by Beth K. Vogt
“Something wrong, Chaz?”
“You tell me.”
Haley tugged at the brim of her cap, causing Chaz to drop his hand from her arm. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I’ve heard some things . . .”
“You’ve heard some things—what, am I supposed to guess what’s bothering you?” The thought that people were talking about her and Stephen caused her heart to pound, while a flush worked its way up her neck.
“Are you involved with Stephen Ames?”
“Am I involved with— That’s a ridiculous question. He’s Kit’s uncle; of course I’m involved with him.”
“I mean romantically.”
“Do you hear yourself ? This conversation could be taking place between two middle-schoolers.” Haley shut the rear door. Stepping around Chaz, she walked to the front driver’s-side door, opening it and starting to slide in. Chaz followed her, preventing her from closing the door by grabbing on to it.
“You’re evading my questions, Hal.”
“I don’t have to answer to you.”
“You’re smarter than this—at least, Sam always said you were. Do you realize how wrong it would be if you got involved with Sam’s twin brother? It’d be like you were dating—marrying—Sam all over again. Is that really what you want to do?”
“I’m not dating—or marrying—anyone.”
“You want to explain why Ames spent the night—two nights—at your house?”
Haley straightened up so that she stood eye to eye with Chaz. How did he know that? Did Finn say something? “I do not have to explain anything to you—or anyone else. Stop assuming things.” She ducked into the car, hoping Chaz didn’t see the red staining her face. Because she and Stephen had slept together—but not in the sleazy way he was thinking. “Could you let go of my door, please? I’d like to get home before Kit wakes up.”
“I’m talking to you as Sam’s friend—”
“This conversation is over.” She slammed the door and started the engine, staring straight ahead until Chaz stalked past her and into the building.
So she and Stephen were now the hot topic among Sam’s friends. She shouldn’t have been surprised. Hurt, yes, but not surprised. The military was a close-knit family and Sam’s buddies cared about her. They’d offered to help her in so many ways after Sam’s death—to mow her lawn, help her move, unpack, paint rooms. But her repeated refrain of “I can handle it” had stalled their efforts. After all, she was Sam Ames’s wife. He’d told everyone how independent she was. She wasn’t going to let him down—in life or death.
twenty-nine
Stephen stood on Haley’s porch, hands on his hips, and stared at the front door. He’d knocked and waited. Knocked again. Had they gone all the way back to square one, with Haley avoiding him?
They hadn’t talked in three days—not that he hadn’t tried. All of his calls went straight to voice mail. He’d never thought Haley would be a coward, but what other explanation was there for her avoiding him? She knew he was coming down this weekend—and that he usually pulled into her driveway around ten in the morning. Surely she didn’t think he’d back out just because they’d disagreed about Sam’s memorial service.
Stephen did an about-face and looked up the street. Sunshine backlit the pale green leaves budding on the trees throughout the neighborhood, the outline of the Front Range stretching across a cloudless blue sky. Was she running errands? Or had she been lured outside by the warm spring weather? Maybe taken Peanut for a walk to the park?
He could camp out on the porch. Or he could get back in his car and cruise around the neighborhood, but the thought of getting back in the Mustang after a two-hour drive from Fort Collins made his backside ache.
Looked like he was going for a walk, which gave him more time to rehearse what he was going to say to Haley. Something along the lines of “I’m sorry” and “Please understand.” All they needed was a chance to talk about the memorial service again. He didn’t want to upset her, but he did want this opportunity to honor his brother. Surely they could figure out a way to agree.
When he first showed up on Haley’s doorstep back in January, Stephen wanted to discover who Sam had become. Now he wanted more—he wanted closure. He knew his brother was gone. Stephen carried the weight of his loss with him every hour of the day—a silent companion that shadowed him, in the same way Sam had shadowed him during all the years of their estrangement. He could only hope if he sat among a group of fellow mourners . . . if he let the ache soak into his soul through someone else’s memories of Sam . . . if he leaned into the chords of music . . . if he listened to the truth-filled scriptures chosen to comfort hearts torn asunder by such a violent, sudden loss . . . then he could let his brother go—and embrace the future.
As he neared the park tucked inside the shade of harboring trees, Stephen spotted Haley, sitting on a wooden bench, using her foot to push Kit’s stroller back and forth. Her loose hair spilled across her shoulder, shining against the green long-sleeved top she wore over a pair of jeans that were torn at the knee.
How had he fallen in love with this woman?
The question ambushed him so he couldn’t deny the truth any longer: He loved Haley. Not as a sister-in-law. Not because she was Kit’s mother. But simply because of who she was—an intriguing, independent, junk-food-eating, funny woman who sometimes admitted she needed his help. The visits to check on his niece had become mere excuses to see Haley, to spend time with her.
Did he dare reveal his heart? Was Haley ready to love again—and was it too much to expect that she could love him when he was a walking, talking replica of Sam?
The sound of his footsteps on the sidewalk drew Haley’s attention. A smile skimmed her lips, but he saw how she glanced away, unable to hold his gaze. How she grasped the edge of the bench as if to steady herself.
“Hey.” Nothing like a basic, nonconfrontational greeting.
“Hey, yourself.” Another half smile that disappeared before her eyes met his. “Kit was fussy, so I took her for a walk. I didn’t realize how late it was.”
“No problem. I found you.”
“That you did.” She scooted to the end of the bench as he sat down beside her. He was not going to read too much into that. “If you tried to call, I’m sorry. I walked out without grabbing my phone.”
“It happens.” Stephen nodded toward the stroller. “Peanut enjoying the outdoors?”
“She’s sound asleep.”
Stephen leaned forward to peek at his niece, catching the outline of her face as she nestled in the stroller, tucked beneath a quilted blanket, her head covered with a pale purple hat. “She gets more adorable every time I see her. I didn’t think that was possible.”
As he spoke, he turned his head, unaware that Haley had moved forward to look at Kit, too. Any effort to maintain a casual front disappeared as the air around them stilled. Filled with something he no longer wanted to deny—or control.
“Haley—”
“Yes?”
He forced himself to go slowly, watching Haley’s reaction as he allowed himself to finally dare . . . to risk . . . kissing her. He reached up, sliding a hand beneath her hair, along the soft skin at the nape of her neck. She stared at him, her blue eyes wide. She didn’t move toward him—but she didn’t back away from him, either.
For all the reasons the kiss was wrong, the rightness of it overwhelmed him. How had he waited this long to kiss this woman? They watched one another as he urged her closer, tangling his fingers in the soft strands of her hair, until he closed his eyes so he could savor the feel of his mouth against hers. He only allowed himself to touch Haley’s hair, the soft curve of her cheekbones, even as he fought the urge to pull her into his arms. Her lips parted beneath his, and he explored how she tasted of something sweet . . . something warm—and how she responded to him, her arms circling around his back and pulling him closer.
There was no urgency in Stephen’s kiss.
Haley’s e
yes closed at the first brush of his mouth against hers, the familiar scent of his cologne tempting her to rest in his arms . . . to acknowledge how much she wanted Stephen to kiss her. She wanted to lean into his gentle caress against her skin, but that would mean interrupting their kiss—and the urging of Stephen’s lips creating a sweet longing in Haley for more.
The embrace caught her off guard. Not that Stephen kissed her now—here, in the park. But that he kissed her as if nothing else mattered but them. As if he had nothing else to do but kiss her once . . . twice . . . until she couldn’t catch her breath, until their hearts beat together and she felt safe enough to admit that she loved him.
Sam’s kisses—their lovemaking—had always felt hurried, as if they could be interrupted at any moment. She’d felt like a disruption to Sam’s life . . .
Sam.
She pushed Stephen away. “Stop. Stop.”
His arms loosened enough to let her regain her balance, but he didn’t release her. When she tried to avert her face, he captured her chin in his fingers and forced her to look at him. “You kissed me—me. Admit it, Haley. That kiss was between you and me—not Sam’s ghost.”
She closed her eyes, resisting the temptation entwined with lime and the morning breeze. Made herself look at Stephen. “I know exactly who I kissed, Stephen. That doesn’t make it right.”
“Sam’s not here anymore. There’s no law, on earth or in heaven, that says loving each other is wrong.”
“I say it’s wrong.” She pressed her fingers against her eyes. No tears. “I promised to honor Sam all the days of my life—that’s what’s in the Bible. Sam never knew he was going to be a father—but Kit is going to know her dad.”
His fingers dug into her shoulders. “And you think I would stop you from doing that?”
“How would I explain who Sam was and who you are? Don’t you see how confusing it would be to her?”
“Not if we handled it right. We can do this, Haley. Together—with God. We can do this.”
“I can’t.”
As she tried to stand, Stephen gripped her wrist, halting her escape. “What happened to you when Sam died?”
“What do you mean?”
“Did you die, too? Did you bury your heart in Sam’s casket?”
“Don’t be ridiculous—”
“I’m serious.” His grasp held her prisoner, forcing her to listen. “I’ve never seen you cry for my brother. There’s one photo of you and him. One. It’s almost as if the marriage never happened. As if Sam never existed—and yet, he’s the barrier between you and me.”
Haley twisted out of his grasp, pushing the stroller away from the bench. “I’m going home.”
“Run. Don’t fight for our relationship. Is this how you handled things with Sam? Walked away when things got tough?”
His words caused her to turn and pace back to him, the stroke of the breeze in her hair reminding her of Stephen’s touch. “You know nothing about my marriage to Sam. Nothing.”
“That’s right, because you don’t talk about it—except when you want to push me away. Did you even love my brother?”
“I did . . . I just don’t know why he loved me.”
Should he go after her? Should he let her be?
Haley never looked back. Back rigid. Her stride sure as she pushed the stroller ahead of her as the breeze fingered the long strands of her hair. He was all kinds of a fool to have kissed Haley—he was left longing for more, so much more than one kiss. And she couldn’t see a future with him because of her past with Sam.
What had she said? “I just don’t know why he loved me.”
What did she mean? Sam had married her—they’d had three years together. Why would she doubt that his brother loved her?
By the time Stephen followed Haley back home, she was nowhere in sight. Again.
Stephen paced slow circles around his Mustang. Should he get in his car and retreat north to Fort Collins? Or should he start repairing the back fence, as he’d promised Haley? If he left, then he was back to phone calls—if Haley even answered. But if he stuck around, made himself useful, maybe they’d have a chance to talk.
He was a man of his word. He punched the code into the garage keypad. He’d make a pit stop, grab a bottle of water, and then make a list of supplies to resurrect the part of the fence that had fallen down in the storm.
As he entered the living room, Haley appeared in the hallway, carrying the baby monitor—and a gun case. Stephen jammed his hands into his back pockets, battling the urge to wrap his arms around her. To woo her with words of assurance and love—and more kisses.
“Are you still planning on working on the fence?” She paused in the archway of the unlit hall, hidden in the shadows so he couldn’t see her face, shifting from one foot to the other.
“That’s the plan. I’ll cut up the dead branch, bundle it up for the trash. Don’t want to give Sterling another reason to write you up.”
She huffed a humorless laugh. “Oh, that letter already arrived. The man is nothing if not consistent. I think he must drive by my house on a daily basis.”
“What’s the problem of the week this time?”
“He still wants me to cut down the entire tree in the backyard.”
“The tree house tree?” Stephen looked across the room and out the sliding glass doors at the huge tree.
“That’s the one.”
“Why?”
“He said it’s dead—and therefore it’s a neighborhood risk.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“What do you mean, what am I going to do? You don’t think I’m going to let Sterling bully me into taking the tree down, do you? I’ve humored him for months—but that tree is fine. It just needs time. And I’m going to put the tree house in it.”
“Don’t you think it looks a little sickly?”
“The blooming season comes late in Colorado, that’s all.” She shook her head. “I don’t want to discuss it anymore. Do you, um, think you could listen in on Kit? I reserved an hour at the range.”
So her plan was evasive maneuvers. “No problem.” He took the monitor, aware of how she avoided making eye contact with him. “I’ll check the fence, figure out my supplies, and go out and get them when you get back.”
“Oh. I wasn’t thinking—now you’re stuck here. I could call Claire or—”
“It’s not a problem, Haley. I have other things to work on besides the fence, remember?”
“Fine.” She skirted past him with her head down. “Thanks. I won’t be gone long.”
He risked walking over to her, praying she wouldn’t bolt and slam the door in his face. “Haley, what happened at the park—”
“I can’t talk about it.”
“Then let me say this: I’m sorry I upset you. If you aren’t ready for what’s happening between us—” He reached out and brushed a strand of hair away from her face, but his action only caused her to startle and jerk away. “—I’m willing to wait. How I feel about you isn’t going to change.”
“I have to go.”
He stepped back. “I’ll be here.”
“I know.”
thirty
Why did the shooting range feel like home?
After pulling her hair back into a haphazard ponytail, Haley slid the protective glasses over her eyes and then positioned the noise-canceling earmuffs on her head. She’d claimed the lane at the far end of the range and had an entire hour to focus on one thing: the target she’d loaded on the mechanical pulley. She pushed the button and sent the paper with the blue figure of a man drawn on it ten yards downrange.
In the stalls beside her, club members were already taking aim and firing. The sounds of gunfire echoed throughout the area, muffled by her protective gear. Haley set her case on the wooden ledge in front of her, snapping the locks and removing her SIG Sauer 9mm. With deliberate precision, she loaded ammunition into the magazine and slid it into the grip.
Routine. Familiar. Easy.
&n
bsp; She settled into her stance and raised her arms, her right hand around the grip and her left hand supporting it, looking down the sights.
Inhale.
Exhale.
By the time she emptied the clip, the one-dimensional, faceless man on the target was dead. What was the use of firing a gun if you didn’t shoot straight and true?
With the push of a button, she put the target in motion. Once it reached her, she methodically covered each gunshot “wound” with a piece of black duct tape. Nice cluster of shots right where a man’s heart would be. Winged on the right shoulder. Grazed the forehead.
She sent the target back down the range, five feet farther away. With the sounds of other shooters as a backdrop, she pushed the magazine release with her thumb. Reloaded. Positioned herself again, relaxing her shoulders before raising her arms.
“I’ve never seen you cry for my brother.”
The echo of Stephen’s voice caused her hand to tremble.
Stephen Rogers Ames needed to get out of her head.
She steadied her hand. Squeezed the trigger.
Not her best shot, but she had plenty of ammo.
Shoot. Tape. Reload. Repeat.
Don’t think.
Don’t think.
She didn’t have any answers. The only person who could answer the questions that haunted her was dead and buried.
She replaced the shredded target with a fresh one. Sent it downrange. Loaded her gun. She still had time . . . and ammo.
“Did you even love my brother?”
She pushed the button so the target advanced toward her. Raised her gun and shot as if the piece of paper was a man who’d invaded her home in the middle of the night and cornered her in Kit’s bedroom.
Not one foot closer. Not. One. Foot.
The target stopped its forward motion when it reached the end of the track, inches from the barrel of her gun. She lowered her arms, released the magazine. Checked to make sure the chamber was clear. Laid the gun down. Stared straight ahead, ignoring the tears streaming down her face as she clutched the edge of the wooden ledge.
