A Match Made in Heaven?

by Sun Chara

  “Willi—” Michael began and bit off his words. Flustered, he flung his head up and clashed with Johnny’s cool gaze. “—er … well, tell him what to do.” Abruptly, he hung up and dropped the gadget back in his pocket.

  Johnny slammed his lashes lower, his eyes slitting. Michael looked like he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar, but he’d bet Michael wasn’t after that kind of dough.

  “Business.”

  “Don’t let me stop you.” Johnny straightened up and stretched an arm along the back of the booth. “If you gotta go, you gotta go.”

  “You’d like that fine, wouldn’t you?”

  Johnny plastered an aggravatingly pleased grin on his mouth.

  Michael glowered and set his elbows on the table. “I won’t be going without Samantha.”

  “And hell can freeze over, Scott.”

  “Pull out your parka then. I feel a blizzard coming on,” he baited. “Brr, in two days … with the right … er … wrong connections.” Laughter burst from deep in his chest, and he slapped his hand on the table.

  “Trying to tell me something, Scott?”

  Michael shrugged. “Figure it out.”

  “Already done,” Johnny fired back.

  A tense moment, then Michael chuckled, the sound grating. “No, I think not.”

  “Think what you want, Scott.”

  Michael rubbed his hands together and opened his eyes wide. “For me to know and you to find out.”

  Johnny was nearly dumbfounded at his choice of words, and in other circumstances he would’ve burst out laughing. Not so now. He felt like a fish dangling on the end of a line, the hook embedded deep in his heart. Air pressure expanded in his lungs, and the words exploded from his mouth, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Michael raised his hand, blew lightly on his fingernails and buffed them across his shirt.

  Johnny nailed the man with a fierce look. A blue streak poised to blast off his tongue, but Michael’s next round hit its mark, neutralizing his hazardous thoughts.

  “Little lady is a-comin’.”

  “Shut up,” Johnny muttered between his teeth. Scott was up to no good, he sensed it in his gut. A hunch rarely missed. And he’d bet he’d been about to say ‘Willie’ before he faked it to ‘well’ during his staccato-style cell call. Something was going down in two days. And it involved Scott and Samantha. His gut ripped. He nearly groaned aloud, and he fisted his hands beneath the table just as Samantha drew near.

  She smiled at Janey and exchanged a few words with Mirabella.

  Mirabella tossed her head back and laughed, a deep, hearty sound that brought an unbidden curve to his mouth. He’d deal with Michael later. Then he grimaced. But what good would it do if Samantha had already made her choice?

  Doubts tormented him long after she shuffled back beside Michael. He whispered something in her ear, and she burst out laughing. Johnny gripped the edge of the seat hard, the vinyl print pressing into his fingertips. Control, or he’d be up flooring the man with one swing.

  “Order whatever—” Michael gestured with the menu and his glass went flying, spilling water onto the napkins and spraying Sam.

  Startled, Samantha giggled.

  “Sorry,” Michael babbled.

  “It’s okay,” she said, the smile lingering on her lips. “Fresh.”

  Could the man do no wrong in her eyes? A morose Johnny stared out the window at people strolling by, window-shopping or whizzing by in their jalopies. Ordinary. A normal day, in the normal life of a normal person. It seemed so easy, yet there was nothing normal about his life.

  “Let me.” Janey grabbed a dishcloth from her tray and mopped up the excess moisture from the table, her eyes straying from Sam to Michael, then to Johnny. She slapped the rag back on her tray, her perplexed features reflecting that there was definitely something amiss with this trio.

  Got that right, girlie, but not for much longer, Johnny thought. Not if he had anything to do about it, and he definitely did. And with that, Johnny took a napkin, reached across the booth and dabbed a moist spot from Samantha’s pert nose. She acknowledged his gesture with a tremulous smile.

  “You missed a spot.” Michael flicked a drop of water from her chin with his finger and placed the moist tip in his mouth. “Tastes good.”

  A low growl sounded in Johnny’s throat. The man was treading in a red flag zone, and unless he curbed his flaunts it was highly unlikely he’d get out of here in one piece.

  Samantha reached across the table and brushed Johnny’s arm, diffusing tension. His muscles turned iron hard beneath her fingers, and he glanced over his shoulder at the retreating waitress.

  Sensing his withdrawal, she removed her hand. How could she reach this man of hers? He seemed so cold, so remote. Was there a chance for them? What would happen when he discovered she was a penniless rich girl from Beverly Hills? Would he still want her for whom she really was? Samantha Carroll, once endowed with wealth was now Cinderella poor. Would he turn out to be her Prince Charming come to the rescue or her croaking toad come to gloat? And how could he come to her rescue when he didn’t have a penny to his name?

  She sighed and pressed her hands to her temples.

  “You okay, Sam?” Johnny asked, words jerking from his mouth.

  She nodded and peeked at him from beneath her lashes. His jaw was like granite, his eyes brewing. Was he a wolf in lamb’s clothing? Had it taken her two years to discover it? He was a married man. He had no business eyeing that waitress on her exit, and in front of her. Unless he already considered himself unmarried. She wrapped her quivery hands around her water glass, the condensation dampening her fingers.

  She’d lost.

  Lost Johnny.

  Lost the chance at their future.

  She took a drink, and liquid coolness slid down her throat. She set the glass back and slipped her hands beneath the table, patting her big belly.

  Her baby.

  She had her baby. She wouldn’t relinquish her child. Regardless of how things stood between her and Johnny, she ’d fight for her baby. She didn’t have the funds to do it, but she’d think of something.

  Turning her head slightly, she peered at Michael swirling the plastic straw in his water glass. A little boy look flashed across his face like he’d committed something naughty. He poked the ice at the bottom of the glass and slurped through the straw, appearing totally unconcerned.

  “Michael, what are you doing?” She laughed, but she wasn’t really amused. However, his antics distracted her from her troubling thoughts, and for that reason she gave him her undivided attention. And if Johnny wanted to behave like a boor, well, that was up to him.

  “Daydreaming.”

  Samantha blinked, a flicker of a smile still on her lips.

  “Of you.”

  “Always got some guff up your sleeve, don’t you, Scott?” Johnny came to life, barely, the words grazing his mouth.

  “For the right person.” Michael ignored him and grinned at her.

  Johnny set his jaw, and a nerve tore from his cheek to his temple. A tense beat, and words soft and smooth and controlled fell from his tongue, “How many right persons do you have?”

  Turning up his nose, Michael bit the straw with his teeth and blew bubbles in the water. Johnny couldn’t believe his eyes, and neither could she. Never mind that Michael was acting the fool beside her, she had to look at her options.

  At twenty-nine, Samantha had to think of her future and her child’s. If Johnny turned out to be the dud of the century … her heart kicked in denial, but she didn’t listen to it. Then, you’d never have married him if he was a jerk. She dismissed that, too. He could’ve changed. People do. For this last week, she’d be marking time and watching. Carefully.

  The waitress approached with their orders and set a plate in front of her. The grilled salmon nestled atop a green salad should’ve had her taste buds bopping, but instead her mouth felt dry. She squeezed a wedge of lemon over the food, took a bit
e and forced the morsel down for baby’s sake.

  Michael wolfed down the steak and chug-a-lugged a can of Coke. Johnny, on the other hand, left his burger untouched and sipped from his water glass.

  “Do you have ketchup?” Michael asked without missing a beat from chomping off another bite.

  “Here you are, sir.” The waitress took the plastic bottle from her tray and offered it to him, but it accidentally squirted.

  “What the—” Michael jerked back in shock, tomato sauce dribbling from his face, then his features darkened in annoyance.

  “I-I’m so sorry.” Janey gaped at the ketchup trickling from his chin and splattering his shirt. Speechless, she snatched up the washcloth and mopped his shirt, but that only smeared it more.

  “That will be all.” Michael clamped his fingers around her wrist, his eyes chilling.

  “I’m s-sorry,” the girl stammered, a blush creeping up her neck and flushing her cheeks. “I didn’t mean to squeeze the bottle.”

  “Right.” Michael dismissed her apology, and realizing he still held her hand, let her go like he’d been zapped by a livewire.

  The girl skittered back to the kitchen.

  “Such incompetence,” he grumbled. “I should make her pay to clean my shirt.” His eyes strayed in the direction she’d gone. “And to think I flirted with her, thinking—”

  “When was that Michael?” Samantha asked.

  “Well, I-I don’t remember exactly.”

  Johnny came to attention, his mouth splitting in a saucy grin. “Let me remind you.”

  “Not necessary.” Michael spoke a tad too quickly, attempting to cover his blunder.

  But Johnny was not about to be swayed. He saw his chance and chased it for all its worth. “While Samantha was in the bathroom.”

  “Is that right, Michael?” she asked, her eyes wide with innocence. “You hit on that girl behind my back?” Her hand fluttered to her mouth, concealing the twitch of a smile.

  Michael shrugged, dismissing the incident as totally unimportant. “Wanted to give her a little attention.” He loosened his cravat, and a sound, not quite a laugh and not quite a groan, trickled from his mouth. “City man, country girl. You know.”

  “I don’t know, Michael.” She folded her napkin neatly and placed it beside her plate. “Why don’t you explain it to me?”

  “Hrmph. I wanted to see how she’d relate to customers,” he said, scrambling for words. “Thought I might give her a job—”

  “Her duties?” Johnny couldn’t help nixing his exit line.

  Michael ignored him. “—in the restaurant casino … uh … dad and I are considering.”

  Samantha patted his arm. “How thoughtful of you.”

  Johnny sputtered. Samantha couldn’t be falling for that line. Obviously she must, chatting him up the way she was. Yep. Hook, line, and stinker … er … sinker.

  “You’re serious about it?” she asked.

  “Of course.” Michael picked up a French fry and swiped it across a blob of ketchup that had fallen smack in the middle of his plate. “Your moth … er … my partner will be delighted.”

  “Michael, what’re you saying?” she asked, snatching at his blunder. “My mother is involved in this?”

  “Did I say that?”

  Johnny had just taken a bite of his hamburger and was about to pierce a cherry tomato, but he changed his mind and pointed the fork at Michael. “Since you spilled the beanos, let’s have the rest of it.”

  Shifting in his seat, Michael glanced around for an exit.

  “Michael.” Samantha stared him down.

  “All right.” He sighed. “The truth is—”

  “You know the meaning of the word?”

  Samantha shot Johnny a stern look.

  Johnny motioned with his fork to proceed.

  Michael gawked at him like he was a low life. Then, he settled back and turned his attention to her. “I-I wanted a partner and your mother, being the business woman that she is—”

  “What does your father think?”

  “He’s … uh … leaving this transaction entirely up to me.” He drummed his fingers on the tabletop. The cutlery clanged, and he dropped his hand onto his lap. “But h-h-he’s had a yen to invest in these parts.”

  “Yen?” Johnny couldn’t help jabbing. “Folk lingo that, sure.”

  A dark scowl from Michael. “Nobody asked you, carrot head.”

  Johnny grinned from ear to ear.

  “Mom already has her hotel casino near the Nevada state line,” Sam said, ignoring for the time being the men’s impending squabble. “Just twenty minutes from here. She doesn’t need another investment.”

  “She must think otherwise, for the Lucky Lou will be a major part of the transaction.”

  “What?” she leveled him with a laser-sharp look. “What exactly is going on?”

  “Why don’t you let her tell you, Samantha?” He picked up his fork, mashed fried potatoes, squirted ketchup in a circular design over them and forked them in his mouth.

  “Because I’m asking you.”

  “Does he have to be here?” He inclined his head at Johnny and glowered.

  “No.”

  “Yes,” Johnny said.

  Samantha touched his arm. “Johnny, would you mind if I have a few minutes alone with Michael?

  Yeah, I do. Aloud he said, “If it ’ll make you feel better, Sam.” He dragged himself from the booth, branded the man with a fierce look, and then flicked his eyes over her. A second later, he strode to the bar and straddled a stool. Who was he after all? Just her husband, and soon to be her ex if he was reading the signals right.

  “What’ll it be?” Mirabella asked, placing a napkin on the counter.

  “You don’t want to know.” He looked up, and her fathomless green gaze almost swept him away. Her smile washed over him like a soothing balm, and he found himself grinning back.

  “How about something to drink for starters?”

  He nodded. “Water with lots of bitter lemon.”

  “To match your mood?”

  He chuckled. “That bad, eh?”

  “Mmm.” She poured him a tall glass of iced New Yorker and filled it with lime wedges.

  He shook the kink from his shoulders, gulped the drink down in two shots and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “That hit the spot. Thanks.”

  She folded her arms on the counter and leaned forward, her eyes focused on his. “Things aren’t always what they seem.”

  “No?” He tilted his head back at Michael and Samantha.

  “No.” She curved her mouth in that gentle smile that enveloped him in cotton wool.

  “You coulda fooled me.”

  “Don’t be.” She winked and walked over to her next customer.

  Johnny stared deep into the empty glass, wondering what Mirabella meant by her remarks. Had he been setting himself up, playing the fool?

  Perplexed, he shook his head and swiveled off the stool. He pulled several bills from his pocket and set them on the counter. When he turned to go, she gave him the thumbs up signal. The corner of his mouth lifted in wry amusement, and he felt a lightness in his heart.

  In two long strides, he loomed over Samantha and Michael, still deep in their discussion. “Finished, you two?” He grinned at the underlying meaning of his words and slapped a fifty on the table.

  Samantha rummaged along the seat for her handbag and stuffed something inside, her hair camouflaging her face.

  “I’m sorry, Samantha.” Michael mumbled, nervously rubbing his thumb and index finger together.

  “What mamma wants, she gets, isn’t that it?” she murmured, a catch in her voice. “Never mind who gets hurt.”

  “What’s the matter?” Johnny had long suspected mamma schemed to have her little girl reunited with bank-boy. A dry sound scratched his throat. The joke was on mamma. For the town had a nouveau rich dude, and his name was Johnny Belen. He brushed his knuckles across his chin. Alas, mamma didn’t know that
.

  “None of your business, Belen,” Michael said, his voice rising a notch.

  “I’m making it my business.”

  “Stop it, the both of you,” Samantha scolded, shuffling from the booth, her features pinched, her eyes glazed.

  “Sam …” Johnny said.

  “Samantha …” Michael said.

  Ignoring both men, she waddled across the floor and out the door, halting on the top step to get her bearings. A blistering heat wave smacked her in the face, and just having come from the air-conditioned tavern, she felt woozy. Her mouth was dry, and her throat was parched. She licked her lips and swallowed.

  The horizon seemed to be darkening, yet the sky overhead was a hazy blue, the ground sunbaked. She squinted against the sun’s glare and lifted her wrist to blot perspiration from her temples.

  A hush of a footstep behind her.

  A distant clap of thunder.

  She stepped down, missed her footing and screamed, groping for anything to break her fall. She clutched empty air. She was falling, falling … and all she could think of was her baby.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  “No!” Johnny vaulted the distance between them and grabbed her before she crashed headlong down the stairs. Another heart-stopping moment followed as her excessive weight made him stagger, but he staggered backward away from the danger, bumping into Michael and stomping on his foot. “Call an ambulance, somebody!” He collapsed on the concrete and cushioned her against his chest, fear clawing into him.

  She fluttered her eyes open. “Johnny.” Then, she lowered her lashes and drifted off into oblivion.

  With his fingers shaking, he unfastened several buttons on the front of her dress, ruffling the cotton to circulate air to her damp skin. His pulse pounded, and oxygen pressured his lungs to near explosive levels.

  “I-i-is she go-going to be alr-right?” Michael stammered, ashen-faced.

  “She … they better be.”

  “Sh-she wanted to know.” Michael drew back, favoring his sore foot. “Insisted.”