“This will be better,” he told her. “It’ll be easier for me to hear and help Jamie when he wakes.” He set her down on the bed.
“I don’t know what we would have done without you,” she said.
But he knew that wasn’t true. She’d been doing things on her own for such a long time that she didn’t even know how much she needed him.
Or how much he needed and wanted her.
#
Sophie woke to screaming. She’d been dreaming of a snow-filled field, a brittle blue sky, a sleigh pulled by a pair of Clydesdales, and she minded the interruption. At first, she thought the screaming belonged in her otherwise idyllic dream, but slowly she realized it came from the rooms upstairs.
She bolted from the bed, momentarily forgetting her worthless ankle, and landed hard on the floor. Cursing, she pulled herself up. Worry soon overtook frustration. She made it up the stairs as quickly as she could and pushed through Jamison’s door.
Sometime during the night, he had turned onto his tummy and now he lay with one cheek pressed against the sheet, his lips parted in a perfect rose, his eyes closed, and his bum pointed in the air. The screaming came from the next room. She closed the door with a fast click, worried Luke’s nightmare might wake the baby.
She hesitated before she opened her own bedroom door. What if he was naked? He hadn’t brought pajamas with him. He’d been nearly naked when he’d carried around earlier. She flushed with the memory of being pressed against his warm bare chest.
His screams intensified and so did Sophie’s indecision. What if it wasn’t a nightmare? What if an intruder was pulling out his toenails? Seemed unlikely, of course, but… She mustered some courage and pushed into the room.
Moonlight streamed through the window and cast the room in gray shadows. Luke writhed on the twisted sheets, his face red and glistening with sweat. Sophie switched on the light, hoping that would wake him.
It didn’t.
