The SEAL's Christmas Twins

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 call.”

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.”

* * *

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?”