Snowbound Snuggles

by T. F. Walsh

  Chapter 1

  She was in Hell—and it had well and truly frozen over. Already exhausted from her cross-country flight, Wynter slumped from the weight of her misery as she stared at the two-story farmhouse. White clapboard and white wraparound front porch with tall white columns acted as sentries guarding the gates of Hell. And all of it blending in quite hideously with the snow that blanketed every blessed surface of the postage-stamp sized dot on the map that was Braeden, VT.

  The only color breaking up the monotonous white was the bright stain of red that served as the front door. Under other circumstances, it might have been considered cheerful, bright even. But Wynter was tired and more than a little nervous. In her current state, all she could think of was blood. She shivered, thinking to herself that she should not have come.

  A cough alerted her to the cab driver, waiting to be paid. Wynter closed her eyes, her trembling fingers reaching for the small fold of bills in her coat pocket—the last of her money. By stiffing the man his tip, she could keep the last precious twenty-dollar bill. Quickly, she handed the entire amount across the front seat to the driver, unable to meet his eyes for that uncharitable thought.

  Cold air sucked away what little warmth the old car’s heater had generated when the driver opened his door. He whistled an off-key tune, pulling her meager possessions from the trunk before he came back into view, setting her bags beside the neatly plowed walkway. He disappeared again, slammed the trunk closed and came around to help her exit the vehicle.

  “Careful, it’s slipperier than it looks.” The older man gripped her gloved hands, steadying her when her travel weary knees and top-heavy frame made her pinwheel first toward the snowbank on her left and then toward the one on her right.

  “You sure you ought to be travelin’ by yourself at this point?” He looked down at her very round belly.

  “Got the all-clear from the doctor just yesterday.” Wynter smiled brightly through the bald-faced lie.

  The airline had tried to give her a hard time. However, they didn’t have an actual rule that she couldn’t fly at 36 weeks. When Wynter had pointed out that it was a one-way flight and she promised to check in with her OB (another lie, as she didn’t have a doctor lined up in Vermont), they let her on her flight.

  “Well, good luck then. You go on in and sit down. Tell them to fix you up something warm to drink.” He tipped his hat, sparing a final glance at her protruding middle and got back into the cab.

  He’d driven away before Wynter could remember to ask if he’d carry her bags up to the front door. Gritting her teeth and cursing her own brash decision-making, she slung her duffel bag over her shoulder and picked the other two up by their handles. The driveway wasn’t long, but in her current condition, she was panting by the time she reached the covered porch.

  Now came the hard part. Sam wasn’t expecting her. More to the point, he’d been avoiding her for the last twelve years. She knew the reception she’d get wouldn’t be a welcome one. But that was okay. She had her trump card—a promise Sam had made years ago. Her baby’s future depended on him honoring that promise. Her means of escape having driven away, Wynter took a deep breath and knocked at the big red door.

  She shuffled her feet, wishing she’d had enough money to purchase a thick pair of winter boots for her impromptu cross-country adventure. Okay, to be fair, there really hadn’t been much time. One minute she held a one-way ticket to Florida, purchased by her parents, the next she had changed her destination, and hopefully, the overall direction of her life.

  At one time, too long ago for her taste, Sam had been her rock, one of her closest friends and someone she could go to in a moment of crisis. Now Wynter was newly widowed, about to raise a baby on her own. She could no longer afford the apartment she had shared with her husband in California. And, at thirty years old, she was forced to consider moving back in with her parents—an option she’d desperately like to avoid. If ever there was a moment of crisis, this was it.

  Why wasn’t Sam answering the door? Wynter’s eyes flew to the curtain-covered window beside the door, looking for movement. Did he know who was out there? Had he seen the ugly green and orange cab pull up and dump out the last person on Earth that he expected to see? Was he hiding on the other side of the door, willing her to turn around and walk the five miles or so to town?

  Well, it wasn’t going to happen. Wynter swallowed hard, past the lump forming in her throat. Her Sam wouldn’t leave her out on his doorstep to freeze. His mom had raised him right. Even if he didn’t want her there, he’d invite her in to warm up and rest. She rubbed her arms and stamped her sneakered feet. He wasn’t here. She hadn’t even considered that option.

  A little bit wildly now, she paid closer attention to her surroundings. The next house over was barely visible through the spindly winter-bare trees on the other side of the road. Sam’s covered porch offered little in the way of protection from the wind. Fear clawing at her throat, Wynter eyed the glass windows and pondered how she might break in. But any rocks were buried beneath at least a foot of snow, and the only furniture on the porch was a swing, attached to the shingled roof with thick chains.

  She crumpled onto the swing, defeat sapping the rest of her strength. Making herself as small as possible, she huddled against the cold wood, tears stinging the backs of her eyelids. Her idea had been to ask Sam for a place to stay, temporarily. She knew, through his sister, that he lived alone. She’d intended to look for a job, something she could walk to until she saved up enough for a beater car. Choking on a sob, Wynter realized the futility of her hastily made plans.

  She hadn’t counted on Sam living in the boonies. She wasn’t sure where the actual town was, or if there was even the possibility of a job. Wynter was so desperate to stay independent, to keep her domineering parents from taking over her life and the raising of her child that she’d run to the one person she could think of.

  “Where are you, Sam? I need you.” And the tears that had threatened from the moment the cab started to creep deeper and deeper into no-man’s land finally caught up with her.

  Hunching into her thick parka and pulling her knees up as best she could, Wynter tucked herself into the swing and gave in to the hopelessness that she could no longer hold at bay. Wrapping her arms protectively around the life that grew inside her, she started to cry.

  • • •

  He heard her long before he saw her. The biting wind carried the great, wrenching sobs over the tall snowbanks and across the road. Sam had been shoveling out the driveway for Riley, his only neighbor, so the woman’s cries had to be coming from his place. Quickening his pace, his eyes narrowed, searching. Was this person hurt? How had she gotten there? He didn’t think to ask himself who it might be. It didn’t matter. She was upset. She needed help.

  Tossing the shovel in the general direction of his mailbox, Sam hurried up the driveway, casting a glance this way and that. He spotted the woman on his porch swing, curled up against the cold. Her face was hidden; he couldn’t tell her age. It was then he noticed the pile of luggage at her feet. Okay, now he’d ask: who on Earth was she? He certainly wasn’t expecting any guests.

  He stepped closer and leaned down. He was about to speak when a lock of hair, bold, fiery red, slipped from beneath her knit cap. His heart clutched and the comforting smile on his face slid away as she lifted her tear-soaked face, her lower lip trembling. Dear God, no. Please, anyone but her.

  “Wynter,” he managed to croak out.

  “Sam. Oh, my God, I’m sorry you found me like this.” She shook her head back and forth, cringing. “I’m sorry I just showed up like this.”

  “How did you find me?” He spun on his heel and lifted his face to the bracing Vermont morning.

  It didn’t matter. It was the twenty-first century. Anyone with a working knowledge of technology could locate just about anyone on the planet. If she really wanted to find him, she would have eventually. He just hadn’t expected her to try.

  “Pauline
. Please don’t be mad at her, Sam. Blame me. I . . . I need you.”

  He thanked God he wasn’t facing her when she’d uttered that. He closed his eyes, emotions boiling to the surface. Guilt pulled at his gut. He’d left her. He hadn’t expected to ever see her again. And damned if it didn’t feel good to see her again. A long time ago he’d have given anything to hear those words. Now they scored fresh abrasions on an already battered heart.

  “Where’s Holt?” He spat out the name of his one-time best friend.

  “He’s dead, Sam. That’s mostly why I’m here.”

  Well, that cleared up why she was crying her heart out. Sam straightened his spine, grief squeezing his heart in a tight fist, so that even drawing a breath was difficult. Wynter had found him. There was nothing he could do now but invite her in. He’d figure out a polite way to get rid of her later.

  “Come on, it’s cold out here. Let’s get inside before you lose your toes to frostbite.”

  He turned his back quickly. If Wynter was looking for a cozy chat over coffee, catching up on ten plus years of life’s milestones, she would be sorely disappointed.

  Sam snatched up the suitcases and muscled his way through the front door. Dropping her bags in the corner and trusting she’d follow, he ducked into the kitchen on the left. He took down a couple of mugs.

  “You still take cream and sugar in your coffee?” He dug in the silverware drawer for spoons.

  “Yes, thank you.” Her voice was soft, throaty, and still had the power to kick him in the gut.

  “I’ve got some Oreos around if you’re hungry. I wasn’t expecting company.” He paused to let that sink in. Hey, if she was going to make him uncomfortable with just her presence, then he needed some way of leveling the playing field.

  “Double Stuffed?” Okay. She wasn’t going to let him get under her skin so easily.

  Sam finally turned around, a plastic bottle of coffee creamer in his hand. She’d removed her coat, hat, and gloves. Her hair was short now, sticking up in crazy orange tufts. Lucille Ball’s ragamuffin cousin. Gray eyes, the color of the storm clouds outside, were red-rimmed and swollen.

  “Holy Mary, Mother-of-God! You’re pregnant.” His eyes had reached her distended belly. How the hell had he missed that? He unsteadily set the creamer on the counter.

  Wynter wrapped her arms around her big stomach, rubbing gently. “She’s my whole world, Sam. She’s all I have left.”

  Just when he thought he could get through this visit, another reminder of what he’d lost slapped him upside the head. Wynter had built a life with Holt. She was having his baby. Holt, however briefly, had enjoyed the life Sam had wanted with all his heart and soul. And Sam only had himself to blame.

  Torn between wanting to take her in his arms and comfort her, and needing to push her back into a cab headed to where she’d come from, Sam shook his head and kept his distance. He’d get through this. They’d have a cup of coffee, he’d let her rest for a bit and then he’d drive her to the airport.

  It started to snow. Big fat flakes drifted down from the sky, thick with low, nasty-looking clouds. Sam glared out at the steely sky and silently railed at Mother Nature with every foul expletive he could think of.

  How could he have forgotten the storm? It was why he’d shoveled Riley out before he’d even had a cup of coffee. It was a break in the weather, and he hadn’t known just how much time he had before they got dumped on again. Of all the miserable, rotten luck!

  “Oh, look, it’s snowing,” crooned Wynter. “It’s so beautiful.” Her statement was punctuated with a huge grin.

  At least she wasn’t crying anymore. Sam plowed a hand through his hair and sighed.

  “Snow’s a four letter word around here. It was great, the first time or two, back in November. But it’s only January and you know we’ve got at least two more months of this crap.” He gestured toward the dining room, off the kitchen, pulling out a chair for Wynter when she paused in the doorway to look around.

  “Well, if you’ve lived in Southern California at Christmastime, like I have, you learn to appreciate the white stuff.”

  Yeah, back to the chatty, catching-up thing. Sam didn’t want chatty. He didn’t want catching up. He wanted his privacy back. He forgot his manners.

  “Listen, Wynnie.” He knew the nickname irked her. “I’m not sure what dragged you all the way out here from sunny SoCal, but you can’t stay here. As soon as the roads are passable, I’ll take you back to the airport.”

  “No, you can’t!” Her eyes widened and she closed the distance between them to grip his hands, her fingers ice cold. “You were my last hope, Sam.” She stood up taller, closer, her belly brushing against him. After all this time, he still wanted to pull her to him, and it took all his willpower not to recoil from her touch.

  “What do you want from me, Wynter? Can’t you see how hard it is to see you again? Why are you doing this to me?” He couldn’t look away from her charcoal eyes, welling up with tears.

  “You promised me, Sam. You promised.” The last word was nearly unintelligible as the tears spilled out and down her cheeks.

  The desperation in her terrified stare, the desolation in her voice. Coming here had not been an easy decision for her. Suddenly it came rushing back to him, memories from a time he’d locked away. Sitting on the window bench together in Wynter’s bedroom, the window he’d climbed through many times. Holding her hands much like she was holding his now. He’d promised her that if she ever needed him, no matter what, he’d be there for her. She’d come to collect on that promise.

  Chapter 2

  She probably would have stayed at the window long into the night if the fading daylight hadn’t made it too difficult to watch the snowfall. At one point, Sam, not saying a word, had dragged a tall, wingback chair over to the big bay window. He grabbed a pillow off the couch and propped it up against the back of the chair, arched a brow and gestured for Wynter to sit down. She’d shrugged her shoulders but given in. When he’d added an old afghan she’d groaned. She wasn’t an old lady. She was just pregnant. She had to admit, though, it was kind of nice to be coddled.

  Not only was it getting hard to see outside, but inside as well. Regretfully, Wynter turned her back on the steady snowfall. It was comforting, she decided, the way a storm kept people inside. The more snow that fell, the cozier it felt. She turned on a table lamp and went to stand in front of the gas-powered fireplace. The flames were mesmerizing, and the warmth fortifying, but there was something about the snap and crackle of a real, wood-burning fireplace that made this modern one feel fake.

  The old farmhouse was so quiet, Sam having hidden away in his office to get some work done. Or so he said. She couldn’t blame him for hiding. He’d spent years avoiding the past and here she’d gone and dredged it all up again. Her being here was awkward, uncomfortable for both of them. Again, she regretted the desperation that had her rushing to search out her one-time best friend before considering what things would be like once she’d found him. She had tried to talk to him earlier. She figured he’d want to know about Holt, at the very least. But she guessed Sam just wasn’t ready. She’d try again another time.

  Wynter decided to give herself a little tour of Sam’s home. He hadn’t said there was anywhere she couldn’t go, yet she felt a little like Belle, sneaking through the Beast’s castle on her way to the forbidden west wing. She stifled a giggle as she snuck past the closed door at the end of the hall. The strip of light beneath revealed Sam’s office, his hideout. She didn’t even know what he did for a living.

  Upstairs she found her bags had been left in a spare bedroom. She flipped on the overhead light and nodded her approval. Unlike the downstairs, the upstairs was carpeted, plush, and luxurious beneath her bare feet. The room wasn’t overly masculine or disgustingly frilly, but struck a nice balance. Wynter would have chosen a similar shade of green for her own walls, but their apartment lease had specifically prohibited painting the walls of their tiny rental.


  The bedding and curtains were a neutral white. She gasped when she discovered the deep window had a cushioned bench. Oh, to curl up in that spot and read the day away! She gave it a test sit for now, pressing her fingers to the chilly glass. She couldn’t wait to see it during a gorgeous, sunny day. Sometimes she wondered if she might have been a cat in a former life.

  Tiptoeing across the hall, Wynter slipped into Sam’s room. This was so different from his childhood bedroom. No Star Wars spaceships hanging from the ceiling or action figures cluttering every available surface. The ugly blue comforter with a crude recreation of the solar system had been replaced with a soft brown duvet. She knew this because she couldn’t help reaching out to run her fingertips over the smooth fabric.

  The room was comfortable, inviting, but it was lacking . . . something. Wynter turned in a circle, approving of the overstuffed bookshelves, the piles of books on both matching bedside tables. Sam’s closet door was firmly shut. She wondered if he still had trouble sleeping if he knew it was open. No clothes littered the floor. Well, that was new.

  Then she realized what had bothered her. Most people had photos on the walls, on dressers or tables. It was what gave a room personality, heart. Sam’s bedroom didn’t showcase a single photograph. Nothing that captured memories of his childhood, of his family. Not even a picture of his late parents. Wynter wanted to cry for the boy she had known.

  “You want to tell me why you’re poking your nose in my room?”

  Wynter turned to face her old friend. His tall form filled most of the doorframe. An unruly lock of chestnut hair fell down over one eye, just as it had since she’d met him, the first day of kindergarten. She noticed a jagged scar that bisected his right eyebrow. That was new . . . to her. His hazel eyes flickered with irritation. She looked down, guiltily.