by Sun Chara
“Shut up!” Johnny cut him a razor-sharp look. “If anything should happen to her or—” He shut his eyes tight against the sting pressing his lids. He couldn’t lose her this way, or their baby. No. His insides screamed to heaven. God, no!
A gentle hand touched his shoulder. He got himself under control and glanced up at Mirabella’s angelic face.
“They’re going to be alright, Johnny,” she said, tone reassuring.
“How can you be sure?” He brushed wisps of golden hair off Samantha’s face and stroked her pale cheek with his fingertips.
“I believe. I know.”
“I couldn’t bear—” His voice broke and he rocked her in his arms. “I want to believe.”
“You can,” Mirabella said, her words soft as a dove’s wing.
Just then, the ambulance siren pierced the afternoon lull in the downtown community and screeched to a stop. A medic hopped out, rushing to the scene while a second wheeled a gurney not far behind him. After checking her vital signs, the medics signaled it was okay to move her.
Johnny heaved her up in his arms and placed her upon the cot, holding her limp, cool hand. His heart clubbed his chest. Sweat poured from his pores and soaked his T-shirt. He didn’t care. He sucked in a mouthful of air and willed his body heat to warm her chilled flesh.
“We’ve got her now,” one of the attendants said.
Johnny nodded and tightened his fingers around hers, not letting go.
“Come along then.”
After they rolled the stretcher into the ambulance, he climbed aboard, but before the door closed, Michael squeezed through.
“Get him out of here,” Johnny growled.
Michael dug in his heels. “She’s my fiancé.”
Johnny shook his head. “She’s my wife.”
Confused, the attendants signaled the driver to drive on. “We’ll sort this out at the hospital.”
|An hour later, Johnny still pacing the waiting room floor, paused to glance out the window, every cell in his body primed to explode at the least provocation. The sun had disappeared figuratively and literally from his vicinity—a desert flash storm doused the land, lightning tearing the sky … and his life.
Michael propped his backside on the edge of a chair and flipped pages in a magazine like a robot. Every time thunder rumbled, he jumped. Yo-yo man. Would’ve been comical in other circumstances, but to Johnny it compounded the burden on his shoulders. His legs nearly buckled, and he pressed his palms against the wall for support, his head bowed between his arms.
“Mr. Belen?”
“Yes.” Johnny spun around so fast that for a second everything blurred, except for Michael about to stand. He gunned him a laser-sharp glare.
Michael collapsed back on the chair, gawking and pricking up his ears.
“I’m Johnny Belen,” he said in a rush.
“Your wife would like to see you.”
“Is she …”
The doctor touched his shoulder. “She’s fine.”
“The baby?”
“Kicking like a soccer player.” The doctor smiled.
Johnny sent up a silent prayer, a flicker of a smile on his mouth.
“What made her faint, doctor?”
“Shock, most likely. Can result in shortness of breath … reduced oxygen to the brain.” The physician checked his chart and made a note.
“Was your wife upset about anything?”
“I’m not sure,” he said, a hitch in his throat, and walked down the corridor beside the M.D. “But I’m going to find out.”
The doctor paused outside the unit, cautioning, “She’s going to need rest and quiet for the next few days.”
Johnny nodded and, with his insides chained to his ribs, pushed the door open. His heart vaulted in his throat. She lay on the bed swathed in blankets with her eyes closed and her face as pale as the whitewashed walls. In three long strides, he bridged the distance between them and stood at her side. Sensing him near, she fluttered her lashes open. Relief scored through him.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi.” She breathed the word.
He claimed her hand and gave her fingers a gentle squeeze. “Doc said you can go home.”
“Home.” Her mouth quivered, and a tear spilled onto her cheek.
Johnny wiped it with the pad of his thumb. “What’s wrong?”
She shook her head and a watery smile skimmed her lips. “Reaction I guess.” She tried to push herself up but collapsed back on the pillows. A sound, not quite a laugh slipped from her mouth. “Might have to get Michael to help.”
No, we won’t, he thought, but said nothing.
A nervous giggle. “I’m so big now.”
“I can handle you.” He placed an arm around her shoulders and drew her to him, her head wedged beneath his chin. “One, two, three, oomph!”
With a moan she shuffled upright, and he swung her legs over the side of the bed. When she placed her hands on his shoulders, he wrapped his arms around her middle and lifted, setting her on her feet.
“Atta girl.” His chin grazed her crown, and he caught a whiff of apple blossom shampoo through the medicinal smells in the room. He stroked her hair and then dropped his hands to her shoulders, drawing her closer into his embrace. “If anything had hap—”
“Thank God.” She laid her head on his shoulder. “Nothing did.”“I don’t know what I—”
She raised her head, her eyes bright with tears, her lashes moist.
With a groan, Johnny devoured her with his mouth, and she clung to him like she’d never let go. Her moan of pleasure filled his mouth, and he thought he’d bust inside. He’d waited so long for this moment. Thought he’d lost her … lost all.
Never again.
“Dear God,” he gasped, lifting his head and looking deep into her eyes. “I thought I’d never—” His mouth crushed hers, eclipsing his words, but not his ardor. Nectar … pure, unadulterated nectar. Ambrosia.
Groaning, he tightened his arms around her, curving her closer, but her tummy got in the way. She smiled, and he caught it on his lips. “Maybe baby wants attention, too?”
She reached up and stroked his cheek. “I thought it was ov—”
An avalanche of kisses smattered her face, and then he zoomed back to her mouth. The kiss rocked between them, communicating more than words could ever say. Reluctantly, Johnny broke the connection, his forehead touching hers, and fueled his lungs with oxygen.
“Time we were getting home, Mrs. Belen.” A crooked smile settled on his mouth, and dipping his head, he stole another smooch.
“Yes, please, Johnny, take me home.” She smiled. “Dogs and all.”
She rubbed her cheek along his biceps and looped her arm through his.
With a spring in his step and joy in his heart that he’d thought he’d never feel again, Johnny escorted Samantha from the room and into the corridor. Several yards further, reality hit, and he skidded to a halt.
“Samantha, are you alright?” Michael hurried over to them, pawing at her arms and shoulders, and hooked his arm through hers.
“Fi-fine.” Samantha peeked at Johnny from beneath her lashes. His face had that closed look again—remote as the Alps. Moments ago in the hospital room, the hunger in his eyes had her heart tripping and a thousand butterflies doing the tango in her stomach. She’d touched his cheek, his five o’clock shadow rough beneath her fingertips … a familiar sensation. And she’d felt warm and cozy in his arms.
Protected. Loved.
An illusion? Or a reality?
She brushed a hand across her eyes. For a fleeting moment, she’d believed she and Johnny had a chance and they’d make it. She must’ve been demented to think it was even remotely possible with Michael strutting his stuff and mamma not far behind.
“I’m sorry,” Michael apologized profusely, pulling her from her thoughts. “If I knew it was going to upset you, I wouldn’t have said—”
“What did you say, Scott?” Johnny thawed enough
to ask, leading her outside.
“I-I-I—” Michael trotted along, clinging on her arm, his eyes darting between them.
She gave Michael a warning look.
“Secrets?” Johnny asked.
“No,” she said, the word clipped. “No secrets, Johnny.”
“Then, what’s this about?”
Silent, she squeezed his arm and kept walking.
He locked his step in place. “Sam?”
“Not now, Johnny,” she murmured, touching a hand to her forehead.
You dolt, Belen. She’d just had a shock that landed her in the hospital, and he stood in the parking lot grilling her. He should be on the rack receiving twenty lashes for his insensitivity. “Sorry, Sam.” He patted her hand on the crook of his elbow. “I should be getting you home.”
“Yeah,” Michael agreed, then, catching Johnny’s menacing look, darted his eyes about, searching for an out.
Johnny swatted the other man’s hand off her, unlocked the Chevy and helped her up onto the front seat. If Michael didn’t wise up, he’d be landing in a hospital room pronto. “Get in the truck, Scott,” he barked.
Michael leaped onto the back seat.
A grim Johnny climbed up and slid onto the driver’s seat.
Silence expanded, thickened … oppressed.
Michael fidgeted in his seat. “Samantha will tel—”
She clicked her seatbelt in place.
“Shut up, Scott.” Johnny pounded his fist on the steering wheel. Michael jumped back. “You don’t have to be so touchy, okay?”
Johnny felt tension biting into every sinew of his body. Ignoring his remark, he maintained his self-control. Just. Air pressuring his lungs blasted through his mouth. He turned the key in the ignition and eased the vehicle onto the flow of traffic, wondering what had brought Scott knocking on their door after two years.
The how he knew—mamma dear must’ve blabbed.
The why of it had him stumped.
It had to be more than stoking the discontent between Sam and himself.
A quick glance at her hugging the door intimated that she knew something.
Something she wasn’t telling him.
Something Scott wasn’t telling him.
Something Scott had told her that had created enough angst to land her in the hospital and endanger—
A fierce growl built in his throat, and he forced it down. He intended to find out what Michael had blabbered to her in the Tavern. In the meantime, he’d be on damage control—his life and marriage were on the line. Mamma-in-law and sour-puss in back could go fly a kite from the Stratosphere.
At that moment the clouds unleashed a fierce rain shower, and he swung the truck onto the main track. Windswept rain lashed the windshield, and he flipped the wipers on full speed. It came down so fast, bubbles formed on the ground, turning to puddles and flooding the road.
He slowed down and, peering through the liquid sheet, drove on in silence. Finally, after a seeming endless ride, he pulled into the kennel’s parking lot, tires swishing and muddy water flying.
Johnny jumped out to the sound of yelping dogs. “Michael, see to the six pack, will you?” That ’d get the man out of range, and allow him a few minutes alone with Sam.
“I’ll get wet.”
“No?” Johnny scoffed. Shoving the back door of the Chevy open, he snatched his blazer and hurled it at him. “Now go.”
Michael set his mouth in a mutinous line, but after a miniscule hesitation he threw his Cardin over his head and sprinted for the kennels.
Expelling a sigh, Johnny grabbed his plaid shirt from the back seat and placing it protectively around Sam, helped her down from the cab. He scooped her up in his arms and sheltering her with his body, lumbered for the house, her giggles teasing his ear.
“What’s funny?” Somehow, he managed to adjust his hold on her, pull the key from his pocket and insert it in the lock.
“You,” she whispered. “Carrying heavy me and making a dash for it like a quarterback.”
“Did I score?” He turned the handle, shoved the door open with his shoulder, crossed the threshold and booted it shut with his heel.
“A loaded question, that.”
“Mmm.” He chuckled, staggering down the hall and into their bedroom. “To bed with you Sam.”
“I’m not tired.” She wriggled in his arms, her bulk nearly making him tip over, but, shifting a step, he stood strong.
“Doctor’s orders.” He set her on the mattress, the springs creaking beneath her weight. “Maybe we need to get a new bed. Too noisy, this one.”
A purr sounded in her throat, and, depressing the mattress with her hands, she curved her lips in a smile. She let go, and the mattress squeaked again.
He caught her smile with one of his own, his eyes connecting to hers and a clear signal transmitted between them. Next second, he tossed his head and fine mist sprayed her face.
She laughed.
His heart lifted.
He could make her laugh, after all.
Playfully, she shoved his head back and brushed her hands down his torso. “You’re soaked.” She tugged at his shirt and then lower at his belt buckle. “Please get out of these wet clothes.”
His hand clamped over hers, inadvertently pressing her fingers against him. He sucked in a sharp breath. “Stop that Sam or I’ll be hopping in that bed with you.” Every muscle in his body coiled. “If I do, you won’t be sleeping any time soon.”
Samantha glanced at their interlocked fingers, then at the straining zipper of his jeans. “Johnny …” she raised her eyes, and he shuttered his.
“Sam …” Abruptly, he released her hand and gripped her shoulders. “No.”
At the stricken look on her face, he could’ve kicked himself. “What I meant is—”
“Never mind.” She shook free from his hold and fumbled with the shirt he’d placed over her shoulders to protect her from the rain.
“Here, let me,” he offered, but she slapped his hand away.
“I’m not an invalid. I can remove it myself, thank you very much.”
He reached out and stroked her cheek with his thumb. “Sam, I can hardly breathe and not touch you.” Placing his fingers beneath her chin, he raised it a notch so she had to look at him. She glanced every which way except at his face. “Sam, look at me.”
Finally, she lifted her lashes. “Then, why?”
“Doctor said you had to stay in bed for a few days.” A muscle ticked his jaw, and he cupped her cheek, her heat seeping into his fingers. “I want you and our baby to be all right.
“Oh, Johnny,” she whispered, taking his hand between her own. “You don’t have to worry,” she said, brushing a tender kiss on his fingers and placing their entwined hands over her big belly. “We’re fine.”
“I intend for you to stay that way,” he grunted, his jaw tight against the inferno inside him. “Now be a good girl and lie down.”
After he settled her in bed, he propped on the edge and held her hand until she drifted off to sleep. Gently, he placed her hand beneath the blanket and brushed her brow with his lips. For a long moment, he just stood there looking at her, emotion stabbing his heart.
Curls framed her wan face. Her gold-tinted lashes brushed her cheeks. Freckles dusted her pert nose, tempting him to dip and touch each one with his lips. A silent groan ripped through him, but he held himself in check, lest he awaken her. Her mouth held the most color. A shade of pink, reminding him of the cactus rose he’d planted in the garden for her on Thanksgiving a few weeks ago. The telephone greetings from the in-laws … er … mamma monster had been the bitter glaze over the dinner he’d had to endure with Michael hovering over them in the kitchen. He grimaced. First of each month, the ding-a-ling had roses by the dozens delivered to Samantha and had doubled the order for Thanksgiving.
Johnny glanced over his shoulder, thinking said person would materialize any moment. Dismissing the foolish notion, he listened to the rhythm of his wife’s breat
hing. The sound was soft and soothing. He brushed a wisp of hair off her brow, smoothed the blankets around her and walked to the door. Leaving it slightly ajar, he strolled to the living room.
Smack in the middle of Michael’s rose garden.
Growling, he made to hurl the blooms out the window, but he thought better of it. He’d done that once and incurred Samantha’s wrath. Johnny, coined the insensitive brute. So he’d water them instead. A sly curve tilted his mouth. He collected the bundles in his arms, marched to the bathroom and, dumping them in the bathtub, twisted on the tap. Seconds later, he turned the water off, walked back to the living room and opened all the windows.
Phew! fresh air.
A grin teased the corner of his mouth. Things had warmed up between Samantha and him these last few hours. He skimmed his hand across his lips and the grin vanished. A sign of things to come, or the calm before the storm?
An uncanny silence filled the house, broken only by the occasional gust buffeting the walls.
He sank in the rocking chair, dropped his head in his hands and massaged his scalp. Leaning back, he closed his eyes, and the motion rocked him into sudden awareness.
He couldn’t delay any longer. The time had come. He had to come clean with Sam. Take his chances. Extend that trust he wanted from her. He’d begin by uprooting the seeds of strife Michael had scattered to wedge them apart, and then bulldoze doubts lingering between them into oblivion.
His eyes flew open, and he stared straight into the cold ashes of the grate. The gentle rocking soothed. It had been a wacko of a day, and he almost gave into slumber, but chill in the air and his damp clothes had goose bumps popping all over his body. He shook his shoulders and shuffled from the chair. After he shut the windows, he lit the fire.
Warmed by the flames, he tiptoed back to the bedroom to change into a pair of jeans and a flannel shirt. Samantha slept like a sweet princess. Adjusting his belt buckle, he curbed his yearning to get beneath the blankets with her and stalked out.
In the kitchen, he opened a cupboard and knocked down a couple of soup cans into his hands. He’d no sooner put the pot on the stove when the enemy burst through the door.
“I’m hungry as a hog.” Michael rubbed his hands together and then blew air in his palms, warming them. “Brrr! It’s coming down like a slot gushing coin.”