The Baby Twins Read online

  Groaning, Steph covered her eyes with the heels of her hands. "I've known I needed a new roof for a while now, but was hoping to hold off until next summer."

  "Maybe it'll stop." As if his hopeful words had dared it to worsen, now, instead of there being a drip, water fell in more of a dribbled stream. "Did Michael have any tools?"

  "Sure? Why?" She knelt before a bottom cabinet, removing a bowl to try catching some of the mess.

  "It won't last until summer, but how about I put on a patch that will at least stop the leak until morning when you can get someone out here to look at it."

  "No," she said with a firm shake of her head. Her one word was punctuated by a fresh roll of thunder. "Absolutely not. If you don't get struck by lightning, you'll catch your death of cold."

  "Tools in the garage?" he asked, already headed toward a door tucked into a corner of the kitchen that would no doubt lead that way. "A tarp, staple gun and ladder should have you fixed up in no time."

  "Yes, we've got all of that, but—Brady, please don't go outside in this." Her voice had taken on an extreme edge. As if a part of her honestly believed he wasn't coming back. The mission was admittedly unpleasant, but the roof's pitch was shallow and he'd always been steady on his feet.

  Hand gripping the side of the open garage door, he said, "I'm touched by your concern, but I promise, I'll be fine."

  When he turned to glance at Stephanie, he groaned at the sight of her tears.

  Chapter Eight

  Stephanie fought to keep hold of her composure as she listened to the sound of Brady clomping around on the roof in the middle of a thunderstorm. More than anyone, she knew just how easily promises could be broken. How good intentions had nothing to do with fate deciding it was your turn to go.

  She'd made coffee, but her hands trembled to such a degree that she gave up on trying to hold the mug.

  Pacing, wringing her hands at her waist, praying and praying for the lightning and thunder and rain to stop even though the storm only worsened, Stephanie was on the verge of calling 9-1-1 when the door to the garage opened and then shut.

  Relief shimmered through her.

  Running to him, not caring that he was dripping head to toe, she hugged him and hugged him and cried hard enough to drown out the storm, if only for a moment. "I—I was so afraid y-you weren't coming back."

  With his wet hands, he cupped her face. "Whoa. Where's this coming from? I couldn't have been out there more than fifteen minutes."

  "I—I know," she said through hiccups and sniffles, "but Michael promised he'd be back, and—"

  "Are you having another panic attack?"

  "No." She vehemently shook her head. "I'm over those. Remember how great I did both ways to Seattle?"

  "Yeah…but this—Steph, you're not being rational. I suppose something could've happened to me, but if you think about it realistically, the odds were pretty slim."

  Even so, she couldn't release her hold on his waist.

  "Steph—" one-by-one he pried her fingers away "—you have to let go. I need to dry off, and make sure the tarp stopped the leak."

  Fighting the wave of exhaustion that followed extreme fear, she reluctantly let him go.

  "I'm not Michael," he said, wiping down his face with a dish towel he'd taken from the counter. "You get that, don't you?"

  "Of course. What? Do you think I'm certifiable?"

  He paused. "No." When she scowled, he added, "I'm just worried about you. Maybe you need to find some one to talk with. Like a professional."

  Turning away, she folded her arms tightly across her chest. "I've been to my family doctor, and she says this sort of thing is perfectly normal."

  Heart aching for her, he ran the towel over his hair before wadding it into a ball he pitched into the sink. "I'm normal, Brady. There's nothing wrong with me. In fact, what kind of friend would I be if I hadn't been worried about you?"

  "You're right." He backed away.

  "Come on," she said, needing out of the cramped kitchen and away from his concerned stare, "I'll show you your room and find you dry clothes."

  "How about a hot shower?" He knelt to unlace soggy brown leather boots. The socks he peeled off formed small lakes on the linoleum floor.

  "Sure." Leading him to the hall bathroom, she handed him a clean, white terry cloth robe. "Give me all of your wet things, and I'll wash them."

  He grunted thanks before closing himself into the hall bathroom.

  A minute later, he opened the door a crack. "You out there?"

  She took his clothes and retreated to the laundry room, wondering how to best get through the night. Turned out, she needn't have worried, because by the time she finished rounding up enough dark clothes to start his load, he'd already crashed on the guest-room bed.

  When her alarm went off at five-thirty, she bolted out of bed, intent on finding him, but the bed was neatly made and Brady was gone. The only proof of him ever having been in her home was a simple note, thanking her for letting him stay.

  * * *

  "YOU'RE THE SMARTEST ever," Brady overheard Lola gushing into her cell phone. He'd just taken a load of towels from the drier and was now in his room, folding.

  Though her bedroom door was closed, she talked loud enough that no doubt the neighbors caught her every word, as well.

  It'd been a week since he'd left Steph's house in the middle of the night. He'd felt bad about sneaking off, but he'd been rethinking his decision to fly Steph to Seattle. She clearly wasn't ready to move on. He wanted—intended—to help her. But how?

  Still in her room, Lola laughed so hard, she snorted. "Everything you said turned out to be right. Dad's like dating this lady, and my mom's like freaking out."

  Brady cringed.

  Please, God, tell him he hadn't heard what he thought he just had….

  "No, for real, Mom was all like asking me what this lady looked like and everything, and even better, Dad was all like buying me anything I wanted. It's great, and I—"

  Abandoning the towels, Brady opened the door to his daughter's room. "Give me the phone. Now."

  "No way." She covered the mouthpiece. "Dad!"

  "Now." He held his hand out, palm up, directly in front of her face.

  "Becky, I've gotta go." Flipping her phone shut, she placed it in his hand. "There. Happy?"

  "Not even close." Pocketing the phone, he pointed toward the living room. "Step into my office. We're going to talk."

  "I was just joking."

  If his blood boiled any harder, he'd stroke out.

  When a rapid count to ten did nothing to calm him, he changed gears. "On second thought, pack up your stuff. Let's have this conversation with your mother."

  "But it's early," she whined. "If I go home now, I'll have to start my science-fair project."

  If Brady had his way, she'd be grounded for the next month. Meaning Lola and her volcano study would soon be BFFs.

  * * *

  "NOT ONLY IS SHE FULL OF SASS, Clarissa, but she's manipulative." With their daughter in her room, cleaning out the guinea pig cage she was supposed to have handled before taking off with him on Friday afternoon, Brady stood in the kitchen, his back to the counter, both hands rammed in his pockets. "She needs to be grounded for several weeks."

  His ex-wife didn't even slow down with mincing green peppers for a salad. "You can't ground her for more than a few days for general disrespect and dissing your new girlfriend."

  "Steph's not my girlfriend. You knew her, too. She needed help and I was there for her."

  Clarissa's narrow-eyed glare left no doubt as to where his little girl had picked up her knack for sarcasm. "That why you spent half of Lola's college fund on airplane fuel, flying Stephanie out here?" She grabbed a carrot, now chopping harder.

  "You know damned well that part of that inheritance included a fuel stipend."

  Still chopping, she rolled her eyes. "Seems like an awful big step on the dating ladder to me."

  "You're jealous, aren
't you?"

  "Not even a smidge. What I am is pissed that you made the poor decision to take what was supposed to have been a special night for Lola and turned it into a make-out session."

  "What?"

  "Oh—don't even try denying it." Annihilating a cucumber, she added, "Lola told me everything. How you and Steph left the concert and Lola had to go out looking for you once it was over, because—"

  "This is B.S. Steph and I left the show for maybe fifteen minutes to grab a hot dog. Lola knew exactly where I was, and I never left the arena. So let's add lying to her list of sins."

  "Know what I think?" Clarissa asked, knife still in hand and pointing in his direction.

  "Please, enlighten me…"

  Ignoring his ticked-off tone, she said, "I think you're the one lying to cover your sin of using a night out with your daughter for a date."

  "Get it through your thick head, what Steph and I shared wasn't a date. And so what if it had been? We both know how it played out between us, Riss. God only knows what you and my brother did in front of Lola."

  "Yeah, because you were never here. What was I supposed to do? Raise Lola by myself? But wait, even when you were here, I pretty much did that anyway."

  "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. When I was home, I was always here for you and Lola."

  "Your body might've been here, but that's the extent of it. Emotionally, you'd checked out."

  Jaw clenched, Brady struggled for the right comeback. "What else was I supposed to do? You were cheating on me with my frigging brother."

  "Face it, Brady, you were a horrible husband. Always leading a double life. You acted as if I was an imposition to your layover extracurricular activities. Once Lola came into the picture, I thought it would get better, but it didn't. Like it or not, your actions drove me to your brother."

  * * *

  "This was such a great surprise." On a bright Sunday morning, Stephanie had parked her minivan in front of the Valley View Municipal Airport, and now hopped out, running a few feet to give Brady a hug. His 7:00 a.m. call, asking if it'd be all right for him to visit, had been as unexpected as it was welcome. It'd been a while since she'd seen him, and truthfully, she was beginning to wonder if he'd ever call again. Her friend Gabby had urged her to make the first move, but in light of the way he'd left in the middle of the night, Stephanie decided to bow out gracefully. "I thought I'd scared you off."

  "Never," he said. "It takes a lot more than crying about late-night roof repairs to make me bolt."

  She laughed, which felt remarkably good.

  "Speaking of which…" They both headed for the van. "Ever get it properly fixed?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Good. I worried about you."

  He worried? The notion warmed her.

  In the van, he tossed his satchel on the floor behind the passenger seat and then played goofball by formally introducing himself to her girls. "Ladies, I don't have a clue which of you is Michaela and which is Melanie, but regardless, I'm Brady and it's a pleasure finally meeting you."

  Always ready to ham it up for a good-looking boy, Michaela giggled and cooed. Melanie, however, turned shy, hiding behind her stuffed strawberry squeeze toy.

  "I'm glad at least one of them seems not to hate me," he teased.

  Smiling, putting the van into Reverse, Stephanie backed out of her space, eager to get started on their fun day. "Sure you don't mind tagging along with us to the zoo?"

  "It'll be fun," he assured. "I haven't been in years."

  "On a day as pretty as this, it's bound to be crowded. Lucky for us, the girls' stroller doubles as a battering ram."

  Glancing over to see him grin, her stomach flip-flopped. Maybe it was just because they shared a confined space, but he seemed bigger than she remembered. Larger than life. Broad shoulders and a strong chest and arms capable of holding her irrational fears at bay. His dark hair was its usual rumpled mess and though sunglasses hid his brown eyes, her memory of them contributed further to her racing pulse. He might be just a friend, but he was certainly a good-looking one!

  * * *

  "WHAT'RE YOU DOING?" BRADY glanced up to see Stephanie hustling from the restroom. Seated on a picnic bench at a snack concession, he'd been temporarily left in charge and seized the opportunity to introduce the twins to cotton candy. Clearly by the size of their smiles, the sugar had already kicked in.

  "They were hungry."

  "My friend Olivia's a walking encyclopedia on babies, and she says sugar is a definite no-no at this age. It stays in their mouths and causes tooth decay."

  "They barely have any teeth," he was glad to point out.

  "Of course they do. You just can't see them."

  "Uh-huh…" He fed them each another puff of pink sugar.

  Still scowling, she sat alongside him on the bench, seemingly oblivious to the riot her proximity caused inside him. Being here with her and finally getting to meet the twins he'd heard so much about, brought new meaning to the word confused. When he'd last seen Stephanie, she'd seemed a bit emotional and nowhere near over Michael's death. Not that he'd ever been one to shy from a friend in need, but with his own issues over Lola, additional drama wasn't on his wish list. What was, however, were many more afternoons wiled away like this. On a deeper level…He couldn't help himself. He had to see her. Make sure she was holding up. Knowing she and her girls were amazing, not even the scent of elephant poop drifting along with a light breeze could bring him down.

  At least until another unmistakable smell cropped up…

  Nose wrinkled, he looked to the girls. "Is that what I think it is?"

  Melanie grinned.

  * * *

  "SORRY ABOUT THIS," STEPHANIE said, pulling her mini van into the garage. The twins had cried the entire way home from the zoo. No amount of kid sing-a-long CDs or teething rings or bottles seemed to help. "Usually they love riding in the car."

  "It happens," Brady said, looking a little dazed from the noise. She hoped it hadn't turned him off for making a return trip. Though visiting the zoo with her girls was always a treat, today, the brightness in their eyes when the giraffe leaned extra close to the fence made the outing extra special. "What do you think's the problem?"

  "Maybe they're hungry for solid food." Once each of the grown-ups had a baby in arm, Stephanie led the way into the kitchen, placing Michaela in her high chair. The infant quieted, but was still red-faced and huffing.

  Melanie did the same. "Ever noticed," Brady said after clicking her safety harness into place, "how babies have this way of looking at you with complete and utter scorn when you finally figure out what it is they've been hollering about? Like they resent you for not getting the memo sooner?"

  "As a matter of fact," Steph said laughing, already on her way to the upper cabinet where she stored baby food, "I have noticed. Which is why I'm now hustling to bow to their bidding. Our eardrums have been punished enough."

  "Amen." Brady pulled out a chair from the kitchen table, parking it next to Michaela. "I don't think I was ever happier than when Lola was a baby."

  "How old was she when Clarissa…"

  "Two." Voice taking on a wistful note, he wrapped his pinkie around one of Michaela's springy blond curls. "It was such a fun age. She was into everything. Flipping switches and turning knobs. We were constantly baby proofing."

  "Sounds like I'll have my work cut out for me."

  "And then some."

  A few minutes later, Stephanie joined him, placing divided plates of food on each girl's tray, along with the silver spoons Aunt Olivia had insisted every little girl have. Turning to Brady, she asked, "Want to help feed them?"

  Grinning, he snatched up Michaela's spoon. "Thought you'd never ask."

  Fifteen minutes later, he had more pureed pork, carrots, yams and blueberries on himself than in the girls' bellies.

  "They like you," Stephanie said, holding a spoon up to Melanie's grinning mouth.

  Michaela shrieked, bucking and kicking i
n her high chair.

  Her every movement covered him in more goop.

  "Is she always this spirited?" he asked.

  "Usually not. She especially enjoys the company of boys of all ages. Whenever the girls and I hang out with my friends Dane and Gabby and Olivia and Tag, she gravitates toward the guys." After a few moments of silence, she added, "Makes me wonder if she would've been a daddy's girl."

  "Possibly," he said, "but that doesn't mean she loves you any less."

  "I know. It just hurts. Thinking of the relationship she and Michael might've had."

  Brady wasn't sure how to reply. Or even if more talk was necessary. All three Olmstead ladies had landed a rotten deal by losing the man of their family. The thought of which made his own situation—having been easily replaced—all the more aggravating.

  "Okay," Steph said once Melanie joined her sister in slapping more food in her wooden high-chair tray than eating. "Looks like you two are full. Time to clean up."

  "Need help?" Brady asked, already popping the tray from Michaela's seat.

  "Absolutely."

  * * *

  ONCE BATH TIME HAD BEEN finished, and together they'd read stories to the girls and then tucked them snugly into their cribs, Stephanie gestured for Brady to leave the nursery. She followed, closing the door behind her.

  In the living room, while Brady collapsed onto the sofa, she picked up the toys the girls had scattered before their outing.

  "Don't you ever relax?" he asked, patting the seat alongside him.

  "Sometimes." She sat next to him, but not too close. While feeding the twins, his proximity had been disconcerting. His citrus and leather scent too delicious for words.

  "Like when?" he prodded with a breathtaking smile. "I mean, I get that you probably do lots of stuff like today, but what do you do for you?"

  "I used to read or knit, but lately, I'm so exhausted after putting the girls to bed that I usually veg out in front of the TV."

  "Sounds fun." His deadpan tone told a different story.

  "Oh—" Angling to face him, she asked, "What do you do that's so much more entertaining?"