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mirage had haunted her sleep all night.
    “One day, Haley, you are going to shoot somebody. Then what?”
    “Then, as my brothers would say, I’ll have made ’em proud.” As the teakettle whistled, Haley poured boiling water into the mug, the water hissing as it flowed over the tea bag. The scent of cinnamon and cloves wafted into the air.
    “What did he do when he found himself face-to-face with your gun?”
    “He left. I’ll give him points for being smart.” She picked up the ivory business card with brown lettering that he’d wedged between the screen and the front door. “He did leave me this.”
    “What? His card?” Claire scrutinized the writing. “ ‘Stephen R. Ames. Architect. Entrepreneur.’ Huh. Thinks a lot of himself, doesn’t he? Lives in Fort Collins. Sam’s twin brother lives in Colorado?”
    “Apparently. Two hours away—and he shows up after Sam dies.” As the baby moved inside of her, Haley covered her tummy with her hands. “What do I do, Claire?”
    “About?”
    “About this guy . . . if he shows up again?”
    “Hear him out?”
    “Why?”
    “Because he’s Sam’s brother, and he’s here for a reason.”
    “But Sam never told me about him, and he did that for areason.” She paced the kitchen, stopping to stare out into the backyard. “Why should I get to know him now?”
    “Have you prayed about it?”
    “Yes. And no.” Claire’s burst of laughter tugged a smile across Haley’s face. The first of the day.
    “What do you mean, ‘yes and no’?”
    “If you mean have I said a formal ‘Dear God, what do you want me to do about Sam’s lookalike?’ prayer, then no, I haven’t prayed about it.” She retrieved a can of Sprite from the refrigerator, taking a sip in hopes of soothing the ache in her throat. “But if you mean have I prayed in a ‘God, help me, help me, help me’ kind of way . . . then I’ve been doing that since the day I shut the door when the Bereavement Team left.”
    “So you have no plans to call Stephen R. Ames, architect and entrepreneur?” Claire wandered back out to the living room with Haley following her and settled on the couch, resting her bare feet on the redwood-and-pine coffee table.
    “No.” Haley set the chips and dip beside her on the couch cushion.
    “And if he shows up here again?”
    This was one of the times Haley was glad she’d perfected the tilt-head-and-raise-one-eyebrow stare. “Do you really think some guy is going to want to face the wrong end of a gun again?”
    “If he’s anything like Sam, he would.”

    Maybe in the light of day things would go better.
    Or maybe Haley Ames would just have a clearer shot at him.
    Sam put the Mustang in park and gazed straight ahead, taking in the outline of the snow-covered Front Range against the pale blue of the Colorado sky. He hadn’t expected an armedstandoff when he’d finally taken his best friend Jared’s advice to go looking for Sam’s widow. He knew it wouldn’t be easy, but he never imagined outright hostility.
    “Pardon me for not closing my eyes, God, but the last time I was here, an irate pregnant woman threatened to shoot me. And, yes, I admit she had reason to be upset. So I’m asking for a little help here. Please let Haley listen.” He stole a quick glance at the house. Muted gray siding. White shutters that needed a fresh coat of paint. Faded brown grass waiting for spring to arrive. Nobody looking out the window—armed or otherwise. All clear. “And I wouldn’t mind a little heavenly protection, too.”
    Now, why did a scene from Gunfight at the O.K. Corral flash through his mind as he approached the front door? He looked heavenward. No visible angels riding shotgun in the cloudless Colorado sky.
    He rang the doorbell, a short, off-key peal, and then took two steps back from the screen door, which needed some repair. Braced his shoulders and straightened his spine. A few seconds later, the front door opened halfway and Haley Ames stared