by Sun Chara
Michael Scott stood locked on the step, mouth hanging open. “What ca-a-an I do?”
“Shut up!”
“A-agh … I’ve got to …” She leaned against Johnny’s shoulder. “Not to worry.” She took a deep breath and exhaled in puffs. “I-I need to lie down for a minute.”
Samantha lowered her lashes, hating to worry Johnny and panic Michael, but she had to do something to diffuse the situation. A woman could take license at a time like this, couldn’t she? She felt a twinge of uncertainty; was that a niggle pricking her conscience?
“Sure, honey.” Johnny scooped her up in his arms, climbed the steps, kicked the front door open and strode into the living room.
“Michael,” he bellowed. “Fluff up the cushions, will ya?”
Michael thawed to life and pranced behind him.
He placed Sam on the sofa and knelt beside her, holding her hand. “You okay, Sammy mine?”
Michael grabbed a magazine off the coffee table, fanning himself.
Johnny shot him a frosty look.
Michael froze in mid-motion, and then quickly turned the paper fan toward Sam.
“Thank you, both.” She pushed up to a sitting position, not missing the antagonistic glances between the two men. “Now, let’s talk this out.”
“You okay, Sam?” Johnny brushed a golden curl off her brow, his gaze connecting with hers.
“Fine … like civilized—”
“Sure?”
“Yes, Johnny—people.”
“Good.” Johnny leaped to his full six-foot height, flexed his hands, and light glinted off his wedding ring. He stared Michael down. “You, get out of my house.”
“For you, Samantha.” Michael pulled a wilted rose from his breast pocket and offered it to her.
Johnny knocked it from his hand.
“Johnny …” She touched his arm.
“Samantha, do you want me to go?” Michael took a step toward her but Johnny blocked his path.
“Michael …” she whispered.
“My wife does not want you to stay” –Johnny gave her a tentative glance— “do you?”
“She’s not your wife, anymore.” Michael almost stomped his foot.
“Stop.” She fell back against the cushions and closed her lashes. A myriad of emotions churned inside her, and she opened her eyes wide. “Out.”
Startled, both men gaped at her.
“You and yo—”
“Okay, okay, Sa-sa-mantha,” Michael stammered, backing away. “Do-don’t get upset again, please.”
Johnny grinned.
Michael glowered at him. “I’ll be back for her.”
“Scram.” Johnny chased him out, slammed the door behind him and straightened his shirt cuffs. “Glad that’s done with.” In two strides, he was beside her and plunked down on the sofa, his weight pressing down the cushions. He laced his fingers with hers, his thumb stroking the inside of her wrist, his breath a sliver of sound in the lull of silence.
“It’s not.” She gritted her teeth, trying desperately to ignore his heat zapping into her. Her pulse leaped. Before she succumbed to the emotion and curled into him, she withdrew her hand. Not quite meeting his eyes, she snatched a cushion and hugged it to her bosom.
“No?” he asked.
Tick. Tock. The cuckoo clock sounded the half hour, the echo ominous.
“I want you to leave, too, Johnny.”
Chapter Four
Taciturn, Johnny marched out and slammed the back door behind him, the sound reverberating around the room.
Samantha pressed her hands over her ears, tears welling in her eyes.
Seconds slipped by.
Silence, thick and dark, swelled around her, pressing, choking.
She had to get out. Grabbing her jacket from the hall closet, she shoved her arms into it and rushed out to the car. What had she done? Confusion clouded her mind, and she gripped the steering wheel, blinking rapidly to clear her vision. A drive might help her figure out how she’d landed in this predicament.
But where could she go? A woman alone with limited funds had only so many choices. Distraught, she buckled up and pulled out of the driveway, cruising toward her parents, and then changed direction. She couldn’t face her mother’s gloating. ‘I told you so.’ She needed to be alone. To think. Sort things out in her mind.
Her heart.
Golden State 5 North beckoned, and she veered onto it. A faint smile quivered on her mouth. Seemed no matter how bad things appeared, there was always something to be grateful for—she hadn’t hit L.A. rush hour traffic. “Phew!”
The car motor hummed a soothing rhythm, and she relaxed. She kept driving.
And driving.
She stopped once for a bathroom break, to fill up the car with gas and buy a sandwich and an apple. For her baby’s sake, she forced herself to eat.
Several hours crawled by, and dusk hovered, turning the horizon ablaze with color. She hoped the old turn of phrase ‘Red sky at night, sailors’ delight’ would be true for her as well. A grin curved her mouth; yes, the weather was on her side.
City lights blurred behind and open countryside stretched far ahead of her. Then, in a twinkling, night fell, and she couldn’t get her bearings. Her heart stuttered, then sped, keeping tempo with the spinning wheels. She flicked on the headlights, and brightness illuminated her path. A sigh sounded from deep inside her. She searched for a place to turn around and head back home, but there was no exit sign. A few cars whizzed past and disappeared into the darkness. She leaned onto the steering wheel, peering through the windshield, and realized she was lost. The road stretched before her, lonely and deserted. Exactly how she felt.
“Samantha Belen,” she whispered, and her lip quivered, wondering how long she’d be keeping that name. “Get a grip, girl.” The smart thing to do would be to pull into the next town and rent a room for the night. A deep breath, and she exhaled a blast of air. After a good night’s sleep, she’d feel better, think more clearly.
She didn’t get far.
Several yards further, the Chevy coughed and sputtered. She glanced in the rearview mirror. Oncoming headlights flashed, nearly blinding and looming ever closer; the car seemed to slow for a second, then sped past.
“Don’t panic, don’t panic.” She glanced at the gas gauge, relieved to see it was half full. A moment later, she swerved onto the shoulder, stopped, and watched the other vehicle become a speck then disappear into the night.
She didn’t know whether to be glad or annoyed that the driver hadn’t stopped. She glanced over her shoulder. Neon signs advertising gas and lodging had been swallowed by darkness long ago. Overhead, stars sparkled like diamonds. The clock on the dashboard indicated the eleventh hour, and she twisted her lips in a self-deprecating way. Like a dodo, she’d forgotten her cell phone on the bedside table in her rush to leave. Dejected, she laid her head on the steering wheel, and hopelessness engulfed her.
“What am I to do, Lord?” she murmured.
A rap on the window startled her, and she snapped her head up, her pulse doing double time. A truck driver, slender in build, with hair tucked beneath a work hat, peered at her through square spectacles. She rolled the window down a fraction and glimpsed his Semi across the street.
“Ma’am,” the worker’s voice seemed to boom in the eerie darkness. “You, okay?”
“Yes.” A calmness enveloped her. “But my car’s conked out.”
“Want me to drive you to the next gas station?”
She shook her head and loose curls fell around her temples. “You’re a stranger and … uh …”
“S’ right, ma’am, I understand.” He scratched his nape and smiled, his teeth sparkling white. “You got road service?”
“My husb—I mean yes, yes I do.”
“Give me your card number and I’ll drive into the next town and call ’em for you. Someone’ll come by and tow you in to the nearest garage.”
“Thank you.” She rifled in her purse and jotted
her AAA membership code on a crumpled napkin.
“Mind you” —the man rubbed his smooth chin— “Doubt you’ll get anyone to work on it ’til mornin’.”
“How early?”
“Maybe seven, seven-thirty.”
“Um, okay.” She rolled the window a fraction lower and met the man’s steady green gaze, his smile still in place. Was that a pink hue glinting from his headgear? A trick of the light for sure. “Here it is.” She gave him the number, wondering how a trucker could look so squeaky clean, white shirt and spic and span jeans. And his hands; not a speck of car oil or dirt on them. Did Good Samaritans come looking like this? she mused.
“Shouldn’t take more ’n half an hour for someone to get here this time of night,” he reassured, breaking into her thoughts. “Best stay put in that car of yours ’til then.”
At her nod, he touched two fingers to his temple and was gone as instantly as he’d appeared.
“A guardian angel.” She chuckled at her musings, then sobered as silence enfolded her, deafening in its intensity. Resting her head on the steering wheel, she closed her eyes only to pop them open a second later.
Someone pounded on the windshield. Had the man returned? It seemed like he’d just left moments ago. She glimpsed the back of a much taller, heavier man who bent down to inspect the front of her car, his tow truck a few feet behind him.
“Lady,” the driver said, pulling his red cap low over his forehead before straightening. “Put it in neutral and come on out.”
He drew closer, and she glimpsed the company logo on the breast pocket of his oil-smeared overalls. The glare of the truck’s lights had her shielding her eyes with her hand, and she couldn’t decipher the name nor see the man’s face clearly. She rubbed her eyes, thinking it must be about midnight. The man shifted sideways and pulled up the collar of his shirt against rising wind.
He smelled of gas and grease, and she wrinkled her nose in distaste. What a difference from her Good Samaritan. She shrugged and opened the door, thankful for the help. At a time like this, she couldn’t be choosy.
Reaching inside the car, he snapped the knob beneath the dashboard that opened the hood. The motion had him nearly touching her, and although she shrank back against the seat, her nerve endings went on alert. Must be the chill in the air, she thought. He whipped out, moved to the front of the Chevy, and raised the hood. A flick of a flashlight, and he poked his head in the machinery.
“Not the battery.” He tinkered for a few minutes more. “Alternator belt is loose.”
“Can you fix it?”
“Afraid not, ma’am.” With his face hidden under the hood, his words were barely audible. “I’ll have to tow you in.” He flicked off the flashlight, slammed the hood down and bent to hook the chain beneath the front fender. “Come on out.”
She hesitated.
“Lady,” the man said, his words muffled. “I’ve had a long day and I’m tired as a toad doin’ laps in quicksand.”
She didn’t move.
“If you don’t mind, I want to get home and bunk down for the night.”
While he was busy adjusting the chain between her Chevy Impala and his tow truck, she pushed the door wider. She started to slide out, but got stuck behind the steering wheel. An embarrassed moan, and she placed her hand protectively across her abdomen, shuffling an inch or two.
“You all right, lady?” He peered at her from the shadow of his cap and pulling a rag from his back pocket, wiped his hands. “Let me help you.”
Touched by his concern, she took his grease-stained hand and he closed his fingers over hers. His grip was firm, yet gentle, and somehow familiar. Heat traversed up her arm, shooting sparks into her and singeing her heart. A breathless moment, and he helped her out, his hand warm around her fingers, protective. A tremulous smile brushed her mouth, and she bit it away. But she couldn’t control her pulse as easily; it bopped off beat so much, she nearly imagined the man was—
“This way,” he said, voice gruff, relinquishing her hand.
Night chill zapped through her light jacket, and she hid her hands inside her sleeves. He led the way to the truck, his gait marred by a slight limp. Sam slowed her pace, realizing he couldn’t be whom she wished him to be. His stilted walk had just blown her imaginings to smithereens. By the time she stepped up to the vehicle, he’d already opened the passenger door.
“Watch your step.” He shifted and placed his other hand on her upper arm to assist her.
A current rife with sensation coursed through her, and she stiffened. “Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.” He brushed a hand across his mouth and walked around, climbing onto the driver’s seat. “Buckle up.”
She fiddled with the belt, and he leaned over to help her, his cap skimming her chin. She smelled him. Although nearly smothered by the automotive odor on his clothes, an underlying scent knocked at her memory. Her heart skidded, and she sucked in a sharp breath. Odd that this stranger should have this effect on her. Must be the anxiety of the situation.
The seatbelt clicked in place. “That should do it.” He averted his gaze, fastened his own seatbelt and turned on the ignition. Then he reached up, flicked on the cab light and stared her in the face.
“Oh, you!” The words bumped in her throat, reflecting her ire.
“Yep.” He winked, and stroked her arm with his hand.
She flinched away, unsure of whether to be glad or no.
He tilted his lips in a rakish grin. “Where to Mrs. Belen” –-the grin faded from his craggy features— “or would that be the ex Mrs. Belen?”
Chapter Five
“What’re you doing, here?”
“You think I’d bail with you six months pregnant with my child?”
“You followed me.”
“I did.”
“Oh!” She grabbed the seatbelt strap and squeezed. “If I wasn’t pregnant, then you wouldn’t be here?”
“Didn’t say that.”
“Didn’t have to, Belen.”
He flashed her a closed look. Women … er … woman, he thought, and revving up the motor, floored it. Were all women so unreasonable or just the pregnant ones.
She twisted around and glanced out the window. It was black as pitch…cold and empty, so he doubted she saw anything. She shivered.
“Cold?”
“A little.”
He turned on the heat, cast her a cursory glance and concentrated on the road ahead. Now he’d found her, words froze on his tongue and he didn’t quite know how to break the barrier between them. A smile tilted the corner of his mouth. Music. That should create a softer mood. He clicked on the radio and strains of ‘You’ve lost that loving feeling’ filled the cab. Man, what a choice. Quickly, he flipped the knobs for another station.
“Must you insist on that insufferable noise?”
“Thought you liked music.”
“It’s giving me headache. Turn it off.”
He shrugged. “Yes, ma’am.” He twisted the knob and accidentally turned it the wrong way, sound blaring like a siren in the confines of the cab. Next second, he silenced it with a flick of his fingers.
“Ohh,” she said, her eyes blazing with indignation. “You did that on purpose.”
“Did not.”
“Did too.”
“Did not. Scout’s honor.”
“When were you ever in Boy Scouts?”
He grinned. A little mystery maybe would turn the tide in his favor. “You don’t know everything about me, yet, Mrs. Belen.”
“I suppose not.” She sent him a surreptitious glance and concentrated on the black abyss they were sailing through.
But, then again, it could backfire. Seemed like that’s what happened just now, with her giving him the cold shoulder treatment. He shook his head, what the heck, and started whistling.
“Johnny, must you do that now?”
He let the whistling slip away beneath the hum of the engine. “Better?”
“Yes, t
hanks.”
As miles whizzed by, silence stretched taut between them, ready to snap at the slightest provocation. Sam chanced a glance at him from beneath her lashes. Aloof, he gripped the wheel with one hand, the wrist of his other hand resting on top, his eyes focused on the road ahead. It appeared he’d forgotten she sat beside him. Fine by her. She was seeing a new side to Johnny; one she wasn’t sure how to take.
Samantha shifted in her seat and contemplated the star-studded sky. Not a soul in sight except for her and Johnny. Not a sound except for the hum of the motor. A breath, and she released it in a sigh.
Johnny flickered a glance her way, and she glimpsed his reflection in the windowpane. He didn’t say anything and she didn’t turn to him. A second later, he averted his gaze to the highway. She sighed.
In other circumstances, she’d be cuddled next to him, her head on his shoulder, her arm wrapped around his biceps, dozing, knowing she was safe in her husband’s arms. She squeezed her eyes shut. Tears stung her eyelids, and emotion throbbed in her throat. How could things, people, change at a word? Or, in their case, by a letter denouncing their marriage… could that be?
She pressed her knuckles to her mouth and hoped he couldn’t see her. Doubts plagued her mind. Did he want out of the marriage now he had the chance? A little voice needled … did she? Something balked inside her… her heart. She couldn’t imagine life without Johnny; the Johnny she’d known; the Johnny she thought she’d married. Had he changed so much in one day?
Her eyelids felt heavy, her heart heavier.
She glanced at him from beneath her drooping lashes. Had he always been so remote, so mercenary? Had his boyish charm and good looks blinded her to his real character? After all, he had kept silent for a whole year and suddenly showed up on her wedding day to whisk her away. Had he thought marrying her would be his ticket to easy street—a quick fix from the pauper’s life?
“Why’d you never write?” She shook herself awake and forced the words between stiff lips.
“What?”
“When you were gone for that whole year.”
An exasperated sigh burst from him. “Why’re you coming out of left field like that, Sam?”