Somebody Like You (35 page)

There was no urgency in Stephen’s kiss.

Haley’s eyes 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.”

W
hy 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.

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.

How dare Stephen ask out loud the question that scared her the most? Had she loved Sam? A man who came and went at the will of the military? Who seemed so happy when he shouldered his duffel bag and joined his comrades and flew thousands of miles away from her? Was lasting love possible when you spent more nights cradling your pillow in your arms than resting in the warmth of your husband’s embrace?

She’d never know because Sam didn’t come home.

He hadn’t loved her enough to walk away from the military.

“. . . need to tell . . . something, Hal.” Static interrupted Sam’s words.

Haley pressed the phone closer to her ear. Wretched connection. “Okay, I’m listening.”

“I re-upped. Signed . . . papers yesterday.”

Haley closed her eyes, clenching the phone with her fist. What had he said? “But we agreed to talk about the decision some more—”

“The bonus . . . good to pass up, babe . . . you not see that?” His voice rumbled across the phone line. “We put it in the bank . . . when I get out, we can buy that house you’re always . . .”

She kept her eyes closed, unwilling to face the reality that she’d be renewing the lease on a ground-floor, 650-square-foot apartment with avocado-green carpeting and an upstairs neighbor who exercised at five in the morning and thought nothing of walking around in high heels at all hours of the day and night. And she could only hope the neighbors next door learned the meaning of the words
vocal restraint.