by Beth K. Vogt
Nothing—except the musical mat lying down on the ground strewn with toys and one of the couch cushions next to it. And what was that? He strode forward . . . yep, Haley’s cell phone. He placed it on the table, but not before noticing she had two missed calls—one from Claire and one from her brother.
First things first.
Haley’s bedroom door was closed. Everything quiet.
Now what?
He tapped on the door. Waited. Nothing.
Please let Haley be in bed. Asleep. Completely covered with blankets. He eased the door open. Please, please, please . . .
No Haley in the bed. No Kit sleeping in the cradle.
Stephen did a quick check of the bathroom. The only thing there was an abandoned pair of sweatpants and a long-sleeved T-shirt. He scrubbed his hand along his jaw. What had he gotten himself into? He’d come this far to help Haley and Kit—and he wasn’t going to let a pile of clothes scare him off. On to the second bedroom.
He tapped on Kit’s door. Again, nothing. They had to be in there—unless Claire had called, found out how sick Haley was, and taken her back to her house. That could have happened. But wouldn’t Claire have taken Haley’s phone with them?
He nudged the door open. Haley lay on the floor beside Kit’s crib, wrapped in a blanket, shivering as if she were sleeping on the front lawn in the snowstorm.
Stephen strode forward, kneeling beside her. A quick glance at the crib revealed a sleeping Kit covered in a blanket, both arms thrown up alongside her tiny face. He brushed strands of Haley’s hair away from her face, the color muted, her skin hot to his touch.
“Haley . . .” He hated to wake her up, but how much rest could she be getting, shivering on the floor?
“Hmm?” Her eyes opened, their color hazy, and she flinched. “Sam? No . . . go away. Not now . . . I can’t see you now . . .” Her voice cracked and tears caused the blue to shimmer.
Her words slipped into his heart like shards of a broken mirror, and his hand stilled against her skin. “It’s Stephen.” This wasn’t about him—who he was or wasn’t. Who he wanted to be. He wrapped the blanket tighter around her trembling body and shifted her weight into his arms, preparing to lift her. “Not Sam.”
“I’m sorry, Sam . . . I’m sorry . . .” Her hand slipped outside the blanket, clutched his jacket. “I should have told you . . . about the baby.”
“Shh, Haley.” He rose to his feet, cradling her to his lacerated heart, not certain he could bear the weight of her confession. “I know about Kit.”
“She has your eyes.” A dry sob tore from her throat. “Your eyes and Stephen’s eyes. You should have told me about him. We both had secrets . . .”
“Yes, we did.”
Haley quieted as he carried her back to her bedroom, but her body continued to shake—from the combination of the fever and her silent sobs. Bare feet and ankles dangled from underneath the end of the blanket, but he couldn’t tell what else she was wearing—or not wearing. He’d tuck her, blanket and all, into the bed and cover her with the comforter. Despite the fever, Haley’s teeth chattered.
He settled her on the bed, praying she’d lie still as he pulled the comforter across her body. He leaned close for just a moment, alarmed at the heat radiating off of her. Should he wake her? Ask her to try to sip some of the ginger ale? Take some Tylenol? He’d call the ER—or Gina—and ask what he should do.
Please, God, let her rest. Rest has to be the best thing. When she woke up again, he would insist she drink something. Right now, he’d be thankful both she and Kit were asleep. He’d make some phone calls and prep the soup.
Warm fingers clasped his wrist, tugging him closer. “Stay.” Haley’s words faded to a whimper. “Please, Sam. You always leave—”
Stephen froze. He couldn’t do what she asked of him. Of his brother.
“I can’t get warm . . . Hold me . . .” Her request twisted his heart and tore at his resolve.
“Give me a minute.” He untangled her hand from his. Walked to the other side of the bed. Took a deep breath as he lowered his body to the mattress and rolled over so that he spooned her form as she lay cocooned in the two layers of blankets. She sighed as he pulled her closer, her breathing easing a bit.
Stephen closed his eyes, trying to still his heartbeat. He held Haley in his arms, trying to quiet the jumbled emotions inside. She thought he was Sam. Of course, she wasn’t thinking straight. But still, she wanted Sam . . . not him.
Fine. If she needed him to be Sam . . . so be it.
He settled her closer, pressing the whisper of a kiss against her temple. God, please let Haley sleep. Please let Kit sleep. And help me remember Haley wants to be with Sam—now and forever. I know the truth. I won’t forget. Help me not forget.
“I’ve got you, Haley.” Stephen closed his eyes, embracing both the woman and the moment. For now, for however long Haley slept, he could hold her. Inhale the lavender scent of her hair. Imagine he had the right to be here. Pretend he was someone else—that he was the right brother. The only Ames brother.
twenty-seven
Haley shifted, coming half-awake. What time was it? And why did she feel so . . . safe? She stilled. Someone held her. Someone breathed in tandem with her. The faint scent of lime lingered in the air.
Stephen?
Why was he here, his body molded to hers, offering her unexpected comfort? Protection. And why did it feel so right? In the dim moonlight she could see the outline of his arm across her shoulder, his hand resting on the pillow near her face. Holding her breath, she slipped her hand out from beneath the blankets and rested her fingertips against the back of his hand.
If this was some sort of fever-induced dream—fine. Haley closed her eyes, willing herself back to sleep. She didn’t want to wake up—to lose the fragile peace surrounding her. Not yet.
Kit’s cry broke through the heated haze in Haley’s mind.
She needed to get up. Somehow she needed to repeat the whole feed-Kit-change-Kit-keep-Kit-happy routine again until her daughter fell asleep. Haley started to move and then realized something—someone—was lying next to her.
“I’ll get Kit. Just stay in bed, Haley.”
Just stay in . . . bed?
She forced her aching eyelids to part and turned her head to find Stephen’s face mere inches from hers. She was either dead or dreaming or—she reached out and touched the hair tousled against his forehead. “What are you doing in my bed, Stephen?”
“Um, you asked . . . me to hold you. You were cold.” The mattress shifted as he stood and walked to the foot of the bed.
Haley shoved tangles out of her face. Even her hair felt hot. “Is this a dream?”
Stephen swiped his hand across his face, something between a growl and a sigh shaking his shoulders.
“No. I called you, remember? And after you mentioned you were sick, I drove down from Fort Collins to check on you—found you on the floor by Kit’s crib.” His words were overshadowed by the baby’s cries. “I need to go take care of Kit. She’s probably hungry. I don’t think she’s sick, but I did buy some Pedialyte because the pharmacist suggested it.”
The pharmacist suggested—?
After Stephen disappeared, Haley forced herself upright.
Mistake.
The pounding in her head increased and she pushed back the covers, stumbling to the master bathroom just in time to dry-heave, clinging to the sides of the toilet with shaking arms. After her body stopped rebelling, she leaned against the sink. One thing was certain: she was going to drag those sweatpants back on and pull a hoodie on over her camisole.
“Haley?” Stephen’s voice came through the door. “You okay?”
She leaned against the bathroom door. “Fine. I’m fine.” And she was lying through her clenched teeth. “Did you change Kit’s diaper?”
“Done. Listen, go lie down again. I’m giving her a bottle.”
“I won’t argue with you.”
“You want something to drink? I
brought ginger ale and Sprite—with a chaser of Tylenol.”
“Ginger ale. No ice. Please.”
She counted to sixty and then opened the door and looked out. No Stephen, but she could hear her daughter’s frantic cries all the way from the living room. Poor guy. She slipped into a blue Old Navy hoodie and sweatpants and made her way down the hallway, leaning against the wall when Stephen turned to look at her. Kit had quieted, now that she had what she wanted: a bottle.
“Hey there.” His eyes still held a look she didn’t understand. Or maybe he was just tired.
“Hey. I know. I look awful. I feel even worse.”
“You were burning up when I touched you—I mean, when I felt your forehead.”
Even with a fever, she felt her body flush at the thought of Stephen touching her. She collapsed on the couch, extending her arms for Kit. “Here. Let me take her.”
“No. That’s why I’m here—so that you only have to worry about taking care of yourself.” He nodded to a glass sitting on the coffee table. “Ginger ale and the meds are there. Need anything else?”
“I’m good.”
“I found your physician’s number and talked with the nurse. She said there’s a virus going around and to keep you hydrated, and to use Tylenol for the fever.”
“Well, at least I have a reason for feeling so lousy. Here’s hoping it doesn’t last too long.”
“The nurse said probably a couple of days—and the first day is the worst. I’ll finish feeding Peanut, get her settled, and then be in the kitchen. I want to put the soup on.”
Put the soup on. Of course he did. The man loved being in the kitchen. Haley leaned her head back against the couch, closing her eyes and savoring the sounds of Stephen in her house. He babbled sweet nonsense to Kit as he settled her into the automatic swing, which he’d positioned closer to the kitchen. Cabinets opened and closed as he gathered his supplies, joined by the sound of running water. And then the lure of his voice as he sang to himself in time to the rhythmic chopping of the knife. The comforting aroma of chicken and seasonings escaped from the kitchen. With Stephen here, the house no longer felt empty.
It felt like home.
A tear slipped from beneath her closed eyelids and trailed down her face to her lips, leaving a faint taste of salt. What was she doing, equating Stephen with home?
The longer she sat still, the more a memory crystallized . . . twisting and turning . . . finding no relief from the chills and ache . . . and realizing a man’s arms—Stephen’s arms—embraced her. Remembering his whispered, “I’ve got you, Haley.”
He did. Stephen had her heart in a way Sam never had—her disloyal heart that found safety with Stephen Rogers Ames. And rest.
Home.
“Haley?”
She jerked, her eyes connecting with Stephen’s warm brown ones as he knelt in front of her, offering her the glass of ginger ale. “Did I fall asleep?”
“You’re pretty out of it with that fever. Do you have a thermometer, so we could get a take on just how high your temperature is?”
She sipped the tepid liquid, not surprised that it scraped her throat going down. “In my medicine cabinet.”
“Let me make certain Kit’s all good in the swing.” He bent over his niece, tucking the soft white blanket around her, pausing to coax a smile from her. “Hey there, did you miss your uncle Stephen?”
With Kit content, Stephen came and stood over Haley. “Do you want to go back to bed?”
“What?”
Red stained his entire face. “I mean—if you want to go rest in your bedroom, I’ve got everything under control out here.”
“No . . . here’s fine.”
“Then I’ll get you a blanket and a pillow so you’ll be more comfortable. You want the television on?”
“Something like the Home Shopping Network?”
Her joke eased some of the tightness from Stephen’s jaw. “I was thinking something more like one of those old John Wayne movies you like.”
“Sure—but I’ll probably fall asleep.”
When Stephen returned with the fleece maroon blanket she kept at the end of her bed and one of her pillows, she obeyed his instruction to stretch out on the couch. He arranged the blanket over her and tucked it around her feet. Even though the thermometer revealed she had a temperature of 101.6 degrees, she needed to release Stephen from babysitting Kit—and her.
“You don’t have to stay. I can manage Kit.”
He smoothed the blanket over her shoulders, the warmth of his hand reminding her of waking last night with his arm across her—his hand resting on her pillow. She closed her eyes, praying there was no hint of the emotions warring inside of her. “Of course I do. I have homemade chicken soup on the stove. Do you think I’m going to abandon you and Kit when you’re in this condition?”
“What was I thinking?” She resisted the urge to lean into his touch. She was stronger than this, flu or no flu. “Stephen.”
His eyes searched her face. “Yes?”
“Thank you for being here. For me . . . and Kit, of course.”
“You’re welcome.” His fingers trailed down the side of her face, causing her to shiver. “Still cold?”
“No.” She couldn’t force her voice above a whisper. “I’m not cold.”
“Good. Let me know if you need anything.”
“I will.” Her breath hitched at the comforting sight of his long-legged stride and broad shoulders as he disappeared into the kitchen again.
She wouldn’t be telling him what she needed. She couldn’t. Not when she’d just realized that a part of her heart longed for him.
At least one section of Haley’s fence was a goner.
While snow and ice slicked the secondary roads and I-25, the high winds had sent one of the branches from the tree in the backyard crashing down into the fence. Once “rickety,” part of the back fence was now smashed to bits, covered in an ever-increasing mound of snow. And the homeowners’ association would have more ammunition to force Haley to remove the tree.
When he turned off the kitchen light, moonlight streamed in through the sliding doors. It was ten thirty. Haley was back in her bedroom, sleeping more peacefully now that her fever had subsided. She wouldn’t confuse him with Sam again.
The treacherous roads meant he’d be spending another night with Haley and Kit. He’d already made up the couch with a sheet and some blankets he found among the sparse supplies in the linen closet. And Haley hadn’t noticed when he’d confiscated the baby monitor. He’d taken her cell phone, too. She needed sleep, not conversation.
He stretched out on the couch, tugging the blankets up over his shoulders. Too bad he hadn’t found a toothbrush in the linen closet. Scrubbing his teeth with a toothpaste-laden finger didn’t meet his normal standard of oral hygiene.
He rolled onto his side, his feet resting on the arm of the couch. He’d been more comfortable last night in the bed . . . when Haley thought he was Sam.
But he’d known who Haley was every moment he held her. Even now, the thought of holding Haley . . . cradling her in his arms so she rested against his chest . . . how he woke up to find her turned to face him, her hand resting against the curve of his neck . . . there’d been no going back to sleep then. He’d lain in the bed, his arms around his brother’s widow, and embraced being with Haley. No conflict. No tension. She needed him. He helped her.
And yes, he wanted more. He wanted the “all” of loving Haley.
The clatter of her cell phone against the coffee table disrupted his thoughts. Who would be calling this late? He grabbed the phone, glancing at the display as he answered it. David . . . he was one of Haley’s brothers, right?
“Stephen Ames here.”
Silence.
“Hello?”
“This is David Jordan—Haley’s brother.” The man’s gruff voice was all business. “Should I be concerned that you’re answering my sister’s phone—and it’s almost eleven o’clock?”
“Yo
u’re her brother—of course you should be concerned.” His attempt at humor failed—meeting with more silence. “Sorry. No, you have nothing to worry about.”
“Then why don’t you tell me why you are answering my sister’s phone this late at night?”
Stephen pushed himself upright, the blankets slipping down to his waist. “Haley can’t come to the phone right this minute.”
“I’m waiting for your explanation for that, too.”
“She’s asleep—in her room. I’m on the couch.”
“And why are you even there?”
“I called to check on Haley and Kit yesterday and found out Haley was pretty sick. So I drove down from Fort Collins to check on her.” He scratched at the two days’ worth of growth along his jaw. He should have looked for a razor in Haley’s linen closet. “Then the storm rolled in and the roads are an ice rink, so I’m stranded.”
“Are you telling me nothing inappropriate is going on between you and my sister?”
He thought of the too-brief time when he held Haley as she slept. “Absolutely nothing inappropriate has happened between me and Haley. She’s my sister-in-law.”
“As if that term has anything to do with how you feel about my sister.”
“I think I’m the only one who knows how I feel about your sister.” Stephen pressed his palms against his eyes. He shouldn’t have said that.
“You’re not fooling me, Ames.” Haley’s brother sounded way too sure of himself. “Look, we’re both men. No guy drives a couple of hours just to ‘check’ on his sister-in-law. We don’t talk about relationships and feelings—but my mother does. And she thinks you’re falling in love with my little sister. The question is, what are you going to do about it?”
“You seem to forget Haley was married to my brother—”
“Hardly.” David’s response waved off Stephen’s reminder. “And by that I mean, at times it seemed like they were hardly married.”
“Were you around to see them together?”
