Snowbound Snuggles

by T. F. Walsh

  “That was . . . Wow.” Sam just didn’t have the words to describe what he’d just experienced, what he was now feeling.

  “Can you turn around for a sec? This gown thing doesn’t have a back to it.” Wynter met his eyes, her own showing her embarrassment.

  He faced the corner, listening to the crinkle of paper as she slipped off the exam table. When he heard the door to the bathroom close, he swiveled around and stared at the spot where she’d lain. He’d just heard the baby’s heartbeat. He felt honored to have been invited to stay, and yet the tiniest bit insignificant, compared to Wynter, who was growing a life inside her.

  Grinning, he found it ironic that the closer it came to the birth of her baby, the more nervous and upset Wynter grew. And he was the opposite. The closer it got, the more excited he became. As odd a pair as they were, they were a team. He’d help her through this. And he’d do it without letting his heart get involved.

  The bathroom door reopened and she stepped out, orange hair sticking out at all angles, big belly leading the way. She looked beautiful, glowing.

  She took a deep breath, flashed him a grateful grin and grabbed her purse. Sam stepped around the table and followed her from the room. Oh, he was a goner, all right!

  Chapter 6

  There was no way she’d finish cataloging Riley’s books before the baby came. Wynter sat on the floor, surrounded by boxes, some stacked five or six high. Before he’d left (yeah, Sam had insisted on walking her across the street), he had pulled down enough boxes to get her through the day. Riley made her swear she wouldn’t lift any on her own. He claimed he didn’t want a lawsuit on his hands if something were to happen to the baby.

  She ran her fingertips lightly over a book with original Matthew Brady photos. She never really cared for military history, but found herself paging through Riley’s old collection while she worked. Reading first-hand accounts really brought the horrors to life. Especially these tomes on the Civil War. Brother fighting brother. She swallowed past the lump in her throat. Hormones.

  The baby sent a sharp judo kick to her ribs, leading Wynter to wonder if it was too early to put the kid on time out. Rubbing her sore side, she reached for her bottle of water and tried to stretch all the kinks out of her back. As she was still sitting on the floor, this was trickier than it seemed.

  Abandoning the boxes of books for a moment, Wynter chose a sturdier-looking stack to lean against, taking a brief water break. Riley would have something snarky to say, if he happened to pass the doorway and see her reclining amid the boxes. But fortunately, Riley was avoiding her. Probably for fear of her chatting him up. And he’d be right. She giggled. It was fun to torment the slightly younger man.

  The baby kicked again and she began to rub soft circles against her belly, something that she’d found soothed her little ninja. She hummed a lullaby, trying not to panic as she realized just how quickly she’d be crooning to the little one wrapped in her arms instead of her belly. Holt would have said something like, It’s almost show time!

  Wynter leaned her head back and closed her eyes, frowning. She’d felt like a fraud, talking about Holt the other night. Sam didn’t ask about their marriage. Why would he? Yet she still felt like she’d deliberately misled him when she let him comfort her over the loss of her husband. Her frown deepened and her back teeth clenched.

  Yes, she’d loved Holt. But not the way he deserved. Not the way a wife should love her husband. She opened her eyes, peering guiltily toward the open door to the hallway. The coast was still clear.

  The truth of the matter was, Wynter had felt lost, adrift, after Sam disappeared. He wasn’t just a part of her life, he was a part of her. She’d been denied a chance to talk him into staying. It had been his choice to leave her, and that made the hurt so much worse.

  Holt had been hurting, too. Sam was his best friend. He’d wanted the chance to help him through this difficult time of mourning his parents. But their friend had shut them both out, pushed them away and ran. So they turned to each other for comfort.

  Wynter supposed Holt’s feelings for her had developed over time. They were inseparable, after all. Only she had never felt that magical connection. It was crazy, because she’d never had romantic feelings for Sam, but something told her that, given time, she could give Sam her heart, her whole heart.

  Instead, she’d gone with the flow, let things with Holt develop, always feeling like part of her was missing. When he asked her to marry him, she saw it as the next logical step, somehow never seeing herself falling absolutely head over heels for anyone. Might as well give her future to someone she could trust to care for her.

  So why, now that she’d found Sam, did she feel as though her whole life since he’d left was a sham? She gulped from her bottle of water, willing the fluid to wash away the dirty residue of guilt that clung to her. Tears pricked at her eyelids, sharp and stinging. She took a calming breath, then another, pushing the air from her nostrils until she felt empty.

  It was Sam’s reaction to the baby, the way he’d acted so excited in the doctor’s office the other day. She’d found herself charmed at his enthusiasm, the wonder on his face. He was so protective of her, of the baby. He was eager for little Charlotte’s arrival.

  Oh, it wasn’t as if Holt hadn’t been over the moon when he learned they were expecting. He’d been the proudest papa Wynter had ever seen. That very first night, he’d stayed up late making up a long list of baby names. He’d bought a stack of books on pregnancy and parenting, wanting to learn all he could.

  Struggling with morning sickness, Wynter had been a horrible grouch. She remembered blaming it all on Holt. He’d pushed her for a baby. He was the reason her boobs hurt so bad, the reason she started every day with a mad dash to the toilet bowl. Never actually voicing it out loud, she kept the bitter resentment to herself.

  Through it all, Holt had been the most supportive husband any woman could have asked for. Always ready with a package of saltines and a cup of weak tea, his attentive concern would make her feel even worse for her mean thoughts. He went out of his way to make her life easier.

  Which made it all the harder when it came time for the first ultrasound, the first time Wynter would see the baby, barely a week since Holt had died. He should have been there. He would have delighted in seeing the slight movement, hearing the heartbeat.

  This baby may have been conceived to appease a man who would never have 100% of her heart, but from the moment she saw her daughter on screen, Wynter knew she would love her enough for two parents, with a fierce devotion that only a mother could understand.

  And then there was Sam. The longer she spent with him, the harder it was to deny that he still held a piece of her that had never belonged to Holt. When she and Sam had listened to the baby’s heartbeat, Wynter’s own heart had beat faster. It swelled as she watched Sam’s eyes grow wide in amazement. It had squeezed and twisted at his disappointment when he learned they wouldn’t be watching an ultrasound that day.

  This man, who was not her baby’s father, was getting far more of her than her own husband had. Fat tears finally slipped through her defenses to roll down her cheeks. Damn, damn hormones! She thought she’d been quiet, but her crying had alerted Riley, who sat in the doorway, glaring at her.

  “Aw, hell! You did it, didn’t you? You went and moved a box and now you’re hurt.” He turned his chair and started down the hallway.

  “No! I’m fine. Wait a minute, Riley. Damn it, I can’t move as fast as you.” She grappled for the edge of a box, to lift herself from the floor.

  Riley was mumbling about whether to call Sam or the ambulance. She had to get to him before he reached the phone. Good grief. I’m getting my workout today, she thought, as she hurried to intercept the marine-on-wheels.

  • • •

  He had just reached his driveway after walking Wynter across to Riley’s house, before the delivery truck pulled in. Sam nodded to the driver and stood back as the man opened the double back doors. Lots
of boxes. Sure didn’t look like what he’d ordered online. Which meant he had a lot of assembling to do.

  Thank God he’d asked Riley to invite his new employee to stay for dinner. Sure, he probably owed the guy a kidney now, but at least he’d bought himself some time. This was an all or nothing project. He needed to be done before Wynter got home. Home. Yeah, he liked how that sounded.

  The delivery men carried the bulky boxes up to the spare room across from Wynter’s, accepted their tip and were gone in a matter of minutes. Sam rubbed his hands together, his grin stretching just a little wider. No time to paint the room, so the neutral beige would just have to do. But little Charlotte Grayson was about to get the sweetest nursery her honorary Uncle Sam (okay, he might need to rethink that title) could give her.

  Chewing on his lower lip, he scanned the room, trying to judge the best use of space. The crib would take up the most room and was in the largest box, so he tackled that first. A half hour or so into it, Sam decided it was too quiet. He was used to working with music on in the background. Something twangy but upbeat. Propping the crib rails up against the wall, he ran down to his office for his iPod.

  Much better. He bopped his head to the beat, as a country singer crooned about getting lost down a backcountry road. Glancing up at the window, he saw fat snowflakes coming down. When they were this big, they usually petered out before too long. But it was enough to ratchet up his tension level. Worry snaked through his veins, had him scratching at his arms, his scalp, wanting to wriggle out of his own skin. The closer it got to Wynter’s due date, the more convinced he became that they were not going to make it to the hospital in time.

  Sam was scared for his friend, scared for the innocent life she carried. He stuck out his chin and glared out the window. If he had to, he’d deliver the baby himself. His stomach a little queasy, he made a mental note to Google home births. He wasn’t going to let any harm come to either of them. Not on his watch.

  He gave the screwdriver another hard twist and set it aside, testing the rail on the crib. Down. Up. Not bad for a freelance software game developer. One piece of furniture down, three more to go. Sam tossed the cardboard box into the hallway and tackled the changing table next.

  His growling stomach sent him downstairs right at noon. He was in a groove, so he barely took the time to slap a little peanut butter on a couple of slices of wheat bread. Foregoing a plate, Sam snagged a banana off the counter and headed for the stairs. He looked briefly from the banana to the sandwich, wondering if he had enough time or interest to slice up the banana and toss it inside the bread. No on both counts. Shrugging his shoulders, Sam had nearly finished the sandwich before he reached the new nursery.

  Leaning against the doorframe, he smiled. It was coming together. He hoped to heck that Wynter’s tastes hadn’t changed over the years. He’d gone with a cherry wood set. The light walls really offset the dark wood tones in the furniture. Glossy. Classy. Satisfied, he stepped into the room, looking from the crib to the now-completed changing table.

  No. They were both too close to the window. There could be a draft. Charlotte might get sick. He rolled the crib two feet closer to the door and placed the changing table on the adjoining wall. Yeah. That worked. The dresser could go under the giant window. The dresser that was going to be a pain in the rear to put together. One of the reasons he’d broken for lunch was seeing the gazillion pieces that went with it. Somehow Sam didn’t think most people chose to put their entire nursery together in one day. He was nuts.

  The box of dresser bits and pieces lay open, a more complicated jigsaw puzzle Sam had never seen. He abandoned it in favor of the glider and ottoman. Surely those would be easier. Then again, maybe not.

  His back ached, his butt was asleep, and his knees made awful cracking noises when he finally stood up to turn on the overhead light. He arched his spine, which crackled and popped. He was a walking breakfast cereal! His original idea had been to offer the large soaking tub in his master bath up to Wynter, who would likely be just as uncomfortable as he was by day end. But now he just might have to fight her for it.

  Aw, crap. As though he were thrust into a darkened movie theater, images of Wynter, in his bathtub, assaulted him. Her flaming red hair and pale, creamy shoulders just visible above a sea of bubbles. And because his imagination liked to torment him, it threw in a few more teasing details, like flickering candlelight and the calming scent of lavender.

  He could almost feel the heat from the water. If he slipped in behind her, there’d be room for them both. He’d draw her up against his chest, watching the steam from the bath curl the little hairs at the nape of her neck. He’d reach around to pull her even closer . . . and her very round, very pregnant belly would slap him back into reality. What the hell had he been thinking? Wynter was off-limits. Pregnant Wynter? Even more so.

  Sam staggered back to the last box on the floor. He figured he had another couple of hours before he had to run over to Riley’s. Just as he’d predicted, the snow hadn’t lasted more than an hour. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t slippery out there. Wynter would need extra help navigating the dark driveways.

  It took him just under two hours, but he finished putting the little dresser together. He tied the cushions onto the rocking chair and dug through the bags for the frou-frou things that went on the crib. A white crib sheet and red toile-print comforter. Wynter hated pink. He hoped she’d be pleased that he remembered that. And the finishing touch? A mobile with whimsical little owls. Back in school, Wynter had collected owls.

  Well, it was too late to change anything now. She’d love it or she’d hate it. Sam collected the boxes, bags, and the rest of the garbage, tossing it in the basement for the time being. He debated whether he should take her up here or just wait and let her discover it on her own. She did love to snoop—okay, explore. And if Sam knew his friend, her stubborn pride would need time to absorb the gesture, without him hovering for approval. Throwing on his navy blue parka, he tried to get his nerves under control before he got to Riley’s back door.

  Chapter 7

  Too much snow. The town was too far away. The town wasn’t even big enough to call a town. Wynter sank further beneath the bubbles as she mentally listed all the reasons she couldn’t stay here in Vermont. Absolutely none of her reasons had anything to do with Sam. Sam was . . . God, she didn’t even deserve a friend as amazing as Sam. She laid her head back against the bathtub tile and blew her damp bangs out of her eyes.

  The guy was supposed to be on deadline, he’d told her often enough over the past few days. And yet he’d taken the time, the whole day, she supposed, to create a cozy paradise for her incredibly lucky little girl. She should have been angry at the expense. It was her responsibility, after all. Goodness knew they’d been arguing about that since the day she’d barged back into his life. But the gesture, the sweetest, kindest gesture, was not something she could throw back in his face.

  Twelve years they’d been apart. Twelve years and yet he remembered her so well. Sam knew she’d gag over any Pepto-Bismol-girlie-pink in her daughter’s nursery. The toile was country chic, not teddy-bear-cutesy, and paired well with the dark wood furniture. She would find a way, later, to explain that they would have to leave the comforter out of the crib once Charlotte was actually using it. For now, it stayed, as a reminder of Sam’s incredible generosity and loving heart. Wynter had even spent a few quiet moments rocking away in her new glider, admiring his hard work.

  The warm water relaxed her tired, aching muscles. Her body began to unwind. But her brain was on overtime. It was getting harder to hang on to the desperate determination to get back to Scallop Shores. The temptation to stay and play house with Sam crowded her thoughts. She closed her eyes and breathed in the lavender soap that she’d used as a substitute for bubble bath. Surprisingly enough, it created nearly as many bubbles as the real stuff.

  Oh, Sam. He’d started out a means to an end. He’d left them, after all. She’d intended to harden her heart ag
ainst her former best friend, lest it break again when it was time to leave. But he’d had to go and make her feel welcome. He’d had to go and get attached to her unborn baby. Oh, he could try to deny it, but Wynter knew the truth. Her Sam might have left Scallop Shores behind to hide out in the middle of nowhere, but he hadn’t changed so much. He was still the most amazing guy she knew.

  Lifting a foot from the water, she finally caught sight of something she hadn’t seen for a while: her toes. Wynter grinned. She rubbed her belly in long, slow strokes. Concentrating on the warmth of the water, the moist air, and the strong scent of lavender, it was almost possible to fully relax. Her first-time parent fears, the thought of being a single mom with no real job to speak of, receded to the back of her brain. Her worries were more of a faint buzz, at the moment, than the cymbal-smashing marching band that tromped through her head most of the day.

  “Everything okay in there?” Sam’s baritone rumbled through the door.

  She knew he wouldn’t open the door unless he was 100 percent certain that she was in danger, yet Wynter found herself rearranging bubbles to protect her modesty.

  “We’re just fine. Thank you for letting me use this soaking tub, Sam. I’m not sure I ever want to get out.”

  “Uh huh. Tell me that after the water’s cooled off.” His footsteps receded, faintly scuffing across the carpet.

  Wynter stroked her stomach again. “Oh, little girl, I want to be a mommy you can be proud of. I want to be the kind of mommy your daddy thought I’d be.” She smiled at the answering thump.

  Wynter soaked a washcloth in the hot water, wrung it out and placed it over her eyes. That felt good. She closed her eyes and conjured her ‘happy place,’ the future she envisioned for her and Charlotte. They would each have their own room in the small apartment above Sam’s grandmother’s bookstore in Scallop Shores. Charlotte would come to work with her. What a place to grow up in!