Somebody Like You (31 page)

“Just today—it is still Thursday, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Is anyone there helping you with Peanut?”

“Just me.” She needed to end this phone call. There was no
way she could make it to the bathroom if she kept chatting with Stephen. “Listen, I’ve got to go—thanks for calling.”

She tossed the phone on the ground and, with one last glance to make sure Kit was asleep, crawled to the bathroom. It looked as if that was going to be the routine for at least the next twenty-four hours—bathroom, check on the baby, bathroom, check on the baby. And repeat.

Wait. Haley hadn’t hung up the phone.

He could hear her moving . . . was she groaning?

“Haley! Haley, pick up the phone!” Stephen put the phone away from his ear and looked—yep, he was still on the line, but Haley didn’t realize that. “Haley!”

He disconnected, his fingers fisting around the phone. What should he do? He could call one of Haley’s friends—if he had any of their phone numbers. But had he thought to put Claire’s information in his contact list after Kit was born? No.

He stared out the window, tapping the phone against his leg. Colorado Springs was two hours away. If he left now, he’d beat rush hour and be there by four at the latest. No time to waste.

Every driver between Fort Collins and the Springs played defensive lineman, blocking him from getting to Haley’s. And then there were the rubberneckers slowing down to look at the three-car pileup on I-25, stalling things even more. But even with the delays, Stephen forced himself to pull into the Safeway parking lot.

The first snowflakes started falling as he ran into the grocery store, grabbed a cart, and dashed through the aisles. Tossed in a twelve-pack of ginger ale. Added a twelve-pack of Sprite. Sprinted several aisles over and tossed in a box of saltines. Stood with his fingers drumming on the cart handle and tried to remember
what his stepmother fed him when he was sick. Soup. He needed chicken noodle soup. In the soup aisle, he swept half a dozen cans off the shelf, the cans clattering into the cart and just missing crushing the box of crackers. As he moved on down the aisle, he grabbed a few cans of beef vegetable because he was going to have to eat something, and knowing Haley, he’d be lucky if there was anything more than mac and cheese in the house.

He added a roasted chicken and some celery and carrots and an onion. Canned soup was one thing—once he got Haley and Kit settled, he’d start a pot of good, old-fashioned soup like Mama would make. Well, like he could make.

Kit.

He headed for the baby-product aisle. Tossed in diapers, guessing the appropriate size. Wipes. Added a little plush tiger because, well, he was her uncle and why not?

Wait.

Was the baby sick?

He wheeled the cart over to the pharmacy, waiting while a portly man with a single tuft of white hair on the top of his head discussed a long list of prescriptions with the pharmacist. After five minutes, the pharmacist tossed a smile at Stephen, who could do nothing but shrug. He had to ask the question, despite the minutes quite literally ticking away before his eyes on the clock hanging on the wall behind her.

When the man finally shuffled off with two bags of medications, Stephen moved forward, vowing to up his bran intake and decrease his simple sugars.

“Do you have a prescription?”

“No. A question.” He drummed his fingers on the handle of the cart again, trying to remember how he’d rehearsed the question in his head. “What do I do if a baby is sick?”

“Is she running a temperature?”

“I don’t know. Her mom is.”

“Well, just because the mom is sick doesn’t mean the baby will get sick, too. How old is the baby?”

“Two months.”

The pharmacist looked at him, glanced at his left hand, as if trying to determine whether he was some clueless husband.

“I’m the baby’s uncle.”
Oh, great.
The “uncle.”
“My brother—the baby’s father—was killed in Afghanistan.” As if the woman needed all this information. “I just talked to my sister-in-law—” Could this get any more convoluted? “—and I found out she’s sick.” He moved the cart back and forth. “I’m bringing her supplies, and I was wondering what I should take for the baby.”

“Oh. How sweet.” A smile transformed the woman’s face from suspicious to compassionate. “Make sure your sister-in-law stays up on fluids. Tea, water. And you might want to get some Pedialyte just in case the baby does get sick.”

“Pedialyte?”

“Let me show you where it is.” She came out from behind the counter and led him several aisles over. “Pedialyte is good for preventing dehydration in babies.”

By the time he got to the self-checkout line, almost half an hour had elapsed. He passed a display of bouquets. He’d almost forgotten the no-frills flowers.

The snowfall was increasing when he left the grocery store, and by the time he pulled his Mustang into the driveway the roads were starting to slick up. He grabbed a bag of groceries and half walked, half slid to the garage, punching the code into the keypad, depositing the bag of groceries just inside. He made two more quick trips to the car and then closed the garage door.

He shucked off his wet shoes in the laundry room, doing a visual sweep of the living room as he carried in the groceries. The house was still. Quiet. “Haley?”

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.

H
aley 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.