Somebody Like You (15 page)

“The cold doesn’t bother me.” When he remained standing in front of her, she unlatched the door. “Fine. Come in.”

He watched her as he entered the house. Should he remove his coat? Leave it on? The coat stayed on. She’d said to come in, not sit down and stay awhile. She hadn’t issued an invitation to watch whatever was playing on her TV. Was that John Wayne?
Huh.
“You’re a John Wayne fan?”

“Absolutely.” Haley tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re not?”

“I didn’t say that.” Stephen studied a stack of half a dozen westerns next to the DVD player. “Although I may not be as huge a fan as you are. How’ve you been?”

“If you’re really interested, I’m doing all right—for a woman who hasn’t slept through the night in weeks.” A full-on yawn punctuated her statement.

“Sorry to hear that. I’m still job-hunting.” Not that Haley had asked. He was finding his way around an almost nonexistent relationship.

She nodded toward the envelope in his hand. “So?”

“Oh, yeah. I wanted to show you something.”
Okay. Enough chitchat
. Since it looked as if she had no intention of inviting him to sit down, he risked standing beside her.

“And this is . . . ?”

“I found this in a box of things I’ve kept since I was a kid.”

She reached out her hand, tracing the edge with her finger. “And why would you bring me something from a box of your childhood memorabilia?”

At this moment, he wasn’t even sure why. He’d sorted through a white box hidden on the top shelf in his bedroom closet, sifting through boyish treasures. His Eagle Scout medal. A carved wooden car that had taken first place at a Pinewood Derby competition. A watch that Sam had given him one Christmas—and he’d given Sam an identical one. An arrowhead. A shark’s tooth. A purple geode he’d bought at a rock store during a family vacation. The first pocketknife he’d ever owned—his dad presented both Sam and him with knives on their tenth birthday. A pile of photographs, where he’d found today’s offering. He pulled it out of the envelope, taking the time to smooth out the bent corner. “Here.”

“What is this?”

“A picture.” So much for stating the obvious. “Of me and Sam the day we finished the tree fort.”

Did Haley realize her hand shook as she took the picture from him? She turned it over, as if looking for a date or inscription. Stephen knew what she’d see: two boys, standing side by side, wearing identical jeans, identical T-shirts—only his was green and Sam’s was blue—and identical grins. Sam’s cowlick
in his bangs twisted one way, while Stephen’s flew the opposite. They stood at the base of their brand-new tree fort, one on either side of the cockeyed ladder they’d nailed into the tree trunk.

“You don’t have to prove anything to me.” Haley held the photo out to him.

“I’m not trying to prove anything. I thought you might like to see Sam when he was younger—” Stephen tucked the flap of the envelope back down, closing off the treasure of his past. For a moment, the only sound in the room was John Wayne, as G. W. McLintock, shouting, “Don’t say it’s a fine morning or I’ll shoot ya!”

Ironic.

“I wanted to show you that photo of me and Sam. I don’t know . . . Let you see a glimpse of my life with him.” He resisted clenching the envelope in a fist, a sigh dragging out of his lungs. “And I admit it: I lost my brother for twelve years. My fault . . . his fault . . . I’m tired of arguing about that. I still need answers. And you have them.”

His unspoken plea for help hung between them.

The blue of Haley’s eyes resembled that of a pair of faded, worn-out jeans. “You didn’t lose Sam—you let him go.”

“Are you trying to make me feel guilty? I do. But Sam stopped talking to me, too. We’re both to blame.” What could he say to get through to her? “Please, Haley. Help me find my brother again—the man you married. I should have been standing beside Sam on your wedding day.”

She stared past him for a few seconds, seeming to wrestle with a decision. Her shoulders relaxed. “Have you had breakfast?”

“Is that an invitation?” The coffee and bagel he’d eaten had burned off an hour ago.

“If you’re hungry, then yes, it’s an invitation. I could scramble some eggs, and we could . . . talk.”

“How about I make breakfast? I make a great omelet—if you’ve got the right ingredients.”

“Well, there’s one way you’re not like Sam. He was lousy in the kitchen—but great at picking up takeout. Cheddar cheese and some of that precooked bacon good enough?” She motioned toward the kitchen. “I may have the remains of an onion or green pepper in the bin . . . but there’s no guarantee.”

“I’ll make do. You can’t make an omelet without cheddar cheese and bacon.”

“That’s what Sam told me, too.” Their eyes tangled for just a second before Haley padded over to the kitchen.

Stephen shucked off his jacket, hanging it on the back of one of the mismatched dining room chairs. How did Haley manage to make four different chairs look as if they belonged together? “Dad taught us how to make omelets. He used to let my mom sleep in on Saturdays, and the three of us would have breakfast, watch cartoons, and then we’d make Mom an omelet and bring her breakfast in bed—for lunch.”

“Sam mentioned making omelets with your mom.” Haley carried an armful of ingredients over to the counter: a package of shredded cheese, a half-used package of bacon, the remnants of an onion in a plastic bag, and a shriveled red pepper tumbled onto the counter. “Why did your parents divorce?”

“Didn’t Sam tell you?” Stephen brought the carton of eggs over to the counter next to the stove.

“Not much. Sam wasn’t a talker. He liked sports. Participating in them and watching them. He liked to be on the go—talking about the past, not so much. All he said was that your parents argued all the time and that your dad left.”

“That’s not the whole story.”

“I didn’t think it was. I figured he’d get around to telling me more details . . . later.” She placed a paper towel on a dinner plate, added a layer of bacon, covered it with another paper towel, and then put it in the microwave. “And that’s my contribution to breakfast.”

“Thank you. Now go sit down and relax.” Stephen waved her over to one of the tall wooden chairs tucked around the breakfast bar. “From what my dad told me, our parents married young—and without my mom’s parents’ approval. I don’t know what their marital problems were. Religion maybe. My dad’s job. Mom had a couple of miscarriages. Then Sam and I were born, and she had to have a hysterectomy after that. I don’t know why. I’m not sure if it was one of these things or all of these things that caused cracks in their marriage. This all new to you?”

“Yes.”

Another trademark Haley Ames one-syllable response. She acted like a spectator at a sporting event—somebody way up high in the bleachers who wasn’t all that interested in the game. “My dad got promoted when we were in middle school and traveled a lot. That was either when the tension started or when it increased to the point that they weren’t able to hide it from us.”

As he talked, Stephen chopped onion and red pepper, making separate neat piles on the plastic cutting board. The salty aroma of bacon blending with the pungent onions filled the kitchen.

Haley sat with her elbows on the counter, chin resting in her upturned palms. “What did your parents argue about?”

“How much my dad was gone. How much money my mom was spending. She got addicted to those home-shopping shows—boxes arrived every day. It got to the point where she
didn’t even open them, just piled them up in their bedroom or the den.”

“Sam said your dad had an affair.”

“That’s what my mom said.” Stephen kept his voice even, cracking six eggs into a clear Plexiglas bowl. Even this many years later, the accusation stung like an unexpected slap across the face. “My dad said it wasn’t true.”

“How do you know your dad wasn’t lying? A lot of men who travel fool around on their wives.”

“Did Sam fool around?”

“What?” A deep groove appeared between Haley’s eyes.

“Sam traveled, right? He deployed with the army—”

“My husband did not fool around!”

He was losing any ground he’d won with her—but it was worth it to make a point.

“Neither did my dad.” Stephen deposited the remnants of eggshells into the metal trash can, the lid clattering shut, then lathered his hands with lemon-scented soap, rinsing them under a stream of warm water. He dried his hands on a plain white cotton towel before he spoke again. “I know both of my parents were at fault in the divorce—but I also know my dad didn’t cheat on my mom. I’m sorry for what I said about my brother.”

He worked in silence for a few moments, adding a little water to the beaten eggs and then pouring half the mixture into the pan he’d preheated on the stove. If he was going to spend time with Haley Ames he needed to get used to silence. “You want everything?”

She failed to hide another yawn behind her hand. “Yes—and double the cheese, please.”

At least she was still speaking to him. He let the conversation lag as he whipped up the omelets, enjoying the familiarity
of cooking. Different kitchen, but the same motions: slicing, chopping, stirring, mixing. The same smells: onion, butter, bacon, cheese. Time blended into a mixture of present and past—making breakfast for Haley and Saturdays with Sam and his dad. Laughter. Sharing a meal. Family.

Ten minutes later, they sat next to one another at her dining room table, the papers shoved to one end. After two bites, Haley raised her glass of chocolate milk in salute. “You weren’t lying—you make a great omelet.”

Stephen returned the salute with his cup of orange juice. “An Ames never lies.”

Instead of responding in kind at his attempt to keep things light, Haley’s face paled. She pressed her lips together, her blue eyes shining with unshed tears.

“You okay?”

She shook her head, her blond hair moving against her shoulders.
Yes.
No.
Covered her face with her hands.

What was wrong?

Stephen’s offhand comment shoved her into the past.

“What did you say?” Haley wished she could risk twisting around to face Sam, but she stayed still, his arms wrapped around her, no longer seeing the view from Pikes Peak.

“I said I love you, Hal.” His throaty whisper against her ear caused a delicious tremor to course through her body as he pulled her closer.

She tilted her head so she could look into his eyes, his scruffy chin scraping against her face, the now-familiar scent of his favorite soap teasing her senses. “Do you mean that?”

“An Ames never lies.”

“Haley?”

A breath shuddered through her. She lowered her hands, her eyes scanning his face. When she reached out to trace the outline of his jaw with shaking fingers, he inhaled. Held his breath.

“An Ames never lies . . .” Haley whispered the words. “Did you . . .”

As her fingertips grazed his lips, Haley leaned toward him, her eyes starting to close in anticipation of his kiss.

He pulled back just as her lips brushed his. “Haley. Stop.”

She stilled. Her eyes flew open; their gazes locked. This was Stephen. Not Sam. “Stephen . . .” She bit down on her bottom lip when it trembled.

Haley bolted up, knocking the chair backward and causing Stephen, who was rising from the table, to stumble sideways. He scrambled to follow her, but by the time he reached the front porch, she was down the driveway.

“Haley, wait! You don’t even have shoes on.”

She didn’t look back. Just raised her hand and waved him off—and kept walking down the sidewalk in her bare feet.

She’d kissed Stephen Ames.

Almost kissed him. Almost.

An Ames never lies.

What was that? Some sort of family motto? Stephen and Sam didn’t even live together. Hadn’t spoken to one another in twelve years.

A blast of wind blew her hair about her face, long strands tangling around her eyes and mouth. Unshed tears scalded her eyes.

She wouldn’t cry. Tears meant you were weak—and Jordans were strong. Her brothers taught her well.
No tears. Keep up.