Читать книгу A Match Made in Heaven? - Sun Chara - Страница 13

“What’re you doing, here?”

“You think I’d bail with you six months pregnant with my child?”

“You followed me.”

“I did.”

“Oh!” She grabbed the seatbelt strap and squeezed. “If I wasn’t pregnant, then you wouldn’t be here?”

“Didn’t say that.”

“Didn’t have to, Belen.”

He flashed her a closed look. Women … er … woman, he thought, and revving up the motor, floored it. Were all women so unreasonable or just the pregnant ones.

She twisted around and glanced out the window. It was black as pitch…cold and empty, so he doubted she saw anything. She shivered.

“Cold?”

“A little.”

He turned on the heat, cast her a cursory glance and concentrated on the road ahead. Now he’d found her, words froze on his tongue and he didn’t quite know how to break the barrier between them. A smile tilted the corner of his mouth. Music. That should create a softer mood. He clicked on the radio and strains of ‘You’ve lost that loving feeling’ filled the cab. Man, what a choice. Quickly, he flipped the knobs for another station.

“Must you insist on that insufferable noise?”

“Thought you liked music.”

“It’s giving me headache. Turn it off.”

He shrugged. “Yes, ma’am.” He twisted the knob and accidentally turned it the wrong way, sound blaring like a siren in the confines of the cab. Next second, he silenced it with a flick of his fingers.

“Ohh,” she said, her eyes blazing with indignation. “You did that on purpose.”

“Did not.”

“Did too.”

“Did not. Scout’s honor.”

“When were you ever in Boy Scouts?”

He grinned. A little mystery maybe would turn the tide in his favor. “You don’t know everything about me, yet, Mrs. Belen.”

“I suppose not.” She sent him a surreptitious glance and concentrated on the black abyss they were sailing through.

But, then again, it could backfire. Seemed like that’s what happened just now, with her giving him the cold shoulder treatment. He shook his head, what the heck, and started whistling.

“Johnny, must you do that now?”

He let the whistling slip away beneath the hum of the engine. “Better?”

“Yes, thanks.”

As miles whizzed by, silence stretched taut between them, ready to snap at the slightest provocation. Sam chanced a glance at him from beneath her lashes. Aloof, he gripped the wheel with one hand, the wrist of his other hand resting on top, his eyes focused on the road ahead. It appeared he’d forgotten she sat beside him. Fine by her. She was seeing a new side to Johnny; one she wasn’t sure how to take.

Samantha shifted in her seat and contemplated the star-studded sky. Not a soul in sight except for her and Johnny. Not a sound except for the hum of the motor. A breath, and she released it in a sigh.

Johnny flickered a glance her way, and she glimpsed his reflection in the windowpane. He didn’t say anything and she didn’t turn to him. A second later, he averted his gaze to the highway. She sighed.

In other circumstances, she’d be cuddled next to him, her head on his shoulder, her arm wrapped around his biceps, dozing, knowing she was safe in her husband’s arms. She squeezed her eyes shut. Tears stung her eyelids, and emotion throbbed in her throat. How could things, people, change at a word? Or, in their case, by a letter denouncing their marriage… could that be?

She pressed her knuckles to her mouth and hoped he couldn’t see her. Doubts plagued her mind. Did he want out of the marriage now he had the chance? A little voice needled … did she? Something balked inside her… her heart. She couldn’t imagine life without Johnny; the Johnny she’d known; the Johnny she thought she’d married. Had he changed so much in one day?

Her eyelids felt heavy, her heart heavier.

She glanced at him from beneath her drooping lashes. Had he always been so remote, so mercenary? Had his boyish charm and good looks blinded her to his real character? After all, he had kept silent for a whole year and suddenly showed up on her wedding day to whisk her away. Had he thought marrying her would be his ticket to easy street—a quick fix from the pauper’s life?

“Why’d you never write?” She shook herself awake and forced the words between stiff lips.

“What?”

“When you were gone for that whole year.”

An exasperated sigh burst from him. “Why’re you coming out of left field like that, Sam?”

“Well?”

“After two years, you ask?”

“Yeah, I’m asking.” She focused on his chiseled profile, barely visible in the shadow of the cab. Maybe she was the one who’d changed.

In the year he’d been gone, she’d swabbed her pain by overdosing on lattes at the café on campus and in the process, found there was something beyond herself, beyond her heartache … God.

“Why?” The word shot from him like a bullet and ripped her thoughts apart.

“Things are about to change, it seems,” she blurted, her ire rising.

“Is that right?” He tossed her a covert glance and it was nearly imperceptible the way he did it without as much as taking his eyes off the road for even a split second.

Smooth. Real smooth.

She shrugged, dismissing the annoying buzz in her head.

“You didn’t answer me, Sam.”

“You didn’t answer me, Johnny.”

“Woman, you could drive a man to—”

“Oh, that explains it, then.” He was fueling her emotions big time. Brushing a hand across her brow, she pretended an outward calmness, which was a direct contrast to the fervent restlessness inside her.

“I wrote Sam.” A sigh rumbled deep in his chest, and she wondered what he was really thinking, feeling. “Hard copy, e-mails, text … the whole shebang. “Apparently, you didn’t want to write back.”

“What?”

“Mmm.”

“How can that be, Johnny?” she asked, her voice softening a fraction. “I didn’t hear anything from you, not a word.”

“I wrote, woman.”

“I didn’t get your letters.” A quiet moment, then, “Well, you could’ve called or something.”

He slapped his hand against his forehead. “Is there anything I do, I’ve done, that meets your standards, Sam?”

She didn’t answer, couldn’t. If she did, it would unleash an avalanche of bickering between them and she couldn’t handle that right now. Another curve in the road came and went before she glanced his way. His jaw was set, his gaze glued on the road. A multitude of thoughts and emotions jumbled inside her, resulting in confusion.

And a decision.

To find the truth. Did she dare? A peek his way. Yep, she’d do it.

A test.

To see if Johnny was the man she thought she married or an illusion. Sam muffled her dizzying notions. “Where’re we going?”

“To a cottage in a wood … er … close enough to that.”

“Why?”

“Why?” Johnny hoped she’d come to her senses by then, but of course, he didn’t utter the sentiment. “You wanted to be alone, to think …” he allowed his words to trail off, not voicing thoughts tearing his brain. Like whether you want to be married to me or not. He tightened his grip on the wheel and the metal ridges bit into his flesh.

“Yes, alone. Not with you.” Her voice faltered. “Not with anyone.”

Her words cut him to the raw. A muscle boxed his jaw. “You will be, but, I’ll be within shouting distance should you need me.”

“Because of the baby, you mean.”

“Of course, what else.”

Sam’s heart lurched, then hammered with a thousand minuscule mallets. Is that all she meant to him? Someone to have his child? Was he a gold digger? And since he hadn’t gotten his hands on her wealth, was he ready to ditch at the first opportunity? Fear clawed at her insides. Had her mother been right about him? Had he ever really loved her?

“After the baby comes?”

“You’re free to go,” he said, refraining from adding, if you want to.

“I see.” Her stomach dipped and her pulse skittered. She breathed in a mouthful of air and exhaled without a sound. In three months, Johnny, the man she married and the father of her child, could be rid of her, and he could hardly wait. She turned away from him and pressed her forehead to the window, the vibration of the truck a balm to her shattered nerves.

Johnny tightened his abs. She’d shut him out. Could she give up on him, on them, so quickly? At a word in a letter? Had she ever really loved him? A nerve hammered his cheek. Was she thinking of Michael Scott? She’d been friendly enough with him at the pad.

Well, the technicality threatening to nullify their union gave her the perfect opportunity to opt out. A groan throbbed in his throat, but he gulped it down.

He’d wanted to believe he could always count on her, but perhaps in the back of his mind he’d had misgivings. He had the means, yet he’d allowed them to rough it financially for a time.

A test.

To see if princess loved the pauper for himself or if she’d bolt at the first sign of hardship. In three months the baby was due. He’d have his answer then.

“Do you, Sam?”

“What?” She deigned to glance his way.

“See. See what is happening here. To us.”

“I do.”

“That’s all you’ve got to say?”

“You have something more to tell me, Johnny?”

He fisted his fingers over the wheel and kept his eye on the line on the road snaking ahead of them. “I wanted to give you the best, Sam.”

“You never quite made it though, did you?”

“Guess not.” He swallowed. “Not by your standards. Not by your mother’s and not by your Michael Scott’s.”

“I’d like a better life, Johnny. And my mother would like a better life for me.” She paused. “And he’s not my Michael Scott.”

“No?”

“What d’you mean?”

“He could give you the lifestyle you want.”

“Yes, he could.”

A shard of ice stabbed his heart. “And so could I.” The words tumbled from his lips, but the droning of the engine made them inaudible. Not wanting to buy her affection, he didn’t repeat them.

“Yet, you do nothing?”

“You call working two jobs nothing?”

“You’re not working two jobs, Johnny.” She shifted in her seat. “You’re constantly between two jobs.”

Air blasted between his teeth. Did she think so little of him? Disappointment overlaid the resentment rising in his chest. He’d soon know Samantha’s true colors.

Fool. He’d busted his behind working odd jobs to get a down payment to buy the kennels from his buddy, Willie. Then, unable to afford help, Johnny ’d single handedly made them pay, but knowing that wouldn’t be good enough for society girl, he risked all in expanding them to attract higher end customers. Putting him in a higher income bracket, he’d measure up and offer for her hand.

However, his business plan got axed when Willie had shoved the Beverly Hills Weekly society page in his face, announcing her wedding to rich bankboy.

Johnny ’d burned rubber on Interstate 15 that day. A quick pit-stop at the Lucky Loo had him tossing a vagrant at the door a handful of coins for a Big Mac at McDonald’s.

His random act of kindness had been rewarded.

By the time it had taken Johnny to cross the floor and back again on his way out, the man had busted the bank. Chuckling, Johnny hurried to his car but the man hobbled after him and handed him a check for five million. It had thrown Johnny in a quandary. He’d put the windfall on hold these two years, while he made sense of their life.

Although he’d made several attempts to come clean with Sam, she’d jabbed him about his ability to provide for her that he’d clammed up. Now that the baby was due, he’d planned to surprise her with their good fortune and eliminate her doubts. But before he confessed all, the letter arrived denouncing their marriage.

Had he lost her? Had she regretted marrying him? Was she missing the glitz and glamour of her single life? Did she regret not marrying Michael Scott? Sweat dampened his palms, and he slid his hands along the wheel for a drier spot. He tossed her a covert glance, but all he got was a view of her stiff back.

Shoving down his disappointment, he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, his thoughts drifting.

“Stop that.”

“What?”

“That incessant noise.”

“What noi—”

“You’re drumming.” Samantha reached over and stayed his fingers on the steering wheel. A jolt of energy charged into her, and she snatched her hand away. He attracted her like a magnet. Yet, she must remain resolute. Disappointment and anger sizzled inside her. How dare he think her so shallow … a ritzy lifestyle was not all she wanted. She could rebut his ridiculous statements, but that wouldn’t prove anything. Only time would show his true colors.

He laughed. “Is that all?”

“No, that’s not all,” she murmured, her words brittle.

“That’s right, Missus,” he muttered, pursing his lips. “We got things to rap on.”

“Yes, of course.” She ignored his sarcasm, her polite words more aggravating than if she’d responded in kind.

“What d’ya know, we finally agree on something.” He pressed on the accelerator, climbed over a slight incline on the highway and onto a level stretch of seemingly endless asphalt.

“Do we really, Johnny?”

There was an explosion of lights in the horizon, but she barely noticed the glitter of the Las Vegas landscape.

“I don’t know, Sam.” He drew his eyebrows over the bridge of his nose.

“Do we?”

An exasperated sound burst from her mouth. “Must you always answer me with a question?”

“Huh, I’m not the one who—” He bit down on his irritable words and rephrased them. “Sure thing, Sam.”

“Stop patronizing me.”

“I wasn’t—”

“If this is how our talk is going to go, it shouldn’t take long.”

“I’ll make sure of it, then,” he retorted in a dry voice. Could she not stand a few hours of his company and was already finding excuses?

“Why bother, then.”

A saucy grin split his lips, and he scored his point. “Because that’s what grownups do.” The woman was provoking him, major league.

She laughed, but it cracked like thin ice on the surface of a pond.

Unsettling.

He couldn’t fathom her true feelings beneath the apparent merriment.

“And you’re suddenly behaving like a mature adult, Johnny?” The tinkle of a giggle. “I’m impressed.”

“Now who’s patronizing whom, Sam?”

“You started it.”

“I did?” He rubbed a hand over his face trying to make sense of what they were saying to each other, if anything.

“You’re on the defensive, again.”

A guffaw pushed up from his chest but got snared in his throat. “Me, again?”

“Seems like it.”

The chuckle finally burst from his mouth, but it sounded galling, even to his own ears. “Whatever you say, my love.”

“You are so maddening,” she said, her words frosty.

“Because?”

“Because … because …” She folded her arms across her breasts and muttered, “There’s just so much, I don’t know where to begin.”

He clicked his tongue. She had him there.

He drummed on the steering wheel, and then abruptly stopped, recalling her ire of moments ago. “Just blurt out what’s bugging you—”

“Nothing is bugging me, Belen. Except—”

“We’re almost there.” He maneuvered around a narrow curve that brought them to the last mile of their journey. “Try and control your temp--”

“I’m not the one who has to control—”

“It won’t take long. Another two min—”

“You can bet on that, Belen.”

“Fine.” And what did you get with that interchange, you pigheaded Irishman? You want to push her into that simpleton’s arms? A sigh erupted from the pit of his stomach, and he swept his hand through his hair. Could he hope to bridge this ever-widening chasm between them? He doubted it. Not when they were bickering like a couple of teenagers. Is this what love and marriage did to you?

A moment later, he turned into a dirt road and pulled up in front of a rickety picket fence. A hand-painted sign with the words Canine Resort Kennels hung askew from the gate.

“Here we are,” he grunted.

She glanced at him in disbelief.

“Welcome home, Sam.”