by Sun Chara
Anger.
Anger was safe.
It masked his true feelings from a discerning eye. Vulnerable. Gutted emotionally.
A sudden gust smacked him in the face, and whipped the daisies from his hand. He threw back his head and laughed, the sound sucked from him by nature’s fury. And just like that, it seemed his life was being stolen from him too.
His marriage to Samantha was on a downhill spiral, and he didn’t know how to break the momentum. Every time he tried to get close to her, Michael butted in. If he protested too much about the goon’s helping out, she’d dig in her heels and insist the man stay. Of course, he could demand he pack his belongings and get out, but he’d probably incur her wrath. Another mark against him. He rubbed his hands together to warm them. Somehow, he had to keep a cool head and gain an advantage.
How to do it was his dilemma.
He clicked his tongue, baffled. Was it him? The strain of approaching fatherhood? Matrimonial uncertainty? Or was it Sam? The stress of approaching motherhood? He doubted if the condition of their marriage affected her much. Whenever he turned his back, Michael seemed to be fawning over her and making her laugh with his antics.
Johnny couldn’t remember the last time he’d made her laugh.
Going with the flow and biding his time until the baby arrived was his best bet. He grunted. Otherwise, if she flew the coop to mamma with that simpleton, he’d be left out in the cold. A wry smile brushed his mouth at his choice of words. Another blast of wind wiped the smile from his face and stung his cheeks.
He’d make his presence known but keep a low profile for the next few weeks. It’d be hard to do in his own house, especially while watching that moron make a play for his wife. His insides eroded. But he had no other recourse.
The psychology thing again possibly. He’d sleep on it and come up with a definite strategy by morning.
He swung his fist in the air. Still in the game. And he’d play to win.
He’d chase Michael out of his life for good. Johnny grimaced at his thoughts. Mercenary. But then he tightened his jaw, resolute. No more mercenary than Michael, who threatened his family and his future.
If you really believed it was yours, Johnny, no one could take it. Not even Michael, the little voice in his head jabbed. He scrubbed his chin with his hand. “Yeah! Yeah!” I heard you. “Now buzz off!” A groan, and he glanced about. Man, he must be losing it, talking to himself like that.
He vaulted off the steps, stuffed his hands in his coat’s pockets and slogged away from the house. He got as far as the gate and booted a stone into cyberspace.
“Wait a minute.” He glanced back at the house, his words vibrating around him.
A light shone from the living room window. A welcome beacon, but as things stood not for him. He rolled his shoulders, working out the kinks. That was his house and his wife in there. No way would he allow bank-boy to push him out. With that thought uppermost in his mind, he marched back to the home front ready to battle.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Over the next several weeks, Johnny kept to his strategy to regain ground on his marriage. He’d also managed to keep Michael so busy fetching and carrying outside during the renovations, he’d kept his distance from both Samantha and him for most of the day. The late evenings had been more of a challenge, but nonetheless, unobtrusively as possible, Johnny kept watch over what was his.
Samantha and the baby.
Once again, having finished settling the dogs for the night, Johnny stomped his boots on the doormat, dusting the air, and sauntered to the living room. Beneath his veiled gaze, he caught the two of them sitting side by side on the sofa, seemingly engrossed in a game of cards. Innocent enough, but he wouldn’t put anything past the diddler. As had become his custom, Johnny crossed the floor and took residence on the crate by the fireside to wait it out until Michael had had enough and turned in.
Samantha peered at Johnny from above the fan of cards in her hands, noting his wind-bitten face, tousled hair and set jaw. “Your move, Michael,” she said concealing the whoosh of air leaving her lips.
“It certainly is.” Michael rubbed the bridge of his nose and slapped a card on the table. “Gotcha.”
She squinted at him. Why did she get this unsettling feeling in her stomach that his words held a hidden meaning?
“Heh, heh.” Michael jabbed her elbow with his and breathed over her shoulder through the leer on his mouth.
That sounded creepy to her, and she shoved him back. “I think not.” Flipping a card over, she grinned. “Gin. I win.”
“I’ll get you next time.” He swept the cards from her hand, brushing his fingers against hers in a distinct signal. Snatching her hand away, Samantha felt a queasy feeling in her stomach again.
With a blank look on his face, Michael shuffled the deck for the next game.
She must stop reading double meanings into his words and actions. Michael looked innocent enough, and so thoughtful to hang out here in the sticks to help them. If that wasn’t friendship, she didn’t know what was.
“We’ll see.” She flashed him an extra bright smile to show she appreciated his loyalty and peered at Johnny from beneath her lashes.
He had his ankle propped on one knee and his face hidden behind a magazine. She wondered why he insisted on plunking down on the wooden crate instead of the armchair beside her and Michael on the sofa. The furniture from their apartment had been delivered, and although just a few pieces, they offered a semblance of comfort. Was it another hint he didn’t want to be near her?
“Johnny?”
“Mmm.” He didn’t even peek over the publication in his hands.
“Michael has offered to drive me to town tomorrow to look at remodeling catalogues for the final touches on the house,” she said. “You don’t mind if he uses the truck, do you?”
“Over my—” Johnny bit off the combative words and lowered the tabloid a fraction, his eyes straying to his wife. Then, recalling his newfound wisdom, he snapped it back in place. “Be my guest, Scott.”
Samantha was so big now, and getting more beautiful each day. He wanted to take her in his arms and show her once again how good it could be between them. But, of course, he didn’t. The timing was off. A grunt erupted from his chest, and he muffled the sound by flipping pages.
Yawning, Michael rubbed his eyes. Good. With all the extra work he had to do, by nightfall he was ready to crash out on his bunk in the attic.
At first he’d fussed at the idea of his attic quarters, until Johnny explained it’d be furthest from the yelping dogs. Of course, it was the furthest from their bedroom, too, but he didn’t go into that minor detail.
All in all, that only allowed him a brief visit with Sam in the evenings, which suited Johnny just fine.
But slicker-boy found ways to corner Sam whenever he could with some trick, some joke. Whenever Johnny heard her laughter, he put in an appearance and nixed his crafty plans to usurp her attention. Michael slinked out but would always return with some gift or bauble for her. That, of course, did not suit Johnny at all.
On his one day off, by the time Michael dragged himself from the sack, groaning about his aching body, it was often mid-afternoon. Johnny grinned. That had taken care of his anticipated Sunday outings with Sam. His grin vanished. Except for today’s unexpected announcement.
“That’s very decent of you, Jonathan.” Michael slapped his cards on the table and got to his feet.
Johnny shot him a closed look beneath his brows, like, who you kiddin’, bimbo-man?
“Y-you don’t mind?” Samantha stacked the cards and slid them in the package, a slight wobble in her voice.
“‘Bout what?” Johnny said in an off-hand way, pretending not to understand what she referred to.
“Michael taking me into town tomorrow.”
Johnny rustled pages, feigning interest in a magazine article. “Nah.”
************
The next morning, Johnny, barefoot and dre
ssed in low-riding pajama bottoms, strolled into the kitchen, rubbing his damp hair with a towel. He viewed the scene before him with distaste and slung the towel around his neck. His wife and the bimbo were sharing another cozy meal. Forcing a smile on his mouth, he walked to the cupboard and flipped a cup from the shelf into the palm of his hand. He grabbed the jar of Nescafe, shook a teaspoon worth of granules into the mug and filled it with steaming water from the pot.
A cup of coffee first thing in the morning did a man good. Then he shuttered his eyes, watching her lean into Michael to better hear what he said. He could think of a more entertaining activity in the a.m. which got a man a heck of a lot more excited than a cup of brew. Oxygen filled his lungs, blood traveling fast and hot through his veins. He didn’t know how Sam had managed it, but he’d found himself on the floor in the sleeping bag last night, while she snoozed on the freshly made bed. Something about not wanting to cause him discomfort during the night when she got up to go to the bathroom.
Lame excuse.
She’d never been that considerate of his feelings before when it came to that. But he’d gone along. Playing. Testing. Waiting. There’d be a showdown soon enough.
Since all he had warming him now was the black brew, he propped his hip against the counter and took a long sip. “What time you headin’ out?” he asked in a casual voice.
Michael glanced at Samantha for word.
She sent Michael a smile that rivaled the sunshine that’d sizzled since those couple of freaky thunderstorms. “Right after breakfast would be nice.”
Johnny frowned into the depths of his cup, and then glanced up, bumping into her gaze. “Right after breakfast it will be.”
“What do you mean?” Samantha asked.
“Didn’t I tell you?” He took another swig of coffee and dumped the remainder down the drain. “I’m tagging along.”
Michael sputtered into his coffee cup, then coughed.
Johnny stepped over and pounded him on the back. “Something wrong?”
With watery eyes, Michael shook his head and tried to knock his hand off him. Johnny pounded his back once more for good measure.
“I need more supplies for the house.” Johnny leveled his gaze on Samantha. “Isn’t that what you want? A fashionable remodeling on this place?”
“Yes.” She rubbed her forefinger around the rim of the teacup. “But there’s no need for you to take time off work. Michael can get what we need. After all, he’s the foreman.”
Johnny gritted his molars, the smile staying frozen on his face, his cheeks aching. “Oh, but I insist.” Yanking the towel from around his neck, he rubbed his bare chest and sauntered from the room. “See you out front in ten.”
At the appointed time, Johnny slouched in the driver’s seat, revving the motor, his fingers drumming on the steering wheel. Watching Michael play gallant and assist his wife onto the front seat had his insides churning over like the engine. However, when he made to climb aboard and sit beside her, he put his foot down.
“Hey, man,” he drawled. “It’s a tight squeeze in front.” He inclined his head over his shoulder and dropped his shades on his nose. “Climb in back. You don’t want her to be uncomfortable, do you?”
Michael hesitated and then clambered in back, draping his designer jacket over the seat. Next moment, he shuffled forward, folded his arms on the back of the seat and poked his head between them.
“Can’t do that, man.” No way was he going to drive into town and have the blockhead blabbering in his ear. He pointed to the seatbelt. “Sit up and buckle up. It’s the law.”
“Of course.”
Johnny figured he’d made a point that round. Stretching across Sam, he pulled the belt to buckle her in and, on the way back up bumped her breasts with his chin. Her breath fanned the nape of his neck. He tried to ignore the reaction of his body, but the damage was done. Soft and warm, he craved to bury his face in her bosom, drinking in her scent, touching, tasting, suckling … He managed to shift away from the physical contact, but her delicate rose perfume stirred his senses. Memories flooded his mind. Memories of their wedding night, memories of all the nights since; when he touched, she touched, in the most erotic way … he steeled his gut but couldn’t control the leap of his pulse.
“Buckle up,” he said, voice gruff, stretching the strap wide across her girth.
Samantha reached out to click it in place and her fingers brushed his. High voltage charged into her, and she quickly withdrew her hand, her heart racing.
“Thanks,” she murmured, avoiding his eyes.
Johnny clicked the buckle in place.
For a breathless moment, she was tucked so close beside him, his heat sensitized her skin, and the cool spice of his aftershave tickled her nose. When he slid back to the driver’s seat, she peeked at him from beneath her lashes. He adjusted the rearview mirror, released the brake and gripped the steering wheel with his hands. Strong, gentle hands. Hands that had explored every inch of her body in the most intimate way and made her blush from the crown of her head to the soles of her feet. She drew in a rush of air and, turning to look out the window, exhaled in a sigh, fogging up the pane.
The truck coasted down the track and onto the main road. Tension stretched taut between them, ready to snap at the first provocation. Sam shrank into her corner as far away from Johnny as possible, watching the vast desert whizzing by. In the distance, track home subdivisions were in the middle of construction, and she felt a sliver of ease. Not so isolated, after all.
“It’s good of you, Jonathan, to be our chauffeur.” Michael chuckled, blundering into their force field.
Johnny grunted and kept his focus straight ahead; tightening his grip on the steering wheel, he flexed his shoulder muscles.
Samantha sensed he’d like nothing better than to send Michael packing. But she couldn’t have that. Michael was a buffer between her and Johnny. Without his noisy presence, she knew that one look from Johnny’s smoky brown eyes and she’d succumb to his charm.
She couldn’t do that.
Mustn’t do that.
She’d fallen for his Irish malarkey two years ago and here she was married and pregnant. She clenched her hand, her fingernails biting into her palm. Was their marriage a counterfeit too, as that letter implied?
She would have to do some investigating, just to be sure; Michael could help her … search the internet at the library, call the city registry, do something. What she should’ve done was check the copy of their license in their safety deposit box at the Wells Fargo Bank in North Hollywood before rushing off that day. Since she’d been too upset to think clearly then, she could make up for it today at the library.
And if it was as the letter stated … she groaned.
“You, okay?” Johnny flicked his gaze over her.
“Great,” she said, her voice overly bright.
He bunched his brow and turned his attention back to the road, saying nothing further.
Fine, she thought. Fine! Except, of course, it wasn’t. Far from it.
However, this time around she wanted to make her decision with both eyes open, her heart and mind in sync. Johnny shifted gears, and his elbow brushed her thigh. Her pulse skidded. So much for controlling her emotions. Her heart had a will of its own.
“You’re good at this chauffeur thing, Jonathan,” Michael said in a conversational tone. “If you’d like a regular job with good benefits, I could—”
Johnny tightened his jaw, a nerve flogging his cheek.
“He’s had practice,” she interjected, deflecting the explosion brewing between the two men. “Chauffeuring.”
The sound of Johnny’s sharp intake of breath.
Disguised as a chauffeur, he’d gate crashed the wedding and claimed her as his bride. That seemed eons ago. Moistness pressed against her eyelids, and she blinked it away.
Michael snorted from the back seat.
“Worked, didn’t it, Mikey?” Johnny said, his smooth words underlining a hard edge.
>
“Did it?” Michael gloated, his features reflected in the mirror. “Matter of opinion.”
“Nice of you both to escort me to town,” she blurted, fending off Johnny’s next droll remark that’d stoke the already volatile situation.
Both men grunted in acquiescence. Samantha hid a smile.
“Not too bumpy for you back there, Michael?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder at him.
“Fi-i-ne,” Michael said, bobbing up and down.
Johnny kept tabs on Michael through the mirror in the cab. When Samantha put her hand on the upholstery, the lovesick fool shuffled forward in his seat, attentive as a pup tossed a bone. But when he placed his hand over hers, Johnny almost slammed on the brakes. Only by exerting extreme control over this inclination did he maintain normal speed. When he dared to squeeze her fingers, Johnny leaned on the horn, and Michael sprang away from her.
“It’s a pleasure to take you into town, Samantha,” bank-boy spouted, finding his voice much too quickly. “And wherever your heart desires.”
Johnny smirked. Laying it on a bit too thick, man. But he kept that thought to himself. Ultimately, that might show his hand. Not an overly patient man, Johnny was fast learning to cultivate that virtue.
“I’ll take you in my limo next time,” the bozo offered.
There won’t be a next time, buster, Johnny tossed the words around in his brain.
Samantha dared flutter her lashes at him. “Michael, how you do flatter a girl.”
“Not just any girl,” he murmured, his veiled gaze glued on her face.
Johnny had heard enough, and his innards somersaulted. Grim-faced, he focused on the approaching curve in the road, reminding himself that Michael Scott would be out on his backside before too long if he had anything to do about it. And he would. Very soon.
In the meantime, he’d put a stop to this tete-a-tete.
He swerved around the corner, tires screeching. Michael jostled back in place and Samantha slid into Johnny, nearly landing on his lap, her cotton dress riding up her thigh.
“You okay, Sam?” Johnny caught a glimpse of her shapely leg even though she was quick to straighten the material over her limbs. A sizzle of a beat, then he tossed over his shoulder, “Okay back there?”