Page 60 of His Best Friend's Baby

“I know. And it won’t happen again.” He licked his lips. “I didn’t want you here. I didn’t want this house. My sister, this wood, I didn’t want any of it and suddenly I can’t get rid of you. You’re Mitch’s widow. You’re living with his parents. You have his son. You’re putting down roots here and I am leaving. You said you were trying to move on and trust me, falling into bed with Mitch’s best friend is not moving on. For either of us. I can’t stay and I don’t want to.”

Well, she thought, removing herself from his hands, when you say it that way…

Silence filled the room like cotton bunting. She brushed back her hair and looked at him, ready to take him at his word. He was right. She was trying to get her life on track and so was he. Anything between them would put them off course.

“I just can’t be responsible for everything.” He sighed.

“I never asked you to.”

He ignored her. Grabbed a tape measure and put a pencil between his teeth, as if she’d never spoken. How could she convince him that she didn’t blame him for anything? He’d never listen. Not now.

Not yet, but maybe he eventually would if they really were friends. Maybe in time, she could convince him that Mitch was no longer between them.

“Friends?” she asked, skeptical. “For real? You’re not going to go all freaky on me next time I come over.”

He watched her, removed the pencil. “You’re not the same woman I met in Germany.”

“You’re right.” She grinned. “I am different.”

“The woman you are now would have scared the hell out of Mitch.”

“And you,” she said, narrowing her eyes at him. “Clearly I scare the hell out of you, too.”

“You don’t know that half of it.” He turned to his wood and his shoulders slumped with a sigh. “I’m terrified.”

This wasn’t what she wanted, or what she expected. But it was good to stand in this room with his chuckle echoing around the battered walls. She was working in small degrees of better. She was the merchant in the smallest amounts possible of happiness and satisfaction. She added another kernel to her meager stockpile.

“You want some help?”

“Sure. Hold this.”

He gave her the end of a tape measure.

She nodded, though it hurt, but something was better than nothing. “Okay.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

AMANDA RACED to the phone when it rang.

“Got it!” she yelled so no one would interrupt and hear her talking to Caleb Gomez. Oh, man. That would be bad. She’d called the San Diego Naval Hospital two days ago, leaving a message for him to call back today. Right now.

She wanted to talk to Caleb Gomez for two reasons. One, her mother refused to, thinking that Caleb only wanted to write a story about what happened. But what if Caleb wanted to thank Jesse for saving his life? Wouldn’t that help him? Wouldn’t that make him feel better?

Two…well, was her English paper. It was already too late, school got out three days ago and she’d turned in that stupid essay on government spending for social work. But she still wanted to write an article about her uncle, and maybe Caleb, for her summer internship at the newspaper.

She grabbed the receiver in the kitchen and quickly snuck into the crawl space under the stairs. All the buttons glowed green in the darkness. She hit the talk button.

“Hello,” she whispered and then realizing she’d whispered she practically yelled, “Hello.”

This is not the way a journalist works. Even a teenage one.

“I’m looking for Amanda Edwards.” The guy on the other end of the phone had a slight Hispanic accent and Amanda’s eyes shut in relief.

Jackpot!

“This is her. She. Her.” Oh, brother. “You’re talking to her.”

Caleb Gomez’s laugh was deep and kind of nice. “Hi, Amanda. I understand you have some information about Jesse Filmore.”

“Maybe.” She’d thought about this part. She wasn’t going to blow this. “But before I tell you anything I have a few questions for you.”

There was a long pause. “How old are you?”

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