Like Never Before (21 page)

Hadn't she just minutes ago lost herself in another man's deep russet irises and wondered, for seconds that stretched with tension, if he might actually lean across the ladder and kiss her?

No, not just wondered. Hoped.

“I was surprised to get your message last week,” Jeremy finally went on.

So he had listened to it. “Well, if you got it, then you've already got the reporter's info. Did you accidentally delete it or something? Need her email or phone—”

“No, I've already talked to her.”

“Then why . . . ?” An
Exit
sign at the end of the hallway cast a shadow of red over the gray tile floor. Outside the door, a flurry of white whipped in the wind. Were they really in for a May blizzard?

“I'm calling about Dani.”

She pushed away from the wall, shoes squealing, still damp from her walk across the parking lot. “I don't—”

“I know you don't, but Ames, she's been trying to get ahold of you for months.”

“Don't
Ames
me, Jeremy.” The force in her own voice surprised her. But he'd lost the right to a nickname the second he'd called it quits on their life together.

And as for Dani . . .

Her heart threw up barricades as fast as the memories flew at her.

“She said she's sent two or three letters and you've returned them all.”

“Jer—”

“I saw her at church last Christmas when I was visiting my parents. She's still in Des Moines. She asked if I could help her get in contact, and I told her I was probably the last person you'd listen to.”

Darn right.

“But after you called last week, I thought maybe things had changed and enough time had passed and maybe I
could
help. I at least had to try. You should see her, Ames—Amelia. She hardly looks like the broken-down teen we knew, and Mary is—”

“Stop.” Her voice echoed down the hallway, the beat of music drumming from the gym and a throb beginning in her head. “I don't want to hear it.”

Someone walked past the gym opening, glancing out at Amelia.

She paced farther down the hall, saw a door marked
Janitor's Closet
, and yanked it open. Inside, she pulled on a string, a dangling light bulb buzzing to life.

“Don't shut Dani down because of me. You used to be so close to her. She looked up to you. She needed you then, and she might need you now. I'm not sure. She didn't say why she wanted to talk to you, but—”

“Jer, what about, ‘I don't want to hear it' don't you understand?”

“I understand perfectly fine. You're being as emotional and rash about this as you were three years ago.”

The sting lanced through her. She shouldn't have answered the call. Should've known.

But how could she have guessed he was calling about Dani?

Dani and Mary.

The heady smell of bleach and other cleaning materials twisted in the air around her, suffocating. And in a flicker of a moment, time reversed and Amelia was back in the hospital in Des Moines, standing outside the nursery, looking through a gaping window at the empty bassinet. At the name card written in a nurse's scribbled handwriting:
Mary Danielle Malone.

Lucas
, she'd thought.
Her last name is Lucas now.

All the paperwork had been signed. And more than that, they'd already bonded. In nine months of doctor's appointments and hovering over Dani. In days spent picking out colors for the spare bedroom at home, setting up the crib and changing table and rocking chair. In minutes right here in this hospital, cradling Mary in her arms just last night. Cleaned and swaddled and tiny and perfect.
Her Mary.
Even Jeremy had given in to the haze of wonder as he'd held her after Amelia.

And in that one flawless moment, all her worry about their marriage, all her disappointment, eroded into dust. Later, back at home, for the first time in so long, Jeremy had held her all night, whispered his love like he used to when they were first married. She'd woken up curled against him and so very, very happy.

But movement caught in her periphery, and she lifted her gaze from the empty crib. There, in the corner of the nursery . . . Dani. She sat in a rocking chair, hospital gown draping over her form, and in her arms, a bundle of blanket and baby, Mary's tuft of black hair peeking out.

Why . . . ?

Hadn't Dani said she wasn't going to hold her? Thought it'd be easier that way?

Dani leaned over to kiss Mary's cheek, her bangs flopping over her face. And when she lifted her head, pushed her hair
away from her own cheek, her eyes met Amelia's through the glass. They brimmed with apology and something else.

Decision. Certainty.

No. Please, God, no.

The hurt was sharp, sudden. Numbing. She couldn't move. Just stood there, staring, watching a wounding flood she hadn't seen coming sweep away her future as Dani shook her head.

And that's when she'd heard the footsteps, Jeremy's rising voice, and the social worker's futile attempts at calming.
“I'm so sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Lucas
. Unfortunately these things happen more than we'd like.”

Voices sounded outside the closet, and Amelia jerked, the flashback over as quickly as it'd begun.

And then Jeremy's voice—unwelcome, mollifying, and almost professional. “Why don't you let me help you, Amelia? Obviously you're still struggling. I've helped a lot of people dealing with things in their past and—”

“You can't seriously be trying to counsel me right now.” For the first time in years, she almost wished he was standing right here with her. Because then she could reach for a bottle of Windex from the janitor's shelf and spray it at him. Make him stop.

Instead, impulse wrangled her into doing the next best thing. She jerked her phone away from her ear and sent it hurtling into the mop bucket next to her feet. It plunked in the water with a tiny splash.

What. Is. Wrong. With. You?

But before she could register what she'd just done, the closet door swung open.

“There you are. Some kid said you were in here, and I didn't believe him. What are you doing—” Logan cut off at the sight of her. Trembling. Probably looking like an idiot. “Amelia, what's wrong? Did you just get bad news?”

“It's nothing.”

The closet door banged shut behind him as he crossed the narrow space toward her. “It is, too. You're white as a ghost, and you're shaking. Who was that on the phone?”

She didn't want to tell him. Or maybe she did. Oh, why was she reacting like this? Like her past was a haunted house and she was a little kid, lost. “Jeremy.”

Logan stilled. “Your ex-husband?”

She nodded.

“Why was he calling?”

Even with only a flickering bulb for light, she could see the billows of compassion in Logan's eyes, the concern. It was the same look he had given Charlie the other day when she'd been running around the office and knocked into the edge of Owen's desk. Or when he'd told her about Jenessa and her parents.

“Maybe we could have Jen take some photos for
the paper. She's good, Amelia. And I think she
could use the boost.”

How did he do it? Hone in on people's hurt and know just what to do? As if he'd refined the craft of compassion as much as he had his writing.

“There's a girl named Dani. Before Jeremy was as big of a name as he is now, we helped with the youth ministry at our church. Dani was a high school senior. Bad home life, tough childhood. We—especially I—mentored her. We got pretty close.” She took a breath. “And then she got pregnant.”

The rest of it rushed from her. “I'm not even sure how it happened, but somehow I talked to Dani about her options, and by the end of the conversation, I'd asked if she'd consider letting Jeremy and I adopt her baby. We'd been trying for so long . . .”

She could see the pieces coming together in Logan's eyes.

“Jeremy thought it was a bad idea, but I talked him into it. Turns out he was right, though. Dani changed her mind the day after she had . . .” She couldn't even say the baby's name.

Maybe she was over Jeremy. Maybe that one piece of her heart had glued itself back into place.

But she wasn't over everything.

“Amelia.”

“I think I hated Dani almost more than Jeremy for a while.” The confession came out a shaky whisper.

Logan stepped toward her, but she backed up, knocking into a shelf behind her, wrapped rolls of toilet paper wobbling. No, she didn't want his comfort right now. Not after the ugly truth scraping through her, the lingering effect of Jeremy's voice.

“Jeremy was calling about Dani?”

She nodded.

“I didn't realize you were in touch with him.”

“I wasn't. Only called him last week because of that reporter. The one who interviewed you. She contacted me looking for help getting ahold of Jeremy, and I told her no but then she said she'd do whatever she could to return the favor and . . . well.”

Understanding dawned on Logan's face. “You asked her to do a story on me?”

The first twinge of something other than heartache slipped in. “Well, yeah. I thought it'd help you. National exposure . . . that candidate you want to work for . . .” She shrugged.

Logan just stared at her.

And then, before she could think or respond or resist, she was in his arms and he was kissing her. Like . . . like she'd gone and righted his entire world rather than made a simple call. Like a man starved.

Or maybe she was the one starved. Because she was the one threading her arms around his neck and pressing all of herself into all of him. She hardly heard the rolls of toilet paper hitting the hard floor as he backed her into the shelf or his foot knocking into the mop bucket where her phone sunk.

She couldn't breathe.

She didn't want to breathe.

But then the door swung open once more, assaulting them with light. Logan broke away with a gasp. And Colton's voice. “Uh, I . . . whoa . . . sorry. But Logan, you have to come see this. The blizzard. And the caterer just called to cancel.”

“I think I might literally be in shock.”

The blizzard furled in twirls of white, like a thousand tiny sandstorms swaying from the ground. All these people should be tucked in their homes, under blankets and in front of fireplaces, laughing about Iowa and snow in May.

Instead, it looked like half the town of Maple Valley had come out for the relocated fundraiser. The one Amelia had saved with a fleet of last-minute changes and slew of phone calls.

He'd been ready to cancel. “I didn't think this was possible.”

She stood beside him now, huffing into her cupped hands next to him, lantern light sparkling in her eyes. “Anything is possible when you call in enough favors.”

“But I don't understand. How did you . . . we only had a few hours . . .”

Bear McKinley's voice crooned over the snow-covered yard that stretched outside the Maple Valley depot. A train car anchored to its track served as the stage, side door pulled open and strings of Christmas lights adorning its insides. Outside, community members tramped through still-falling snow, umbrellas for shelter, and dozens, maybe hundreds, of paper bag lanterns for light.

No catered meal like he'd planned, but Seth had pulled through to provide enough dessert offerings to put the whole town on a sugar high. The employees of Coffee Coffee—minus Megan, who was still at home with a newborn—had assembled
to serve coffee, apple cider, and cocoa. Bear, apparently, had a cold, but he was pressing through anyway up on the makeshift stage.

“Did Seth ever tell you about the day before his restaurant opened, Logan?”

His gaze wandered to the lit-up depot building, like a lighthouse in the white-out. “I couldn't come home for it, but I remember him saying it got crazy.”

Amelia nodded. “Raegan told me that the day before he realized he didn't have any chairs—not a single one. He started to panic, but eventually he and Rae got on the phone, starting calling folks. And by the next day, he had all the chairs he needed.” She looked out over her handiwork. “That's just how things work in Maple Valley.”

He turned to face Amelia now. She'd traded her newsboy hat for a knit cap, and it flopped over her forehead. The scarf around her neck matched the hat, her hair spilling between the two.

And for what had to be the thousandth time since this afternoon, he replayed those heated minutes in the closet. Had he seriously done that? Him, the guy it took six dates to as much as peck Emma on the cheek on her parents' porch steps? He'd practically tackled Amelia.

Yeah, well, it's not like she didn't kiss you back.