abruptly stood. The once-sleeping infant she’d cradled was startled by the sudden movement and whimpered.
“Here, Mr. Mom.” She thrust the baby into his arms. “You think yourself an expert, take over.”
Mason didn’t even know which baby he held, let alone what to do when her fitful protest turned into a full-blown wail.
* * *
THIRTY MINUTES LATER, Hattie held Vanessa with her right arm, struggling to unlock her sister and brother-in-law’s former home. Mason stood behind her with Vivian, who hadn’t stopped crying since leaving her grandparents.
“She always like this?” Mason set the bulging diaper bag on the porch.
“Usually, they’re both easygoing, but it’s been a rough couple days—for everyone.”
“Yeah.”
She finally got the key turned and opened the door on a house cold and dark and lonely enough to have been a tomb. When Melissa and Alec had been alive, the A-frame log cabin glowed with warmth and laughter. Her sister had been a wonderful cook and she’d always had something delicious baking or bubbling in one of her cast-iron pots.
The storm had passed and the two-story living room featured a glass wall looking out on all of Treehorn Valley and Mount Kneely beyond. Moonlight reflecting off the snow cast a frosty bluish pallor over what Hattie knew to be warm-toned pine furniture upholstered in a vibrant red-orange and yellow inukshuk pattern.
“Cold in here.” Mason closed the door with his foot. “Think the furnace is out?”
“Probably. It’s a wood-burning system with propane backup. The temperature’s been so mild, Alec probably didn’t have it going for the season yet.”
“Is it downstairs?”
She nodded, wandering through the open space, turning on lamps and overhead lights.
“I’ll check it out, but in the meantime, what do you want me to do with this one?” He nodded at still-sniffling and red-eyed Vivian.
“I’ll take her.” Melissa kept a playpen in the warmest kitchen corner. Hattie set Vanessa in it, then took Vivian. Since the air was cold enough to see her breath, she kept the girls’ outerwear on while she made a fire in the living room’s river-stone hearth.
Being in her sister’s home without Melissa unnerved her. Hattie normally occupied the one-bedroom efficiency apartment above her waterfront bar. It was small, cramped and cozy. Just the way she liked it. This space was too large for her taste. Though beautifully decorated in what she supposed was the classic Alaskan hunting lodge look, featuring an antler chandelier and an oil painting of snowcapped Mount Kneely over the mantel, this was her sister’s dream house—not hers. Hattie thrived among clutter.
The house shuddered when the sleeping furnace lumbered awake.
A few minutes later when warm air flowed through the vents, gratitude swelled in Hattie for Mason handling at least that issue. She would’ve eventually gotten the unit started, but having one less worry was welcome.
Vivian fussed, reaching for her hat.
“I know, sweetie, it’s annoying, but until it warms up in here, let’s keep it on, okay?” Hattie knelt before the playpen, patting the infant’s back.
Mason’s boots clomped on the hardwood stairs. “Alec has enough wood to last the week, so as long as one of us remembers to feed the beast, we’ll at least be warm for the time being. Before winter sets in, though, I’ll have to stockpile a legit supply. I’ll make a fire up here, too.”
“Already did, but it probably needs stoking.”
Both babies were back to fussing. Were they hungry?
Hands to her throbbing forehead, Hattie wished she’d taken more than a casual interest in her nieces. Playing with them had been a much higher priority than an activity as mundane as meals. Hattie knew Melissa had breastfed, supplemented by formula, but the exact powder-to-water ratio escaped her.
“Since I’m over here, handling man work,” Mason said from the hearth, “how about you do something about the kids’ racket?”
“Love to, but it’s gonna take a sec to get the formula mixed.”
By the time Hattie finished, dancing firelight banished the living room’s dark corners, but did little to ease the pain in her heart.
Both babies still fussed, which only made her fumble more. At the bar, she thrived under the chaotic pressure of a busy Friday or Saturday night. This was different.
“Need help?” Behind her, Mason hovered. His radiated heat further unnerved her. The situation was already beyond horrible. Tossing her old high school crush into the mix only made matters worse. And here she’d thought Melissa and Mason’s wedding had been hard? This was a thousand times tougher.
“Sure.” She managed to swallow past the emotional brick lodged in her throat. “You take Vanessa and a bottle and I’ll grab Vivian.”
In front of the playpen, he scratched his head. “Love to do just that, only I don’t have a clue which one is Vanessa.”
“You’ll learn. Although there are still times I’m not sure, Vanessa typically has a more laid-back disposition. Vivian has no trouble letting you know she’s displeased.”
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
