Winter Dreams

by Robyn Neeley

  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 roads 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.

  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.

  “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.