Page 21 of Heart of Stone

"My what?"

Ginger sighs dramatically. "Diaper bag? Baby stuff? Things required to keep tiny humans alive?"

"Second door on the right," I say, then shake my head. "Wait, no. I appreciate the offer but?—"

“What are the twins' names?” she asks, breezing past me.

"Abby and Amy, but how do you know about?—”

“Duck,” she answers, still walking toward the hall. "Abby! Amy! Who wants waffles?”

Two squealing tornados shoot from their room, nearly taking Ginger out.

"Damn, that's fighting dirty," I mutter.

"Honey, I haven't even started fighting yet." She bounces Adam, who naturally snuggles right into her chest.

“He likes boobs,” I grumble. “Any boobs, apparently.”

“Smart boy.” She turns toward Hawk's house. "Come on. I've got coffee and air conditioning."

"But—"

"And bacon."

My stomach growls traitorously.

“No, that’s okay. We’ll go out for breakfast and?—”

Ginger cuts me off. “Babe. Stop. You’ve had a rough few days having this thrust upon you. Let us help.”

I hate how my resolve weakens. “Just breakfast.”

Her grin nearly blinds me. “We’ll see. Come, girls!”

Twenty minutes later, I’m standing in the clubhouse kitchen, eating waffles while I watch a parade of leather-clad men carry my kids' essential belongings across the street. The twins, having inhaled their food, are in the front yard with Steel, climbing all over the prospect as he ignores their delighted shrieks.

"Put that in the front spare room," Ginger directs a young prospect struggling with Adam’s cot. "And be careful with it!"

"I really don't think—" I start.

"Good. Don't think. Just drink your coffee and let us help." She shifts Adam to her hip. "Besides, Hawk won't mind."

"Hawk won't mind what?"

We both turn to find the man himself filling the doorway, his expression darkening as he takes in the scene.

"Perfect timing!" Ginger chirps. "Your new houseguests just arrived."

Hawk’s gaze sweeps the kitchen, taking in the chaos—the half-eaten breakfast, the baby supplies scattered across the counter, Adam contentedly drooling on Ginger’s shoulder.

“No,” he says flatly.

“But they don’t have power,” Ginger explains, as if he’s slow. “Or water.”

“Not the MC’s problem.”

I set down my coffee. “Exactly what I said. Ginger, give me Adam, and we’ll just be?—”