“Relax...” There he went again with his grin. “We have all the time in the world.”
“Yeah, if you don’t sleep a wink. Didn’t you ask your dad to be here at six?”
“Guess I should give him a call, huh? Tell him his taxi services are no longer needed.”
Eyes narrowed, she asked, “What’re you talking about?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
In no mood for teasing, she snapped, “Actually, yes, I would.”
“Jeez, Hat Trick, chill. I won’t need Dad for one simple reason—I’m not leaving.”
Had she heard him right? “Wh-why?”
“Isn’t it obvious? You’ve got a broken arm, these angels need pretty much around-the-clock care and selfishly,” he murmured, and dropped his gaze only to then pierce her with his direct stare, “I wouldn’t mind further exploration of that sexy genie we let out of the bottle.”
While he exited up the stairs, Hattie leaned her head back and sighed. He’s staying.
Which meant her sanity would soon be going...
* * *
ALMOST TWO WEEKS later on a snowy, extra-busy Friday afternoon, Hattie struggled using her free hand to stock the bar. With Mason available to take the baby monitor at night, she was able to take her pain meds for sleep. During the day, however, her pain was light enough for her to soldier through.
“Why are you even here?” Clementine asked. “You know we banded together to cover your shifts indefinitely.”
“Thank you. I love you guys for that, but I’m all right. Just a little slow. Besides, I seriously needed out of the house.” Or, more specifically, away from Mason. Aside from his occasional X-rated double entendres, he’d been a perfect gentleman, not even delivering a peck to her cheek. Which should’ve come as a relief. Ha!
The more space he gave her, the more she craved jumping into his arms.
“Sure was good of Mason to stay. Your dad told me he’s not leaving till you get your cast off, which is, like, what? Just after New Year’s?”
“Somewhere around there.” Hattie stretched her back, taking a break from the chore of stocking the glass-front fridge.
“You’ve gotta be relieved.”
“I guess.” Thank God for the fridge’s cool air dowsing her flaming cheeks. If Clementine learned Hattie’s dirty secret, she’d never hear the end of it.
“Could you be any more apathetic? The guy has no legal reason to be here, but turned his whole life upside down to put himself at your beck and call.”
“It’s not like that. For the most part, we share watching the twins.”
“Then there must be some other reason he’s staying.”
“Ask me,” grizzly old Rufus Pendleton said from down the bar, “the man’s got it bad for you. Not a good thing, considering past history and such.”
“Keep out of it,” Clementine snapped to their regular.
“Just sayin’...” He finished off his shot and signaled for another. “No good can come from a union between those two. For him, it’d be like shackin’ up with a ghost. For her, steppin’ right into her big sister’s fancy shoes.”
“For the record, Rufus,” Hattie said, “there’s nothing going on between Mason and me.” She tried ducking back into the fridge, but too late. Her friend had already spied her using a collapsed six-pack case as a makeshift fan.
“Oh. My. Gosh.” The size of Clementine’s grin rivaled the half-mile wonder of Conifer Gulch. “You two totally did the deed?”
“Shh!” Hattie held her finger to her lips, eyeing Rufus. “Don’t be so crude!”
“Excuse me, did you make sweet love?”
Hattie refused to answer. Damn her stupid, flaming cheeks!
“You’ve liked him forever. But you’ve got to be freaking out. Your mom’s already having a tough time with Melissa—no way is she going to be okay with you sleeping with her ex.”
Hattie released a relieved sigh when Rufus and his latest shot headed to the nearest pool table.
“Thanks for reminding me.” Hattie started unloading the next case. “And for the record, we were only together one night. It’s not happening again.”
“Is that what you really want?”
Hattie sat on the stool they kept behind the bar for when it was slow. “I don’t know what I want, other than for things to go back to normal.”
“Sweetie,” Clementine said, with a hand on Hattie’s forearm, “I’m no expert, but after suffering a loss like you have, I think you have to fight your way to a new normal. Thanksgiving’s coming, then Christmas. For those babies, you have to get your family back on track. If that means officially welcoming Mason back into the fold, then your mom’s just going to have to deal.”
“Yeah...” Was now the time to admit her deepest fear had nothing to do with her mom’s disapproval and everything to do with the fact Mason still dreamed of Melissa?
* * *
“I’D BE LYING if I said I wasn’t disappointed you’re not gonna be here for Christmas.” Since Hattie was at her bar, Mason navigated Shamrock’s, using the twins’ stroller as a shopping cart for detergent and trash bags, while listening to his SEAL friend “Cowboy” Cooper whine for the past five minutes about losing his drinking buddy, even if only temporarily. “I swear to God, if you get hitched like Calder and Heath, I’ll lose what little respect I have left for you.”
“No worries,” Mason said with a laugh, maneuvering down the chip and soda aisle. “Just as soon as Hattie’s cast comes off, I’ll be back on base.”
“She’s your ex’s sister, right?”
“Yeah. We’re just friends, though. No big deal.” Unless Mason counted the number of times a day his mind replayed their wild night.
“Glad to hear it. Thanks for the reassurance, man.”
With another laugh, Mason said, “No problem.”
They swapped stories for a few more minutes, Mason retelling Vivian’s Halloween scare and Cooper relaying his latest wild night with a blonde. How times had changed. Used to be they talked about weapons, video games and women—not necessarily in that order. Never had babies made it into the conversational mix—unless they were bitching about how nauseating it was for their married friends to blather on about their kids.
After finishing his call, Mason found lightbulbs and a new movie magazine for Hattie—who claimed she didn’t read them, but had devoured Fern’s cover to cover. Oh—and while he was thinking about it, he also grabbed more brownie mix.
Facing the girls, he asked, “Can you two think of anything else we might need?”
Though he’d have a long wait before they officially said their first words, both girls had grown more adept at babbles and coos.
“Ahhh...” Vivian hummed while gumming her rattle.
Vanessa gurgled while staring up at the store’s fluorescent lights.
“She needs all of that, huh?”
Vivian performed a few excited wiggles.
Thanksgiving bouquet displays graced both sides of the checkout. Mason took one for Hattie, but then also for Akna and Fern. Hattie never talked about how much the rift between her and her mother bothered her, but she’d visited twice the past week and both times returned home crying. He could only imagine what Hattie might have to say concerning his olive-branch attempts. She’d tell him to stay out of it. Mind his own business. Everything would be fine.
All of that was well and good, but it’d been a long time since he’d had a traditional Thanksgiving—the last decent one had been with his friends Calder and Pandora. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d celebrated with his dad. If pressed, it’d probably been the year Melissa left him.
By God, if making Hattie smile meant hand delivering folks to her Turkey Day feast, he’d do it.
He cringed to find Sophie manni
ng the sole checkout line. “Flowers?” she asked with eyebrows raised.
“For Hattie and her mom—and Fern.”
The old bat had the audacity to snort. “You do know folks are talkin’? Doesn’t seem natural for you to be with your dead ex-wife’s sister.”
“Thank you for your opinion, Sophie. Next time I’m looking to ruin my day, I’ll be sure to make this my first stop.”
Mason ignored the pit in his gut that Sophie’s condemning glare had left and loaded up the girls and his purchases, then drove toward Hattie’s childhood home. “You gals ready to see Grandma Akna?”
Vivian did her happy bounce, but Vanessa rubbed her sleepy eyes.
“Ladies, let’s make this an in-and-out mission. We’ll hand Grandma her flowers, then remind her Melissa might be gone but you’re still here.”
And please, God, let Akna be more welcoming than Sophie, because his patience with busybodies was wearing mighty thin.
Chapter Thirteen
“Mom, please,” Hattie pleaded, “at least tell me what I can do to help. I know you miss her, but you can’t spend the rest of your life in bed.” She eyed the row of prescriptions on her mother’s nightstand. After her confession to Clementine, the last place Hattie had felt like staying was the bar, but her snap decision to check in on her parents wasn’t turning out much better.
“I’ll be fine,” her mother assured her.
“Then prove it by coming over on Thanksgiving. You do know it’s next week?”
“Honey, it’s too soon. It’s not appropriate to celebrate holidays with your sister gone.”
Hattie counted to five in her head. She lacked the patience to get all the way to ten. “Thanksgiving isn’t known for loud music and balloons. It’s about family, and sharing what we’re thankful for.”
“I have nothing.” She rolled over to face the wall.
Hattie wanted to go off, reminding her mother she still had a husband, daughter and two granddaughters who needed and loved her, but she sensed nothing she said would break the drug-induced fog.
After drawing the quilt her grandmother had made higher on her mother’s slim shoulders, Hattie left the room.
She found her father stoking the fire.
“Heard you two talking,” he said. “Have a good visit?”
“No. In fact, it was awful. You have to get her off of the sedatives.”
“I know.” Seated on the hearth with his shoulders hunched, her father looked defeated.
“Just take away the bottles. She hasn’t been on them long enough for her to be addicted, but if she doesn’t stop soon, she could be. Please, Dad, don’t let it get to that point.”
He nodded.
To make sure he’d heard her, she went to him, clutching his hands. “I want to have a big Thanksgiving with all the trimmings, okay? We’ll use Melissa’s fancy dining room and china. She’d like that. You know how she used to love to entertain. And instead of being morose about missing her, let’s celebrate her life, okay?”
Sighing, he said, “You make it sound so simple, but for your mom and me, it’s different.”
What else could she say? Since losing Melissa, life had been different for her, too, but she didn’t have the luxury of hiding. If her sister hadn’t asked Hattie to raise the twins, would her mother still be in this funk? Or had the will’s directive stolen her purpose?
Dragging in a fortifying breath, Hattie said, “Okay, well, I’m going to go. I’m sure I’ll see you before Thanksgiving, but in case I don’t, please bring Mom over around noon. I’ll fix some appetizers—plenty of the stuffed mushrooms and hot wings you love from the bar—and we’ll have dinner around two. Sound good?”
“Sure. We’ll be there.”
Hattie wished with all her heart she believed him.
She’d just made it to her car when Mason pulled in behind her. Even seeing him through the windshield made everything feel better.
“What are you doing here?” she asked when he rolled down the driver’s-side window.
He took a cellophane-wrapped fall bouquet from the passenger seat. “I grabbed these at Shamrock’s. Thought your mom might like one to help get her in the holiday spirit.”
His thoughtfulness blasted a hole through the defensive wall she’d built around her heart. “You’re kind to think of her, but she’s dead to the world. I’ll take them in and leave them with Dad.”
“You sure? Seeing the girls might make her feel better.”
“Yep. I’m sure.” Recalling her mother’s spaced-out stare, Hattie didn’t think fireworks accompanied by turkeys dancing beneath a candy-corn rainbow would restore her usual cheery demeanor. Deep down, she was scared for her mom—and for herself. Hattie had already lost Melissa; she couldn’t bear losing her mom, too. Knowing she was on borrowed time with Mason already hurt bad enough.
“All right, how about we meet back at the house, then you climb in with us so we can all take flowers to Fern?”
Eyes tearing, she asked, “Does the navy know their big, tough SEAL is actually a teddy bear?”
“Hat Trick, you can’t go around staying stuff like that. You’ll ruin my manly reputation.”
On her tiptoes, she recklessly kissed his whisker-stubbled cheek. “Sorry. I promise not to let it happen again.”
What she’d have a tougher time with was honoring the promise she’d made to herself to keep her distance from this amazing man.
As if fate agreed with Hattie’s decision to back off from Mason, Sophie pulled her Impala into the driveway she shared with Hattie’s parents. Judging by her sour expression, not only had she seen the kiss, but she’d disapproved.
* * *
“ARE YOU SURE you didn’t give me a cup of salt instead of sugar?” The night before Thanksgiving, with Mason’s help, Hattie was attempting to make her grandmother’s pumpkin pie, but something about the texture didn’t seem right.
“Pretty sure,” Mason said. “Taste it.”
“It’s got raw eggs.”
He rolled his eyes, then dredged his index finger through the mixture. He swallowed and said, “I’ve eaten worse.”
“What does that mean?”
“Just bake it. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
The babies had been in bed for an hour and the house felt eerily quiet. “Want me to put on some music?”
“Sure.” He washed the measuring spoons. “What’s next on the menu?”
“Pumpkin bread. Mind getting the walnuts from the pantry?”
She turned on Alec’s pricey Bose stereo. He’d subscribed to satellite radio and she hadn’t yet called to cancel, so she used the remote to find a soft-rock station.
Mason emerged from the pantry, wearing a grin. “Wanna dance?”
“No, thank you. Clearly, the last night we danced, I’d had way too many beers.”
“Uh-huh...”
He’d wedged behind her and settled his hands on her hips, swaying them in time to the music. His actions, his body heat, the sexy smell of his breath when he nuzzled her neck made Hattie shiver. “Stop. We need to bake.” And I can’t go down this road with you again. It’s too dangerous to my heart.
“Really? You’d rather bake?”
No. “Yes.”
“What if I did this?” He spun her around real slow, kissing her neck, her collarbone, the indentation at the base of her throat.
Her breathing hitched. Desire pooled low and achy in her belly. Never stop. “You have to stop.”
“Okay, but what if I accidentally did this...” He slid his tongue in a tantalizing trail down her chest and into her T-shirt’s deep V. As if that weren’t torture enough, he skimmed his warm, rough hand under her thin cotton T, following her waist’s inward curve.
“Mason...” She wanted him so
bad. Knew being with him again was the worst thing she could do. No good could come of them being together. “Please...”
“You don’t have to beg,” he teased. “I’d be happy to kiss you.” He tugged out her ponytail holder, freeing her hair. After easing his fingers beneath her black waves, he pressed his lips to hers, stealing every shred of her good judgment in the process.
Somehow, he was then dragging her T-shirt over her head and then she tugged at his shirt. Last time they’d been together it’d been dark or she’d been covered with suds and then a quick towel. He hadn’t seen the real her. Would he stop once he noticed she wasn’t a size two? “Should we go to my room? Dim the lights?”
“Why?” He paused, then made her die a thousand times under his slow appraisal. Her bra was simple and flesh-toned. Nothing fancy or lacy or anything she was certain his usual type might wear.
“Well...” She licked her lips. “Dim—even dark—is better.”
“I like seeing all of you. Do you have any idea how gorgeous you are?”
“No...”
“Yes. Oh, hell yes.” He reached behind her, deftly unfastening her bra, then easing the straps from her shoulders. Under his appraisal, her nipples hardened. She instinctively tried crossing her arms, but he stopped her, drawing her arms back to her sides. “I could stare at you all night.”
Was this a dream? She couldn’t be sure, because he was back to kissing her, kneading her aching breasts. Unable to believe any of this was really happening, she closed her eyes, abandoning herself to pure pleasure.
When he fumbled for the button to her jeans, she helped him. Together, they tugged them down. Her plain white panties went along with them and for a moment she stood before him completely naked and stunned. No one but her mirror had ever seen her fully unclothed. Would he think her hideous? The way her hips and thighs were way fuller than any woman’s in magazines or on TV?
“I—I can’t do this,” she said. Mortified didn’t begin to describe how she’d feel if he rejected her.
He groaned. “Baby, don’t do this to me.” He’d taken off his own jeans and boxers, leaving no question to the matter of whether or not he was aroused.
The SEAL's Christmas Twins Page 13
