Somebody Like You (24 page)

But she must have been Sam’s type. He’d fallen in love with her. Married her.

Not that Haley wasn’t attractive. When she let her guard down, when she smiled, her eyes shimmering with laughter, she intrigued him—lured him closer—in a way that Elissa, for all her primping and posing, never had.

He pushed himself to a sitting position. Enough of that kind of thinking. He was obviously overtired.

“I’m here!”

A quick glance at his sister-in-law showed she’d managed to sleep through Claire’s triumphant, albeit late, entry. He held up his hand, positioning one forefinger over his lips, as he rose to his feet. Then he motioned for Claire to follow him back out into the hallway.

Claire backed up, standing on her tiptoes, trying to see around Stephen. “But I want to see Haley.”

At least she whispered.

“You did see Haley—and she’s asleep. Let’s keep it that way. She’s had a rough twenty-four hours.”

Claire paced the hallway, unwinding a feathery purple scarf from around her neck. “And I missed it. I failed her.”

“You didn’t fail her—”

“We got here as fast as we could. We left this morning, as soon as we heard traffic was moving through the tunnel again.” There was a distinct quiver to the woman’s voice. “And I didn’t even wait for Finn to park the car when we got here—I jumped out before he came to a full stop.”

“Claire.” Stephen stood in front of her, clasping her shoulders. “Do you want to see the baby?”

“The baby!” Her eyes widened. “Can I?”

“Come on, I’ll take you to the NICU. Then we’ll come back and check on Haley. She’s only been cat-napping.”

Claire double-timed it down the carpeted hallway next to him. “What’s wrong with the baby? Is she getting better? It’s not serious, is it? Did Haley pick a name yet?”

“She had some breathing problems early on, and they think it’s because she’s premature, but they can’t be sure for a couple of days.”

“They aren’t sure if she’s premature? She showed up six weeks early—”

“That’s not what I said. They think she’s having breathing problems because she was premature, but they’re not sure if that’s the reason why. We can ask questions when we get to the NICU. And no, no name yet. Clint Barton is a no-go, that’s for certain.”

“Is she okay?”

“The baby? I just told you—”

“No, Haley. Is she okay about having a daughter?”

“Well, after the initial ‘it can’t be a girl’ battle with the doctor, I think she’s accepting it pretty well.”

“I would love to have been there—and not just to see her face when that happened.”

“I’ll never forget it, that’s for sure.”

Claire stopped ten feet from the doors that led to the NICU. “Stephen.”

“What?”

“Thank you. Thank you for being there for Haley.”

“Like I told her, there was no place else I’d rather be. I did it for Sam—and for her, too, of course.” He moved forward. “You ready to meet the most adorable little girl in the world?”

It had been less than twelve hours since his niece had been born. But he still couldn’t believe how seeing her look around, react to people’s touch, even calm down when he spoke to her, tugged at something deep in his chest, centered right where his heart was. He thought of his love for Elissa—why else would he have planned on proposing? And he resisted examining too closely the jumble of emotions attached to Haley. But what he felt for this baby girl who looked at him through his brother’s brown eyes . . . it was pure. Uncomplicated.

“Claire, meet Peanut.”

“Peanut?”

“Well, I couldn’t keep calling her ‘the baby,’ could I?” The baby’s eyes were hidden from him as she slept. “And she’s so little, ‘Peanut’ seemed to fit.”

“She sounds like a snack food.”

Just that moment, the baby yawned and then opened her eyes.

With a small gasp, Claire tucked her hands to her chest and leaned close. “Oh, she has brown eyes like you!”

“Like Sam. Brown eyes like Sam.”

“Of course—and you, too.” A soft smile curved Claire’s lips. “So when can she come home?”

“No one is saying yet. It’s all about tests and levels . . . I think the doctor is going to talk to Haley later today. They haven’t let Peanut eat yet because she’s still breathing so fast, but that’s improved in the last couple of hours.”

They both stepped aside as a nurse approached the warmer. She listened to the infant’s heartbeat and respirations. Claire continued their conversation in a low voice. “What does breathing fast have to do with letting her eat?”

The nurse finished checking Peanut and then answered Claire’s question. “There’s a number of reasons, but probably
the easiest to understand is it’s hard to swallow when you’re breathing about sixty times a minute.”

Made sense.

“I’m going back to the room to check on Haley.” Claire touched Stephen’s arm. “I’ll let her know you’re with Peanut.”

“You can keep that nickname between us.”

“Sure thing, Uncle Stephen.”

After Claire left, Stephen washed his hands under the warm water, lathering and relathering his skin. He couldn’t be too careful with a newborn. She lay on her back, an unbelievably small diaper covering her bottom.

The moment he put his finger on her hand, she circled it with her fingers and held on. As she breathed, her tummy rose and fell, rose and fell.
Wondrous.
The sound of the machine keeping track of her heartbeats faded into the background and he closed his eyes and just focused on Peanut’s breathing, allowing himself to exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Each breath a prayer for this little girl who in some inexplicable way contained a part of his brother. Yes, she had Sam’s eyes. But at her very essence, she was Sam . . . and Haley . . . and God’s amazing creation all woven together into ten toes and ten fingers and brown eyes and the barest smidgen of a nose and lips that quivered, and a muted cry that burrowed into his heart and lodged there.

G
iving birth was becoming a bit of a blur. How was that possible? Her daughter was two days old, and the pain, the pushing, the “come on, come on” longing for the baby’s arrival, the shock of having a daughter no longer mattered. Maybe that was why some women had more than one child.

Not her, not since she’d lost Sam. But other women.

Even as the details of labor and delivery faded, Haley could still remember holding on to Stephen’s hand. The way he stood beside her hospital bed, never complaining, no matter how hard she squeezed his fingers. The sweet relief when he pressed a cool, wet washcloth to her forehead and neck as she rested between contractions. The deep timbre of his voice assuring her that she could do all her body demanded of her. And how she almost believed him when he told her she was beautiful. How funny that the first time a man ever told her she was beautiful she was panting, sweating, and struggling to give birth!

Of course, Stephen would have said anything to help her. She knew he didn’t mean it—not when she wore a nondescript
hospital gown that was damp with sweat and who knew what else. But still . . . she had taken the next wave of pain with renewed strength.

Haley’s memories scattered when a nurse entered her room “Haley?”

“Yes?”

“Would you like to go see your daughter again? It’s quiet up at the NICU.”

“Absolutely.” The nurse’s question expanded the now ever-present warmth in her heart into a tiny flame of longing. “Let me get my robe on.”

“Do you need any help?”

“No, I’m fine.”

She slipped into Sam’s old Turkish robe, which still held a faint hint of his familiar scent, belting it around her waist—well, where her waist used to be. She hadn’t even thought about what her post-pregnancy body would look like. She looked as worn out as she felt.

Once she settled into the rocking chair beside her daughter’s Isolette, which was labeled with
BABY GIRL AMES
, a nurse placed the baby in her arms. She was wrapped like a four-pound burrito, her tiny hands tucked just against the top edges of the blanket. Haley tried to block out the ever-present sounds of the machines monitoring infants’ heart rates, respirations, and oxygen levels. She touched one tiny hand, smoothing the fingers with the translucent nails over her forefinger after pressing a soft kiss to the wrinkled skin.

She tucked the baby closer to her, ignoring the pressure building in her chest. Would she be able to breast-feed? So far all she could do was pump and store breast milk for future use. The lactation instructor had come by, encouraging her to persevere despite not actually nursing yet, and despite the warning
that preemies sometimes had difficulty nursing. She had to ignore the voice that labeled herself a walking “milk factory.” She was a mom, doing what needed to be done. For now, she needed to be content with holding her daughter and hope the doctor let her go home soon. And if not, then she’d fight to stay in the hospital with the baby. She had no reason to go home—and one life-changing reason to stay here.

Haley closed her eyes, rocking back and forth, savoring the warmth of the baby in her arms, the soft lilt of her breathing.

“I need to name you, you know.” She nuzzled the baby’s head, which was covered in a soft pink knit cap. “You don’t look like a Clint Barton.”

“I did some research on that.”

The sound of Stephen’s voice interrupted the sweet reverie of motherhood. “I was talking to myself.”

“No, you were talking to Peanut.”

He looked . . . good. As if he’d slept. Showered—his hair still damp around the long ends that curled around his ears. “Peanut?”

“That’s what I started calling her.” A smile deepened the cleft in his chin. “I couldn’t just keep saying ‘baby’ or ‘her’ or ‘that one over there.’ ”

“You did not call her ‘that one over there.’ ” Haley kept her arms still and strong around her baby. No patting. No stroking. Nothing that might irritate a preemie.

He knelt beside the rocking chair. “Well, no, I didn’t call her
that
. But don’t you think ‘Peanut’ fits her? She’s so tiny.”

“It doesn’t feel like I’m holding anything—and yet she’s the most precious thing in the world.”

“So, about her name . . .” Stephen’s gaze lingered on the baby she held in her arms.

“You have suggestions?”

“Well, since you’d planned on continuing the whole Marvel-comic-book-hero tradition started by my father, I printed up a whole list of Marvel superheroines. I figured you didn’t want any villainesses.”

“True.” She shifted so she was turned more toward Stephen, who remained crouched beside the rocking chair. The scent of his aftershave slipped past her defenses.

“But I did want to tell you one interesting bit of Marvel trivia.” His finger stroked the baby’s hand where it rested on Haley’s hand. “Did you know there was a female Hawkeye?”

“No, there wasn’t.”

“An Ames never—” His jest faded into silence.

Oh. Yes. An Ames never lies
. And the last time he’d said that, she’d been so sleep-deprived, so overwhelmed, she’d twisted him into some living, breathing apparition of Sam.

She kept her eyes lowered. “I know. So . . . you were going to suggest a name?”

His glance skimmed her face. Mouth. Eyes. Back to the baby. “I printed up the papers—left them on the table in your room. The female Hawkeye’s name is Katherine Elizabeth, and she goes by Kate.” He brushed her daughter’s cheek with the back of his fingers. “She looks like a Kate, don’t you think?”

“Kate. It might work. Or Kit. Kate Ames. Kit Ames.” She watched her sleeping daughter, her eyes closed, her eyelashes and eyebrows barely visible. “Is that your name, hmm? Kit?”

“So, any news on when you and Peanut can head home?”

“Not yet. I’m waiting for the doctor to come talk to me. I have a feeling we’re here for another night.” Kit’s silent yawn was the sweetest moment. What were she and Stephen talking about? “And if she has to stay for another day or two, I’m told there’s a boarding option available so I can stay in the hospital with her.”

“You can trust the doctor to do the right thing—and it’s good to know they don’t plan to throw you out.” He rose to his feet, twisting from side to side, accentuating his trim build. “I hope it’s okay that I let both my parents know about the baby arriving a few weeks early.”

Miriam! In the midst of the craziness, she hadn’t even thought to call Sam’s mother. “Oh, Stephen, thank you—I can’t believe I didn’t even think—”

“Nobody expects you to handle all the phone calls, Haley.” His yawn was a grown-up version of her daughter’s. “Claire tells me that your mom is on her way to help.”

“That’s the plan.”

“Well then, I’ll just say good-bye here and let you have some time with this little girl.”

“Good-bye?” She forced her voice lower. Calmer. “Where are you going?”

“Back to Fort Collins.” He tucked his hands in his pant pockets. “This has all been fun, but I’ve put off job-hunting long enough. And Jared e-mailed me a few ideas.”

“Oh.” Haley concentrated on Kit, who squirmed and fussed in her arms. “Well, then. Thanks for everything.”

“Glad to be here.”

Her throat was dry, the words scratchy. “I’ll talk to you—”