by Beth K. Vogt
Stephen retrieved his iPhone off his desk, hit Jared’s contact info, and FaceTimed his friend.
He started talking before Jared’s face appeared. “I blame you for this.”
“Well, hello to you, too.” The face of Moses, Jared’s Great Dane, appeared on-screen as Jared positioned the phone. “What am I being blamed for, exactly?”
“You were the one who told me to do it. And I did. And now look!”
Jared shoved his dog away and moved the iPhone so Stephen could see him. “I am looking—and all I see is your ugly mug up close on my phone screen. Be specific.”
“Let Elissa go. Find Sam’s wife . . . widow . . . who is—was—pregnant. And now I have a niece, who was born six weeks early—”
“As I recall that conversation—and don’t quote me because it was months ago now—we were eating dinner and you asked me if you should try to find Sam’s widow. And I said, ‘Yes.’ And now you’re blaming me because your nice, orderly life is a mess.”
“I didn’t have a nice, orderly life.” Stephen reached over and pulled the bag of beef jerky he’d opened hours earlier closer so he could reach it without falling off the couch. “I had also just gotten laid off before all this started. Or had you forgotten that?”
“No, I hadn’t forgotten that. And also as I recall, you volunteered yourself out of a job, buddy. Only I don’t see that as a problem. That, my friend, is your open door to walk into a new business opportunity with me. When are you going to wise up and realize that?”
“When are you going to accept that I don’t want to do the whole ‘let’s start up a company’ experiment? That I’d like the security of a real job?”
“As if there’s such a thing in today’s economy.”
“Very funny.”
“I’m a funny guy, Stephen. But I’m being serious.” Jared’s face was obscured behind the bottom of a plastic cup while he gulped something down. “Have you read your own business cards? The word entrepreneur is on there for a reason—and no one forced you to add it after architect. So, are you about taking risks or not?”
Stephen stretched out on his couch, the cushion offering little comfort, holding his phone at arm’s length. “I didn’t call to talk business.”
“We always talk business. We have since we were in college. It’s how we roll. But I’m sorry things didn’t go so well with Haley.”
“I hoped to know Sam better when I was done, you know?”
“And you don’t?”
“No. And I don’t feel like I’m anywhere close to being done. But there’s no reason for me to go back down to the Springs. I’ve asked questions. Haley’s given me answers. And now she’s going to be busy with Peanut—”
“Excuse me? Who or what is Peanut?”
“Peanut is my niece—and don’t ask me what her real name is, because I don’t know. It might be Katherine or Kit, but I’m not sure.”
“Isn’t there some sort of law that you have to name a child—”
“She’s got a name. I just don’t know what it is.”
“That’s pathetic.”
“You’re telling me.” Stephen popped a hunk of jerky into his mouth, the saltiness overpowering his taste buds.
“But I can fix your problem.”
“You can tell me what my niece’s name is?”
“Better than that.” Jared’s grin filled the phone screen. “How’d you like to take a trip back down to Colorado Springs?”
“And why would I need to do that?”
“I have a friend—a friend who just inherited a significant chunk of change, by the way. And he’s interested in investing in our company.”
“We don’t have a company, Jared.”
“Yet. We don’t have a company yet. But given the right investor and the right product and the right name—”
“Those are a lot of blanks to be filled in.”
“So we brainstorm. Are you interested in meeting with my friend Joe? He’ll be at the Broadmoor next week. Lunch or dinner at the Summit?”
Stephen eyed his suitcase. All he needed was to change out a few items, do some laundry, and he was good to go. “I’m in. E-mail me the intel, and I’ll call you back in an hour to talk strategy.”
“Done. And make sure you let me know what that baby’s name is, okay?”
“Done. Talk to you later. I need to go unpack so I can repack.”
People should know better than to call mothers of newborns.
Her ringtone came around for a second playing of “Hello World,” and by the time she settled Kit in her cradle and sprinted down the hall, whoever it was would have left a voice mail—another response backed up in the queue, thanks to her automated request to “Please leave a message, and I’ll call back as soon as possible.”
The chance of her ever returning those calls now that she was a mom? Slim to none.
“Stay asleep . . . stay asleep . . . stay—” Kit’s whimper interrupted her whispered plea. “No. No. No. You’re asleep. Please. Mommy’s tired, too . . .”
Within seconds the whimper ascended into a wail, and all of Haley’s hopes for sleep disappeared. That was one phone message she was going to listen to—because when she found out who had called and woken up her daughter, she was going to call them every five minutes for the next twenty-four hours.
Haley gathered Kit into her arms, covering her with the blanket, her body rocking back and forth. “Sh-sh-sh, Peanut. You’re just tired. Go back to sleep and you’ll feel all better. And Mommy will feel better, too.”
But Kit was having none of it.
Ten minutes later, Haley had swaddled Kit and walked up and down the hallway a dozen times. Kit seemed enthralled with every inch of the ceiling. Her brown eyes were open wide—and she looked as if she had slept the afternoon away.
“Great. You’re awake. And I’m dragging here.” Haley slumped onto the couch, cradling Kit in her arms. “How about we just sit for a few moments, huh?”
Kit’s face screwed up and her tiny lips trembled, a sure sign a mini-squall was in the making. As Haley stood, half her hair tumbled down around her face. Maybe she’d get a shower tomorrow.
When someone knocked on the door, she shifted Kit up onto her shoulder. Bless Claire—her ever-ready lifesaver, stopping by when she got off from a shift at the Broadmoor. Would she stay long enough for Haley to get cleaned up—at least into a clean pair of sweatpants and a fresh T-shirt? Who cared if it was after nine?
She pulled open the front door. “Can you stay long enough for me to—?” She stumbled into silence at the sight of Stephen Ames standing on her porch, thankful she hadn’t completed her request.
Stephen cocked his head to one side, eyebrow arched. “I don’t know—long enough for you to what?”
Haley leaned against the door, the cool night air against her face a welcome relief. She rested a hand against Kit’s tiny bottom as the baby began to fuss, squirming inside the swaddling blanket. “What are you doing here?”
“I thought we were well past that stage in our relationship. It doesn’t sound like my niece is all that happy.” He patted his broad chest as he stepped past her into the house. “At your service, ma’am.”
“No, seriously. What are you doing here?”
“I was in town for a business meeting.”
“Did you get a job?” Kit’s discontent increased to out-and-out wails, prompting Haley to switch her to the other shoulder, all the while rocking back and forth.
“No. And I decided to stop by—”
“Then why were you at a business meeting?”
“Wooing a potential investor. So I wanted to check on Peanut—”
“Investor? For what?”
Stephen eased Kit from Haley’s arms. “You need sleep. This conversation is garbled.”
“Sleep?” Haley brushed her hair from her face. How bad did she look? “What’s that?”
“My point exactly.” Stephen snuggled Kit up against him, his hand cradling her head against
his heart.
“I’m going to bed as soon as I convince my daughter to go to sleep.” Haley escaped to the kitchen, in search of the can of soda she’d misplaced earlier in the evening. Was it here? Or in the bedroom? Or the—oh, how she hoped not—the bathroom? Oh, never mind. She’d find it sometime. Until then, she’d just start over with a new one. Opening the fridge, she grabbed a Sprite, the can cold against her skin. “Want something to drink?”
“I’m good. I had dinner at the Broadmoor.”
“How nice for you. I had Oreos—double-stuffed. And a glass of milk.”
Stephen filled the archway, her traitorous daughter quiet in his arms. “Oh, that’s a nutritious meal for a new mom. Want me to make you some dinner?”
“No, but thanks for the offer.” She slipped past him—and no, she didn’t notice that he smelled good. She could only hope he didn’t notice that she smelled like baby formula and something that could only be described as “worn-out mom.” “How did you do that?”
“What?”
“Get her to be quiet?”
Stephen’s smile echoed Sam’s ever-present self-assurance. “She missed me. I’m here now. She’s happy.”
“Right.” Haley only meant to sit on the couch, but her body insisted on going horizontal, the sofa pillow beneath her head. The yawn that interrupted their conversation refused to be silenced.
“Wasn’t there something you needed to do?”
“It can wait. My plan got disrupted when somebody called about half an hour ago and woke Kit up right when I’d just gotten her to sleep.”
A telltale red appeared on Stephen’s ears and along his cheekbones. “Thirty minutes ago?”
“Yes.” Haley’s head came up off the cushion, her hair falling in her face. Stupid hair. Maybe she should cut it. “Did you—?”
“Did I hear you call her Kit?”
“What? Oh, yes. Katherine Elizabeth—I took your Marvel Comics switcheroo suggestion. But I thought Kit was a cute nickname.”
“It is.” He tucked Kit into the crook of his arm, swaying back and forth. “But I’m partial to Peanut.”
“She’s still Peanut for her uncle Stephen.” His lazy back-and-forth rhythm, all dressed up in a dark pair of pants and suit jacket, starched white shirt, and a silver and blue tie, lulled more than one Ames girl to sleep. Haley struggled to keep her eyes open. “I’m sorry . . . did you need something? I haven’t looked through any more of the boxes of Sam’s stuff—”
“No.” Even Stephen’s voice was hypnotic. “I was in town having dinner with a potential investor, and I wanted to come by and see you—see how my niece was. That’s all.”
“Oh. Well, welcome to my world.” Haley gave a halfhearted wave around the room. A leaning tower of diapers sat atop the breakfast bar, and several baby blankets were draped over the backs of the stools. “A house decorated in ‘Early American Newborn’ is my new normal.”
“I thought your mom was coming out to help you.”
“She is—tomorrow, as a matter of fact. Because Kit was in the hospital for a week, I asked her to push the trip back.” Another yawn punctured her conversation. “Claire’s husband, Finn, is picking her up at DIA in the morning. Saves me a trip. I’m not ready for the whole car seat routine with Kit yet.”
“How long is she staying?”
“Ten days—at least. I’ll be ready for any and all help when she gets here. I may lock the door and never let her leave.”
“Listen, just relax. I’ve got Peanut, and she seems pretty content.”
“Showoff.”
“You just prepped her for me.” He walked over to the TV, which, for once, sat silent. “I’ll pop in a movie—quietly—and do uncle duty for a little bit.”
Haley knew she should protest. Drag herself off the couch and do the right thing. Be the mom. Instead her eyes drifted shut as Stephen sifted through the stack of DVDs on the table.
“True Grit . . . Rio Bravo . . . El Dorado . . . Do you own anything besides John Wayne?”
“Sure. I have a nice collection of Bruce Willis—all the Die Hard movies. Lord of the Rings. If it has a car chase in it, I own it.”
“I don’t recall any car chases in The Lord of the Rings.”
“Ha-ha.” She could hardly keep up with the conversation.
“So, on movie nights, you don’t insist on a chick flick?”
“Pfffft.” She nestled into the couch. “My brothers wouldn’t have allowed it.”
A few minutes later, the opening scene of Hatari! played across the TV. Stephen interrupted the opening dialogue. “I haven’t seen this one.”
“You’re kidding, right? One of my favorites.” Was she forming the words right? “John Wayne heads up a group that traps wild animals in Africa . . .”
“I read the back cover copy on the DVD case. Relax, remember?” Like a grown-up lullaby, his voice invited her to doze off. “I’m going to get something to drink. You need anything?”
“Hmmm . . .” Did she need anything? No, not anymore.
twenty-two
Stephen stood in the kitchen, the soft warmth of Kit against his chest seeming to seep all the way into his heart, deepening the beats. The last time he stood here, he’d been searching the pantry for snacks as he headed back to the hospital, unaware that Haley was in active labor. Now he held his days-old niece.
Sam’s daughter.
He tipped his head forward, inhaling the delicate scent surrounding the infant mixed with a hint of lavender that reminded him of Haley. Just as Sam and he were intertwined, Sam and this baby were connected. In Kit, his brother lived on.
Miracle.
The realization stole over him with a swirl of emotion—joy intertwined with regret—that he tried to hold, to balance.
His parents’ choices. His choices. Sam’s choices. And yet, he was the one who had stayed locked in the bedroom the day during spring break when his mom took Sam to sign up with the army recruiter. He had laid the first brick that eventually became the wall that separated him from his brother. And he hadn’t called to say good-bye when Sam left for boot camp. And then with each passing year, he let the wall grow higher. Wider. One letter. One phone call. Paltry efforts to make amends. Sometimes the scale of guilt tilted heavily in his direction. Other times he knew Sam had made his own choices, adding invisible bricks to the wall between them. All he knew now was death had demolished the wall—but he was still separated from his brother. With Sam’s death, he’d lost all hope of ever seeing him again, this side of heaven.
But holding Kit . . . in a sense, he touched his brother. Embraced his brother. When he looked in her innocent brown eyes, he saw Sam’s eyes staring back at him.
“You don’t know me yet, little one.” Stephen ran his forefinger across the faint outline of her eyebrows. “But I know you. And I know your daddy—oh, the stories I’ll tell you about him.”
A few moments later, he peeked around the corner to where Haley lay on the couch. “Just as I thought. Your mom’s asleep.” He watched the rise and fall of his niece’s breathing. “And so are you. I have quite a way with the Ames females, don’t I?”
Holding his breath, he managed to get to Haley’s bedroom and deposit Kit into her cradle without waking either the baby or Haley. The bedroom mirrored the living room—only worse. Two laundry baskets sat at the foot of the bed—one full of crumpled, used baby clothes, one filled with clean, waiting-to-be-used baby clothes. Several unopened packages of diapers sat next to Kit’s cradle. A pile of discarded sweatpants, jeans, T-shirts, and sweatshirts sat in front of Haley’s dresser.
Stephen arranged a soft pink blanket around Kit’s petite form, debating the wisdom of picking up the bedroom. Best not to chance waking Kit—or angering Haley. He walked halfway down the hallway. Stopped.
Wait. What if Haley didn’t hear Kit wake up? Should he help Haley back to bed? Carry her back so she’d be closer to Kit?
Yeah, that would go over well.
He paced back to the
bedroom. Sure enough, there was a blue and white baby monitor on the bedside table near Kit’s cradle. It stood next to a photo of Haley and Sam. Stephen picked it up. This had to be their wedding day—and look at that: Haley Ames was stunning in a beaded white dress next to Sam—wait, where were they? The couple stood on marble steps in front of a building. Had they gotten married at the courthouse? Haley’s hair hung in loose curls around her face, her brilliant blue gaze focused on Sam, not on the photographer. His brother’s smile had converted to laughter, his arm across Haley’s shoulders, one hand raised in triumph.
He set the photo back in place. He wasn’t here to look at wedding photos—well, a wedding photo. He needed to find the other half of the baby monitor. A quick, quiet search of the house revealed it sitting in the bathroom on the counter, next to a can of soda.
O-kay . . .
He carried both back into the kitchen, emptying the soda into the sink, and then walked over to where Haley slept, her breathing deep and even. He’d leave the monitor on the coffee table and be on his way.
He set the monitor down. Walked to the door. Turned around and walked back to the couch. Picked up the monitor. Put it down. Haley slept with one hand tucked underneath her chin, the other cradled the sofa cushion beneath her head. Long, light-colored eyelashes rested against her high cheekbones, and the dim lighting in the room hid the golden highlights in her hair. Stephen fought the urge to search the linen closet for a blanket to cover her with before he left. He flexed his fingers, resisting the desire to trace the outline of Haley’s face—but the memory of how she’d pulled away from him at the hospital stayed his hand. He needed to let her sleep. Rest.
He should leave—but he couldn’t do it.
Exhaustion etched dark circles under Haley’s eyes. She looked thinner—and she’d been thin even before Kit was born. Well, if she was surviving on Oreos and milk and soda, her mother couldn’t get here soon enough. Uncle or not, brother-in-law or not, it didn’t feel right to stay in the house alone with Haley . . . but how could he get her even a few extra hours of sleep?
