A Match Made in Heaven?

by Sun Chara

  Samantha studied the two men above the brim of her teacup. Things were unraveling faster than she realized. She patted her extended stomach, blinked and set her mouth in a firm line. She wanted her baby to come into the world in a warm and loving home. Not in a battle zone.

  “As I was saying …” Johnny scratched the stubble on his cheek with his callused hand.

  “You’ve said enough, Johnny.”

  “I’ve just started, my sweet.” He gave her a knowing glance, and focused on Michael hovering behind her. “After lunch, the yard needs tending. Seed the lawn, weed the garden—”

  “Of what?” Michael grunted. “Cactus?”

  “I’ll overlook that interruption, Mikey, as I’m feeling rather lenient with a full stomach,” he said. “However, don’t push it.” He scratched the bridge of his nose. “Rose bushes need trimming. Fence and shed need mending. Painting. Then, bathe the dogs.”

  “What?” Michael gasped, his jaw nearly dropping to his chest. “I-I-I canno—”

  “You’re interrupting the boss again, man.” He shook his head in disapproval, pushed back the crate and stood. “After those chores are done, dinner. Nothing fancy. Palatable. Then, wash up for the night. By eight o’clock, you’re on your own.”

  He caught Samantha’s appalled expression from the corner of his eye. “Oh, and in case I forget to mention it. Guest rooms need refurbishing. Paint, carpeting, draperies, heater. Hope you’re equipped for that.” And on an afterthought, he added, “Don’t forget to scoop up dog poop from the yard when you take out the trash.”

  “What will I do for entertainment?” Michael picked up the teapot to refill Samantha’s cup but she shook her head, her gaze fixed on Johnny.

  “Use your imagination. Just stay outta my way.” If the man thought he’d have time to dally around and get more ideas about Sam, he was greatly mistaken. But the next moment, said woman burst his bubble big time.

  “I’ll entertain you, Michael.”

  Like heck, you will.

  “I’ve got a pack of cards. We can play gin rummy.” Samantha raised her teacup, took a sip and set it down beside her plate.

  Johnny pursed his lips and waited.

  “Sure thing, Samantha,” Michael said, an eager lilt to his words.

  Johnny glowered, feeling like an iron bar had been shoved down his throat. He’d walked right into that, he did. Best he kept moving to the doorway.

  “When do I get my day off?”

  Johnny swerved around, his words dangerously soft. “The man’s not even started and he wants time off.”

  “With pay.” Michael jutted his chin.

  “And Dumbo flew,” Johnny said, his brows meeting at the bridge of his nose. “If you can’t handle it, just say so, Scott.”

  Michael brushed his hands against the makeshift towel apron he’d tucked around his waist and glanced at Samantha. “Won’t chase me from what’s rightfully mine, Jonathan.”

  “Nothing here belongs to you, Scott.” A wary look at Samantha.

  “I beg to differ.” Michael’s gaze skittered to Samantha as well.

  “Beg all you want.” Johnny sized him up and down. “You ain’t gettin’ it.”

  Michael gurgled. His neck muscles bulged, his face turned beet red, and he wrung the towel between his fingers.

  Splaying her hands over the weave of material covering the table, Samantha propped herself up. “Your day off is Sunday.” Lumbering two steps closer, she stood between the two men. “You can drive me to town, Michael. On the way, you can tell me what my mother and you are up—”

  “Plotting,” Johnny interjected. “Let’s not mince words, shall we?”

  A lethal glance at Johnny, then Michael turned his pale blues on Sam. “What an idea, Samantha.” He chuckled, but it came out a gurgle. “You have such an imagination.”

  “I know.” Sam glanced from one to the other, catching her bottom lip between her teeth. “Afterward you can take me to lunch.”

  “No, he won’t,” Johnny bit out. “He’ll be far too busy working.”

  “No, I won’t,” Michael spouted back.

  Samantha glanced at her husband. He was being an uncouth bear. What was he trying to prove? Men! If she only understood them. At least one. Johnny Belen.

  A grin lit Michael’s face. “It’s a date, Samantha.”

  “Sam won’t be comfortable in that go-cart of yours.”

  “I’ll call a cab,” Michael said, looking dopy-eyed at her.

  Johnny flexed his abs. “Not with your meager wages here.”

  “I have some cash on me.” He wiggled his brows. “Paper and plastic.”

  Of course. Can’t do Vegas without a little dough in the pocket. Johnny looped his thumb at the waistband of his jeans and folded his fingers in a fist. “You play craps?

  “Black Jack.” Michael stacked dishes from the table to take them to the sink. “In fact, Samantha’s mother and I have shared many a game at the Lucky Lou.”

  “You don’t say?”

  “Oh, but I do, Irishman.”

  “That explains it.”

  “What?”

  Johnny favored his wife with a deep gaze. “I’ll let Samantha do the honors.” A pause when his life seemed to be suspended. “If she cares to.”

  Samantha averted her gaze, her fingers pleating the hem of her sweater.

  A curt nod, and Johnny strode from the room.

  “Excuse me, Michael. I’d like to freshen up,” she said, slodging from the kitchen. “Then I think I’ll lie down for a bit.”

  Once in the bathroom, she turned the faucet on, scooped up cold water with her palms and splashed her face. Her skin tingled. Her life was becoming fuzzier with each passing day.

  Johnny’s innuendos didn’t help.

  Her mother’s butting in was worse.

  And Michael’s strutting his feathers, although comical, fueled the fire.

  Of course, her stalling for time didn’t help. She turned off the tap, reached for a white towel off the rack and blotted her face. A glimpse of her reflection in the stained mirror above the sink, and she collapsed on the toilet lid, the towel slipping onto her lap.

  Two years ago, her mother had threatened to stop her allowance and more besides if she refused to marry Michael. Sam had played along for a time until she figured out how to extricate herself from mamma’s machinations. She refused to succumb to mamma’s claims that one day she’d thank her. A sound, not quite a snort, burst from her mouth. The tables had turned, big time. And in a way mamma couldn’t have controlled and certainly hadn’t expected.

  With memories pummeling her brain, Sam pushed her hair off her face and stood, draping the towel over the rack. A moment later, she waddled to the bedroom and lay on the bed, a dejected sound slipping from her mouth. Pulling the sleeping bag over her shoulders, she stared up at the ceiling and counted knots in the pinewood.

  Unlike Michael, her mother was a piranha at the gaming tables. Playing high stakes, she won big and lost bigger. The last few years she’d been on a losing streak, putting her Casino on the brink of bankruptcy.

  A wistful smile skimmed her lips and then vanished. She’d nearly become a gaming chip in her mother’s hand. The family’s financial tanking had almost duped her into succumbing to mamma’s coercion to marry Michael. An only child, she’d felt responsible for her parents’ future happiness, but she hadn’t been so foolish as to have it be at the cost of her own.

  Samantha stretched her legs beneath the sleeping bag and nestled her cheek in her palm. The argument she’d had with her mother had been a doozy, until she’d agreed to have coffee with Michael. A latte or two later and she ended up in church two years ago, almost marrying mamma’s choice.

  But her heart had led her back to Johnny.

  Pressing her fist against her quivering lip, she blinked away the sting of tears. Did she now know what she was doing? Or had she come full circle, once again a pawn in mamma’s schemes?

  With the family fortune
dwindling to pocket change, her mother had become desperate. Add to that the gossip circulating that a drifter busted the house for five million on the very day she married Johnny, and the already-lean Lucky Lou continued on a downhill spiral. If her mother had been close to bankruptcy two years ago, she was certainly within a hair of it today.

  Samantha brushed wisps of hair from her eyes and clenched her hand, fingernails digging into her palm. Economically struggling, and with her marriage to Johnny on a crash course, she had to think of herself and her baby’s future. She twisted her wedding ring around her finger. She had to be sure about the man she’d married. If she was wrong about Johnny, God help her, she’d have to make another heart-wrenching decision.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  A floorboard creaked. Samantha stirred from her semi-doze and blinked.

  “Just checking to see if you’re alright,” Michael said, standing in the doorway.

  “She is.” Johnny had returned to get a screwdriver from the kitchen and caught Michael heavy-stepping it to the bedroom. Instinct prompted him to follow. Good thing, too. “I’ll take over. The dogs await you in the shed.”

  Samantha peered at the two of them through the screen of her lashes. “Michael, how kind of you to be so concerned. But I’m fine.” Not a word to Johnny.

  “Well, if you think you’ll be alright” – Michael slithered a scathing glance over Johnny – “I’ll go finish up.”

  “Good idea.” Johnny stood in the doorway, pointing the way out.

  Michael grinned at Samantha. “Sooner I get done, the sooner we can have that card game.”

  “I’ll look forward to it.” A pixie smile brushed her lips, and she waved him from the room.

  Johnny allowed his pent-up breath to shoot from his mouth, then ambled to her bedside. He settled down on the mattress, the springs squeaking beneath him, and took her hand. “Something I can get you, sweetheart?”

  She pulled her hand away. “Johnny, you are the most boorish man.”

  “Now what have I done?” He leaped up from the bed and plowed his fingers through his hair.

  “How could you prattle—”

  “I don’t prattle.”

  She wiggled up to a sitting position and wrapped her arms around her protruding middle. “You do, Belen.”

  “Nah.”

  “Yes, you do.” She slapped her hand on the bedding, but the sound came out muffled. “What was that nonsense about fresh baked bread, furniture delivery and all that work it’d take a team of men a month to get done? You nearly scared the man off.”

  Johnny grinned and sank back down on the bed. “That was the idea.”

  “But he didn’t.”

  “Too bad.”

  Samantha fiddled with the edge of the blanket and veiled her eyes with her down-swept lashes. “And I’m not ready to have him go yet.”

  “Why’s that?” His heart dipped, but his eyes turned rock hard.

  “I like the idea of a home-cooked meal?”

  I’m no fool, Samantha. Aloud he said, “Try again.”

  “I don’t know.” She smoothed the bedding around her. “He’s helping get this place in order. He’s a family friend.”

  Johnny elevated a bronzed brow.

  “In this isolated existence, it’s nice to know there’s a friend nearby.”

  “Your husband isn’t good enough?”

  “Didn’t say that.”

  “Didn’t have to.” He set his mouth in a hard line and hauled himself from the bed, his thigh brushing her hand on the bedding. A zap of heat penetrated through the denim and into his leg. He clamped down on the feelings stirring inside him. “I’ll go and see how your … er … pal is doing.” The words left a bitter taste in his mouth.

  “He could be your friend too, Johnny.”

  “No.” He shot her a level gaze. “Scott’s no friend of mine.”

  She sighed. “What’re you going to do?”

  “Why Sam, I’m going to test the mettle of that man.” He inclined his head toward the kennels, thinking, and see what he’s got that captured your interest. “See if he’s got what it takes to work with us bumpkins.”

  “I already know it.” Sam smiled.

  He gulped down a growl.

  “Michael might seem a little odd—”

  “Seem?”

  “—at times and fare better on the city scene, but he’s sweet and does try.”

  He rubbed his chest with his fist, diminishing the pressure there. “Not good enough in my book.” Patting her hand, he turned and stalked to the door.

  “Determined, too.”

  A pause in stride, and he hurled over his shoulder. “I bet.”

  “You won’t bulldoze him into leaving, will you, Johnny?”

  He shot her a blank look, but a grin tugged the corner of his mouth.

  “He won’t, you know.”

  “And if he does skedaddle back to daddy?” he asked.

  A myriad of emotions flittered across her face until doubt settled in.

  “Sweet can turn sour mighty fast.”

  She pulled the bedding under her chin like a protective covering. “As I know from experience.”

  “Care to expand on that?” he challenged.

  “You … I … we …” She waved her hands about the room, somehow a reflection of their relationship. Dismal. How did that happen?

  Johnny’s gaze drilled deeper. “As I said, that can easily be remedied.” Okay, he’d just backed her into a corner for an answer. His heart vaulted in his throat, waiting for her reply.

  “In a variety of ways.”

  His pulse stuttered. He’d have to be hit over the head to miss that one. She was contemplating a way out. One, he’d wager, that kept publicity at a low hubbub. “You be sure to let me know which way you’re aimin’ for, Mrs. Belen.” A hard line marked his mouth, and he delivered his own shot. “And I’ll be sure to let you know mine.”

  She sat bolt upright, sparks shooting from her eyes and singeing his skin. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Whatever you want it to.”

  “Was I so wrong about you, Johnny?”

  “I don’t know. Were you, Sam?” If she had doubts about his caliber, he wanted it out in the open; wanted to know where he stood with her once and for all. A level playing field was more to his liking, giving him clearer options to devise his strategy.

  “I’ll know soon enough, won’t I?” She tugged at a stray strand and wound it around her finger.

  He queried with his brow.

  “In three months, I’ll be sure of your mettle, too, Johnny.”

  “If you don’t know it by now, Sam, you won’t get it after three months.” Steam built in his chest, and he sucked it down. So, she was playing a game. A test. If he didn’t pass her criteria for husband the second time around, Michael lurked, ready to catch her. He grimaced, and a harsh sound ripped through him. Isn’t that what you’ve been doing? Testing? To see if she’d stick around for you, and not your mega bucks? Shut up, brain.

  He was playing for keeps. His life and his child’s future. A deep frown carved his forehead. He couldn’t afford to be blindsided by Sam, her mother or pal Mikey. Knowing she’d be around for the next three months eased the pressure in his lungs and the ache in his gut. It also made it easier to keep an eye on her and his child. “I take it you’ll be hanging around for a while yet?”

  “Michael would find it uncomfortable without me,” she murmured, casting him a covert glance. “His research.”

  “Of course. We must think of … uh … Mikey.” He gripped the doorknob behind him and squeezed, the metal imprinting on his fingertips. “Mamma’s golden boy.” His gaze shuttered, and a nerve battered his cheek. “And possibly yours?”

  She gaped at him aghast. “That’s a rotten thing to say.”

  “Seems to me you want it that way.” He just burned his bridges for sure. He shrugged. They were ablaze as soon as he’d read that special delivery letter with bank-boy h
ot on its trail. He didn’t know how to snuff out the flames and salvage his life with her. How to rebuild now the baby was coming.

  “I-I,” She leaned her head against the headboard and lowered her lashes.

  Johnny unhooked his hand from the doorknob and took a step closer to make sure she was all right. At that moment, she lifted her lashes, and her cool gaze iced over him. “I have to use the bathroom.”

  “Need any help?”

  “No, thank you.”

  She pushed his buttons big time, this woman he married. An indifferent mask settled on his features. What he wanted was to haul her into his arms and smother smooches all over her face. A savage grunt, and he thrust the feeling aside, his abs rigid and his heart pulsing a staccato.

  “Okay, be my guest.” He marched to the door but couldn’t help tossing over his shoulder, “call if you need anything.”

  Samantha heard his footsteps echoing down the hall and out the front door. A quiet moment passed, and she folded her hands into fists, pressing them against her eyes to stem the tears. She hiccupped. Things seemed to be going from bad to worse between them. She didn’t know what to do nor how to fix it. Or if it could be salvaged. She took a deep breath, exhaled and brushed hair off her forehead. Well, she wouldn’t sit here and let circumstances dictate how her life would turn out. No, sir-ee!

  Once again, she determined to take a hand in her life. A whimper sounded from her mouth. She’d done that on her wedding day, and look where it had landed her. Sitting here, six months pregnant, penniless and supposedly not legally married to the father of her child. Could that be possible?

  She sniffed at the near-empty room. She’d begin by checking up on the furniture Johnny mentioned earlier. If it wasn’t up to standard, she’d make some demands of her own. She’d throw out the challenge and see what Johnny, the provider of the family, could do in the next three months.

  And what Michael, the hired hand, could stand.

  Samantha shuffled off the bed and, after a quick visit to the bathroom, waddled to the front door. A second later she pulled it open, wind smacking her face. Resolute, she walked out to the porch, her sights on the kennels. “Johnny. Michael,” she called, competing with the wind for audibility. “I want to talk to the both of you. Now.”