by T. F. Walsh
Okay, so she hadn’t quite trusted what her body had been trying to tell her. But, hey, she’d never done this before! She’d been expecting some grand sign, like her water breaking or being seized by a sudden, debilitating contraction, to start that ball rolling. Things just sort of snuck up on her. She thought she could handle it.
Ohhhh . . . It was time to get Sam involved. Wynter was through being a martyr. She tossed back the covers and swung her legs off the side of the bed. As her feet searched the floor for her fuzzy slippers, she was blindsided by another contraction. Too fast! This is happening too fast! She started to whimper, needing to get to Sam.
Clutching the bedpost, she lurched across the bedroom until she could get a tight hold on the doorframe. She must have looked like a zombie, crawling from doorframe to doorframe until she got to Sam’s room. She managed to flip on his light but he didn’t even stir. He was so tired. Maybe she should just . . . Oh, holy God! Unable to bear the pain, Wynter crumpled to the floor, letting loose a thin screech as she curled into the fetal position.
“Wyn! What’s wrong? Is something the matter with the baby? Are you hurt? Is it . . . ?” He stopped suddenly, realization dawning once he’d had a chance to wake up a little.
“The storm. I waited too long. I wasn’t sure. I’m so sorry, Sam,” she managed to hiss out.
“It’s okay. We can do this. I’ve been researching home births.”
Only Sam. Wynter wanted to laugh at the absurdity of this latest development. Only her Sam would think to cover his bases this way. He probably knew she wouldn’t want to inconvenience him. Pain contorted her smile into a grimace. It was nearly constant now, one contraction on top of another. It hurt too much to even cry. Sam’s face hovered in front of her, blurry in her pain-filled haze. Save me. Make this go away.
He was helping her to the bed when Wynter felt a new rush of humiliation. She knew without asking that Sam had felt her water break. He was standing close enough that she was sure his feet had been splashed. She’d never be able to look him in the eye again. And he hadn’t even had to look at her ‘down there,’ yet.
“Let’s get you in bed.” He was all efficiency and that helped her ignore her embarrassment long enough to cooperate.
She’d gotten to Sam in time. Everything was going to be all right. Sam would make it all right. “Ahhhh!” The scream startled them both, ripped from between clenched teeth as Wynter bore down on another contraction.
• • •
Okay, it was go time. What was the first thing they were supposed to do? Sam looked wildly around the room. He kept his voice calm, and hid the tremors that threatened to rattle his teeth loose. Wynter was counting on him.
He got her into bed and rushed to his desk in the corner. Jerking at the mouse to wake up the screen, he scrolled through bookmarked websites for the one he’d been studying just the night before. He thought he’d have more time.
Yeah, he’d been anticipating this. It was Vermont—in the dead of winter. Chances were pretty damned good that a snowstorm would blow in, making a hospital delivery less and less likely. And he’d been right to assume that Wynter wouldn’t take the contractions seriously until it was too late. She was too stubborn for her own good.
So they were doing this. Another scream from the bed had him yanking the power cord from the laptop and carrying it with him back to the other side of the room. The website hadn’t bothered to explain that hearing his best friend’s gut-wrenching cries of pain would push his own stress levels beyond human endurance.
“Amazing what you can learn from the internet.” That ridiculous statement earned him a glare. Yeah, probably best to keep the chatter to a minimum.
“Sam. Call 9-1-1,” she panted.
He was going to do that. It was next on his list. Really. He reached for the cell phone that he kept on the nightstand next to his bed. It wasn’t there. He stared frantically at the empty charger. Wynter watched him closely, her eyes pleading with him.
“Sam, please!” She clutched at the sheets with a white-knuckled grip, her entire body going rigid. Crap.
“I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.” Sam spun on his heel and raced for the stairs, taking them two at a time, falling on his butt and sliding down the last few. Not letting it stop his momentum, he ran to his office.
Knowing that there was no chance of an ambulance arriving in time for the EMT guys to actually deliver Wynter’s baby, Sam could only pray they made it in time to deliver mom and baby to the hospital safely, so they both could be checked out. Sure, babies had been born at home for centuries, before hospitals came into existence, but that didn’t mean just anyone could deliver a baby. What if something were to go wrong?
Thank God! His phone was on his desk and the battery was at half strength. Sam put it on speaker and began to explain their situation as soon as the operator came on.
“Can you see the baby? Is it crowning yet?”
“What? No.” Geez, he was still in his office! “Wait. I’ve got to get back upstairs.”
Sam flew out of his office and hurried up the stairs, careful not to trip a second time. He stopped at the top of the landing to grab a pile of towels from the linen closet. Wynter’s wails were escalating. He wasn’t sure what to expect when he burst back into the room.
“Okay, sir. I need you to check if the baby is crowning. Can you do that?”
“Yes. Yes, I can do that.” He set the phone down on the mattress, sent Wynter a miserable, apologetic look, and made his way to the foot of the bed.
His bedding was soaked. Wynter’s nightgown was sticking to her legs. He would have liked to have pulled it off altogether, so she wouldn’t get so chilled, but it seemed only fair to let her retain at least a little of her dignity. He pushed it up over her belly, shoved his own embarrassment down deep and removed her sopping undies. No, this wasn’t awkward at all.
“Sir? What can you see?”
My best friend’s hoo-hah, Ma’am. And I’ve got to tell you that this is not how I envisioned seeing it for the first time. Sam swallowed hard and shook his head to clear his thoughts. His eyes widened as he realized what he was seeing.
“Yes! The baby is coming. I see the top of the head.”
Embarrassment evaporated, replaced by wonder and excitement. He looked up to find Wynter watching him anxiously. Flashing her a huge grin, he added a thumbs up for good measure. She smiled, shakily.
On a groan she nearly doubled over, grunting as she pushed. Sam’s long-abandoned laptop crashed to the floor.
“You need to place your hands on the baby’s head now. Don’t pull. Just hold them there for support and guide the baby out of the birth canal.”
“I have to wash my hands first.” He panicked.
“There’s no time for that now, sir. You need to place your hands on the baby’s head.”
Wynter nodded vigorously in agreement.
“Catch her, Sam. Make sure she’s safe.” She growled it out as she began to push anew.
“Make sure mom is breathing. Can you hear me, ma’am? Pant for me. Pant for your baby.”
“Hee hee hee . . . I’m panting. Tell her I’m panting, Sam.”
He couldn’t say anything at the moment. His focus was on the perfect little face that had slipped into his waiting hands. She was so warm. Her eyes were scrunched shut. It was happening. Really happening.
“Is the head out yet, sir?”
“Yes, she’s out.”
“We still need to get those shoulders out. She’s not out of the woods yet.” The operator spoke matter-of-factly.
Wynter huffed and puffed and moaned through a champion push, in Sam’s opinion. He wanted to cheer her on, she was doing so well. Women were so much stronger than men. So much more amazing.
He watched closely, held on firmly and turned the baby just a smidge when he realized it was exactly what was needed to help guide her shoulders out. And then Wynter’s little miracle was with them. Sam shouted his exaltation.
&
nbsp; “Sir, I need you to gently push the baby’s nasal passages to clear them. Is the baby responsive?” A loud wail was all the answer needed.
The 9-1-1 dispatcher talked him through the cutting of the umbilical cord and Sam lifted the newborn up to find that Wynter had disposed of the ruined nightgown and now waited to place the baby to her bosom. He laid her gently against her mother, skin to skin.
“I’m showing that your ambulance is about forty minutes away, at this point. Please remain on the line and I will assist you with the remainder of the delivery.”
Sam watched mother and daughter, their bond instantaneous. Tears streamed down Wynter’s cheeks, matching his own. Outside the window, pink streaks hinted at morning. It had been one hell of a night. He couldn’t get the foolish smile off his face. Charlotte was the most beautiful baby in the world. Born to the most beautiful woman in the world. And Sam realized his life would never be whole unless he found a way to hang on to them both.
Chapter 9
“Go get some rest,” she heard whispered in her ear.
She’d dozed off again. Wynter stirred as she felt the baby gently lifted from her bosom. Sam. She blinked, smiling sleepily. She watched as he carried her little bundle to the crib and settled her down for a nap. They’d made it through another long night.
Who knew they would make such a good team? Over the past few days they had fallen into a surprisingly easy routine. They spotted each other for naps while Charlotte was awake. They took turns doing laundry and fixing meals. Not a day went by that Wynter didn’t thank God that she had Sam in her life at exactly this moment. The thought of caring for a newborn, alone, sent icy shards down her spine.
It was Sam who showed her how to swaddle Charlotte as tight as a burrito, so she’d sleep better. Sam gave her lessons on diapering. And in a particularly awkward moment, Sam had helped her get the baby to latch on to nurse. Most of that, excluding the breastfeeding part, he’d explained that he picked up that first winter break, home from college, when Paulie’s oldest had just come home from the hospital.
The guy was a perfect dad. Only he wasn’t really a dad. He wasn’t Charlotte’s dad. And he wasn’t theirs to keep.
Of course, the more she thought of Sam in the role of Charlotte’s father, the more guilt she felt over the fact that she wasn’t mourning her baby’s real father the way he deserved. Holt had wanted this baby so badly. He had bugged her and bugged her to start a family. If only she hadn’t put him off for as long as she had. Holt could have had some time with Charlotte before he’d died.
But Wynter hadn’t wanted to start a family with a man she’d only settled for. It wasn’t fair to either of them, and it wasn’t fair to their children. If she could just go back and change the past. She’d been so numb after Sam left, going through the motions of life, not feeling, not caring. Changing the past would mean going back to that night, the night Sam’s parents died. The night all their lives had changed forever.
Wynter stood up from the rocker, scuffing out of the nursery like a zombie, past the slumbering child and the man who stood watch over her. She headed downstairs for a cup of herbal tea. It was snowing again. But they had nowhere they needed to be. She slumped against the corner of the counter, holding a mug heavily laden with sugar. If she couldn’t have caffeine, she’d find another way to get a little zing in her step.
What would things have been like if Sam’s parents had lived? She and Holt and Sam would have attended college together. The Three Musketeers, one for all and all for one. The best of friends. Would they have each found their soul mates? Would it have been awkward to find room in their tight-knit group for girlfriends/boyfriends? Would they have been happy for each other?
Her back teeth ground together and she frowned into her steaming mug as she thought of Sam with someone else. Who the hell was she to get jealous? He had every right to find someone to love. Still did. Wynter felt physically ill at the thought of Sam meeting Ms. Right, marrying her, and raising his own family.
She needed to get to Scallop Shores. She needed to put some distance between them. The sooner she got over this ridiculous notion of Sam being a replacement father for Charlotte, the better. She was just lonely. That’s all.
Sam deserved a woman who could give the man she loved her whole heart. He deserved someone who knew how to treat a man, how to cherish and respect his feelings. He deserved a much better person than her.
“Man, I need some rocket fuel! I have got to get to work if I want to keep this gig.” She hadn’t even heard him come downstairs.
A strange, gurgling sound came out of Sam’s throat. Wynter’s head jerked up. He was staring at her chest. His tongue came out to wet his lips, but his eyes remained fixed. He looked . . . No, she wasn’t thinking clearly. Her sleep-deprived brain was making up an attraction that wasn’t really there.
She looked down at her chest and nearly died of humiliation. Oh, she was one classy broad, all right! Setting her tea on the counter and acting as nonchalant as she could attempt, Wynter tucked her right breast back into her nightgown. I’ll take ‘Most Embarrassing Moment of My Life’ for $500, Alex.
“I should probably get some rest. I seem to be forgetting the basic rules of propriety.” Wynter fled to the doorway.
Curiosity got the better of her and she turned to see if her imagination had trumped up that look she thought she’d seen on Sam’s face. He was still watching her. His back was so rigid it looked like it hurt. He worked his jaw like that was aching too. His eyes had gone so dark that the little flecks of gold had all but disappeared.
Her breath came in shallow gasps as they eyed each other from a safe distance. Unconsciously, she took a step back, covering her arms over her flimsy nightgown.
“I’m sorry,” they spoke over each other.
Wynter blinked.
“Wait. Why are you sorry?”
“I shouldn’t have looked. I couldn’t stop looking. I . . . I liked what I saw.” Astonishment over his own admission was evident in his expression.
Okay, suspicion confirmed. Wynter opened her mouth to speak, found that words just weren’t capable of forming, so she feigned a cough. Feeling as though she ought to acknowledge this confession in some way, she nodded. Sam broke eye contact first, spinning around to focus his attention on the coffee maker. She used that time to escape.
Shutting the door to her bedroom, she pressed her back to it and grinned. This was the most bizarre moment in the history of her adult life. She should be mortified. She should be dreading the next run in with Sam. She should be . . . anything but giddy. And still she grinned.
Pushing off the door, Wynter rubbed the grainy sleepiness from her eyes. She had to think about this logically. Sam wouldn’t normally find her attractive, would he? Heck, she’d just given birth! Changing into a pair of sweats and a flannel shirt, she snorted. Yeah, she was one sexy catch.
It had to be the close confines. And the guy must be lonely. He hardly got out, and when he did, it was to visit his acerbic neighbor—who was also a guy. Well, consider her bubble popped. Sam was just happy to have caught sight of a boob, any boob. Wynter sat on the bed to pull on a thick pair of socks. Her sigh may have been a tad melodramatic.
So then the other issue to ponder would be why the thought of Sam finding her attractive made her so happy. She didn’t think of Sam like that . . . Did she? He was her best friend. She was just overly thrilled to have him back in her life again. She was confusing friendliness and gratefulness for him having taken her in, with deeper feelings that had no place in her relationship with Sam.
A knock at her door had her whirling around, patting at her mussed hair and smoothing her wrinkled shirt down. She shook her head, disgusted that she was behaving this way over Sam. It was just Sam. She opened the door, smiling as she realized he looked just as sleepy and rumpled as she did.
“Hey, listen. I just wanted to apologize again. I was a jerk. You’re a guest in my house and I was totally inappropriate.” He paused, s
uddenly staring.
“Sam?”
“You’re wearing my shirt.” She watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down. “It looks good on you.”
They faced each other from opposite sides of the doorway, the air almost vibrating from the intensity in their gazes. You take one step closer and I am going to kiss you. She dug her stocking-covered toes into the deep pile carpet in an effort to keep from throwing herself into Sam’s arms. His chest rose and fell, his eyes going from the buttons on the blue plaid to Wynter’s lips. He never got up as far as her eyes.
Aw, screw it! She stepped across the threshold and planted one on him. The sound that escaped his mouth seemed an awful lot like relief. Wynter smiled around the kiss. His arms came up around her, his hands briefly cupping her shoulders before pulling her close. He smelled of coffee and some kind of spicy male soap. While she had been the one to initiate the kiss, at some point Sam took over.
His lips nibbled at hers like she was the sweetest fruit, ripe for the picking. She opened for him, marveling at the masterfulness with which he took her mouth. Who knew her Sam was this forceful, this passionate, or this hot? She heard her own voice, a mewl so soft it almost didn’t register. No, wait. It was Charlotte. She was waking up.
Sam heard it too, breaking off the kiss and pressing his forehead to hers. Still wrapped in his arms, she savored the moment. Urgent hunger cries began in earnest, across the hall. Wynter slipped out of Sam’s grasp, sparing a quick squeeze of his hand before she left.
“I take it back,” he said softly.
“Take what back?” She was already across the hall, in the nursery, picking up her newborn.