Winter Dreams

by Robyn Neeley

  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 against 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!

  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. He 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 y
ou 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.