details he found best avoided. Women and kids were so far off his radar they might as well be alien life forms.

  “Me, too. Hopefully, after a good night’s rest all of this will feel less overwhelming.” Her eyes shone.

  Mason knew he should say something kind and reassuring, but how could he when panic consumed him? Even worse, once they met with the judge, his ties to the whole mess would be cut, but poor Hattie was stuck with two kids for a lifetime. Inconceivable. “Yeah. I bet everything will seem better in the morning.”

  * * *

  HATTIE WOKE TO the not-so-melodic sound of her nieces screaming. She bolted from her guest-room bed, nearly colliding with Mason as he charged up the stairs from where he’d slept on the sofa.

  She winced. “Thought you said everything would be better in the morning?”

  “Yeah, well, guess I was wrong. You take the one on the left. I’ll take the right.”

  Hattie scooped squalling Vivian from her crib.

  Mason picked up Vanessa.

  Neither baby showed any sign of calming soon. Above her nieces’ now-frantic tears, Hattie shouted, “I’m guessing both need fresh diapers and feeding, so should we divide and conquer?”

  “What do you mean?” He lightly jiggled Vanessa, which only agitated her further.

  “I’ll make bottles while you handle morning cleanup.” Honestly, could her sister have left her in any worse position? The instant upgrade from aunt to mom was rough enough; tossing in an incompetent baby daddy like Mason compounded her already-considerable woes.

  His eyebrows shot up. “You mean you’re leaving me alone with them?”

  After placing Vivian temporarily back in her crib, she patted Mason’s back. “I have total faith in you to do a great job.”

  Five minutes later, bottles in hand, she’d just mounted the steps to check on Mason’s progress when she spied him carrying both babies and heading her way. Vivian and Vanessa were still red-eyed and huffing, but at least the near-deafening wails had calmed. While moments earlier, she’d have seen this as a good thing, the lull in the storm afforded her the relative luxury of getting her first good look at Mason that morning. He wore no shirt and a pair of low-riding sweats with Navy written down one leg. He’d always had a great body, but now? Wow.

  Mouth dry, she hastily looked away from six-pack abs partially blocked by her squirmy nieces.

  She met him halfway up the stairs, taking Vanessa. “Did you have any trouble?”

  “Nah. Compared to bomb demo, diapering’s no biggie. This one’s a pistol, though. Fights me every step of the way.” Taking the bottle she offered, he nodded to Vivian. “She’s only four arms and legs shy of being a human octopus. I feel bad for you when she learns to walk.”

  Hattie laughed, though inside, his innocent statement brought on cause to worry. The twins still had months before they started walking, but the day would come. She’d soon need to worry about baby-proofing and figuring out solid foods and brushing tiny teeth. She didn’t even want to think about the girls walking yet.

  She settled onto the sofa with her charge.

  Mason, cradling Vivian, sat on the opposite end. He initially fumbled getting the bottle into the baby’s crying mouth, but once he did, the house fell blessedly quiet. “That’s better. When they tag team like that, I feel desperate.”

  “Me, too....”

  After a few minutes’ companionable silence, he asked, “What’s the plan for today?”

  “I suppose we need to nail down a firm date for you to appear in court. Then, if you don’t mind, I could use help moving a few things from my place over here.”

  “Sure.” He repositioned Vivian. “Think your mom would feel up to watching these two?”

  “I don’t see why not.”

  “Good.” His smile did funny things to her stomach. “I don’t know about you, but I could use a breather.”

  “We’ve only been awake ten minutes.”

  He shrugged. “There’s no politically correct way for me to say this, so I’ll just go for it. Have you thought about taking the same route I am? You know, signing over your parental rights?”

  “You mean passing the buck?”

  His smile morphed into a scowl. “I mean, getting your life back on track. Your mom seemed genuinely upset that she won’t be raising these two. Why not give her what she wants? Hell, give a gi
rl to Alec’s mom, too. That way, they can each have a kid, all problems solved.”

  “Hear that rushing sound? That was my respect for you, flying out the window.”

  * * *

  “HOW LONG ARE you going to stay mad at me?” Mason asked Hattie as they snatched boxes from her dad’s warehouse’s recycling bin.

  “Forever.” She wouldn’t even look his way.

  They’d each spelled each other for showers, then loaded the eight tons of gear needed to drop the babies with Akna. During all that time, she’d barely said three words.

  When Benton had called, dropping the bomb that it would be three weeks before Mason’s meeting with the Valdez judge, the mood hadn’t grown much brighter.

  “Look,” Mason said, “I was only stating the obvious. What you’re doing for Melissa is a noble, lovely gesture, but it’s also going way above and beyond when if you get right down to it, what did your sister ever do for you? Melissa was a taker. She took from me and you.”

  “Stop.” Tears shone on Hattie’s cheeks, making Mason instantly ashamed, even though in his heart he believed he’d spoken the truth. “What happened to you? I never remember you being this cruel.”

  “Cruel?” He couldn’t contain a sarcastic laugh. “Is there a statute of limitations on me being allowed to harbor ill will toward a woman who essentially ruined my life?”

  “Stop being a drama queen. That all happened years ago.”

  “Right—” he grabbed an undamaged box and tossed it on their pile “—just like the time Melissa totaled her car and instead of making her earn a new one, your parents gave her yours? Or how about when you won the role of Juliet in the school play, but then Melissa told the drama teacher she should get it since I was playing Romeo and we were dating, and that would sell more tickets?”

  Hattie sharply looked away. “I refuse to do this. Melissa’s dead. Whatever she did back then is ancient history. Right now, her babies need a mom—they already have grandmothers. My mother and Alec’s mean well, but you, of all people, should realize what it’s like growing up without a mom.”