by Sun Chara
Aggravating.
It hadn’t seemed things could get worse, but here she was, smack in the middle of nowhere, in a ramshackle house that looked ready to fold at any minute.
“Can this house stand?”
He snapped his head up in surprise, but realizing her query was literal rather than figurative, a blank mask fell on his face. “It’s stronger than it looks.”
The play on words, the double entendres, seemed apt somehow.
“What’s with all this rainfall in the desert?” she asked, her tone irritable.
He shrugged. “In November thunderstorms are common even in the Mojave. High winds—”
“Seems kinda freaky to me.”
That made his eyes crinkle with amusement, and her heart melted. And to combat that feeling, she fueled her next words with a sharper edge.
“Next thing you know it’ll be a snow blizzard.” She toyed with the spoon in the half-filled mug, and then stirred with force. “What with global warming—” A blob of tomato flew up and landed on the tip of her nose. “Oops.”
Johnny chuckled, set his mug on the counter and stepped closer, not missing a beat. “Higher altitudes like the Mesquite and Clark Mountains have been known to get snow.” He dabbed the splatter from her nose with his shirt cuff. “The Sierra Nevadas.”
His eyes held hers.
She felt vulnerable, transparent, nervous. “Thanks,” she whispered, raising the mug to her mouth and taking a drink.
“No problem.” He sauntered back to the counter and flicked his wrist. “You can use me as your sponge boy anytime.”
A hint of a smile on her mouth, but she hid it behind the mug.
“So the weather’s not going wacky?” She wished the same could be said for their life, which launched into wacko mode since yesterday.
“Nope.”
Their banter simply delayed the inevitable, and they both knew it. As much as it hurt, she had to get away for a little while. To think clearly. Give them both some breathing room to sort things out and see—her lip quivered—if their marriage survived. Or toppled, making them another divorce statistic.
“When you leavin’?” he asked, his words cool, seeming to pick up on her thoughts.
“Tomorrow. The weather should clear by then.”
“How you plan on getting there?”
“Joh—”
“Tsk, tsk.” He clicked his tongue, downed the soup in two gulps and set the mug in the sink. “I’m not playing chauffeur to you again, so soon.”
“I’ll get the keys to the truck, Belen.”
“Uh, uh.” He pulled the keys from his pocket and dangled them from his fingers, out of reach. “You can’t go driving a tow truck on the freeway, Sam.”
“Why not?” She plopped the near empty mug on the table, liquid sloshing upward but not spilling.
“I’m exchanging it tomorrow for a more practical vehicle.”
“Fine. I’ll take your new truck rental.”
He chuckled, but the sound lacked humor. “Don’t think so.”
“I’ll call and get the Chevy fixed.” She tilted her chin, her gaze challenging.
Folding his arms across his broad chest, he met her look and cocked a brow.
“No phone,” she said, snapping her fingers and shaking her head, her body language all a bristle.
“That’s right.”
“I’ll walk.” She gripped the edge of the table, knots in the wood bumping against her fingers, and pushed herself up. Grabbing the mug from the table, she waddled across the floor and plunked it in the sink.
Mere inches separated them. The tension was a tangible force between them.
She wished she could lay her head on his shoulder and let all their differences wash away. But she couldn’t, not until she knew for certain what was on his agenda. She walked back to the table and collected the leftover Saltines.
Johnny straightened to his full six-foot frame and flicked his gaze over her full condition. “Two miles to the main road, Sam.”
She glanced around, debating what to do with the cracker packs in her hand. “A little gentle exercise—”
“Not if I can help it.”
A package of crackers hurled through the air.
He raised a hand and caught it.
“I will leave here, Belen. I will find a way. I will not live in this pigsty nor bring up my baby in this hovel.” Her voice cracked, and she pressed her fingers to her mouth, muzzling sobs.
Her intention from the start had been to make a success of her marriage. She was certain her mother and her bridge partners had taken bets on how long it would last. She’d wanted to prove them wrong. But it looked like she may have made the mistake; the biggest in her life.
Johnny extended his other hand, and she slapped the remaining packets in his palm. At the same moment, he gripped her hand, holding her tight.
A silent tug-o-war ensued.
She resisted.
He tightened his grip.
Just for a second more, Johnny held onto her, and then he let go, turning away and tossing the packs in the duffel bag.
A deep breath hurled from his lungs, the sound undercutting the tension between them. He twisted back and took a pace toward her, but her mutinous expression had his step locking in place. “Is there anything I could say that would change your mind?”
She tossed her head back, eyes blazing. “It would take an act of God to keep me here.”
He narrowed his eyes, and flecks of bronze branded her skin. “I’ll see if I can arrange it.”
She laughed, and the humorless sound vibrated between them. Empty, chilling.
************
Sam lay inside the sleeping bag by the fireplace in the living room, staring at the ceiling and counting knots in the beams. Earlier Johnny had collected a few dry logs from the shed and kindled a fire in the grate. She nestled her cheek on her hand and glanced at him stretched out in his own sleeping bag several feet from her. His steady breathing was soothing amidst the noise of wind and rain lashing the windowpane.
A flaming log crackled. She pulled the blanket he’d placed over her up to her chin, and a sigh puttered from her mouth. Then she closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.
After what seemed like minutes, the dogs’ barking sounded the wakeup call, and Samantha fluttered her eyelids open. She stretched her limbs and groaned, burrowing deeper inside her cocoon. The fire had gone out during the night, and icy air pierced through the covers and her clothes, chilling her bones.
She folded the blanket back a fraction to peek at Johnny, and frost smacked her face. She rubbed her eyes and yawned. His corner of the room was empty, his bedroll and blankets neatly folded in place.
“Belen, it’s like an ice box in here,” she called, her teeth chattering.
Just then, he walked in with an armload of logs and a steaming mug in one hand. “I’m going into town to power up the utilities. That should give us hot water, heat and light.”
“Telephone?”
“That might take a little longer.” He set the mug on the floor beside her and stepped aside, dumping the wood in the grate. “Storm may have knocked the wiring out.”
“How convenient.” She shoved her tousled hair away from her eyes. “Mobile?”
“Same difference.” He crouched before the hearth, his red plaid shirt stretching taut across his back. Faded denim covered his long muscular legs, and scruffy, mud-stained boots reached to his calves. He pulled a matchbook from his shirt’s pocket, took out a matchstick, and struck it on the cover. It flared, and the sulfur smell made her twitch her nose. He flicked the match in the grate. A tongue of flame devoured the kindling and clumps of paper, swelling into a miniature inferno.
“The room should heat up soon.” He rubbed his hands over the fire.
Warmth drifted to her, and she wiggled her stockinged feet beneath the blankets. She slid a covert glance at him, and her pulse picked up speed. Firelight cast highlights across his features and tu
rned his hair to burnished gold. He’d always worn it long, brushing his collar. According to her mother, another black mark against him. Long hair belonged to the female species or hippies, not men.
Samantha loved it long. She loved running her fingers through it, loved—
A log fell and crackled, sparks spritzing the air and shattering her fantasy. She sighed and curled her fingers on the soft material inside the sleeping bag.
“You all right?” Johnny squinted at her over his shoulder. “That was a sigh from the heart.”
Swaddled in blankets, she looked more like seventeen than twenty-seven, with gold curls tangled about her shoulders, her cheeks flushed from sleep, and her eyes blue as an ocean storm. He’d seen them soften with love and shadow with passion for him. He shifted and tossed another log into the fire. Sparks flew and dissipated. Is that what she’d felt for him? An instant spark that’d quickly abated when life’s hardships challenged?
“Just thinking,” she murmured.
“Of me?” A long shot, but heck, he’d nothing to lose and everything to gain at this point.
“As a matter of fact, yes.” She cushioned her head on the crook of her elbow, her fingers fiddling with the bedding. “You mentioned something about amenities of comfort like hot water.”
“Yeah.”
“Basic needs.” She eyed the steaming mug on the floor beside her with zeal.
“That’s right.”
“Dare I mention television, a radio?” She shook her head. “Of course not.” Shuffling up, she reached for the breakfast-in-a-mug he’d brought her and propped her back against the wall. “How about a laptop?” The cup warmed her palms, and she tilted her head, thoughtful. “That’d be an extravagance, wouldn’t it?” She dipped a fingertip in the liquid, and then licked it clean. “Mmm, yummy.”
Memories of sweet sensations surged through his mind and booted his groin. A low growl built in his throat, and he turned it into a cough, trying to blast away the stirring inside him. “How about a knife and fork to eat with?” She raised the mug to her lips and looked at him over the rim. “And oh yeah, a plate.”
“Knock it off, Sam.” He shook his hair back from his eyes and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Didn’t want to give you coffee.” He inclined his head to the cup in her hand and the mound of blankets hiding her stomach. “The baby. Soup’s better.”
“That’s right, it is.” She took several sips then nailed him with her sharp words. “The rest of this” – she waved the mug around – “isn’t.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Sam.”
She set the cup down and burrowed back under the covers. That had been a low blow, but she had to make her point. The stakes were high: her marriage. Would Johnny prove to be the man she thought she married? Or a counterfeit? She only had three months to find out. She had to know whether their marriage was based on love, cash or mamma’s defunct schemes.
“Don’t mention it,” she murmured.
“Oh, he—”
“Watch your mouth, Belen.” She smoothed the blanket over her abdomen. “Research shows the developing fetus is sensitive to sound.” Of course, she was pushing his buttons big time and he knew it. The maddening thing was that instead of getting annoyed, he shot her his sexiest smile, and her heart went all a flutter.
“Of course, sweetheart.” He winked. “Hey, little gopher—”
“No gophers here, Belen.”
“Oh, I don’t know. All bundled up with your freckled little nose peeking from beneath the bedding, you look like you’re testing the weather. Will it be the kiss of spring or the sting of winter?” He paused, creasing his forehead as if in deep thought. “Will you scurry away, or stay snuggled in your shelter, awaiting warmer conditions?”
“Quite a speech that, Johnny,” she retorted, not missing the double deal in his words.
Just then, lightning flashed and thunder rumbled.
She jerked beneath the blankets, paling at nature’s special effects. A deep breath, and while windswept rain peppered the window, she regrouped. “Seems I’ll be stuck in my little nest until the weather changes.”
“Good idea.” He slammed her with his level gaze. “I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”
She slapped her hand over her mouth and rolled her eyes. She’d fallen for that fast and quick. More or less, she’d given her word she’d stay put until he got back.
He ambled to the door and glanced over his shoulder, a fickle lock of hair flopping over his brow. “It’s a deluge out there, Sam, otherwise I’d take you along.”
“You got your act of God, didn’t you, Belen?”
A jaunty grin split his mouth. “Guess so.” Then, he sobered. “You’ll be okay, won’t you, Sam?”
“Sure.”
He hesitated a second … two … then, without another word, turned and walked out.
Samantha heard the front door open and bang behind him under the force of wind. The rev of the motor blended with the gale and rain pounding the roof. When he drove away, she listened to the roar of the engine until she couldn’t hear it anymore.
A tear slid down her cheek, and she bit her lip to stop its trembling. She felt abandoned, isolated, cold, hungry and alone. She covered her face in her hands and allowed the tears to flow unchecked down her cheeks. There was no one to witness her misery; she didn’t have to pretend all was well with her and Johnny.
A sound from the door echoed to her, and she swatted wetness from her face. She must be mistaken. No one in their right mind would be out in this cataclysmic storm. Except for Johnny. She smacked that thought aside and listened. A gust of wind rattled the window, and she shivered.
In the split-second lull before nature’s fury unleashed another attack upon the land, she heard it again. Someone was banging on the front door.
Chapter Ten
Sam pressed her hands against the wall and struggled to a standing position. The blanket slipped off her, and goosebumps erupted all over her body. Even the flames in the hearth hadn’t dispelled the chill from the room yet. She rubbed her hands together to warm them, and then stuffed them in the pockets of Johnny’s flannel jacket she’d worn all night over her sweatshirt. Slipping her stocking feet in her mud-stained sneakers, she shuffled out and down the hallway.
The rapping on the door grew more insistent and echoed through the house.
“Just a sec. I’m coming.” She withdrew one hand from her pocket, smoothed her hair in place and opened the door. The force of wind propelled her back, and she clutched the doorknob for support, gaping at her unexpected guest.
“Thought you might like a cup of herb tea and warm cherry pie.” The woman swathed in a raincoat and with square spectacles propped low on her nose, grinned.
“Why, thank you.” Sam crinkled her brow. Something about her unexpected guest teased her mind, but she couldn’t quite grasp it. A smile curved her lips, and she discounted the tingling in her memory. “Could anything stay warm in this weather?”
“You’d be surprised.” The woman hopped from one booted foot to the other, her gold hoop earrings bouncing.
“Who are you?”
“Mirabella, your next-door neighbor.” She pointed behind her with the box in her gloved hand. “I’m about half a mile from here as cupid shoots his arrows.”
Samantha’s eyebrows shot up, laughter gurgling in her throat. As cupid— she thought, bumping the rude noise down her throat. Odd, this. Must be the isolation.
“This is a neighborly welcome.”
“How kind.” Samantha didn’t move, still staring at her.
The woman’s features were a mixture of translucent emotion, yet her words held the meaning of experience. When she flashed her radiant smile, her cheeks dimpled, and years fell away. Her bubble of energy and her sparkling blue-green eyes could put her in the age range of twenty-five to fifty-five to forever.
“Yes, well … brr! It’s cold out here.”
A gust of wind blew full force in Sam’s face,
dispelling her befuddled musings and startling her. “Of course. Please come in.” She hesitated a moment. “We just got here last night and the place is a mess.”
“Not to worry.” The woman slipped by her, plopped the pie in her hands, removed her gloves and put them in her coat pockets.
Samantha kicked the door shut with her heel and followed her inside, questions buzzing in her brain. Too early in the a.m., she thought. Yet, she couldn’t deny the woman’s youthful spirit reflected eons. As for her fashion statement, well— a character from the halls of history wouldn’t be too far-fetched.
Amusement tickled her mouth. The woman’s choice of wardrobe was out of this world, crossing decades of fashion. From her shabby brown raincoat, to her khaki green galoshes, to her red hair clashing with her hot pink rain-hat, to the metal rings dangling from her ears.
“You came out on a day like this to say hello?” Sam considered giving the woman a few tips on fashion trends, and then thought better of it. As much as she’d enjoyed her fashion seminars, it’d been awhile. She glanced down at her own garments and her mouth twisted. Maybe she should start with her own advice.
“It was nothing.”
“You drove here?” Sam asked, eagerness in her voice. Perhaps she might waggle a ride from her to the bus depot, if there was one in this wilderness, before Johnny came home. If he wasn’t back on the dot of two hours, she could leave and not have broken her word.
“No.” She glided to the kitchen like she knew exactly where it was.
“You walked here in this storm?” Sam lumbered behind her. The woman came only to her shoulder and was clearly a lightweight; she could’ve been blown away like a feather in the wind.
“Actually, it felt more like flying.” She giggled, her penetrating gaze leveled on Sam’s quizzical one.
An odd sensation zapped through Sam, then she giggled with her. “In the wind, of course.”
“It helped, yes.” She shrugged from her raincoat, tossed it at the door, and the coat seemed to glide up and drape over the back of the door.
Samantha blinked, her mouth falling open.
Next, the woman whirled her hat on the counter and a waterfall of curls tumbled down her shoulders. She slipped off her rain-spattered glasses and rubbed them dry on her form-fitting, ultra violet sweater tucked into army fatigues. A gold chain link belt was fastened around her hips.