Counting Stars

by Michele Paige Holmes

  The officer held up his hand to stop her. “I heard about you. Have a seat and I’ll tell Detective Mitchell you’re here.”

  “I thought we’d taken care of everything at the house,” Jane said anxiously.

  “Just a formality, miss.” He picked up the phone.

  Jane nodded and took a seat, restraining herself from digging through her purse for another candy bar.

  Five minutes passed before Peter walked into the lobby.

  “Hi,” he said, looking down at her.

  “Hi,” she said, standing. “Are you um—all done?”

  “Free to go,” Pete said. “Unless you’ve come to press charges.”

  Instead of rising to his bait, Jane clutched her purse and walked past him to the parking lot. Pulling her keys from her coat pocket, she unlocked the passenger-side door. She turned and found herself face-to-face with Pete.

  For a split second their eyes met, then he stepped back and opened the car door.

  “I should have said thank you for coming to pick me up. I thought I’d have to wait until my boss was back from his date with his wife. ”

  “You’re welcome,” Jane said stiffly. “I’m sorry you were here in the first place. I—don’t know what came over me tonight.”

  Pete’s eyebrows raised. “Maternal instinct, maybe? You were right. I shouldn’t have just walked in your house.” He motioned for her to get in the car.

  “Oh,” Jane said, realizing he meant for her to be the passenger. Reluctantly, she handed him the keys and got in the car. He closed the door behind her.

  Pete walked around to the driver’s side, got in, and started the engine. “Wow,” he said, looking at the odometer as he moved the seat back. “A lot of miles on this thing. I bought it new in 2000.”

  “It made a lot of trips to hospitals—several times a day even, for a couple of months.”

  “Mmm.” Pete nodded. “Hadn’t thought about that. I guess it wasn’t just Paul and Tamara out driving off into the sunset.” He looked at Jane out of the corner of his eye, trying to gauge her reaction to Tamara’s name.

  “Probably not,” she said. “Listen, I should get home. Mark threw up—right after you walked out the front door. My parents are there now, but I need to make sure he’s okay. And I need to get cleaned up.” She brushed a hand across her sweats. “Sorry about the smell.”

  “Mark threw up?” Pete asked, concerned.

  Jane nodded. “Yeah. He’s got a really sensitive stomach. He has to eat slow and burp often. Otherwise . . .”

  “So it was my fault.”

  “Basically,” Jane said with a hint of a smile.

  “And you didn’t change before coming to get me?” He took in her appearance, from her tousled hair to her stained shirt and sweats.

  “No.” Jane glanced away. “I thought it was more important I get down here.”

  He detected irritation in her voice. “I wasn’t trying to be critical. I’m grateful—and impressed. Most women I know wouldn’t leave the house looking like that.”

  Jane turned to him, astonishment on her face. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

  “Yes,” Pete said adamantly.

  She sighed and leaned her head back against the seat. “Please, just take me home.”

  Without another word, Pete put the car in reverse, backed up, then left the parking lot. The ride home was silent. He kept his eyes on the road, and Jane looked out her window. He knew he’d hurt her feelings, and he felt bad. It seemed like that was all he was ever capable of when it came to women. It’s why you’re still single at thirty-four, the thought came, bringing to the surface all the guilt he’d carried around the past two and a half years.

  For a minute he wished he were back in Iraq where life was, for him anyway, less complicated. But then he thought of the twins. Already, he couldn’t bear the thought of leaving them. He was surprised at the pull he felt toward Mark and Madison, and he didn’t know if it was because they were Tamara and Paul’s, or if it was because he had no one else. Whatever the reason, he had to try harder with Jane Warner if he expected to be a part of their life.

  He pulled into Jane’s driveway. “Do you have a garage door opener somewhere?” he asked, feeling along the sun visor.

  “In the console,” Jane said, opening it and handing him the remote. “Aren’t you going to take the Jeep with you?”

  He shook his head. “And leave you with two babies and no car? You must really think I’m a cad.”

  “Well,” Jane said. “If the shoe fits . . .”

  “Okay, I probably deserve that,” Pete admitted. He waited for the garage door to open, then pulled the Jeep inside. He turned off the engine and unbuckled his seatbelt, but made no move to get out.

  “Let’s try this again.” He handed the keys to Jane, then kept his hand extended. “Hi. My name is Peter Bryant, and I have the good fortune to be co-guardian of my brother’s children with you. I am appreciative of all you’ve done for Mark and Madison, and I would be grateful if you would teach me all I need to know so I can be involved in their lives. They’re the only family I have.”

  He caught the nearly imperceptible softening in Jane’s eyes as she took his hand.

  “Jane Warner. Pleased to meet you.”

  Pete held on. “And I am sorry for offending you tonight. And for future times when I will no doubt do the same. One of my least-endearing qualities is being brutally honest.”

  Jane chuckled. “Brutal is right. Tonight has probably scarred me for years.” She tugged her hand away. “But I forgive you, and as long as we’re being completely honest, I have to tell you that I really hoped I’d never meet you. I didn’t have any idea Paul would do this to me—to us.” She looked down at her lap and began idly twisting her watch. “He told me I would be Mark and Madison’s guardian. He never said anything about joint custody with you. But right after Paul’s funeral his attorney called—”

  “Richard Morgan,” Pete supplied.

  “You know him?” Jane asked, looking up again.

  “Met with him yesterday,” Pete said, deciding now was not the time to mention Richard Morgan was his boss.

  “Oh, right,” Jane said. “When he told me about you, I was really upset. And then . . .” She paused. “Then I was scared.”

  “Of what?” he asked, surprised at the sudden vulnerability he saw in her eyes.

  “You. I was afraid you would try to take Mark and Madison away, and by then—” Her breath caught. “I already loved them so much.”

  Pete looked away, leaning against the headrest. Hadn’t he wanted that very thing—been planning it, even—to take the twins away from Jane Warner? “The thought had crossed my mind.”

  Jane nodded. “You’re the blood relative, so I was afraid you would win.” She bit her lip. “I’ve been so afraid of this. Please, don’t. I know I didn’t give birth to them, but I love them as if I had.”

  The car was quiet as Pete digested this information. He was a cad—and a lot of other things for thinking he’d just walk right in and take over the care of the twins. He’d only been thinking of himself and what he wanted. Or didn’t want—like a woman complicating his life. Never once, until now, had he considered how that woman might feel or, even more important, what was best for Mark and Madison. He hated to admit it, but from what he’d seen so far, Jane Warner was best for them.

  She spoke again. “Did you know I was there the day they were born? It’s kind of a quirky twist of fate, but I was at the newborn ICU with my nephew when they brought Mark and Madison in for the first time. I heard the nurses talking about their mother. I felt so bad for them.”

  “Is that when you met Paul?”

  Jane shook her head. “It was about six weeks later. He’d put an ad in the paper.”

  Pete looked incredulous. “An ad?”

  “Yes.” Jane smiled. “You know, our first meeting was very much like this one.”

  “You got Paul arrested, too?” Pete ran his finger ov
er the instrument panel, wiping dust away.

  “No,” Jane said with a laugh. “But it was a disaster. In less than fifteen minutes, he had offended me, and I walked out. Date over.”

  I don’t want to know about Paul’s relationship with Jane, Pete reminded himself, but couldn’t curb his curiosity. “So how did you end up together?”

  “I learned he had a baby in the hospital—I didn’t know he had two until later—and for some reason I felt compelled to go to the hospital and see his baby.”

  “For some reason, huh?” Pete said, not buying it.

  “Really,” Jane insisted. “It was like I was prompt—call it fate if you like. All I know is that I’m so grateful I followed whatever it was and went.”

  “What happened when you got there?”

  “Paul found me standing at the NICU window, staring at Madison.” Jane smiled wistfully. “He came up to me, stuck out his hand—just like you did a few minutes ago—and said something like, ‘Hi. I’m Paul. I have terminal cancer. My wife died in a car accident, and I’m looking for a woman to raise my children.’” Jane had a faraway look.

  “And it was love at first sight.” Pete couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of his voice. He knew he shouldn’t be irritated with Jane. She’d done nothing wrong, but he couldn’t help but feel angry with Paul. How could he have forgotten Tamara so quickly?

  Jane nodded. “I fell in love with Maddie the first time I held her.”

  And Paul. What about Paul? Pete wanted to ask. When did you fall in love with him? And how was it that he loved you, when he’d been married to the most wonderful woman on earth?

  Pete drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “So what was your first date?”

  “We didn’t really date,” Jane said. “Unless you count visiting the hospital cafeteria. He took me out for macaroni and cheese and Jell-O a couple of times.” She grinned at Pete. “Maybe you’ll be a bigger spender, huh?”

  Pete frowned. “Maybe.” Did she think he was just going to step in and take Paul’s place?

  As if sensing she’d said something wrong, Jane grabbed the door handle. “I didn’t mean to imply . . .”

  “Forget it,” Pete said. A thought occurred to him. “I’m wondering, though, why Paul didn’t just put the twins up for adoption? Why would he advertise for a woman and not an adoptive couple?”

  “He did think about it,” Jane said. “But he changed his mind.” She got out of the car.

  Pete did the same. He shut his door and walked toward the back entrance to the garage. “What changed his mind?”

  Jane looked at him across the hood of the Jeep. “I’ve thought about that a lot and there’s only one reason I can think of.” She spoke quietly. “You.”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Saturday morning Pete awoke to noise from outside. He looked out the bedroom window and was pleased to see the gate ajar and Jane pulling privacy slats from the fence. He hurriedly dressed to join her.

  Walking into the backyard a few moments later, Pete headed toward the open gate. Stepping into the yard, he watched as Jane wrestled with a particularly stubborn PVC slat. Shania Twain’s voice carried across the lawn from the CD player on the porch. Pete smiled to himself as he watched Jane sing along to “Man, I Feel Like a Woman.”

  Yeah, you look like a woman too, he thought, admiring her curves as she pulled at the top of the fence. She had on jeans today instead of the baggy sweats she’d worn last night, and her hair was pulled back into a ponytail. He wished she’d wear it down. He’d always had a thing for women who wore their hair up. There was something about a woman’s bare neck. And right now that was the last thing he wanted—to feel any pull of attraction toward this woman. Things were complicated enough already.

  Pete walked along the fence toward her.

  Jane glanced over at him. “You gonna help me with these?”

  Pete shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged. “It depends on what you’re doing. If you’re planning to replace the PVC with brick or something . . .”

  “I’m trying to make amends,” Jane said. “You know, good fences make good neighbors, so bad fences must make bad neighbors.” She stopped working and looked at him. “And I don’t want that. I’m taking the privacy slats out, and I already got rid of the lock on the gate. So will you help?”

  Pete tried to suppress his grin. “Am I allowed? Didn’t I mess up pretty badly yesterday? Something about concrete and a bush?”

  Jane let go of the slat and tugged off her gloves. “Come here. I’ll show you.” She walked to the center of the yard and stood between the posts Pete had installed. “See this?” She pointed to the large shrub growing a few feet behind. “This lilac was trimmed back in the fall, but already it’s starting to get buds. Pretty soon the whole tree will be covered with these.” She pinched a cluster between her fingers. “And when they open up, this entire yard will be fragrant. Of course, the lavender color is also beautiful, but it’s the fragrance I’ll miss.”

  Pete looked confused. “Why miss it? The posts aren’t anywhere near.”

  “But the swings,” Jane protested. “The swings will hit.” She moved between the posts, walking front and back in the path a swing would take.

  “Well, maybe eventually they’ll hit, but it will be awhile before the twins go that high. I see your point though,” Pete admitted. “Sorry. I was just thinking about the easiest place to watch the kids.”

  “And that is more important,” Jane agreed. “I know I shouldn’t be so upset. It’s just that I’m a yard person. You know, some women have the, ‘stay out of my kitchen’ philosophy. Well, for me it’s, ‘don’t mess with my yard.’”

  “I’ll be sure to remember that,” Pete said.

  “But today you can help,” she added quickly. “I thought these slats were a pain to put in, but they’re so much worse to take out.”

  Pete walked over to the fence, examining the slats and chain link. Putting his palm on one of the metal posts, he leaned forward. The entire fence bent under his weight. “Thought so,” he said, turning to Jane. “How about we leave the slats in and just take down the whole fence?”

  She looked doubtful. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea. I’m just renting.”

  “From the Reimans?” Pete asked.

  Jane nodded. “How did you know?”

  “They lived here the whole time I was growing up. They put the gate in the fence so their son and I could go back and forth between houses.”

  “That’s your house?” She looked toward the sagging fence and the house behind it. “You own it?”

  “Pretty much. Mom left it to Paul and me when she died. A couple of years ago Paul planned to purchase some property and build on it, so he mailed me the deed to our house.”

  “I can’t believe this.” Jane put her hands on her hips. “What a sneaky, underhanded thing to do.”

  “What do you mean?” Pete asked warily, sensing she was headed for a mood like she’d been in last night.

  “Paul did this,” Jane said, as if just fully realizing the implications. “He found this house for us to rent, and I didn’t want to live here. I didn’t like the neighborhood, and the house and yard were in terrible shape—all I’ve done since we moved in is paint, clean, fix . . .”

  “I don’t understand,” Pete said.

  “He tricked me,” Jane continued. “He made me feel terrible for not wanting this place. He said it was perfect because it was close to the hospital and we’d always be able to get Mark there quickly if there was an emergency.”

  “Well, that is true,” Pete said.

  “Yes, but he said nothing, nothing at all about you living behind us. He never told me that was the house he’d grown up in or that you would come back there. And I remember—” Jane snapped her fingers. “I remember having a conversation about the sagging fence and gate and wanting to get them replaced, but Paul said no. He told me the owners wanted it kept the way it was.” She began pacing back and forth bet
ween the swing-set posts. “Which really made no sense, because they let us fix everything else. They even took a big chunk off our rent because we were doing so much to the house.” She stopped suddenly. “Oooh. I could just—”

  “Kill him if he weren’t already dead?” Pete said quietly.

  Jane’s head snapped up. The look on her face was a mixture of horror and shame. “No. I didn’t mean—”

  “It’s okay.” Pete walked over to her. “You think I didn’t feel the exact same thing when I found out that Paul had died, that he’d left two children—children I didn’t even know existed—to me? I didn’t even know he had cancer.” Pete ran his fingers through his hair.

  “I’m sorry,” Jane said lamely. She folded her arms across her chest and looked down at the grass. Her head was still swimming with the implications of what Paul had done. He’d set them up perfectly for . . . for joint guardianship? She hoped that was all he’d intended. So far his brother was nothing like she’d imagined. He was a little bit Paul, and a whole lot a stranger still, yet they were thrown into the awkwardness of having these serious conversations and figuring out how to share two children. She looked up at Pete, voicing the questions that had been on her mind for months. “What happened between you two? How come you didn’t know Paul had cancer?”

  Pete’s eyes narrowed. “He didn’t tell you?”

  Jane shook her head. “He hardly ever mentioned you. It made me sad,” she admitted. “I have six brothers and sisters, and I’m fairly close with all of them.”

  “Then you’re very lucky,” Pete said.

  “I know.” Jane looked down at the grass again, digging at a weed with the toe of her sneaker. “You don’t have to tell me. I shouldn’t have asked.” She heard Pete sigh.

  “Maybe some other time when—”

  Madison’s cry on the baby monitor interrupted them, saving him from continuing.

  When we know each other better? Jane thought. Will we know each other better? “How about breakfast?” she asked, pulling the monitor out of her pocket. “Or have you already eaten?” she added, giving him a way out if he wanted.