“Leave my past out of this.” Jaw clenched, he pitched a box hard enough at their growing pile to crush one of the corners.
“But it’s all right for you to air my dirty laundry?”
“I gave you Melissa-specific examples.”
“I’m done with this discussion.” She raised her chin. The air outside the loading dock was cold enough to see her sharp exhalations manifest in angry clouds. Her cheeks reddened, probably more from fury than cold. Regardless, her determined stare reminded him of better days. Times when that determination landed them on epic climbs to mountaintops and fishing in places he’d sworn they’d never find their way home from. She’d been one of his best pals, but for whatever reason, that dynamic had changed, which made him sad. He’d already lost her sister; he didn’t want to lose Hattie’s friendship, as well.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I can see where my suggestion could come across as crass, but, Hat Trick, you’re no more ready to be a parent than I am. I was only trying to give you an out.”
“That’s just it...” She brushed away more tears. “I don’t want an out. These are my nieces we’re talking about—not a pair of Yorkies. If Melissa had enough faith in me to handle the job, then I can. Period.”
“Okay. I get it.” Had she always been this beautiful? Her anger intensified the color in her high cheekbones, making her appear warrior-fierce. In that moment, he believed she could single-handedly raise the twins. He just wished she didn’t have to. But did he wish it enough to quit the navy? Stay in Conifer to help?
Not just no. Hell no.
Chapter Six
“Clem, come on—focus.” Hattie waved her hand in front of her friend’s blatant stare. “Can you cover for me tonight?”
“I remember Mason being decent looking, but damn...”
“Hush.” Hattie gave her friend a well-placed elbow to her side as Mason effortlessly hefted another box down the narrow staircase that led from her apartment to the bar’s main floor. “He’s nothing special.”
“Says the girl who lusted after him for the vast majority of her life—at least until her sister married him.”
“Can you please save this for another time?” Hattie closed her eyes on the not-too-shabby view of Mason’s jean-clad behind.
“Look, I understand what you’re going through must be rough, but Melissa dumped him a long time ago. In my mind, that makes him fair game.”
“Please stop.”
“He’s single. You’re single. Those babies go to bed early, leaving a whole lot of time for fooling—”
“Hush!” Hattie hadn’t meant to shout, but when the five patrons at the bar looked her way, she reddened. Her voice at a more appropriate level, she said, “You’re being ridiculous. Now back to the topic at hand—can you cover for me tonight, or not?”
“Sorry, but Dougie’s got a nasty cold. Once I’m done here, I wanna run him over to the urgent-care clinic to get him checked out.”
“How’s Joey?” Clementine’s son Doug was three and Joey was five.
“So far, he’s fine. But Mom had sniffles when I dropped Dougie off this morning. If she goes down, I’m screwed.”
“Hopefully, they’ll both feel better soon.” Hattie had five other bartenders she could call, but she thought working the shift herself, and having a night away from Mason, would probably do her good.
He appeared. “That was the last of it. Ready to head out?”
“Sure.” Hattie took her purse from behind the bar. “But I’ll need to come back later.”
He frowned. “Clem, how’ve you been?”
“Good, thanks.” Oh, for heaven’s sake. Clementine visibly flushed. Mason wasn’t that great to look at.
The lie created heat in her own cheeks. Okay, so Mason wasn’t exactly unfortunate when it came to his appearance, but that didn’t mean Clementine’s matchmaking had been warranted. The whole issue was wildly inappropriate.
“Hear you’ve done real good for yourself.” Hattie’s friend actually fluffed her hair. “Even so, we’ve missed you around here.”
“Thanks.” He shrugged. “It’s nice being back. Just wish the circumstances were better.”
“I understand.” Could Clementine be more obvious? She’d struck a pose against the bar that showed a royal gorge of cleavage. “We’re all pretty upset.”
Really, Clem? The only thing she looked upset about was Mason standing too far away.
“Okay, well...” Hattie grabbed Mason by his arm, tugging him toward the door. “Glad you two could catch up, but I’d like to unpack all my stuff at Melissa’s before it’s time to pick up the girls.”
Outside, though the day was sunny, a blustery north wind seized Hattie’s hair, tangling it in her face.
“Hold up.” Mason stopped her midway down the pier, way too deep into her personal space for her liking while helping her tidy the mess. “You look like Cousin Itt from— What was that show?”
“The Addams Family?” For years, they’d watched the show every day after school. Hattie could probably still recite every episode.
“Yeah. That’s it.” Resuming their walk, he said, “I used to love that show.”
“Me, too.” Only not for the stellar acting, but because Melissa had hated it, which meant Hattie and Mason were usually left alone with the TV and Oreos.
At her SUV, he asked, “Want me to drive?”
“Why?”
“You look tired. And a couple times when you were packing, I caught you crying.”
She yanked open the driver’s-side door with extra force, then climbed behind the wheel. “I’m fine. In fact, having just lost my sister, I figure I’m doing pretty damned good to even be upright.”
“Excellent point,” he said from beside her. “You are putting on a good show of strength, Hat Trick, but I know you. It’s a show. Honestly, you look ready to break.”
“Thanks for the appraisal, but you used to know me.” She started the car and pulled away from the curb. “Now? I’m not sure what we are. Maybe strangers who used to be friends?”
* * *
HATTIE’S ASSESSMENT OF their relationship sobered Mason.
While she unpacked her belongings in the guest bedroom, he lounged on the living room sofa, surfing the web for baby-care sites. He was determined to treat this bump in his road as he would any other mission. Professionally, with a cool detachment from any issue close to getting personal.
They were due at Hattie’s mom’s in a couple hours, so he made good use of the uninterrupted time.
He’d just found an excellent page outlining the reasons for not using baby powder when a crash sounded from upstairs, followed by a feminine yelp.
“Hattie? You okay?”
When she didn’t answer, he abandoned his iPad to charge up the stairs.
He found her beneath a pile of clothes tall enough to have damn near buried her. Looked as if the closet’s hanging rod had given up the ghost. “Damn, girl, good thing you use plastic hangers or you’d have poked out your eyes.”
She popped her head out from between the legs of faded jeans. “Less commentary and more help would be appreciated.”
“Oh, I don’t know...” He couldn’t resist tugging his phone from his back pocket to snap a quick pic. The closet was a walk-in, but Hattie and her sweaters, jeans and blouses occupied a huge portion of the floor. “I think we should sit back for a minute to savor the moment.”
“You’re a beast.” She gave a mighty shove to the clothes in front of her, struggling to get back on her feet.
“A good-looking one, though,” he teased, offering her his hands to tug her free from the mess.
Her only answer was a glare.
“How’d you manage this? I always thought Melissa was the fashionista?”
&nbs
p; “Have you seen the size of her closet? Trust me, this isn’t much. I guess she and Alec just used cheap rod brackets when this place was built.”
“In their defense—” Mason grabbed as much clothing as he could, piling it on the bed “—probably most guests don’t have as much stuff as you.”
For a brief moment, the old Hattie stuck out her tongue. It happened so fast, Mason couldn’t even be sure he hadn’t imagined her return to that old playful habit, but he hoped he hadn’t. Holding her hands even for the brief seconds it’d taken to free her from the fabric avalanche hadn’t felt ordinary, but somehow special. As if he’d stumbled across a long-forgotten part of himself that up until now, he hadn’t even known was missing.
He looked at Hattie.
Really looked, and found himself riveted by the view. Even with her long hair more disheveled than usual and her cheeks prettily flushed, there was something about her that kept drawing him in. The fact that she wore the hell out of faded jeans and a plaid shirt didn’t hurt, either. The woman had curves in all the right places.
Hands on her hips, she asked, “What?”
“Huh?”
“You’re staring.” She fussed with her hair. “Do I have a bra hanging from my head?”
He laughed. “Can’t a guy appreciate a nice view?”
* * *
EVEN AT TEN that night while working her shift at the bar, Hattie struggled to get Mason’s cryptic words from her head. When he’d mentioned that “nice view,” she’d been standing in front of French doors that led to a balcony overlooking the valley. At that moment, she’d brushed off his unexpected comment, but now her stomach knotted. Had he been talking about her?
No. She scrubbed harder at the greasy hot-wing residue someone had smeared on the bar. For as long as they’d known each other, Melissa had been the only girl for him. Their divorce, and even her death, couldn’t erase that kind of history.
Mason had 100 percent admired scenic Treehorn Valley. Which was a good thing. According to unwritten, yet explicitly understood Sister Code, Mason would always belong to Melissa. As he should. Even if he did by some miracle find her attractive, Hattie had more pride than to even want a man who no doubt viewed her as second best.
“Didn’t expect to find you here.” A familiar voice jolted Hattie from her thoughts.
“I could say the same to you.” She jogged around to the bar’s front to hug her dad. With dark circles under his tear-reddened eyes, he was a walking example of how shattered their whole family felt. “Why aren’t you with Mom?”
Shifting on his stool, resting his elbows on the bar, he sighed. “She hasn’t had a decent night’s rest since...” In that small hesitation, Hattie all-too-easily filled in the blank. “I called Doc Amesbury to prescribe her a sedative. She’s finally asleep.”
“What about you? Not that I’m knocking the healing benefits of the occasional shot of whiskey, but, Dad, maybe you should’ve also gotten medicine for yourself?”
He waved off her concern. “I might look like hell, but I’m all right. Need to stay strong for your mom. She’s already torn up enough about your sister, but to then have the twins taken from her, too...” He shook his head. “I get what your sister was trying to accomplish, but in the process she broke your mother’s heart.”
Hattie struggled to compose her thoughts. “Are you suggesting I follow Mason’s lead and sign away my rights?”
“No. Absolutely not—unless you want to. Your mom likes to believe she can do anything and everything, but as exhausted as she was from watching the rug rats this afternoon, no way is she ready to start parenting all over again from scratch.”
On autopilot, Hattie poured her dad two fingers of his favorite bourbon.
“I think what she doesn’t realize, but your sister in some crazy way did, is that if your mom were to assume primary custody of those babies, she’d for all practical purposes lose out on the joy she finds in being their grandmother.” He took a long sip of his drink. “You and I were blessed to have both in our lives, and there’s a difference.”
Hattie nodded. Though all of her grandparents had passed—her maternal grandmother just two years earlier—Hattie would never forget the unconditional love and downright spoiling she’d found in their loving arms.
“That said, if you feel like you can’t handle raising those girls on your own, move home. Between the three of us, we’ll figure it out.”
“Dad, I’m fine.” And one of these days, possibly years down the road, she’d believe it. For now, all she could do was honor her sister’s last wish as best she could. “I’m sorry Mom’s upset. She’s not mad at me, is she?”
He shook his head. “More like mad at the world.” After another drink, he said, “Give it some time. I’m sure she’ll come around.”
* * *
HATTIE DIDN’T CLOSE until 2:00 a.m., meaning by the time she’d poured her last customer into the town’s only cab, it was two-thirty when she reached Melissa and Alec’s.
Would the supersize house ever feel like home?
The night had turned bitterly cold and her footfalls crunched in the icy snow.
By the time true winter cold set in, she’d have to sell her ancient SUV in favor of driving Melissa’s much-newer Land Rover that was parked all warm and toasty in the garage.
She’d just mounted the freshly shoveled porch when the door opened and Mason stepped out.
“Hey.” He held the door open for her.
“Hey, yourself. Why are you still up?” Brushing past him, Hattie found herself wrapped in his all-masculine scent of sweet woodsmoke and the leathery aftershave he’d started using in tenth grade. She wanted to act as if it was no big deal, but at this time of night her defenses were down and the comfort of their shared pasts stirred a warmth she’d thought gone forever.
He shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep till I knew you’d made it home safe.”
“Thanks.”
With her inside, he closed and locked the door—not that there was much need for it with Conifer’s almost-nonexistent crime rate.
“Hungry?” He took her coat and hung it in the entry-hall closet. “I made a couple boxes of mac and cheese.”
“Yum,” she teased. “Didn’t know you’d become a gourmet.”
“If that was a dig at me flunking home ec, I shouldn’t have even been in there and you know it.” Only in Alaska could the woodshop teacher be on extended leave because of a bear attack. “If I’d had a little longer, that cake would’ve been delicious.”
“Yeah, yeah...” She couldn’t help but grin at his dear face that had changed so much over the years, but in her mind’s eye not at all. “Keep telling yourself that. One of these days it might come true.”
“Just for that, next time you’re at work, I’m making you a cake so you’ll be forced to eat your words.” While she removed her boots, he took a covered bowl from the fridge.
“From scratch?”
He put the bowl in the microwave. “Is there any other kind?”
“Sure. Duncan Hines, Pillsbury and the really fancy ones from Ann’s Bakery.”
Leaning against the counter, waiting for the food to warm, he grinned. “How is it that after all these years, you’re still a pain in my ass?”
“Language,” she said primly. “You forget, children are present.”
“Whatever.” The microwave dinged.
Hattie sat at the counter bar while Mason delivered her a fork and the bowl of leftovers. What the meal lacked in flavor, it made up for in companionship. She’d forgotten how much fun she and Mason could have with simple banter.
He took a beer from the fridge and twisted off the cap. After hefting himself up to sit on the kitchen’s island counter, he asked, “In all seriousness, how are you?”
“I’m good. Don’t ge
t me wrong, this isn’t going to be an easy adjustment, but I’ll deal. What about you? You’re the one who pulled the short end of the straw tonight. How were my adorable nieces?”
His handsome half smile did funny things to Hattie’s insides. “Vanessa was a doll, but I swear Vivian’s got it in for me. During bath time, she pitched soap in my eyes and I’m pretty sure she deliberately tried to drown my cell.”
“Uh-huh...” Now Hattie was the one grinning. “All this from an infant who can barely roll herself over?”
“Don’t let that innocent act fool you.” He raised his bottle. “She’s a tough cookie. Before too long, you’ll be catching her smoking out behind the woodshed.”
“Right. If my memory serves me correct, that was you and Melissa who got caught in that particular act.”
“There was never any proof we smoked those butts. Could’ve been anyone.” He winked before hopping down to finish off his beer and toss the bottle in the recycling bin. “Ready for bed?”
“I should be—” she speared a few noodles “—but I’m too wired. Wanna watch a movie—or at least part of one?”
He yawned. “Sounds better than another night on the sofa.”
“There is another bed.”
A scowl marred his otherwise-gorgeous face. “Yeah, and it’s got more ghosts than the town graveyard.”
* * *
MASON WOKE GOD-ONLY-KNEW how many hours later in the basement’s home theater to the sound of the opening loop for Alien playing over and over. Laced in with that were frantic cries from upstairs.
A glance to his left showed Hattie out cold, lightly snoring.
Bolting to action, Mason raced from the room to find bright sun streaming through the living room’s glass wall. The baby monitor he’d meant to carry downstairs with them sat on the kitchen counter, echoing the twins’ wails.
Feeling lower than low—like the worst babysitter in the history of the world, Mason bounded up the stairs and into the nursery. “I’m so sorry, ladies.”
He scooped first Vanessa, then Vivian into his arms. Vanessa calmed soon enough, letting out offended huffs, but there was no consoling Vivian.
The SEAL's Christmas Twins Page 6