She yawned before hopping down from the cab, then slid open the back door and began unfastening her babies, one at a time, as they slept peacefully in the back seat. She took one out, then the other, holding them on each side like huge sacks of flour. But Tristan stopped in front of her and held out his arms. She looked up, surprised by the offer of help. But then she nodded, hesitating for only a moment before handing over a child.
The small toddler nestled his blond head into the top of Tristan’s shoulder, wiping his nose back and forth a few times before falling back asleep. Samantha smiled watching them. Tristan was so big and strong, but seeing him with a baby curled up on his shoulder, he looked like he couldn’t hurt a butterfly.
She took a deep breath of the cool country air, then gathered the rest of their belongings and followed in after them.
She’d never seen Tristan with a baby before, and for some reason the image rocked her. She knew she wanted children, but the sight of Tristan cradling a small child in his arms caused a physical reaction to stir low in her belly. One she’d been repressing for a long time. That sort of primal longing she’d always heard her mother talking about. That ache deep inside for a family of her own. She told herself she was being silly and her reaction was still the effects of the car ride, but she knew it was more than that. Because in all her childhood daydreams, all the games she played with Renee as a girl, she always imagined herself like Patty. With a round pregnant belly and a baby on each arm. It was only since Steven her dreams had changed. With his goals for his career and ideas of success, he wanted one. One child. Not three or four. He was realistic, always took her wild eccentric dreams and reminded her of reality. Starting a family in their late thirties was the goal. When he was sure to have good medical care, stability, and a home.
She walked in through the open door of Patty’s home a moment later, finding it cozy and warm, and Tristan and Patty both standing in the living room by a wood burning stove. True to Patty’s word, a seventy-two inch television sat front and center. It was odd seeing such an extravagant appliance in the middle of what was otherwise a modest dwelling, but after knowing Patty for no more than an hour, Samantha would have expected nothing less.
Patty put her keys on the kitchen counter, hitched her baby high on her shoulder and looked over to Tristan. “There are pillows and blankets in the hallway closet. You all help yourselves. Given how cold it is tonight, I don’t expect you two will mind a good cuddle.”
The baby slipped a fraction of an inch as Patty yawned. But she hitched him back up again and continued down the hall. “I’m going to have to excuse myself from hostess duties tonight. These babies have downright tuckered me out.” She then lifted her chin to Tristan, then turned slightly to indicate he should follow her.
“This here’s the potty.” She stopped again, pointing to a door to her right. “Take a shower if you like. Towels are in with the pillows.” At the end of the hall, she took the sleeping toddler from Tristan’s arms and closed the door behind her.
Tristan stood there a second, rolling his shoulders backward as though he’d been relieved from a large weight and emotion rushed to Samantha’s face and throat.
She turned around, surprised by the panic that surged inside her. She wasn’t sure what caused it, but right now she felt unsteady—being alone with Tristan, seeing a young mom so prideful and happy with her family. Her simple home. The last thing she needed was to be alone with Tristan. It was the last thing she needed.
There was only one couch.
She wrapped her arms around her belly at the realization and took a deep breath. The couch was large, but not big enough. She unzipped her jacket—Tristan’s Jacket—feeling odd that she still wore it and draped it across one of the chairs. Somehow, he was slipping through all her walls, one by one, and she no idea how to bring them back up again.
She picked up her bag off the cushion and began fishing in the pocket for her cell phone. She needed to call Steven, to tell him where they were, that she was okay, but again, there were no bars. Tristan was right behind her, and she could feel him moving closer. “You don’t happen to have a signal do you?” she asked.
He shook his head slowly, shoving his hands deep in his pockets.
She stuffed her cell back in her bag and zipped it shut. “Figures,” she mumbled. She threw her bag on the couch and moved to the kitchen window “It’s pretty here.” Her voice was broken, but she needed to say something so the silence didn’t kill her. It was agony. Torture. Because all she wanted was to know what he was thinking.