by Sun Chara
He remained quiet for so long, she thought he hadn’t heard her.
“If it wasn’t Willie who helped me, who was it, Johnny?”
“Beats me.” He scratched his head. “Somehow he knew who I was and signaled you were up ahead.”
“So you did plan this … this … er … takeover?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Sam.” He laughed, and then swallowed the irritating sound. “I did nothing of the kind.”
“There are those who’ll disagree.”
“Who?”
“Take a guess,” she said in an offhand way, navigating her way up the front stairs of the rambling cottage.
He followed on her heels, not leaving well enough alone. “Michael Scott wouldn’t be one, would he?” he asked, his words dry as the peeling paint on the walls.
“Think what you like.” She flounced another step ahead and figured with all her extra weight, she must appear comical. She didn’t care. She was too tired to get into another verbal sparring match with her husband; or should she be thinking of him as her ex? Her heartbeat swerved, and she paused on the landing to regulate her breathing.
Forcing the troublesome notions away, she focused on what was to be the roof over her head for the next couple of days. Wind whistled through the rafters. She wrapped her arms around herself and glanced up at the clouds drifting across the moon. The weather had turned, and she was thankful she wasn’t stranded on that deserted stretch of freeway.
A sudden bark in the darkness made her jump. Johnny leaped up the last two steps and stood by her side. He was so close his body heat warmed her skin, but not close enough that he touched her. She bit her lip to stop herself from leaning into him. “One of your brood?”
“Yeah.” He made to smile but didn’t quite make it. “A welcome sound.”
“Is it?”
“Thought you liked dogs.”
“I do.”
He cocked a russet brow as if contesting her words.
“The friendly ones,” she conceded, flicking a blonde strand off her shoulder.
“Ah huh.” He sidestepped to her right and almost nipped her heels. “These canines helped you marry the right man.” She turned so abruptly, he bumped into her protruding belly and instantly stepped back.
“That’s debatable.” She almost retracted her words when she glimpsed pain flash across his eyes; then again, it could be a trick of the light from the flash in his hand.
In the circumstances, words were her only defense. Otherwise, she’d be falling into his arms, his eyes … him. And she couldn’t do that and make a smart decision, so she allowed the verbal barrier to stand and protect her from her turbulent feelings.
“That could work both ways, Mrs. Belen.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Figure it out.
She raised her shapely brows and placed a finger on her chin. “Hmm, for better or worse was what the preacher said.”
“Yeah,” he said, his eyes drilling into her.
She squashed the breathless sensation, but her stomach fluttered. “That’s it.” She scanned the premises, breaking eye contact and swallowing her panic.
The kennels were in dire need of repair. The wire link fence surrounding the grounds sagged every which way. Posts teetered, the gate hung off its hinges, and the shed sheltering the dogs was slapped together with rotting wood. She peered through the moonlit darkness trying to see further and shivered at the cold, impersonal surroundings.
“Worse it is then.”
Johnny steeled his abs. She’d just belted him in the gut with her indifferent words. He tried. More than that, he was doing. But it didn’t seem to be good enough for uptown girl. In silence, he watched her waddle across the porch with head held high, about to push open the door.
“Hold it.”
She twisted around, a blank look on her face. “What now?”
One stride took him to her side, and he heaved her up into his arms. His eyes caught and held hers for a revealing moment. A twister roiled inside him. A heartbeat, and she blinked away the connection. He kicked the door open and walked across the threshold. “Your new home, Mrs. Belen.”
She wriggled in his grasp. “Put me down.”
“Sure thing.” He glared down at her mutinous mouth and stole a kiss.
As he deepened the kiss, she wrapped her arms around his neck, swept away, he hoped, by the passion flaring between them.
A lonely pup’s howl penetrated their sizzling embrace.
Dazed, Samantha squirmed in his arms. “Put me down.”
Johnny held onto her for a moment longer, regulated his breathing, then set her on her feet. “You got it, Mrs. Belen.”
Frost sheathed his heart. He withdrew, distancing himself from her.
So, she couldn’t stand him touching her. He wondered what she did feel for him, if anything. Why she married him in the first place was the burning question. Until he got an answer, he’d play it cool.
She spun away from him like a top losing momentum and gaped at the scene before her. Then, she burst into tears.
“What’s the matter?”
She turned on him. “I’m six months pregnant, we’re not legally married, I have no idea where I am, and I’m standing in a house that looks like a tornado hit it. A-and there’s a foul smell, a-a-and I’m cold and hungry.” Her accusing eyes shot darts into his chest. “And you ask what’s the matter?” She hiccupped.
Johnny winced. The place looked like a dump. He cleared his throat. “You’re in Goodsprings, about twenty-five miles from Las Vegas and about ten from the California/Nevada state line. Soon as the kennels are hosed down, there won’t be that smell.” He shrugged off the navy flannel jacket he wore over his tow-driver overalls and draped it over her, his hands resting on her shoulders. Subtly, he staked his claim.
She stepped away from him and sniffed.
“There should be some food in the refrigerator.” He stood motionless. The long hours he’d waited and watched for her compounded the tension in his muscles. “Like you, I’m bummed at the condition of the place.”
After he’d married Samantha, he cut a new deal with Willie to repair and run the kennels until he took over, pending Sam’s agreement to swap urban living for a more rustic style. During that time, Willie hired someone else to manage the place while he took care of more pressing business in Los Angeles, assuring him it was in good hands.
Johnny guffawed.
Samantha sneezed.
Uncertain of how to comfort her, he rubbed the crick from his neck and motioned her to the living room.
After Michael had gate-crashed their home earlier that morning, followed by the fiasco of Sam taking off, he’d called, giving Willie a head’s up that he’d be arriving in Goodsprings that night. The hired hand should’ve had the place ready. Instead … there was a loose screw somewhere in that man’s head.
He wondered if this was what divorce and financial pressure did to a guy. Messed up his psyche. The interior of the house seemed to reflect the man’s life. A wreck.
And now it looked like Johnny’s life was headed that way, too.
He squinted at a moonbeam filtering through the torn bed sheet drooping from the window. Turning, he glanced down at his mud-clumped boots, sure his footprints blended with the multi-stained carpet emanating a musty smell.
He raised his eyes a fraction and breathed a sigh of relief. The fireplace was a lifesaver. Sam loved fireplaces. But then he grimaced – soot and ashes blackened the brick outlay and spilled onto the floor. Although the living room was spacious, the bare furnishings resembled discards from someone’s trash bin. The tainted sofa had a big gouge on the arm; cotton puffed from it, and a matching cushion sprouted its insides. A scarred table and a busted chair were toppled over.
Wind must’ve whipped through the hole in the windowpane and covered everything with a film of dust and ash.
In a corner, a rocker loaded with empty boxes swayed ever-so-slightly as a clue that th
e caretaker had dodged just before they arrived. Johnny frowned. Something was definitely out of whack here.
A rumble worked its way up from deep in his throat, but got snared behind his set jaw. He’d have it out with Willie, but first he had to take care of Sam. This wasn’t what he had in mind when he decided to bring her here, far away from Michael Scott and mamma. He booted a tumbleweed of paper into the hearth. It seemed the harder he tried to do good by her, the worse things got.
“I want to go home.” Sam swatted wetness off her face, smearing dirt on her cheeks.
“This is your home, Sam.”
She bawled louder.
He stepped closer, ready to wrap her in his arms, but she sidestepped him. An unsteady breath, two…three, and she stood straight to her full five feet six inches. She locked her hands across her full abdomen, cast him a steady, albeit watery, gaze. “This is your home, Johnny.” She licked her dry lips.
And he wanted to taste, touch, hold …
“I draw the line at living in a dump.”
He flinched, her words grating across his already raw emotions. “Sorry, no five-star hotel this time of night.”
“Wouldn’t fit your budget anyway, would it, Johnny?”
“What’s mine is yours, Sam.”
“This?” she snapped. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Copy you.”
“O-o-oh!” She kicked trash out of the way, bumped into the rocking chair and waddled to the fireplace. She swept her fingers along the mantel above. A thick layer of dirt swaddled her hand, and not finding anywhere to wipe it, she rubbed it off on her sweatpants. “Point.”
“Keeping score, are we?”
“Someone has to,” she challenged and stood her ground.
His hiked eyebrow spoke volumes.
Johnny aimed the flashlight at the ceiling and glimpsed a light bulb encased in cobwebs, hanging by a single wire. Electricity. His heart lifted. A beacon in the darkness. “We have light.”
In two strides, he reached the switch on the wall and flicked it on. Nothing happened. His heart sank.
“You were saying?” She tapped her foot, a wry twist on her mouth.
“The hardwood beams across the ceiling are sturdy.” He pounded the wall with his fist to prove his point.
“You mean the roof won’t cave in on us?
“That’s right.” He paced back and forth inspecting the corners for water stains. “And it doesn’t leak.”
“Well, what d’ ya know?” She grabbed the flashlight from his hand and walked from the room. “No electricity. Dare I ask if there’s water?”
“I’ll check.” Johnny hurried after her but she was way ahead of him.
“Don’t bother,” she called over her shoulder. “There’s water all right. It’s ice cold and rusty. The bathtub and sink are streaked with it. And the toilet— Argh! It’s yellow black and horribly smelly.” A second later, her voice broke mid-sob. “A hundred Mr. Cleans would have a tough time scraping through that goop.”
“Aww, Sam.” He sidestepped boxes stuffed with packing paper, slipped on an empty tin can, muttered sharply below his breath and regained his balance. “Hey, Sam, with your fashionista ingenuity, we’ll turn this into—”
She trundled across the hall to the bedroom. “Flattery won’t—” Then she screamed.
Chapter Seven
“Sam!” Johnny sprinted into the bedroom, his heart vaulting in his throat. “Are you all right?”
She stood stalk still on the middle of the floor. A mouse scurried past her legs, its icy tail brushing her ankle. “Agh!”
The moment he reached her, she fell into his arms, shaking. “I-I-I want to go home.”
He stroked her hair, stumped for words. “Ah—uh—can’t.”
She eased out of his embrace. “Why not?”
“No place to go.” He swooped up the flashlight she’d dropped on the floor when the rodent came calling. “Besides, it’s three a.m. and you need to rest.” No way would he let her leave at this time of night.
“What do you mean?” She retreated several more paces from him.
“Sleep, Sam—”
“Johnny …” She placed her hands on her hips, her eyes indignant.
He scratched his cheek. “I gave notice to the landlord.”
“Without consulting me?”
Okay, Belen, start paddling upstream. He was treading unchartered depths of woman and about to get grilled. His shoulder blades tensed.
“You weren’t there to consult, remember?” He rubbed a hand across his nape, a sardonic twist to his mouth.
After he’d booted Michael out, he ‘d been stunned when Sam had asked him to leave too. He’d stomped out to their dime-sized backyard to think. When he heard her crying, he fought the urge to storm back inside and haul her into his arms. Instead, he pressed his hands against the brick wall, every muscle in his body rigid. After all, she more or less kicked him out, hadn’t she?
The slamming of the front door and revving of the Chevy’s engine had him spring into action. By the time he stumbled out front, he’d just caught a glimpse of the car’s taillights turning the corner. He set his mouth hard. Where was she going? And to whom? Dashing back inside, he contacted Willie and had her trailed. Then he called a cab, rented the tow truck and hit the road after her.
“You’d left and neglected to say where you were headed.” His eyes steady on her face. “When you’d be returning.”
“I wasn’t sure where I was going.”
“In that frame of mind and in your condition, you had no business touring alone.”
Samantha pointed her chin. “I had to get away.”
“From?”
She stared him eye for eye but remained silent.
“Me.”
“Yes … no … I don’t know. From everything.”
He swallowed the bitter lump lodged in his throat. “I won’t be in your way here.”
“Here?” She uttered the word with such distaste it would’ve been amusing in other circumstances. “I don’t think so.”
“Why not? You didn’t like the apartment.”
She laughed, glancing around the room. Paint was peeling off the walls, and the bed was nothing but a moth-eaten spring mattress with stuffing popping from its middle. An ancient bureau with dried bits of food strewn across the top stood opposite. She took another step toward the doorway. “Compared to this trash heap, the mouse pad was a palace.”
“Sorry.”
“Well, just un-give notice.”
Johnny shook his head. “Probably rented already.”
“How would you know?” She squinted at him, a glint of suspicion in her eyes.
He shrugged.
“Tell.”
“Willie needed a place,” he blurted. “Being evicted from his digs.”
She slapped her hand across her forehead.
“Figured moving here—”
“Moving?”
“—we wouldn’t need both.” He attempted a grin, but it turned into a twitch at the corner of his mouth.
“Right. We don’t need both.” She kicked a soiled rag from her path. “The city flat will do.”
“Afraid not.” He propped his boot on a wooden crate that’d probably contained dog food and tightened his fingers around the flash’s handle. Time to come clean with her. “I have something to tell—”
“I’m going home.”
“To mamma.” A nerve ticked along his jaw. Her abrupt words cut off his confession, leaving him cold. He didn’t want a shoebox or a dump for them either. He wanted to give her a palace. One he could very well afford. He scanned the room. This place could be converted into that.
“That’s right.” She turned away, stiffening her back.
In the distance, the dogs howled in the wind. The windows rattled.
“Sam, you can’t go now.” He trudged after her, feeling like lead weights shackled his ankles. “Storm’s about to break. And you’re half asleep on your feet.” He
sure as heck was. “Wait ’til morning.”
“No.”
Another soulful sound from the pups, then the heavens opened, and rain pounded the roof.
“Thank God.” He sidestepped empty jars, an old shoe and several soiled rags and marched across the room, shutting the window.
“I can’t believe this.” She held onto the doorjamb for support and her face crumpled, tears trembling on her lashes.
In three strides, Johnny stood beside her. He reached out to touch her shoulder, thought better of it and pushed his hand in the back pocket of his overalls. “I’d better go check on the dogs. When I come back, we can rustle up something to eat.”
He got a sniffle and a wail for his trouble.
A puff of air built inside him, ready to burst from his lungs, and he shoved it back. He stood so close to her that the work jacket he’d draped over her earlier brushed his arm. Awareness charged into him, and the breath he’d constrained exploded out of him. He placed his hand on her shoulder.
She jerked away.
He let his hand drop to his side. “Okay, Sam.” Plunking the flash in her palm, he stepped past her into the hallway. “If that’s how you wanna play, fine by me.” He paused, his gut twisting. “Except in an emergency, I won’t come near you again.” A few more paces down the hall took him to the front door. He wrenched it open and banged it shut, the screen door rattling on its hinges. She’d have to ask him next time.
Pulling up the collar of his shirt, he trampled across the grassless lawn, blobs of mud clinging to his heels. The rain shot down like pellets, stinging his face. A gust of wind cut through his clothes, turning his skin to gooseflesh. Each step he took had him sinking deeper in the mire. A grumble roared from deep in his chest.
Like his life.
As soon as Sam heard the door clang behind him, she released a heavy breath and sniffed. She brushed hair off her face and wiped wet from her cheeks with her sleeve.
“Fine by me, Belen,” she murmured, her words echoing in the empty room. Patting her swollen belly, she pushed up her sleeves and determined there would be no emergency. She’d get him out from under her skin. And to do that, she’d have to avoid any and all physical contact with him. She felt her body jolt in denial, but her mind was resolute. Her heart thudded a warning, but she ignored it.