The bathroom was girly, like the rest of the house. The white tub and toilet were softened by a pink shower curtain. The girls sat in pink infant tubs, surrounded by plastic bowls and blocks.
"These kids need some real toys," Brady noted, remembering Lola's vast array of tub gear. "I don't see any foamy soap or squirting fish."
"They're only ten months old," Stephanie said, scrubbing Melanie's wispy hair.
"You're never too young to develop a love of squirting things." Making a face, he added, "That came out wrong."
Grinning, she said, "You think?"
They scrubbed in silence for a while. Passing each other the shampoo and taking lots of play-breaks. The swishing of the water and the happy gurgles from the babies filled Brady with bone-deep contentment. Not a good thing considering he had to fly out first thing in the morning.
Voice small, Steph said, "I used to dream of doing this sort of thing with Michael."
"Clarissa was never big on bath time. That was my domain."
"So instead of sharing Lola's care, you two divided and conquered?"
"Guess that's one way of looking at it." Lifting Michaela from the tub, he wrapped her in a fluffy white towel he'd snagged from a pile on the counter. "There were some things we did together. Taking Lola on neighborhood walks. Eating meals."
After pulling a rubber stopper from the tub, Stephanie plucked Melanie from her safety seat and wrapped her in a towel. "Sounds like you led a nice life. How did you find out Clarissa had been cheating?"
Crossing the hall to the twins' nursery, he said, "Might be cliché, but her cell kept getting hang-up calls. Clarissa blew them off, but it irked the hell out of me that some guy was harassing my wife."
"What'd you do?" Stephanie asked, placing Melanie on the pad of an oak changing table to lotion and diaper.
"What else? Called the number. I felt like a fool when I recognized the voice on the other end." Absentmindedly nuzzling Michaela's downy hair, he said, "It was my brother. Calling from a throwaway phone."
"Oh, Brady…" She froze midway through easing Melanie's legs into a pair of soft-looking pink pj's. "When you told me another man was raising your daughter, I had no idea…"
"Yeah, well, it's not something I typically brag about." He swallowed a stupid knot in his throat.
"Still," she said, snapping the legs of Melanie's pajamas, "does it give you any comfort knowing that Lola's at least with family?"
Snorting, he asked, "You're kidding, right?"
"No…"
Swiping his free hand through his hair, he searched for the right place to start. How did one begin to describe how bad it hurt not only having had his younger brother steal his wife, but his daughter, too?
"Look, Brady, I'm sorry, okay? Obviously, I said the wrong thing, and—" she put Melanie in her crib, and then took Michaela from him "—the last thing I wanted to do was cause you more pain."
"I appreciate your apology," he managed, "but would you be particularly grateful if Michael hadn't died, but left you for Lisa? Adding insult to injury by also snagging your kids?"
"I said, I'm sorry. What more do you want?" She lotioned and diapered Michaela and then pulled on her yellow pj's.
What did he want? Nothing.
Because, really, what could she do? He wasn't in the market for a girlfriend to hold him through lonely nights, and he sure as hell didn't need another wife. So why was he even here? Clearly, this slice of domestic bliss was messing with his head. "Now that the girls are down, do you mind if I take a walk?"
"No, but…" She tucked in Michaela. "Please, Brady, accept my apology. I don't like this angry side of you."
"Join the club," he whispered, not wanting to disturb the girls who were already asleep.
Chapter Ten
"Are you okay?" Stephanie asked Brady from the front porch. Baby monitor in hand, she'd wrapped a quilt around herself to ward off the cold.
"Sorry. But you pushed some buttons back there that I'm not equipped to deal with." He stood in the spot she and Michael had dreamed of planting a Chinese maple. The glow from a streetlight showed his profile to be hard. Shut down, as if he'd emotionally checked out.
"Not to butt into your business," she said, "but did it ever occur to you that the reason this thing with your brother and Clarissa is still such a sore point is because you refuse to deal with it?"
He held his lips clamped shut.
"In fact—small-world thing here—but you know my friends Gabby and Dane?"
Nodding, Brady asked, "What about them?"
"Dane's not the father of Gabby's first son—his little brother is."
Eyes narrowed, Brady asked, "You mean to tell me that Dane broke up Gabby's first marriage?"
"Well…" Snuggling deeper into the blanket, it occurred to Stephanie that maybe she'd used the wrong couple for an example. "Gabby wasn't exactly married.
In fact, Dane's younger brother left her just as soon as he found out she was pregnant."
"That's messed up."
"True. Dane kinda, sorta rescued her."
Brady spun around to face her. Gazes locking, she noted that his expression had grown darker than ever. "So then how does that in any way relate to what my brother did to me? Clarissa and I were happily married. Raising our daughter. Vince couldn't stand the fact that I had something he didn't, and he systematically set out to destroy it."
Crossing to him, she stepped gingerly on the spiky grass, wishing she'd slipped on shoes. "You might not want to hear this, but in all of your ranting about how wronged you were, did you ever stop to think about the fact that if Clarissa had been so happy with you, she wouldn't have wanted to stray?"
Brady sharply exhaled. "Have a swell life, Steph. It's been nice knowing you." Taking out his cell, he began to call information for the number of a cab company.
"Wait." Before he could dial, she reached out, snagging him by his shirtsleeve. "I know that was the last thing you wanted to hear, but don't you want to feel nor mal again, Brady? I mean, I've seen glimpses of the man you're capable of being and you're a keeper. Not the kind of guy a woman would easily toss away. Think about it. Let go of your resentment long enough to really look at your marriage. What went wrong?"
He wrenched himself free and hit the autodial but ton on his phone. "I need to go."
"Then, go." Softening her tone, she said, "I know it's got to hurt, but—"
"Where do you get off? You don't know anything about my situation. And you're hardly in a position to play marriage counselor when you practically fall apart at the mention of Michael."
"That's low. Like—" she covered her stinging eyes with her hands "—I can't even believe you just said that. You're an ass. You're nothing like the man I met in Miami."
"Damn straight." He covered the mouthpiece of his phone. "Meaning the sooner you get away from me, the better."
* * *
BRADY HATED HIMSELF FOR WHAT he'd just done, but sometimes self-preservation was a necessary evil. He'd gone inside for his overnight bag, but then waited on the porch for his cab.
At the airport, he'd roused the sleepy caretaker to top off his tanks and then made quick work of checking the weather and filing a flight plan. Thirty minutes later, he'd been in the air, headed home—not that at the moment, Seattle felt any more welcoming than Valley View.
Having reached cruising altitude, he set the autopilot and squeezed his eyes shut. Fought off a wave of anger so great that it made him sick to his stomach. What had he done to deserve this? To meet an amazing woman like Stephanie and then be so messed up that he couldn't even carry on a decent conversation? Her daughters were angels—as pretty as their mother.
Midway through his second bath time spent with them, warning bells had pealed. Telling him in no uncertain terms that he was in too deep. He'd never intended to tell Steph about Vince. It was not only infuriating, but embarrassing.
* * *
"HE LEFT JUST LIKE THAT?" Gabby asked three days later. In honor of Ga
bby's birthday, Olivia was treating herself, the birthday girl and Stephanie to the works at a Little Rock spa. They currently shared a mud bath.
The babies were all with Olivia and Tag's sitter back at their house while Helen manned the pastry shop.
"Yep," Stephanie said, drawing rapidly dissolving smiley faces in the mud.
"He didn't say goodbye or anything?" Olivia probed. With her long red hair piled on top of her head, she was the only woman Stephanie knew who managed to look elegant while sitting in mud.
"Nope." Honestly, couldn't they just leave it alone? Stephanie loved her friends, but sometimes they acted as though her personal life was as exciting as a pair of Coach shoes marked down for clearance! "Did I tell you that Melanie pulled herself up next to the sofa?"
"I was there when she did it," Olivia said, "and nice try at changing the subject, but it's not going to work. Lindsay Flanders told me at Junior League that your pilot won you the prize her daughter had been eyeing at the Fall Festival. She also said he was seriously hot."
Stephanie rolled her eyes. "Brady and I were just friends. Heavy emphasis on the were."
"Sure," Gabby said, flicking Stephanie with mud. Sometime during the soaking process, her ponytail holder had snapped, leaving her long black hair plastered to her neck and shoulders. "And I'm leaving Dane to become a nun."
"I'm not surprised. Your husband can be kind of bossy," Steph pointed out.
Gabby frowned.
"All kidding aside," Olivia said, "did you all fight? Is that why he left so abruptly?"
"Yes, we fought. I don't even remember what I said to tick him off, but you know how I told you his wife left him for another man?"
Her friends nodded.
"Well, turns out, that man was his brother. And he wasn't nearly as noble as Dane was with Gabby."
Olivia whistled. "That had to be tough. But if he volunteered the information, why was he mad at you?"
"Beats me," Stephanie said with a shrug, hoping her friends wouldn't notice the heat rising in her cheeks. The more she thought about it, the more ashamed she felt for pushing him too far. Had she been a true friend, she never would've asked what he'd done to drive Clarissa away. Whether he'd been to blame for their marriage falling apart, or not, she'd been cruel to put the topic on the table.
"Are you going to call him?" Gabby wanted to know.
"I think not." Cupping warm mud in her palm, she let it trickle between her fingers.
"Why?" Olivia asked.
"For starters, because he obviously wants nothing to do with me. Then there's the fact that he lives a thousand miles away. And how about me never having time to spend with my girls, let alone some guy from my past who was better off staying there?"
"All excellent points," Gabby said, "but you left out the most important."
"What might that be?" Steph asked, not really wanting to know.
"Since you inquired," she said with a wink to Olivia, "you failed to mention what everyone in our social circle is buzzing about."
"Our social circle?" Sighing, Steph rose. "That's my cue to get out."
"Not so fast." Gabby grabbed her arm. "All I was going to say is that no less than six of your friends who saw you two at the Fall Festival have called. They want to know who the guy is who brought back your smile."
* * *
WITH THE WIND HOWLING outside the nursery, Stephanie rocked her girls to sleep that night and tried to forget Gabby's last comment.
"Ladies," she said, kissing the crown of Michaela's head and then Melanie's, "what do you think I should do?"
Big help they were—both had fallen asleep. Not that she'd expected them to be, but it would be nice when they were old enough to strike up an intelligent conversation.
Rocking and rocking, she tried getting a handle on the confusion clouding her brain.
Gingerly rising, she put each girl in her crib, kissed and tucked, and then flipped on a pink lamb nightlight before turning off the dresser lamp.
In the living room, she turned on the TV, but found nothing good to watch.
She picked up a book she'd been meaning to finish, but the biography of Lady Bird Johnson wasn't exactly riveting.
In the kitchen for a snack, she made microwave popcorn to go along with a diet root beer.
Never had three minutes taken so long. Especially since all she could focus on was the wall-mounted phone.
Should she call him?
If she did, what would she say? An apology for her part of their argument was probably in order, but what then? What did she expect from him? As much as Stephanie hated to admit it, Lisa was right in that she had no business growing attached—even in a friendly way—to another pilot. Then there were his issues with Lola and his ex-wife. Truly, his leaving had been for the best.
The phone stared at her.
Mocked her.
Called her chicken.
Usually, she was immune to name-calling—especially when coming from an inanimate object. But this was different. If she'd learned anything from her in-flight meltdown, it was that it was high time she faced her problems rather than hiding from them. She wasn't supermom or superwoman. If she'd done like her doctor had suggested and taken a light sedative before flying, she never would've gotten herself in such a mess. On the flip side, she wouldn't have met Brady again. A man who, for whatever reason, had gotten under her skin.
"Fine," she said, hands on her hips, staring at the phone. "You wanna play hardball, let's go."
Marching into the living room, she found her purse on the table by the front door. After fishing out her wallet, she found Brady's number on the back of a grocery store receipt right where she'd left it.
In the kitchen, she gripped the phone's handset, punching in her only tangible link to the man.
It rang five times before an answering machine picked up. Hey—you've reached Brady. You know what to do.
At the beep, Stephanie hung up.
* * *
"IT MIGHT BE FUNNY NOW," Clarissa said, slipping her arm around Lola and giving her a squeeze, "but at the time, I was ready to wring your cute little neck. There were bubbles everywhere."
While on one side of his parents' Seattle family room Brady's ex droned on about their daughter's latest escapade involving laundry detergent and the dishwasher, he tried focusing on his mother, Gloria, who was extolling the wonders of Heath, her new personal trainer.
"He worked me so hard," she said, fanning her face while she talked, "I thought my arms were going to fall off of my body."
"That's nice," he said, trying to eavesdrop on Clarissa.
"It was hardly nice," she scolded. "More like agony. Agony I had to pay for. Your father's livid. Charles says I'm trying to be sixteen again, but honestly, is it wrong for me to want to look my best?"
"Mom?" he asked, envying the way Clarissa and Vince shared the sofa with Lola sandwiched between them. They'd eaten Thanksgiving dinner around three that afternoon, and after the guys had cleaned the kitchen, the whole family was lounging in his parents' family room, watching football. He was so annoyed he hadn't even noted who was playing. "Would you mind getting out of here for a minute?"
"Like where?" she asked, eyebrows raised. "It's a holiday."
"I don't mean leave the house, but get out of here. Away from—" He cocked his head in the direction of Clarissa and Vince.
"Come on," his mother said, pulling him by the arm to her upstairs craft room. It used to be a guest bedroom, but now that he and Vince had moved out, there was more than enough space for his folks to spread out their hobbies.
Once she sat in her rolling desk chair, and he was on the love seat, she demanded, "Out with it. You've had a scowl all day."
"Sorry."
Sorting a pile of yarn, she said, "Makes no matter to me. More pie and turkey leftovers."
"Love you, too." Grabbing a pincushion, he busied his hands with pulling pins out and then sticking them back in.
"You know what I mean," she soothed,
patting his knee. "Come on, hon. Tell me what's wrong."
Where did he start? Ever since his angry words with Stephanie, he hadn't been right. Sure, he performed his job with the same faultless attention to detail he always had, but in his off-time, he'd felt as if his life was aimless. Like he had no beginning or end to his days. No purpose other than getting through.
"Brady…"
"I'm in trouble, okay?"
Her expression clouded with worry. "Are you sick? Being laid off?"
"No," he said with a firm shake of his head. "Nothing like that." After giving his mom the highlight reel of how Stephanie and her girls had come into his life, he got to the heart of the matter. "So here we were having this idyllic night with her kids, but then it hit me. What was I doing? Playing house with another man's kids? A dead man's kids." Pressing the heels of his hands against closed eyes, he said, "Somehow it came out that Vince was responsible for what happened between Clarissa and I, and—"
"Stop right there," she said, putting her newly formed yarn ball on her worktable. "Do you honestly believe it was solely Vince's fault for what happened to your marriage?"
"Hell, yeah," he answered. "You don't?"
She took too long to answer.
"So what did I do besides love my wife and little girl?"
Lips pressed tight, she began a new yarn ball. "I'm not the right person for this conversation, Brady. You know I love you, but what happened between you, Vince and Clarissa is none of my business."
He snorted. "If you're part of the family, you're part of the problem."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Increasing her pace on yarn rolling, she noted, "It wasn't me who worked ungodly hours for years. It wasn't me who asked your brother to watch after your family while you were gone. Vince was doing you a favor, and what happened—while I don't condone it—was the natural outcome of a man and a woman raising a child together. Vince didn't steal your wife, son. You gave her away."
* * *
"BRADY?" STANDING AT the open front door in her robe, Stephanie had a tough time believing he was really there. It was seven in the morning, the Sunday after Thanksgiving. The sky was gray, threatening sleet, freezing rain or snow. Weather forecasters said it was a toss-up as to what might fall. "What're you doing here?"
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