by T. F. Walsh
“Alas, the housewife route was not for me. College loans don’t pay themselves back, and Holt was not exactly raking it in. I didn’t either, for that matter, but I sure loved my job.”
Sam marveled at the peace that settled over her features, the glow that had nothing to do with pregnancy and everything to do with happiness, a life fulfilled.
“I happened upon it totally by accident. This little hole-in-the-wall bookstore in Sherman Oaks. This guy specialized in old books, rare manuscripts, out of prints, first editions.” Wynter rubbed her belly, absently, and continued to smile off into space.
“You’re still wishing Gran would give you her store when she retires, aren’t you?” Sam grinned, wrapping an arm around his friend and drawing her back against his side.
“It’s her store, silly. I don’t want it outright; I want to run it for her. I’m gonna wear her down, you’ll see.”
“I’ve no doubt you’ll do it, too.”
Since her eyes were now closed and she rested comfortably against him, he gathered up the nerve to ask his next question.
“How did he die, Wyn? Did he . . . suffer?” Sam knew his fingers shook and he used the pretense of rubbing Wynter’s arms to keep her from noticing.
She seemed less inclined to make eye contact than he did. He felt her sink against his side, her breath hot against his neck.
“No, he didn’t suffer. He had a heart attack. Crazy, right? Thirty years old. But they told me he had an enlarged heart, and that he’d been living on borrowed time. We never knew.”
“Was he home? Were you . . . ” As much as he would have liked to know that his friend had been surrounded by loved ones when he passed, Sam was equally horrified at the thought of Wynter having to witness her husband dying.
“He fell asleep on the bus, on the way home from a late shift. The driver couldn’t wake him. He went peacefully.”
A shudder passed through her body and straight into his. Sam knew firsthand what that was like. He shook off his own bad memories, worried that he’d pushed Wynter too hard. She didn’t need to dredge all this up again, especially not so soon. He leaned over and scooped her onto his lap, holding her tight. She wrapped her arms around his neck and clung to him. They held each other for a long time, neither speaking.
He’d thrown away the last twelve years. The only memories he had to hold on to were of a friend on the cusp of manhood, not the man Wynter had come to know. Bitterly, he chastised himself for thinking that seclusion was the only answer.
A single tear began to trickle down. Sam quickly brushed his cheek against the top of Wynter’s soft hair.
“He understood. He never blamed you for leaving.”
Sam continued to hold her, their movie long since forgotten. At one time, he would have seen a moment like this as a hopeful sign, that she finally saw him as more than just a friend. But that was a long time ago. He’d made a choice that had taken him out of the picture, permanently. Wynter had chosen Holt. And though he may not be around anymore, Sam owed it to his once best friend to treat his widow with respectful distance.
“Are Holt’s parents still in Scallop Shores? You want to raise the baby there. I’m sure they want to be a part of her life. Sounds like a win/win to me.” He wasn’t trying to push her away again. He was just curious.
“Oh, they’re still in the same little blue house on the corner. I do want Holt’s daughter to be a part of their lives. I’ll encourage it.”
“But you said you didn’t get on well with them?”
“We weren’t close. I guess I tend to hold parents, anyone’s parents, at arm’s length. At first, Holt was really hoping his own parents could be a sort of replacement for mine. He pushed for visits. Gave us lots of one-on-one time.” Looking away, Wynter’s features twisted in discomfort.
“It was . . . awkward. I just couldn’t get comfortable around them. They tried, really. It was all me.” She went quiet once more, squirming closer.
He’d take care of her. He’d help raise Holt’s baby, if she asked. But he’d keep his feelings for Wynter to himself. He had hidden them for the last twelve years. How hard could it be to just continue with the status quo?
“I’ve missed you so much, Sam,” she whispered, as she slid down to rest her head on his chest. Within seconds she was snoring softly.
Chapter 5
“I don’t need any help.” Riley fixed Sam with a dark glare. “And I don’t appreciate anyone implying that I do.”
Sam clenched his teeth, throwing his hands up in the air and letting them come down hard to slap against his thighs. Wynter had been watching the play-by-play and found herself fascinated by the dynamic between the two men. For all their obvious differences, they had a remarkable amount in common. Both feigned indifference and more than a little belligerence, but she could see how much they relied on their unconventional friendship.
“We weren’t suggesting that you need help with anything, Riley. Sam was just being a good friend and hoping you might have something that needs doing that you wouldn’t mind paying me for.” That came out wrong.
Riley arched a sharply pointed brow, a lecherous grin spreading across his face. Sam made a sound as though he were choking, his gaze suddenly intent on the floor in front of him.
“Oh, for goodness sake! Men!” Wynter huffed, hauling herself off the couch.
She tuned out the pair as she paid closer attention to Riley’s house, trying to find something of benefit that she could do for him. Not waiting for permission, she headed down the wide hallway, poking her head into each room as she went.
“She does this at my house, too.” She overheard Sam grumble. “Wait until she starts washing your underwear.”
“Kinky.”
The higher the testosterone, the lower the maturity level. Wynter rolled her eyes. She nearly skipped one room, as the door was mostly shut. Sticking her head through the small space provided, she gasped. Eureka—she’d struck gold! Putting her shoulder into it, she managed to get the door open enough to slip her girth inside.
The room was piled high with boxes, but it was what was inside the boxes that delighted Wynter. Books. Old books. She stepped up to one box, undid the top, and leaned in for a long sniff. Ah, heaven. For some people it was the scent of fresh baked cookies, for others it was baby powder, but for her it was the lovely, musty smell of really old books.
“Riley, I think I may be a little bit in love with you,” she called out to the living room.
“Aw, hell,” was his response.
She heard them coming down the hall, though the room was so packed with boxes that even Sam had a hard time finding a place to stand. Riley remained in the hallway, his body leaning as far out of his chair as he dared. The look on his face was suspicious.
“Hey, those are very valuable. What are you doing in there? Get out before you ruin anything.” His scowl did nothing to dampen her enthusiasm.
She indulged in another heady sniff before she exited the room, giving Sam an unexpected squeeze on the way out. She beamed down at Riley and gave him a loud smacker, right on the cheek. She giggled as he sputtered in mock outrage.
“Darned right those are valuable! And it’s a crime that they’re sitting in those boxes like that.” She threw out an arm and gestured to the doorway. “Those books deserve to be sorted, cataloged, and displayed. You’ve got a freaking library of history in there.”
“You think I don’t know that? You think it doesn’t kill me that I can’t get in there and open even one single box? That was my prized collection. It’s what I valued most in the world.”
Riley spun his chair around, nearly crunching her toes in his hurry to return to the living room. Wynter shared a guilty look with Sam before chasing after the angry marine. Well, she couldn’t very well ask for a job if she pissed him off. But she hadn’t been kidding. Those books were special and deserved to be showcased. Riley wasn’t in any position to do it, but she was.
“I had plans, you know. I was going
to finish out my tour, marry my girl and set us up in a big house, room enough for a library.” He rolled over to the window and sneered out at the snow-covered trees bordering his yard.
“It’s your private collection. I understand you don’t want someone else touching it.” She dropped a comforting hand to his shoulder, sighing when he shrugged it off.
“Someone else did touch it. She’s the one that boxed them up. I suppose she thought she was doing me some friggin’ favor or something.” His eyes remained fixed on the outdoor scene in front of him, a tic in his cheek the only indication that he was angry, hurt.
“I mean, who wants to be saddled with a cripple for a husband? She was right to leave.” He barked out a shaky laugh. “She boxed up all my damned stuff while I was stuck in the VA hospital, put it in storage.”
Riley turned his chair around to face his guests. The look on his face seemed to dare them to pity him. He’d kick their asses for it.
“You know how I found out she’d left me?” He cocked his head to the side, waiting for an answer to his obviously rhetorical question. When they remained silent he nodded, the sneer returning to his face. “She mailed me the key to the storage unit. That’s true love, huh?” He sniffed.
“Karma’s a bitch. She’ll get hers.” Wynter smiled down at the man who was far too young to be this bitter.
“So how the hell much do you want for this thankless project?”
“Oh, I’m not sure . . . ” She was suddenly uncomfortable. Clearly those books represented a painful time in Riley’s not-so-distant past.
“You brought it up, now you don’t plan to follow through? I thought you needed the money? Why the hell did you come over here and bother me for, then?”
“Hey, Ri, ease off, man. She’s just trying to help.”
“Yeah, there’s that word again. Riles me up. I don’t need help.” He sighed, screwed up his features and added, “I don’t want to need help.”
Wynter resisted the urge, and it was a strong urge, to wrap her arms around Riley. The man was hurting. Hiding himself away from the world, like he was doing, was only making him feel worse. Instead, she slipped a hand into Sam’s, drawing strength from his warm touch.
“I hope you aren’t the lazy, lie-abed type, because I like to get things done first thing in the morning. I’ll be here at 8 A.M. tomorrow.”
She started for the doorway, dragging Sam with her, and turned at the last minute.
“Oh, and just because I’ll be here at lunchtime, that does not mean I will cook your meals for you. You are perfectly capable of doing that yourself, and since I’m helping you out, you can fix something for me, as well.”
Satisfied that she’d be getting the last word, seeing as Riley’s jaw hung low, Wynter sent him a jaunty wave and let herself out.
• • •
They argued the entire way to the hospital. It had started the day before, when Sam insisted that Wynter make herself an appointment with the nearest OB/GYN. She was in the last few weeks of her pregnancy and they needed to prepare for when little Charlotte decided to make an appearance.
The issue was money, or her lack of it. To Sam, this was a non-issue. He’d pay, end of story. But his stubborn friend was making a huge deal out of nothing. God bless her, she was a sweetheart, but when she panicked about money, she forgot to keep things in perspective. She needed to ensure a safe delivery for her baby. They would worry about how to pay for it later.
“This isn’t your responsibility,” she repeated for the millionth time.
It was on the tip of his tongue to note that by showing up on his doorstep, she had made it his responsibility. But that would start World War Three, and with Wynter’s hormones in flux, Sam wasn’t sure he’d survive the attack. He gritted his teeth.
Heaven help him, she’d only been working for Riley for a day, and already she was channeling the ex-marine’s surly behavior. So glad he introduced those two! He gripped the steering wheel a little tighter and offered Wynter a placating smile. She shook her head, dismissively, and turned her body toward the passenger side window, but not before he caught the briefest glimpse of fear. She was lashing out at him because she was terrified. Quite frankly, he didn’t blame her one bit.
Braeden, VT, was so small that what passed for a hospital didn’t include a maternity ward. Women were referred to the next major town, Burlington. It was an extra thirty-minute drive, under the best of conditions. Sam shuddered to think of just how much winter they had left ahead of them. He had a strong suspicion that getting Wynter to the hospital on time was going to take a miracle.
He’d intended to stay in the waiting room, wearing down the battery on his phone playing Angry Birds. But the minute her name had been called, Wynter gripped his arm and hauled him bodily from his chair. The woman was hiding some scary strength in that deceptively compact body. Sam likened it to the adrenaline that fueled a person to lift a car when a loved one was trapped beneath it. Yes, dear. Whatever you say, dear. Good grief!
She was handed a gown and a plastic cup, (oh God, did he really have to be here for this?) and disappeared into the attached bathroom. He squirmed in the hard plastic chair in the corner. The nurse flashed him a polite smile and opened the chart.
“It says here your wife is about thirty-six weeks along?”
“I’m sorry, no.”
“She’s not thirty-six weeks?” She shuffled papers around, eyebrows wrinkling in confusion.
“I meant to say that she isn’t my wife.” Sam looked up guiltily as Wynter stepped out of the bathroom just in time to hear his flustered confession.
“Sam is my friend.” She added, “Also currently my landlord, procurer of jobs, and since I don’t have enough money to even pay for this visit, my sugar daddy.” Oh, she was taking Riley’s bitterness to a whole new level.
“Yes, well okay, then.” The nurse looked from one to the other, her cheeks growing pink. She focused her attention on the chart. “How has this pregnancy been for you? We don’t have the records yet from your previous doctor. Anything out of the ordinary?”
“Nope, pretty routine. Passed the glucose test with flying colors. She’s a mover and a shaker, so no worries there.”
“Ah, so we know the sex?” The nurse made a notation in the chart.
“I had an ultrasound at 21 weeks. My little bundle of joy here is definitely not shy. We could tell, right away, that it was a girl.”
An ultrasound? Sam was disappointed to realize he’d missed that. Then again, she was nearly at the end of her pregnancy. He’d missed most of it. He hadn’t been involved in the making of the baby, so there was no reason he should be involved in watching it grow. Still . . .
“Will you do an ultrasound today, then?” He hoped he didn’t sound too eager.
“Not today, sir. We will, however, be checking the baby’s heartbeat.” The nurse smiled.
“Closer to her due date will we get to see the baby?” Aw hell, in for a penny, he guessed.
Wynter giggled. “Sam, I have pictures if you’d like to see them. I didn’t think you’d care.” She settled herself on the exam table, eyeing him quizzically.
“I, um, yeah. Yeah, I’d like to see them.” Something about being here, in this room with her, made it so much more real. Sam was invested. He knew right then that he was already forming an attachment to this baby.
“Sam, why don’t you go stand beside Wynter, right by her shoulder?”
He looked at his friend for permission, moving out of his chair in the corner when she smiled, invitingly. It wasn’t until she lay back and the nurse pulled her gown up, that he realized he would have gotten quite the eyeful if he’d stayed where he was. He coughed uncomfortably, feeling his ears turn a hot shade of red.
Once her lower half was decently covered, Sam returned his gaze to Wynter’s firm, round belly. There was a baby in there. He had the strongest urge to reach out and stroke the taut skin. It was amazing that a whole person could fit inside such a small space. He sw
itched his attention to her face, only to find Wynter watching him attentively, a bemused smile quirking her mouth up at the corners.
The nurse had left the room and promised that the doctor would be right along. The silence was a little awkward. Wynter gripped his hand, squeezed it.
“I’m sorry I’ve been so horrible to you. Hormones, nerves. Lots of nerves.” She bit her lip and looked away.
“Everything is going to be just fine. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Thank you, Sam. You don’t know much I need to hear that right now.”
“Hello, Wynter. What an unusual name. And appropriate, hmm?” The doctor breezed in and shut the door. “I’m Dr. Valerio, and I will be delivering your baby. I hope.”
“You hope?” Sam and Wynter yelped in unison.
Dr. Valerio settled down on a wheeled stool. With one hand, she moved the edges of Wynter’s makeshift gown away, while she used the other to squeeze a clear gel onto the skin in order to listen to the baby’s heartbeat. Sam watched, equal parts disgusted and fascinated.
“I understand you live in Braeden. We may have to fight Mother Nature when the time comes. There is more snow in the forecast for the coming weeks, and you are coming up fast on your due date.”
The doctor pressed the plastic wand against Wynter’s belly and began to feel around for the right spot. She paused on one side, moved it over an inch or so and nodded her satisfaction when the machine picked up a steady whump whump whump. Sam leaned in closer, his lungs momentarily frozen in wonder.
“I don’t want you two to wait, you hear me? As soon as those contractions start, give me a call and get me a rough estimate of when you think you’ll be in. I may not be here as quickly as you, but I’ll be here. Err on the side of caution.” She looked sternly at them before returning her attention to the heart monitor.
“She sounds healthy and happy to me. I’d give this little girl another three weeks, four tops. She’ll make her appearance before you know it. I’ll see you back here next week, folks. It was good meeting you.” The doctor cleaned off the wand and wiped the gel from Wynter’s belly while she spoke. And just as quickly as she’d blown into the room, she was gone.