Somebody Like You (33 page)

“The question is, would you have helped me or told Haley to pull the trigger?”

“Depends on why she wanted to shoot you.”

“I . . . I frightened her. Showed up on her doorstep—never thinking she didn’t know anything about me. She thought I was Sam.”

“I don’t think she would make that mistake today.”

He thought of Haley’s feverish tears yesterday . . . how she clung to him, asking Sam to hold her. Not to leave her.

“You want to know my opinion about you and Haley?”

Stephen raked his fingers through his hair. He could use a shower. “No.”

“Okay, whether you want to know or not, I’m telling you there’s no reason for you and my sister not to at least consider the possibility of a relationship. My mom told me that Haley is . . . what did she say? . . . different when you’re around. You bring out a side of her that Mom’s never seen; she’s willing to let someone help her—to admit she can’t do it all.”

“I appreciate you saying that. But just because Haley lets me help her with house projects doesn’t change things.”

“What things?”

“The fact that Haley is still in love with Sam. That she wants to honor Sam. That she wants Kit to know about her father—and I would only confuse her.” Each statement seemed to push him further and further away from the possibility of any kind of future with Haley. “That people would have a problem with Haley and me having a relationship—”

“I think you and Haley need to decide what you want—no matter what other people say.”

Easier said than done. “Right now, I want to get some sleep. Kit’s not a late sleeper.”

David laughed. “In other words, mind my own business, right? Fine. Tell her I called and said to keep her guard up.”

Keep her guard up? What did he mean by that? “Sure thing.”

“Ames?”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t like anyone hurting my sister, got it?”

“Yes. Good night.”

With sleep eluding him, Stephen debated what to do. Watch TV? Get his iPad out and sketch? He stood by the sliding glass doors, the tree in the backyard cast in the milky glow of the moonlight. The loss of one limb didn’t wreck Haley’s plans for a tree house—he’d watched a television show where professional tree house builders removed the dead portion of a tree and nestled a tree house into what was left. He envisioned an altered tree . . . a specialized house for Kit. His fingers tingled with the urge to sketch out the beginnings of a design, one that forged old with new.

As expected, his niece was an early riser, waking up a few short hours after Stephen crawled onto the couch and fell asleep. But Stephen was becoming quite proficient at changing diapers and prepping bottles, so he was able to get her settled again with a minimal amount of fuss.

“There you go, Peanut.” He knelt on the floor in Kit’s bedroom and snapped the last clasp of her pink footie pajamas. Right now, he was keeping his niece’s wardrobe options simple—and what she already had on still worked. “Ready to face the day. I’m not sure I can manage this sling thingy. You want to rest on the blanket? Or do you just want to hang out with your uncle Stephen?”

As he gathered her into his arms, Kit cooed and reached up to touch his jaw with her tiny hand. Stephen stared into the depths of her brown eyes. This little girl had him tied up in
knots that weren’t going to let go. He was head-over-heels in love with at least one of the Ames females.

Thirty minutes later, someone knocked at the front door. As he abandoned his efforts to plan something for lunch, Stephen checked on Kit, who seemed happy on her play mat. Opening the front door, he braced for the blast of frigid air. Claire and her husband—what was his name?—stood on the porch, bundled up in coats, hats, scarves, and gloves.

“Stephen? When did you get here?” Claire looked past him, as if expecting to see Haley.

“I came down two nights ago—about the time the storm started.”

“Is everything okay?”

“It is now.” He moved away from the door. “Come on in.” He would have offered to shake hands with Claire’s husband, but the guy was busy removing his gloves.

“Finn O’Dea—we met when Kit was born.”

Claire interrupted the round of reintroductions. “Where’s Haley?”

“She’s still sleeping.” A quick explanation of his presence was probably best. “I called to check on Haley a couple of days ago and found out she had the flu, so I drove down—”

“From Fort Collins?” Claire pulled off her black UGGs, then unbuttoned her coat.

“Yes. Anyway, I drove down to see if she needed help, and then the blizzard rolled in and I got stranded here.” No need to feel uncomfortable. He was here in his official uncle/brother-in-law role. “Good thing, though, because Haley’s just now feeling better.”

“I think I’ll go check on her.”

“She’s still sleeping, Claire.”

“I’ll peek in—I won’t wake her.”

The sound of Haley’s bedroom door opening interrupted his verbal give-and-take with Claire. “Stephen—are you still here?”

“Yes. And guess who else? Claire and Finn.”

“What?”

“Just checking on you, Haley. Stay in bed. Stephen says you’ve been sick . . .” Claire’s voice faded as she entered Haley’s room.

Finn remained by the door, his hands shoved into his wool coat. “It’s nice of you to take care of Haley and Kit—but you could have called. Claire and I are close—”

“Believe me, I thought about it, but I didn’t have Claire’s number in my cell phone.”

“You couldn’t call once you got here?”

“Things were a bit hectic—Haley was sick and Kit needs more attention than I ever imagined.” Stephen worked to keep any defensiveness out of his voice. Finn’s oh-so-casual questions reminded him of the midnight conversation with Haley’s brother—and he didn’t have anything to prove to either of them. “Look, I’m here helping Haley because she was married to my brother—”

Finn held up his hand, stopping any further attempts to explain. “Claire already told me you’re an okay guy. That you’ve helped Haley a lot.”

“But?”

Finn nodded, acknowledging he had more to say. “But I’m concerned for Haley.”

“Because I’m here?”

“I watched a good friend’s widow get married four months after he died. She was all mixed up—trying to be a new wife and a widow at the same time. Haley’s vulnerable right now—and she’d be especially confused by you because you’re Sam’s twin.”

Before Stephen could reply, the sound of the bedroom door opening again stalled the conversation. And really, what could he say? Should he even defend himself ?

All he had to do today was get through the next hour or so with Claire and Finn. Be friendly. Take care of Haley and Kit. And trust God knew his heart better than he did.

W
hat a mess.

Stephen had warned her, but still, the mound of broken branches and fence made it look as if a wrecking ball had taken one huge, dead-on swipe at her backyard.

With one more check of the baby monitor to ensure Kit still slept, Haley stepped outside into the midmorning sunlight. She wrapped her arms around her waist, unable to ignore the way her tummy sagged beneath her jeans. She was back in them—barely. Would she ever regain her pre-baby body?

In the week since Stephen left, she’d noticed the destruction through the glass doors, but she’d never had time to come look at the damage close-up. Correction: she hadn’t taken the time. The thought of facing the tree—and what she needed to do—incapacitated her. But with the arrival of yet another letter from Sterling Shelton III demanding she fix the fence and remove the tree, Haley could no longer avoid the situation.

Fixing the fence? That was easy. Stephen had already volunteered to handle the project the next time he came down to visit.

But removing the tree? Where would she put Kit’s tree house? The place where they could have picnics in the summer . . . and lie on their backs at night, snuggled together in a sleeping bag . . . and pretend it was a fairy castle or a sailing ship . . . and whisper mother-daughter secrets . . . and remember Sam. Always, always remember Sam.

She ran her fingers along the rough edge where the limb had been torn away from the tree, leaving a gaping wound in the trunk. It was just a tree.

But couldn’t she salvage it—or at least part of it? She didn’t have to tear it all down, did she?

She wrapped her arms around the trunk, the bark scraping against her skin. It was just a tree. A mostly dead tree—no buds forming on the branches to indicate new growth.

Maybe if she gave it more time? Everybody—everything deserved a little extra time, right?

Haley clicked
SEND
, forwarding her flight information to Sam’s mother, as requested. Now Miriam would be able to pick them up when they arrived in Oklahoma for Sam’s memorial service in June. She bit back a groan as she closed the laptop and settled back against the pillows on her bed.

Her first trip with a baby. It wasn’t quite a two-hour flight—she would handle it. She’d substitute a regular suitcase for her preferred carry-on and accept the check-in fee—leaving her hands free for Kit and the never-go-anywhere-without-it diaper bag. She couldn’t miss this last memorial for Sam—not when his mother expected her to be there. She’d discussed details via e-mails and phone calls for weeks. Miriam had asked her preferences for songs and the printed program and what photographs
of Sam they should use. Haley had survived Sam’s funeral—and back then she’d been ten weeks pregnant, struggling with unrelenting morning sickness and exhaustion. She was still wrung out, but from what more experienced mothers told her, that wasn’t going to change until Kit went to kindergarten.

Haley shifted, leaning over the edge of the bed so she could see Kit, who slept in the cradle. Her pink lips nursed her tiny fist, the bedside lamp highlighting the faint wisps of blond hair on her head. Brown eyes like Sam—and Stephen. Blond hair like her.

She rolled onto her back, pulling her hair out of the rubber band that held it on top of her head and running her fingers through strands that fell around her face. Maybe she should cut her hair—really, really short. One less thing to worry about. In a few weeks, Kit would be three months old. Haley needed to decide when she was going back to work—
if
she was going back to work. Thanks to Sam’s insurance, she didn’t have to worry about a paycheck. The question was, did she want to be a stay-at-home single mom or a work-outside-the-home single mom? At least she had a choice.

When her phone rang, she grabbed it, silencing it even as she prayed Kit wouldn’t wake up. “Hello?”

“Hello to you, too.” Stephen’s voice lowered to match hers. “Why are we whispering?”

“Because if Kit wakes up then I’m the one who has to get her back to sleep again—not you.” She slipped off the opposite side of the bed and tiptoed out of the bedroom, easing the door shut behind her.

“Is she still asleep?” Stephen continued to whisper, as if Kit might still hear him.

“Yes—good thing for you.” Haley headed straight for the pantry and the bag of jalapeño Kettle Chips calling her name.
One advantage of Kit being on formula: she didn’t have to worry about her daughter being affected by anything she ate.

“Well, if I woke her up, I’d just have to come down there and get her settled for the night.” Whisper or not, Haley could hear both the laughter and the sincerity in Stephen’s voice. “Need to take care of my girls—I mean, my girl.”