by T. F. Walsh
She’d spent much of her own teen years hanging out in The Book Nook. As soon as she was old enough, Sam’s grandmother hired her to man the cash register, giving the other employees a chance to take their lunch breaks or stock the shelves. She wasn’t actually given very many hours, but that didn’t stop her from spending most of her free time there. When surrounded by books, especially in the used section, Wynter was at her happiest.
Ah, the thought of finally settling in Scallop Shores, getting reacquainted with the locals, being welcomed back into the fold and feeling as though she’d never really left. In her head Wynter walked the streets, so quiet in the winter but getting more crowded as tourists started to filter in for the summer months. She remembered the Civil War statue in the center of town, the beautiful cemeteries, and the old churches. In the summer there were flowers everywhere; in the winter the snow and ice decorated the bare tree limbs. Oh, she couldn’t wait to go back.
When she’d first come up with the idea of asking Sam for a place to stay until she could save up enough to move back home, including him in her plans for the future never even crossed her mind. Foolishly, she found herself trying to reserve him a spot, a spot he didn’t want. Sam would never come with her. At least she knew where he lived now. She could always visit. But it wouldn’t be the same.
The washcloth over her eyes had grown cool. Her happy place was no longer quite as happy. Uncovering her eyes, she found that most of the bubbles had dissipated. Sam would be waiting for his turn to use the tub, or at the very least, for her to leave his bathroom, as she’d have to cross through his bedroom to do so.
Unbidden, the thought of Sam lying in his bed as she exited the bathroom came to mind. Though the bath water had begun to cool, Wynter’s skin felt flushed and tingly. What did he wear to bed? He didn’t seem like a pajama kind of guy. Boxers or briefs, Sam?
She wanted to giggle, but her throat was clogged. Need? Frustration? Bracing herself against the sides of the tub, she used the buoyancy of the water to push herself to a standing position. The last thing she needed was to have to holler out to Sam to come rescue her from the bathtub.
Wynter reached for the snowy white towel. Drying off suddenly felt torturous as her skin was entirely too sensitive. Frustrated, she stuffed a corner of the towel between her teeth and bit down, resisting the urge to scream. She glared at the closed door leading to Sam’s bedroom.
Why Sam? And why now? Her pregnancy hormones were supposed to make her cry, not want to throw her elephantine self at her best friend. It was crazy. She was crazy. She sniffled. It came out as half-sob, half-laugh but the tears did come. She didn’t think to mask the sound.
This time his fist pounded on the door. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt? Cover up—I’m coming in!”
She had just enough time to throw the towel around her middle, tucking it between her breasts, before Sam came barreling in. A hand covered his eyes, though he peeked between two fingers. The tears continued to course down her cheeks, though she’d be darned if she knew exactly why. Sam’s hands skimmed her arms, held her away as he looked her over for some perceived damage.
If she’d thought she knew torture before, toweling off was nothing compared to being this close to him, having his hands on her. This time she howled her frustration, taking cover behind the tears. Sam wrapped her in his arms, murmuring soothing words as he guided her out of the bathroom and into his room. He paused, perhaps contemplating whether he should deposit her in his own bed, as it was closer. God, no!
Wynter kept her feet moving, dragging Sam along with her. His long arm around her shoulders, they made quite a pair, shuffling down the hall. His voice was low and soft in her ear. She wasn’t even sure what he was saying. He probably couldn’t have said either. But it wasn’t helping, the deep timbre and the rolling rhythm. She gripped the edges of the terrycloth towel together and willed herself not to lose control.
Sam led her into the bedroom, moving purposely to the bed and yanking down the covers. It wasn’t until he’d turned around that he must have remembered that she was still basically soaking wet. Shivering, she waited in the center of the room.
“Um, do you need any help getting dried off?” The Adam’s apple in Sam’s throat bobbed as he focused his attention on a point just over Wynter’s left shoulder.
“I’m good. Thanks.” She sniffled.
“Okay then. I’ll give you a few minutes to get into a nightgown, then I’m coming back to check on you.” His voice held a gravelly edge.
As soon as the door shut, Wynter whisked the towel off, rubbing herself dry, before putting on a thick flannel nightgown. There. Hard to think sexy thoughts when you looked like Little Red Riding Hood’s grannie. Well, hard but not impossible. She slipped into bed, pulling the covers up to her chin and tried to calm her racing hormones. She wasn’t sure quite how much time had passed when Sam knocked softly at the door. She snapped her eyelids shut, feigning sleep.
She listened to his footsteps cross the threshold, stopping beside the bed. The mattress dipped as he sat down, the back of his hand coming to rest against her forehead. Concentrating on breathing slowly, in and out, in and out, Wynter squelched the shiver that would give her away. She could feel the warmth from his body as he leaned down.
And then he kissed her. His lips were soft against hers, full of promise and hope. She felt like Snow White and Cinderella, every fairy tale princess there ever was. She wanted to open her eyes and invite him into her heart, into her bed. But she hadn’t even given this much of herself to Holt, her husband. She’d held back with him. He’d deserved so much more than she’d given him. Reminded of the half-life she’d had with Holt, Wynter continued to breathe deep. Go away, Sam. I don’t deserve you, Sam.
“Sweet dreams, Wyn.” He brushed a knuckle against her cheek before leaving.
• • •
He’d log way more productive hours if he just put a coffee maker in his office. Sam headed back down the hall from the kitchen, his third cup of coffee quickly cooling off. But then he’d need a mini fridge for his milk. It wasn’t worth the hassle.
Setting the mug down on his desk, he slumped into his chair and scowled at the computer screen. His five o’clock deadline was in four hours and he had to figure out how to squeeze about ten hours of work into that time frame. He could do it, no question. But it disgusted him that he’d let things get down to the wire like this.
It was too quiet. Wynter was at Riley’s, cataloging old mildewy books. He was stuck here with hours of endless coding. Not that he wanted to be at his neighbor’s. Nor did he want to be around mildewy books. He just wanted to be around her. Damn it. He’d spent twelve years hiding from her and in just a few weeks he was her little lap hound. Pathetic.
And it wasn’t like it was reciprocated. He’d tested out that theory last night. God, she’d scared the hell out of him when he heard her sobbing in his bathroom. Seeing her in only a towel, the front of which would not pull entirely together, Sam had almost swallowed his tongue.
He still wasn’t sure what Wynter had been crying about, but she wasn’t bleeding, she wasn’t hobbling, and she wasn’t worried about the baby. His head told him to tuck her into bed and make sure she got some rest. His body told him different, as he breathed in the scent of lavender radiating from her dewy skin. Her sun-kissed hair stuck out at all angles and her skin was glowing a gorgeous pink.
Be a gentleman. Be a gentleman. She’s about ready to give birth, for crying out loud! He’d gotten her to her room. She was safe and sound. He should have left it at that. But he’d gone back in. No way could she have fallen asleep that fast. She was faking. And the fact that she hadn’t reacted when he kissed her? She was being kind.
Sam knocked his coffee mug on a tooth when he brought it up to his mouth too fast. The liquid was now tepid. Add a damned microwave to the list of things he needed in order to run an efficient business and not have to keep leaving this room. He set the cup down, pushing it to the edge of the desk. H
e didn’t need it. He was just looking for excuses to get up and think about his temporary housemate.
There. Temporary. Just keep that in mind, Romeo. She doesn’t want you and she’s off to Scallop Shores as soon as she can afford it. Then he’d be back where he’d started, back where he’d chosen to be: alone. Only this time . . . Lonely.
His cell phone rang, reminding him of looming deadlines and the consequences of procrastination. Paulie. He hadn’t spoken to his sister since Wynter had admitted that it was Paulie who’d given her his address. At this point, he wasn’t sure whether he should thank her or condemn her.
“I’m on deadline. Whatcha need?” Sam winced. He hadn’t meant to come off that rude.
“Everything okay out there at the North Pole?” Always the jokester.
“You mean, has Wynter settled in and are we all cozy, playing house?” Because, yeah, they actually were.
“She had nowhere else to go. I wouldn’t have said anything if she didn’t absolutely need you.”
“I know, sis.” It wasn’t her fault, or Wynter’s even, that his heart was breaking over the fact that Wynter needed him, not for him, but for the roof over his head.
“It’s just temporary. And then you get your nice, quiet life back.” She actually sounded cheerful.
“Yeah, so everyone keeps telling me,” he mumbled.
“Sam? I thought this was what you wanted, to be alone. To be away from everyone that reminded you of that night, of Mom and Dad.”
Twelve years ago he would have wholeheartedly agreed. He had wanted to be alone. Well, he’d thought he ought to be alone. Wasn’t that the same thing? He’d been punishing himself, pushing everyone he loved away. But now? Wynter showing up on his porch showed him just how much he was missing.
“It was. It is. I don’t know. Wynter being here . . . It’s just all being dredged up again, Paulie.”
“Have you talked to her about it? Does she know about the nightmares?”
“No! God, no. She tried . . . She wants to know why I won’t go visit you and Gran. She doesn’t get it. She just wouldn’t understand.”
“I think she understands a lot more than you realize, little brother. She’s hanging on to her own share of guilt from that night. Were you aware of that?”
“That’s crazy. She didn’t do anything wrong. She didn’t sneak out of the house. She wasn’t somewhere she shouldn’t have been.” Sam’s chest ached with unshed tears. He squeezed his eyes shut, gulping in air as he tried to rein in his emotions.
“You didn’t do anything wrong either, Sam. In fact, someone was looking out for you that night. Angels, God, whatever you choose to believe in.”
“I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.” His voice was so gruff he didn’t even recognize it.
“You were lucky. You were spared.”
“I was supposed to die that night!” Anguish laced his words. He had put off this conversation for twelve years and he certainly didn’t want to talk about it now.
“I don’t think so.” Paulie was quiet for a moment. “There must be a reason Wynter came back into your life. Maybe you’re meant to have a second chance.”
“Shows what you know. We didn’t even have a first chance.” Sam was breathing hard, his body trembling with the effort to hold everything inside.
“She needs you, Sam. Her baby needs you.”
“You mean Holt’s baby? Holt, who was supposed to be my best friend, but I was too busy being a selfish prick and he died?”
“Oh, so you’re going to blame yourself for Holt’s death, too? Little brother, you are not as all-powerful as you think you are.”
He bit his tongue. What he’d been about to say was unforgiveable and couldn’t be taken back. His nostrils flared as he blew out a deep breath, struggling to calm his jangled emotions.
“Listen to me, Sammie. It’s just the two of you now. Well, nearly three. Take care of them. You need each other.”
“She wants to leave. She wants to go back. Eventually she’s going to take the baby and go back to Scallop Shores.”
“Not if she falls in love with you first.”
That one sentence tore him in two. Part of him immediately dismissed the idea as crazy. Wynter could never love someone like him. But part of him, a tiny, hopeful part, fluttered inside his battered, bruised, and broken heart. She needed him now for practical reasons. Was it possible he could get her to need him on an emotional level?
“You never did learn how to stay out of my business, Pauline.” He couldn’t quite keep the smile out of his voice.
“I love you, too, Sammie.”
Chapter 8
“Is the chicken too dry? You aren’t eating.” Sam’s mouth drew down in a frown.
The pain in her back nearly unbearable, Wynter forced a smile. “Not at all. Riley just made a huge batch of chili today. We must have eaten later than I realized.”
“He can cook?” Sam’s eyebrows disappeared into his hairline.
“Oh, for goodness’ sake, he might not be able to walk, but he is still capable of plenty.”
“That’s not what I meant. Did it taste good?” He pushed his green beans around on his plate. “He’s never made a big batch of chili for me.”
“Aw, jealous much?” Even the effort to tease was too much. She needed to get away, before Sam realized her discomfort and tried to make a bigger deal of it than it was.
When he’d come over to walk her home, he had alerted both Wynter and Riley to the latest snowstorm that had started without their noticing. Sam had insisted she wait inside while he swept the steps clear of the inch or so of accumulation that had only just begun. The weatherman was now calling for fifteen inches before morning.
If Sam knew her back was hurting this much he would bundle her into the car no matter how much she argued. He’d want her checked out. But it was nothing. Just her body’s way of telling her she’d stood up too long or sat on the floor in Riley’s spare bedroom with no proper back support. She was paying for not taking enough breaks today.
“Would it destroy your sensitive feelings if I just headed up to bed early tonight?” She threw her friend a lopsided grin that had more to do with pain than pertness.
“If you weren’t so pregnant, I’d make you stay to wash the dishes.” Sam stuck out his tongue.
“Leave them for morning. Seriously. I’ll do them before I leave for Riley’s.” Now she was hurting and feeling guilty.
“I was just teasing. I don’t want you standing for longer than necessary.”
Amen to that! Wynter struggled to her feet and headed for the door.
“Can I help you up the stairs?”
“Do I look like an invalid?” She knew she’d snapped at him, but she was desperate to get to her room, where he couldn’t see the toll the day had taken on her body. She’d never hear the end of it.
“Use my tub again. Soak those muscles.”
He knew. Somehow he already knew. And the bitch of it was that she would love to take a bath. But the hot daggers drilling into her back were too distracting to even think of running the water and lowering herself in.
“I’m good, Sam. Just tired.” Lumbering up the stairs, she briefly considered stopping halfway for a sit break, but she sensed he was listening for her to get safely to the top.
Finally in her own room, Wynter shut the door and slid to the floor on her knees, curling her back into a stretch to gain some measure of relief. Okay. She’d overdone it. Plenty of rest and she’d be back in the game tomorrow morning. After a few moments, when she’d managed to channel the searing heat into a dull throb, she dressed for bed and was under the covers before the clock struck seven.
Only sleep didn’t seem to be part of her future, and Wynter tossed restlessly. Had she pulled a muscle this afternoon? Maybe things were more serious and she’d been too quick to write it off. It was starting to travel to her stomach, great bands of white hot heat, slowly pulling ever tighter. And all the while the snow fell and the road
s became more hazardous.
She listened to Sam wash the dishes and then shut himself into his office. Good. He was getting some work done. He’d been spending too much of his valuable work time focused on her and the impending birth. He needed to redirect his energy back to his deadline. Wynter would feel awful if there were repercussions because of her.
A particularly sharp stab stole her breath. What on earth was the matter with her? She still had over two weeks until her due date. This couldn’t be it. Deciding she could talk herself into anything if she wanted it badly enough, Wynter pulled the covers up to her chin and tried to concentrate on her happy place.
Because she needed a little more ‘happy’ right now, she added Sam to the scenario. He was hugging his grandmother and holding little Charlotte. His sister was there too, in the family bookstore on Main Street in Scallop Shores. Paulie’s three rowdy boys were chasing each other around the shelves. One big happy family. And since this was her scene, her ‘happy’ place, it was her family too. Why not? That’s what fantasies were all about, right?
Wynter clutched her stomach as another painful spasm ripped through her body. She struggled to keep her breathing under control. A glance at the clock told her two things: it was now two o’clock in the morning and her contractions (because at some point she was forced to call a spade a spade) were now less than five minutes apart. Stupid, stupid! She’d waited too long.
With another hot band of steel wrapping all around her body, Wynter had to admit that she was in labor, and things were progressing a little too rapidly. And while she was admitting that scary truth, here was an even more terrifying fact: by giving Sam the chance to work last evening and sleep tonight, the storm had only become worse and they had, more than likely, missed their window to make it to the hospital in time.
When the backache had slithered its way into her stomach, she’d thought it could have been Braxton Hicks. She’d been experiencing them for a week now. She didn’t want to be one of those foolish first-time moms who raced to the hospital over every little cramp. The doctor’s admonishment at her last appointment rang in her head. I don’t want you two to wait. As soon as those contractions start, give me a call. And more importantly, Err on the side of caution.