A Match Made in Heaven?

by Sun Chara

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  While waiting for the men to come into the house, Samantha took pad and pencil and strolled from room to room, jotting down notes and doodling designs. By the time she’d finished her tour, they still hadn’t shown up, and she stood by the living room window contemplating the outdoors. After a while, she turned and sat on the rocker and flipped through a Showtime magazine spouting Vegas glitz and glam. Finally, she tossed the trade onto one of the crates, but it slid to the floor. Too much for her to bend down and pick up, she left it there and plodded to the kitchen.

  Fresh brewed coffee aroma filled the room, indicating the men had been in for lunch. She glanced at the note taped on the refrigerator and opened the door, finding the toasted cheese and lettuce sandwich they’d left her. She took a bite and peeked in the pot on the stove still half-filled with simmering water. Swiping a dribble of mayonnaise from the corner of her mouth with her tongue, she grabbed a mug from the dish rack.

  At least Michael had washed the dishes. She filled it to the brim with hot liquid, disregarding the crumbs scattered across the cooker’s surface. Improvisation in any situation was one of Johnny’s talents. In this instance, without a toaster, he’d tutored Michael on the art of ‘roughing it’ by grilling bread over the gas element, cookout style.

  A half smile played on her mouth thinking of the tough yet tender Irishman she married. Her smile dissolved, food in her mouth turned tasteless, and she gulped it down. He was so different now.

  She took an orange spice-flavored teabag from the box on the counter and, dipping it in the mug, stepped to the table and plopped on the crate. Fruity scent sailed around her. She wrapped her hands around the mug, the warmth soothing her ruffled feelings. She’d called them nearly two hours ago and they still hadn’t answered. If they didn’t show up after she finished eating, she’d go and find out why.

  After a bite or two of the sandwich, she screwed up her face at a soggy section. She forced herself to chew and swallow, then opened the bread slices and picked out the cheese and lettuce. A couple of nibbles on them, and she discarded the remains in the trash bin, determined to ask for better meals. And real dishes to eat from. She lifted the mug and sipped the flavored liquid.

  Done with her snack, she grabbed her coat from the hall closet, slipped her feet into sneakers and ventured outdoors. She paused on the bottom step. Clouds billowed overhead, but the wind had abated some. Resolute, she held her coat in place around her big belly and sloshed through the yard to the kennels, peering through the torn wire fence.

  Dog dishes with remnants of dried food and half opened feedbags were strewn about. A couple of mud-stained animals lolled about in need of a bath, while the rest barked from the shed. The smell was unbearable, and she covered her mouth with her hand.

  She walked a few more steps and peeked into the shed. No wonder the dogs woofed and wagged their tails. They had two exceptional specimens of man for company, strong and attractive. Johnny leaned negligently against one termite-bitten wall, chewing on a dry blade of grass, while Michael shoveled soil to level the ground, sweat pouring down his face.

  “Hose down the concrete border. If we’re not hit by another storm, it should hold until you fix the roof.” Johnny spit the grass from his mouth. “Otherwise, you’ll have to scramble and pour in that cement.”

  At the look of dismay on Michael’s face, Sam nearly burst out laughing. “Hello, boys.”

  “Sam, what the dickens are you doing out in this weather?” Johnny asked.

  “Storm’s about run out of steam.” She glanced up at the rain- drenched sky. “It’s just spitting.”

  “Deceptive.”

  There seemed to be an underlining meaning to his words, and she inclined her head. “Time will tell; don’t you think?”

  “Betcha, Sam.”

  Michael darted his eyes between them. “Can the hired hand get in on the rap?”

  “No.” Johnny scowled.

  “Yes.” Samantha nodded.

  “Oh, goody,” Michael gushed.

  “I called you both a couple of hours ago,” she said. “Guess you didn’t hear me in the wind.”

  “Something wrong, Sam?” Johnny pushed away from the wall and walked to her side.

  “Were you hungry?” Michael shoved the shovel in the dirt and brushed his hair from his eyes, smearing dirt across his cheek. “I left a sandwich for you.” A quick glance at Johnny, signaling he was to blame. “I didn’t call you for lunch because he thought you should rest.”

  “I had a taste of … uh … lunch.” She pushed her hands in the pockets of her coat, and her gaze skipped between the two men. “I want to talk to you.”

  “Sure,” both men said in unison.

  “Good.” She turned and started to walk away. “I’ll see you inside.”

  “Don’t forget to pad behind the door,” Johnny said, and Michael started, his eyes shifty. “Looks like that dirt’s been flipped over recently.”

  When Samantha reached the sagging wire-link gate, she paused and turned, hands on hips. “Now.”

  “Sure Sam, soon as we finish this,” Johnny called, pointing with his boot. “Missed a spot, Scott.”

  Michael pounded the ground behind the door with more vigor using the back of the shovel.

  “Easy there.” Johnny waved his hand in front of his face. “You’re stirring up dust, man.”

  Michael curled his lip in contempt.

  “I don’t think this should wait,” Samantha called back, tapping her foot against the fence.

  “Sam, is something wrong?” Johnny slopped through the mud to her side, Michael at his heels.

  “Not yet.” She lowered her lashes. “But there might be.”

  “What d’ya mean?”

  “Something must be wrong.” Michael fluttered his hands and stamped his feet. “And you’re not telling, Samantha.”

  “The baby is fine.”

  Air whooshed from both men in utter relief.

  “Okay, Michael, get to work.” Johnny made to turn away and resume his supervisory position. “Sam, I’ll see you in fifteen.”

  “No, boys,” she said, emphasizing her words. “You’ll see me, now.”

  “Aww, Sam, Michael’s almost finished this. What’s the rush?”

  “You’ll not only have a pregnant woman on your hands but a hysterical one.” She slammed the gate shut, but it swung back open, bumping her posterior. “Ooo!”

  “What’re you talking about, woman?” Johnny scratched his head. “We gotta finish this before dusk.”

  “Yep, gotta do it,” Michael murmured beneath his breath.

  Johnny nodded, surprised at the other man’s agreement.

  Samantha lifted a hand and pointed the two men to the house.

  “I-I-I mean,” Michael stuttered, shoveling dirt. “Gotta do what Samantha says.”

  “Dig,” Johnny ordered. “Five minutes, Sam.”

  She trudged several steps to the house, her head held high, her sneakers sinking in the moist earth. A second later, she did an about face and looked straight at the workhand. “Michael.”

  Michael dropped the spade, smirked at Johnny and sprinted to her. After wiping his hand on his pant leg, he took her arm and pitched a jubilant glance over his shoulder at an astounded Johnny. “Since Samantha officially hired me, I guess her orders override yours.” He turned back to her, dazzling her with his smile. “I’m all yours.”

  Two beats later, taciturn, Johnny stalked after them into the house.

  “Leave your dirty boots on the porch both of you,” Samantha called from the hallway. “And come into the living room, please.”

  Several minutes later, both men skidded to the living room doorway at precisely the same instant and bumped each other aside to gain entrance. Finally, Johnny stepped aside. “Be my guest, Scott.”

  “Pull up a crate and sit by the fire so you’ll be warm,” Samantha invited, rocking in the chair.

  Michael marched to the beat of her words
and dragged the box beside her.

  Johnny pulled an old paint can from the corner and plopped his rear on it. Next instant, he leaped up. “What’s this rap session about Sam? We got work to do before sundown.”

  “You just can’t imagine how much, husband.” She motioned him to sit.

  Of course, he stood. Propping a shoulder against the wall, he folded his arms and paced her every move beneath his bunched brows, noting every nuance.

  Samantha shrugged and turned a bright smile on Michael. He dragged his crate closer to the rocker and she shrank back in the chair, waving her hand beneath her nose. She caught Johnny’s amused expression and dropped her hand to her lap.

  “While you men were out, I took an inventory of the house and found it wanting.” She patted the pleat on her skirt and then the hem of her sweater. “If this is going to be my home … er … our home” –she smoothed her hand over her abdomen— “for the next three months, then there’s going to be some changes. Fast.”

  She licked her lips and chanced a glimpse at Johnny. If anything, his gaze had narrowed even more. Razor sharp. She exhaled a puff of air in her throat, willing her pulse to regulate. “Although Mirabella did her part—”

  “Who’s Mirabella?” Michael asked.

  Samantha smiled sweetly, and Johnny swished his hand in dismissal, as if to say don’t even ask.

  “—the premises have to be maintained at a certain level of comfort and style.” She took out the pad and pencil she’d placed in her skirt’s pocket earlier. “Inside, the house needs a major overhaul. Plumbing, painting, new carpets—”

  “What’s wrong with the carpets?” Johnny asked. “Your … er … Mirabella spiffed them up.”

  “Who is Mirabella?” Michael asked in a squeaky voice.

  Both Johnny and Samantha ignored his question.

  “Yes, she did.” She tapped the pencil on the pad. “The color scheme may not match the furniture you’re having delivered. And I do so like a coordinated decor.”

  Johnny looked dumbfounded.

  Probably he was wondering why she started throwing her weight around; she smiled at the pun and patted her tummy. Samantha decided to make the most of her position as lady of the manor, especially with two men at her beck and call. Although she wasn’t sure about Johnny in that respect, Michael she could count on. A sliver of uncertainty zapped through her, and she shook it off.

  “I hope a television, iPad, and iPod are part of the items you’re having delivered, Johnny.” She checked each off on her notepad. “A laptop. Kitchen appliances.” She glanced at Michael. “They’ll make it easier for Michael to perform his duties.”

  “Duties?” The word blasted from Johnny like a bullet, his features stern.

  “In the kitchen.” She fluttered her lashes at him, then turned her attention back to Michael, who looked at her with puppy dog eyes.

  “I’m partial to self-cleaning appliances,” Michael spouted.

  “Oh, me too, Michael,” Samantha gushed.

  Johnny lifted his eyes heavenward. Patience Belen, patience.

  “And,” she continued, checking off her list of demands. “A laundry room equipped with washer and dryer with the latest tech gadgets.” She patted Michael’s arm. “A newborn needs frequent changes, laundry piles up …”

  Michael nodded.

  Johnny said nothing.

  But a magnetic current sizzled between her and Johnny, making fine down on her skin stand on end. She brushed the writing pad across her arms to settle the goose-bumps.

  “The most comfy furniture will be for the bedroom and, of course, the guest room.” She directed this last sweetly to the help. “Michael deserves a decent place to sleep and relax after a hard day’s work.”

  “You about done?” Johnny asked, his words clipped.

  “Not quite.” She glanced at her list. “Bathroom needs a cosmetic facelift and …” She flipped a page on her writing pad. “When the inside is done, there’s the outside to do. But we’ll leave that for another time.”

  “Imagine that,” Johnny muttered.

  “That shouldn’t be a problem, Samantha,” Michael said. “I’d be glad to do that for you.”

  “Not your job,” Johnny said. “It’s mine.”

  “You can’t afford it, Jonathan.” His gaze fawned over Samantha. “I can.”

  “You have no idea of what I can or cannot afford,” Johnny ground out, muscles in his neck tightening.

  Michael turned his haughty nose up at him. “The condition of your pocketbook is quite obvious.” He gave Samantha a sympathetic look. “You’ve kept poor Samantha in that tiny apartment for two years.”

  “You been keeping tabs?”

  “Of course.”

  “Together with mamma.”

  “Y-yes.” Michael stammered, thinking maybe he’d said too much.

  “Figures.”

  “I don’t care what you think, Jonathan. I may not have had the relations—” he settled his bottom on the crate and blushed— “with Samantha that you’ve had—”

  Johnny came to rapt attention, the skin taut across his cheekbones. “Don’t even go there.”

  But Michael saw his chance and blindly ventured in. “But that was an oversight. I’ll help her out now, and as for th-th-the rest, we’ll work something out.”

  “You’re a sick man, Scott.”

  Michael leaped up, his hands in fists. “I’ve had enough of your insults.”

  “Oh, really.” Johnny toughened his jaw, ready for a fight.

  Samantha rapped the pencil on the rocker’s arm. “You think you can get your act together and make this—” she waved her hand around “—a home fit for a newborn before he or she arrives? I’ll not have my baby exposed to these barbaric conditions.” She shot Johnny a knowing glance. “While I’m in limbo, I might as well be in limbo in style.”

  Michael snickered.

  Johnny growled.

  “When will the kennels open for business” –she directed this specifically to her husband— “and generate cash flow to pay for these renovations?”

  A smirky grin played on Johnny’s mouth. “Since Michael wants to put in his two cents—”

  “Two million … three—” Michael piped in.

  “Well, excuse me,” Johnny drawled. “He won’t mind working overtime to get the kennels ready for you, Sam. And that should speed up the remodeling indoors.” The grin turned into a satisfied smile. Michael would be up to his elbows in dogs, and his extended work schedule would allow for no extracurricular activities here or in town with Sam. “That work for you, Scott?”

  “I’m going to show Samantha who’s the best man.”

  “You do that,” Johnny said, his voice cool. Hard.

  Samantha figured that with the two of them pitching in, the house should improve in no time. The money was an issue, but she’d cross that barrier when she came to it. No way would she have Michael finance any of it; for sure it would get back to mamma. She could do without mamma’s gloating and complicating things further. A sigh sailed from her mouth. She hoped Johnny had some credit to begin the repairs.

  “Now, I’m hungry,” she said to change the subject. “That soggy sandwich was not to standard.”

  “Hear that, Scott?” Johnny couldn’t help ribbing. “Your culinary skills are slipping. Better shape up or she might hire another hand.”

  “Or marry another man,” Michael countered, twisting his lip in derision.

  Johnny flexed his hand, itching to floor the dancing boy. Instead, he slid his palm across his face and deflected his rising temperature. The jerk’s words hit too close for comfort, especially with the rocky state of affairs between Samantha and himself. But the last person he wanted to voice it was Michael Scott, who saw himself as the best contender for her hand.

  “Surely you jest?” Johnny mocked, and his eyes veered to Samantha, holding her gaze for a heartbeat.

  Samantha glanced away to avoid that delicate subject, her pulse thudding so loud
it echoed in her ears. “I’m really looking forward to the remodeling—” Her voice cracked, and she clapped her hands to conceal the revealing moment. “Should be fun.”

  But would it?

  Even with Johnny looking a disgruntled bear, there was no contest where her affections lay—with her husband. But what if she was wrong? Could she have been fooled for two years? Could Johnny be a phony? She had to be sure. She would use every moment of the three months to unearth the truth. She couldn’t be wrong on this one.

  “Michael, do you think you can whip up a couple of burgers and some fries?” she asked, smiling. “A salad?”

  “For you, anything.”

  She rubbed the eraser point of the pencil across her chin. “You deserve a new title, Michael.” An idea hit, and she snapped her fingers. “You are now foreman of our desert estate.”

  “Wow, a promotion so soon.”

  She nodded. “Sure, all this work—”

  “Yeah, man. Toughing it out with us country folk—”

  “—isn’t too much for you?” she asked, concern in her voice. “You’re not used to all this physical activity.”

  “Oh, but I am, pretty lady.” Michael took her hand and lifting her from the chair, twirled her around the room in a pirouette. “Remember how we danced in ballet class for years?” He wiggled his brows. “I’m accustomed to a variety of physical maneuvers.”

  She laughed and paused for breath.

  “Well, maneuver yourself out to the worksite, Scott,” Johnny bit out, his countenance rivaling the storm brewing on the horizon. “Reminiscing time is over.”

  “Thanks for the dance, my lovely,” he murmured, bowing with a flourish.

  Johnny rolled his shoulders to work out the crick from his neck.

  “Dad’ll be impressed,” Michael said. “This city boy’s getting in the trenches with the locals.” His eyes glazed over. “Our future banking clients.”

  “Always got your eye on fleecing some fool,” Johnny fired.

  “Sure, why not.” Michael snubbed his aristocratic nose at Johnny.“Natch.”

  “You agree, don’t you, Samantha?” Michael asked, a hopeful look on his face.

  On alert, Johnny unfolded his arms and waited for the shell to drop.