by Sun Chara
“And it will continue, Sammy mine.”
“I wouldn’t care if you didn’t have a penny to your name.” She chuckled. Of course, he didn’t. Then, it hit her. Subconsciously, she’d been tagging a price on their love by pummeling him for a higher-end lifestyle these last two years. And almost lost him. True love never carried a dollar sign. She patted his hand. “Never mind, we’ll make it” – she grinned – “Mr. so-called ‘I’m tired as a toad with a limp doin’ laps in quicksand.’”
He flung back his head and laughed. “You remember.” Then he sobered. Inadvertently, he’d been ranking their love against cash flow by challenging her with a lower-end lifestyle. And nearly lost her. He brushed a hand across his brows. The real deal couldn’t be measured in dough.
“Yes, I remember.”
“The line was, ‘tired as a toad doin’ laps in quicksand.’”
“You were limping, Johnny.” Her eyes grew wide, indignant. “I saw you when you walked to the tow truck.”
“Aww, that was a pebble in my boot.”
She shoved him, amusement crinkling the corner of her eyes. “Uh huh.”
“I had to think fast. Didn’t want you recognizing me right away and putting up a fuss.”
“I don’t fuss, Belen.”
“Uh, huh.” He hiked a brow.
Her mouth flirted with a smile. “I thought I could win an Oscar for my ugly duckling disguise at our wedding.” The flirt turned to a full-fledged smile. “But you aced me out as the Academy Award winner.” She burst into a fit of giggles, and he joined her, and it was like old times; lighthearted, fun.
When the laughter subsided, he tightened his arms around her and they listened to the rain falling on the roof.
“We’re going to be okay, Sam.”
“Mmm, I know, Johnny.” She smoothed a wrinkle on his shirt and curved her fingers over his biceps. “I just know it.”
“I wanted to have this place ready for you.”
“It’s okay.”
“I don’t know what happened with Willie, but I’m going to find out.”
“We’ll fix and pay as we go.” She fluffed the pillows behind his head, making him more comfortable. “Going into debt is no fun.”
“We’re not going in the red, Sam.” He looked at her, hard and steady. “In fact I want to tell—”
“Baby will be here soon and, oh!” She caressed her abdomen and he covered her hand, waiting for another kick. It came. She chuckled, and he caught the sound with his mouth. A sizzling moment later, she murmured, “I’ll be in better condition to help with the kennels.”
He placed a forefinger on her mouth, but she was on a roll with her plans. “We can have a grooming salon, a pet supply store, sponsor dog shows and—”
His smacking kiss did the trick. When he came up for air, he caught merriment dancing in her eyes.
“Pawdicures are the in thing now.” She grinned. “It’ll be fun.”
Johnny shook his head.
“What?”
“I … uh … have a confession to make.”
“Wh-a-at?”
“I’m not … uhm … dirt poor.”
To his utter amazement, she took him to task. “Johnny Belen, of course you’re not. You’re my husband, the father of my child, my true love.” She gave him a tender smile. “That’s richer than rich.”
At her words, his heart flipped and soared. How could he have doubted this woman who loved him, carried his child, had just confessed to not minding sloshing in the trenches to make the kennels a success? He slapped his forehead, wanting to kick himself from here to the North Pole. He’d allowed childhood insecurities … not being good enough, not measuring up, shunned by the rich and glam … to resurface and blind him to the truth.
To the treasure he had.
Held in his arms.
Next to his heart.
He swiped a hand across his eyes.
Snobbery could hit both sides of the tracks. It had him hoodwinked for a time, thinking it was a rich man’s affliction; but he took first prize as blockhead from the poor side of town, the way he’d reacted to Samantha’s desire for a better life. He must’ve been the dolt of the century. She wanted a better life with him, Johnny, not Michael Scott. Without his Sam, he would be a poor man indeed, and it had nothing to do with the size of his bank account.
“That’s the best wealth in the world, Sam.” He grinned. “The other kind is mighty useful, though.”
A puzzled look flashed across her face, then she opened her mouth wide. “Oh my gosh, you don’t mean—”
“Yep, I do mean.”
“How?” She wobbled up, and he rearranged the blanket that had fallen to her waist.
“My Good Samaritan act paid off at—”
“Don’t kid me, Johnny.” She laughed, slanting him a wary gaze.
“Scout’s honor.” He held up two fingers and crossed his heart.
She grabbed his arm, shaking him with her excitement. “How much?”
“Five mil.”
“Nooo.”
“Yeees.”
She flung her arms around him, her laughter ringing off the pinewood beams of the ceiling. The sweetest sound Johnny had ever heard.
“That’s wonderful because I … uh … don’t have a penny,” she mumbled the words so quietly, he strained to hear.
“Because …” he prompted.
“I’m the pauper, Johnny.” She fell back on the pillows. “Mother gambled away the family fortune.” Sadness glazed her features, and he wanted to say something to comfort her, but didn’t know what, so he just listened. “She needed a fast buck—”
“Michael.”
She nodded. “To bail her casino from going belly up.”
He stroked her palm and, not wanting to hurt her, didn’t voice the suspicion circling his mind. It appeared mamma had reengaged her plot devices to serve Sam on a platter to the bimbo once again. He scratched his brow. From what the bimbo babbled in the kitchen, though, it sounded like he had the upper hand in executing the game plan.
Johnny snorted his displeasure, and drew her closer into his embrace.
“She’s hawked it to the rafters.” She hiccupped and laid her head on his shoulder. “It’s in much worse shape than two years ago, and she’s got the family estate—” Unable to go on, she pressed her fingers to her mouth.
“Shh, it’s going to be okay,” he crooned.
“My own mother wanted to sacrifice my happiness to bail herself out of her I.O.U.s.” She closed her fingers over his hand. “That didn’t work, so now she’s after dad; she’s making good on her threat to divorce him and force him to sell the Bel Air estate” – she sniffed – “the family home. She’s after half the take of the liquid assets.”
“That’s extreme, Sam, even for your mamma.”
“Michael flaunted a copy of the divorce papers at the Tavern.” There was a catch in her voice and she swallowed, giving vent to the whimper in her throat. “Mamma’s signed, a-a-and daddy hasn’t yet … Michael said he doesn’t know if his heart can stand it, so waiting—”
Johnny pursed his lips as more pieces of the puzzle fell into place.
“I should’ve called since Thanksgiving, but with the remodeling and the baby so near I—”
“You can’t go blaming yourself, Sam.” He patted her hand, a line carving his forehead. “What else did Scott blab?”
“Knowing mamma’s scrambling to keep the biz from collapsing, he offered to help.”
“Oh yeah,” Johnny jeered.
She gripped his hand tight. “I-i-if I can get her to sell him the casino at cost, he’ll work on mamma to rescind—”
“The divorce,” he bit out. “Convenient.”
“I-I don’t know how I can, Johnny,” she murmured. “Mamma’s so hard headed.”
“What’s the note on the debt?”
“Don’t know for sure. In the millions, though.”
Johnny reclined against the headboard and, draping an arm
around her shoulders, tucked her in the crook of his shoulder. His windfall must’ve gouged mamma’s financially strapped biz and hurled her within a hair of bankruptcy. “Yet she’s managed to stay afloat,” he said, raising an eyebrow.
“Oh, mamma’s always got an ace or two up her sleeve.”
“Like the bucko you hired?” He inclined his head toward the kitchen, thinking a subtle hint might clue her in. More than likely, Michael had been stacking mamma’s balance owing with under the table loans. Once he had her cornered, he’d squeeze her out one way or the other. A grim line settled on his mouth. Fair or foul didn’t crease the jerk.
“Oh, I don’t think so.” A faint smile curved her mouth. “Mamma keeps her secrets under wraps until she’s ready to make her move … er … roll her dice.”
“Your father’s been blindsided?”
She nodded. “Pop thinks he’s about to retire with money to burn.” She folded and refolded the edge of the blanket in pleats. “I don’t know how to tell him.”
“I see.” Johnny rubbed his chin on the crown of her head, smelling the fresh shampoo scent of her hair.
“Do you Johnny? Really?” She bunched the blanket in her fist. “Would you underwrite mamma’s banknote to give pops some peace of mind? If he knew mamma siphoned his life savings on the turn of a card” –she hiccupped, tears tightening her throat— “and filed for div—” Her words cracked.
“Is that all there is to it, Sam?”
“Isn’t that enough?” She sniffed. “I was hurt for the longest time and mad at my mother, but I kind of understand—”
“I don’t.”
“Sometimes people do things when they feel threatened. Later regret it.” She winced, still not totally convincing even herself. “I can’t see how she could again though, Johnny.” She touched her swollen abdomen thinking of their child. “Unless she convinced herself it was for my own good.” She rubbed her cheek on his shoulder, the flannel of his shirt soft upon her skin. “But turning on daddy is really below the line. Scummy.”
Johnny clamped his mouth shut before he blasted something that might upset her further.
“But I have to forgive her.” Sam pressed her fingers to her temples. “I want our baby to grow up in a happy family—” The words tripped in her throat, and she pulled the blanket up to her chin. “I thought she’d started to make up for it, but now, I don’t understand.” She shuddered, and he tightened his arm around her shoulders.
“Will you help her, Johnny?” she murmured. “Maybe we can nix this and save dad a lot of heartache.” A wistful smile skimmed her lips at the pun but quickly vanished.
“I’ll see what I can do.” Johnny caressed her cheek with his fingers, something still niggling the back of his brain. Where mamma was concerned, there were too many question marks and not enough dots. As for Michael, he’d played the sympathy card to weasel his way into their home, snow Sam under and use the divorce angle as his wildcard. He’d covered his bases.
“Anyone want to play scrabble?” Michael shouted from the living room as if nothing untoward had occurred between him and Johnny in the kitchen.
“No!” Sam and Johnny said in unison.
Sam curled into the crook of his arm. “Wish he’d leave soon, Johnny. He grates on my nerves.”
Mine too, he thought and nodded. “Glad you finally realize it.”
She tilted her mouth in a tender smile and, placing her hand over his heart, fluttered her lashes closed. Adjusting the blanket around her shoulders, he held her like he had the greatest gift in his arms.
Johnny wanted to protect her from the double deal he suspected was brewing between mamma and Michael. And although he’d have to hoof the turf for a while longer, he was determined to bust it wide open. Soon. A ripple of dread snaked across his shoulders blades. He glanced at his wife cuddled close to him. Nothing would hurt her or their baby. He’d make sure of that. Even if it cost him all he had.
Quietly, he withdrew from the bed, but she reached out and clasped his hand. “Johnny?”
“Mmm.”
“When …” She shifted beneath the blankets, her lashes fanning her cheeks. “When did you hit the jackpot?”
“When I married you, Sam.”
A smile flittered on her mouth.
His neck muscles constricted, trapping oxygen in his throat. Johnny knew the wisecrack merely delayed the inevitable. His pulse pounded.
The grenade was about to detonate in his face.
“The money,” she murmured, her voice drowsy.
He knew what she meant.
He remained silent for so long, she dragged her eyes open. “Johnny?”
“I can explain, Sam.”
“Explain?” She blinked, perplexed.
“It was on the way to church.”
Samantha let go of his hand, rubbing sleep from her eyes and fuzz from her brain.
“Totally unexpected.”
“T-two years ago?” She brushed hair from her brow and squinted up at him. “You’ve been loaded all this time? And you kept it from me?”
Blood drained from his face, and he bet he could hear the proverbial pin drop even with the backdrop of the raging elements. His heart cracked. He’d come so close to losing her. Then, just for a few hours, he’d come out of left field and hit a home run in the matrimonial stakes. It must’ve been a foul at the bottom of the ninth, and he was about to strike out.
Game over?
“That was on our wedding day.”
He nodded, and his stomach did a wheelie.
“You didn’t tell me.”
He shook his head.
He could use an ally right about now. Where was Mirabella?
“Oh, Johnny, why?”
He shrugged. “I’m not sure.” Suddenly what he’d imagined as her ulterior motives for marrying him were unfounded. His foolishness was about to sabotage his marriage unless he backpedaled with on-target answers. But, God help him, he didn’t know what to say that would right the wrong she thought he’d done her.
Trust.
That’s what he wanted from her. How was he going to get it when he’d withheld it from her at the start?
“You didn’t trust me,” she said, her voice seeming to come from a distance.
“No. It wasn’t like that—”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry, Samantha.”
“So am I, Johnny.” She flipped the covers off and struggled to stand.
“Let me help you.”
Samantha held her hand up to ward him off. “I can manage.” Wobbling on her feet, she made a grab for the headboard to regain her balance, but Johnny reached for her, supporting her against his chest. For a split second, she stayed touching him, then pushed away from him.
“I started to believe what you said.” A heavy pause. “Believe you.” An ache jabbed in the vicinity of her heart, and the hurt vibrated through her body. “About love, trust and family.” Her whimper grazed the air. She squared her shoulders, ignoring the splintering in her chest. She’d take care of herself and her baby. She’d get a job. Mirabella would help her … maybe work the ‘Bar ’n Grill’ with Janey. The time had come for Samantha Belen to learn to manage for herself.
Without husband Johnny Belen.
Without friend Michael Scott.
And without gambling mamma.
“I never lied to you, Sam.”
“No. Just withheld resources that could’ve given us a better life.” But you withheld facts about your financial status, girlie, a small voice prompted from inside her. To test him. Find out his true colors as you termed it. Well, trust played both sides of the fence. You want trust, you gotta give it first. She shook her head, silencing the voice. “You had us living like mice in a matchbox for two years when you had the means to—” She collapsed on the bed and covered her face in her hands. Tears didn’t come. She’d used them up.
“I tried to tell you several times.”
“Not good enough.”
“Th
at’s not fair.”
“Why isn’t it?” she asked, her voice faltering, her gaze accusing. “You don’t keep something like that from your wife unless—”
“Unless what?” he demanded, his features drawn.
“Unless you don’t trust.”
“Trust who?”
“Me.”
“And you did?
“Did what?”
A force of air ejected from his mouth, his control stretched to the limit. “Trust me.”
Sam waved her hands about. “We’re not talking about me, Belen.”
“Maybe we should, Sam.” Johnny gulped down the acid rising in his throat and felt the burn in his chest. “Uptown girl can do no wrong?”
“Huh!” She pounded the bed with her small fist. “I’m not even a midtown or even a downtown gal now.”
Her words knifed his ribs, and his chest seemed to cave for a second. “Poor boy Belen—”
“Hardly that,” she countered.
“—s’ always off beam.”
“Oh, you impossible, stubborn Irishman.” She fidgeted with the bedding. “I don’t know how I could’ve—”
“Could’ve what?” He slitted his gaze, his words smooth, cool.
“Never mind.”
“Fine.” He challenged her mutinous look with his own.
“Fine!”
He stood his ground amidst the minefield in their bedroom for another tense moment. “You want some chicken soup, if Mikey didn’t gobble it all?”
Silence.
Finally, she shook her head, and hair fell over her face, concealing her features. A sigh, and she swatted the strands off her shoulder. “I thought my … our life, just for a few hours today, was on track.” She blinked, and her eyes dulled with disillusionment. “But it crashed.”
“And I with it,” Johnny muttered, but a sudden bang muffled his words and distracted them from their argument.
“Michael.”