by Sun Chara
He lowered himself back down and shifted for a better sitting, and the box wobbled. Grabbing onto the table to prevent himself from falling, his abrupt movement almost tipped the crate over. When it stayed upright, he breathed a sigh of relief. “I don’t want to upset you or your furniture.”
She did laugh then. “Nice of you.” Opening his gift, she sampled a chocolate truffle. “Mmm, this is good.” She rolled her eyes in appreciation and offered him the box. When he declined, she popped the remainder of the sweet in her mouth, chewed and swallowed. “You want some tea?”
“Only if you go with it?”
“Michael,” she said, her tone stern, although there was an underlining lilt in her voice. What woman didn’t like flattery? Hmm, she thought, then dismissed the foolishness.
“Okay,” he mouthed, careful to avoid any unnecessary movement.
“You don’t mind roughing it a bit, do you?” She nipped the amusement teasing her bottom lip, handed him a mug of brew and sat on the crate opposite him.
“Not if I can be near you.” He looked at her over the mug’s rim with his pallid gaze, gulped a mouthful, and then coughed, spewing tea.
As fast as she could, she got to her feet and pounded his back. “You, okay?”
“Y-y-yes, he stammered, his eyes watering. “S-s-stop h-h-hitting me.”
She snatched a paper towel from the stack on the table, blotted the spray from her clothes and the table.
“So-orry about that, Sam. Went down the wrong way.” He swept up a napkin to help her and bumped his mug with his elbow, nearly tipping it.
“No, don’t … help.” She grabbed for the cup and Michael pulled his arm back, his fingers brushing her hand. At the same instant, she jerked her hand away and placed the cup on the table several inches from him.
Not missing her maneuver, his eyes darkened for a fleeting second, then he flashed her his even toothed smile. “Thanks.”
She refilled his mug and took her seat, waving her hand about the room. “Not your style this, mmm?”
Affronted, he blurted, “It certainly is not.” Methodically, he lifted the cup, sipped and gulped. “And it certainly is not yours, either.” He set the mug down with the utmost care as not to jostle the contents. “However, it’ll be an unexpected distraction for what I have in mind.”
“What’s that?”
“I don’t want to bore you with details.” He walked his fingers toward hers, and surreptitiously she dropped her hand to her lap. “A beautiful woman like you should not be concerned with business matters.” He peered at her from beneath his ashen lashes. “You should be draped on a man’s arm, enhancing his home, warming his b—”
At her frown, he amended, “Decorating his—”
Samantha burst out laughing. He was serious.
“What’s funny?”
“You.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“Okay.” He would, she thought.
He reversed his fingers and slid his index finger down the side of the mug. “I’ve a few weeks off and I’m going to research human habitats and habits.”
She swallowed the mirth bubbling to burst from her again.
“See how some can actually stand living in a hove—” Abruptly he stopped, thinking better of his choice of words.
Hovel, she finished for him, but didn’t voice it.
“You be sure to have a good time jetting around the globe.”
“I’ve done that for the last two years.” He paused to let his words sink in. “This time ’round I’m thinking of somewhere closer to home.”
“How close?” She squinted at him, a sliver of suspicion stabbing.
“I’d like to see more of the Las Vegas territory … Henderson, Green Valley … Paradise …” He crossed one leg over the other and leaned back, but remembering he was balancing precariously on a box, quickly righted himself. A sigh of relief blew from his mouth.
Samantha hid a smile behind her hand.
“We’re thinking of expanding, maybe building,” he announced, his chest puffing with self-importance. “In fact, I’ve heard the city of Henderson’s got its eye on this area for future development.”
“You want to bulldoze ahead, don’t you?” She chuckled. “With any potential high profit investments.”
“Any and all … among other things.” His gaze steady on her face.
“Better get started,” she advised. “It’ll be nightfall soon.”
“Do you know where I might book a room for the night?” he asked. “I’m low on gas. Won’t even make it to the I-15 Primm Valley casino pumps before heading back to Vegas.”
She popped a chocolate caramel in her mouth and shook her head.
“I’d even work for my room and board,” he joked. “Hardly.”
“Part of the adventure you had in mind, Michael?” she asked, her words muffled by the chewy sweet in her mouth.
“Now that you mention it, might be worth the toil and trouble.”
“Really?”
“Pays to know those I might do business with. Gives me the edge … inside info.”
“Oh Michael, there’s more to life than money.”
It was his turn to look dumbfounded.
“Love, a family.”
“Like yours?”
Samantha could feel the red hot-heat spiraling inside her but checked it just in time. “What’s wrong with my life? I like it just fine.” She did, didn’t she?
“You mean you like going from riches to rags right after saying, ‘I do?’”
“We’re hardly that.” But her heart twisted. Day by day they seemed to be getting closer to the penury Michael described. And yet, she sensed Johnny’d been trying to tell her something. She didn’t know what, and doubted it would even matter to them as a couple. Fiddling with the candy box ribbon, she belted back a sob together with the caramel.
“Of course not.” He rapped his knuckles on the crate beneath him. “Worse.”
“That’s enough, Michael.” She slid the gift box away from her and pushed herself up from the crate. “Well, say hello to mother when you see her.”
“Why don’t you come back with me and say hi yourself?”
“No can do.”
“You’re shackled to this wretched place and it’s barely habitable.”
And just to prove his point, a gust of wind slammed against the house, rattling the windows.
Michael choked the mug between his fingers, his features hinting a grey pallor.
“Glad to be inside this crude shelter, mmm?” Samantha lifted her shapely brow, raised her cup and took a sip of tea.
Michael inclined his head, sitting ramrod straight and not moving.
Mirth teased her mouth, but she bit it away. Although Mirabella’s sweep cleaned the place, repaired the furniture and revamped the stove, Michael’s words hit bull’s-eye. The place needed a major overhaul. And that took money. Plenty of it.
Sighing, she set the cup on the table and flicked a loose curl off her forehead. “Johnny’s gone to town to advertise for a hired hand.”
“Good luck.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked, pressing her hand to the small of her back.
“Seems everyone prefers work in Vegas.” He uncrossed his legs and the sudden motion made him totter on the crate. “Oops!” He let go of the mug and slammed his hands on the table. “More tips ’n thrills in glitz city.”
She chuckled. “Steady there, Michael.”
“I had to wait for hours for this car rental,” he grumbled as if she hadn’t spoken. “Some rodeo event going on … hotels booked … and—”
“This is not Las Vegas. This is Goodsprings, Nevada.”
“Near enough on the outskirts” –he picked up the mug and sniffed the peach-flavored tea— “for a good investment, even with a start-up population of only two hundred and thirty-two … thirty-four with you two.”
“Why Michael, you surprise me.”
He nodd
ed, preening.
“You’ve jumped-started your research on how the other half lives.”
He laughed and nearly spilled the brew over himself. Samantha handed him another napkin and he dabbed liquid from the table.
“Always like to be a step ahead of my competition.” He took several small sips, emptied the cup and held it out to her. “A surer bet that way.” A nerve ticked at the corner of his mouth. “Smarter … safer too.”
“Sure.” She sidestepped him and set the cup in the sink.
“Mind if I use your phone?” He stood up, stretched and wiggled his shoulders. “Left my cell in the car.” He rotated his neck. “I’d like to engage the rental company to find me lodging for the night.”
While Michael talked on the telephone, Samantha washed the mugs, her imagination on the move. For all his apparent naiveté, Michael had an endearing quality about him. And his klutziness hid a keen business mind. She wiped the counter with a damp rag, opened the cupboard beneath the sink and tossed it in the plastic tray.
Could she make use of his business skills in some way in exchange for— She got stumped on that one; she’d think of something. She shut the cupboard door with the toe of her sneaker and stared out the window. For certain the kennels had to start paying, or they’d be out on their ear.
Although, Johnny had assured her all was well … she crinkled her brow … she couldn’t see how. The struggle to meet monthly payments had maxed out. She’d better take a hand in improving their meager income, especially now with baby on the way. Johnny wouldn’t like it, but she eased her conscience by telling herself it would only be for a short while. By then, she’d have a better idea how things stood between them. She licked her lips, possibilities whirling through her mind.
“How’d it go?” she asked when Michael ambled back to the kitchen. “Got something?”
“Nope.” He plunked down on the crate and slouched across the table.
“Money can’t buy what’s unavailable.” She rubbed her hands together, and then, realizing what she was doing, stopped. “Cheer up.”
“I thought it ’d be fun to ‘rough it’ with the rest of them for a while.”
“Them?”
“The local yokels—” he bit the rest of his words off, thinking he may have put his foot in the mix. “Not you of course, Samantha.” A scowl folded his forehead. “But the Irishman would certainly fit—”
At the warning of her uplifted brow, he was quick to add, “I’d have something to tell dad. Something to make him think more of m—” He shrugged, slamming his mouth shut and breaking off his confession.
Samantha tilted her head and considered him for a moment. “Uh, there might be a place where you can start.” She smoothed creases from the front of her sweatshirt with her fingertips.
“Where?” He straightened like an eager teenager about to get the car keys. “Hope it’s near here. I’d want to keep an eye on you.”
“It’s closer than you think and … uh … rougher living too.”
He waited in a half questioning, half hopeful mode.
She took a deep breath and expelled it in a rush. “Right here.”
“W-w-with that red-haired Irishman you married?” he sputtered.
“Of course.” She gave him a bright smile. “If what you say is true, then you’re the only one available for hire.”
“I’d do it for you, Samantha.”
“Don’t you want to know what your duties are?”
“So long as I can be near you, I can tackle anything.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure, Michael. However, if it’s information about the locals you want, you’ve aced it from here.”
He pushed himself up, took a step closer and placed his hands on her shoulders. “Then will you come home, Samantha?”
Samantha glanced down at her mud stained sneakers, wondering where her home truly was. Just then, a footstep sounded from behind Michael, and her head shot up.
“She is home.”
Chapter Eighteen
Johnny burst into the kitchen and tossed a box of candy on the table. “Out.” His peace offering looked pint-sized next to Michael’s gargantuan box of chocolates.
Hoping to initiate a softer mood for that talk with Samantha, Johnny had leaped from the Chevy Silverado eager to surprise her. But then, he’d spied the white Lotus parked outside. His heart sank. His worst nightmare.
In a flash, he’d bounded up the stairs and through the door, stumbling to a halt at the cozy kitchen scene. How dare that jerk put his paws on his wife. And Samantha just stood there and let him. His blood began to boil, his muscles coiling his gut.
Danger signals detonated in his brain.
“He’s got to go, Sam.”
“Can’t.”
“Why not?”
She stepped away from Michael, and rubbed her hands on her thighs, her expression wary. “Meet the new hand, Johnny.”
“What?” A storm began brewing inside Johnny, far worse than the tempest wreaking havoc across the desert.
“I hired him,” she explained, the words tumbling from her mouth. “Seems there’s a shortage of help in this area and he kindly agreed to help out” –she sucked in a quick breath— “in exchange for room and board for the next few weeks” –she exhaled a resounding puff of air— “while he conducts his studies on the desert dwellers.”
“Over my dead bod—”
Michael came to attention. “That could be arranged.”
“You know nothing about running a kennel.”
“I know business.”
“You don’t even like dogs.”
“For Samantha, I’ll learn.”
“It won’t be here,” Johnny took a menacing step, bridging the gap between Michael and himself.
“It will too.” Michael plunked back down on the crate, his words almost a whine.
“Stop it, the both of you.” Samantha placed the back of one hand across her brow, staggered back and grabbed the counter with the other.
Immediately, Johnny relented and placed his arm around her shoulders. “Honey, why don’t you go sit down.”
At the endearment, Samantha blinked, and Michael shot up straight, darting his eyes from one to the other.
There was more than one way to chase a skunk out before he left his foul odor behind. Johnny grinned. “Michael will cook our dinner.” Taking her elbow, he escorted her to the crate, but when he tried to help her sit down, she deftly slid from his hold and sat down by herself.
“Brr.” Johnny shook off his slicker and with it the scowl about to break across his face. Psychology, he reminded himself.
“Now, wait a minute,” Michael sputtered.
“Your duties include indoor/outdoor work.”
“Samantha?”
She nodded, slanting him a gaze from beneath her lashes. What had she done? Added fuel to ignite an inferno, that’s what. Time would tell whether it fizzled out or exploded. It would certainly reveal Johnny’s, and, for that matter, Michael’s true character. She rapped her fingers on the table, and her lip quivered a smile. She might even enjoy the show. For the first time in the last two days, she felt hopeful.
“You want the job or not?” Johnny barked, hanging his raingear behind the door.
“I’ll do this for Samantha.”
“Don’t do my wife any favors.” He unbuttoned his shirt cuffs and, rolling up his sleeves, stomped a step closer to the other man, his intent if pushed unmistakable.
“She’s not legally yours, remember?” Michael said, jutting his chin.
A split-second pause, and Johnny lowered his lids, studying the other man through the slit of his lashes. “What makes you say that?”
“No reason,” Michael sputtered, leaping up from the crate and knocking it over.
Johnny frowned. “You damage the furniture and it’ll come out of your wages.”
“Huh!” Michael snorted, and tossing his head back, retreated several steps.
“Make sure it’s a
hearty meal,” Johnny said. “After you’ve served us, eat up a good portion. You’ll need it.” He perused him from head to toe, dressed in his city slicker threads. “Your day starts at five a.m.”
Michael’s eyes nearly popped from his head. “Rather an uncivilized hour, isn’t it?”
“To soft-bellied city folk, maybe.” Johnny hooked his thumbs beneath his armpits and rocked on his heels. “To us country bumpkins that’s the middle of the mornin’.”
“Figures.” Michael sniffed, his nose in the air, and straightened the cuff of his jacket sleeve.
“If it’s too much for you” – Johnny tipped his head toward the door – “You know the way out.”
Michael took a pose, his eyes slitting. “Can’t get rid of me so easily.”
A grin split Johnny’s lips. “Too bad.” Sidestepping Michael, he took the pot off the stove and set it on the counter. Then he yanked the refrigerator door open, grabbed tomatoes and carrots and tossed them in the sink. After booting it shut, he opened the pantry, took potatoes and onions from the burlap sack and basket-balled them in the sink. “Veg stew. On a night like this, should hit the spot.” He smacked his belly with his hand, his eyes granite hard. “Think you can manage that?”
“Uh … uh …” Michael’s mouth fell open.
Samantha shuffled up from the crate, walked to the pantry and picked up a bottle of olive oil. When she lumbered past him, Johnny reached out to stop her, thought better of it and shrugged. Miffed, she slammed the bottle on the counter beside the pot.
“I’ll help you, Michael,” she offered, turning the faucet on full force.
“Rip roarin’ dandy,” Johnny muttered, stroking his chin, but the running water smothered his words. A second later, he snapped his fingers. “Since Samantha is preparing the basics, you might as well go and feed the dogs.” At least he could maneuver him out of the house and away from her.
Michael held up both hands and backed away until he bumped into the wall. “Do-o-ogs?”
“Friendly brutes.”
“Only six of them,” Samantha added, scrubbing vegetables.
“You met their cousins at the wedding, remember?” Johnny said, a wicked grin playing on his mouth.