Читать книгу A Match Made in Heaven? - Sun Chara - Страница 14

By the time Samantha collected her thoughts, Johnny had grabbed a flashlight from beneath the driver’s seat, jumped out and shut the door. He walked around to her side, yanked the door open and extended his hand to help her down. Shifting the flashlight’s handle between his fingers, he slipped his hands around her middle, and she nearly fell on top of him.

He staggered backward, and her giggle mingled with his chuckle. Joy filled her heart, and she caught it mirrored in his gaze. The turmoil that had invaded their lives with a vengeance the last twenty-four hours vanished for a moment. She glanced over his shoulder and it all came rushing back.

“It’s not what you’ve been accustomed to, Sam.” He clicked the flashlight on and slid his fingers to her elbow, guiding her to the building.

“It’s not,” she said in an awed voice. “It’s a real house and not a shoebox.”

“I meant it’s not luxury—”

“I know what you meant.” She wiggled her arm away from his hold and traipsed onward, wishing he’d get that she didn’t care so much for luxury as for plain old-fashioned comfort.

Posh and glamour she’d had, and it left her cold. Unless one controlled it, it often took control, playing the person like a puppet on a string. She wanted a warm, cozy home with a rose garden and a white picket fence. Where she could live with her husband and play with their kids…build a future with Johnny. A chance peek from beneath her lashes showed he’d gone quiet again. She itched to reach out and stroke the crinkle from his forehead, kiss—of course, she couldn’t do that.

What if she was wrong about him? About everything?

She faltered in her step, her heart rejecting the idea. Air constricted in her throat. She coughed, and then filled her lungs with oxygen, regaining her equilibrium.

“Something wrong, Sam?” He stepped to her side, his words full of concern.

Real or feigned?

“No.” She walked a few paces, stopped and screwed up her nose. “What’s that smell?”

He sniffed and lifted the corner of his mouth in a grin. “Dog.”

“Isn’t he ever cleaned?”

“Don’t let them hear you say that.” He placed a finger to his lips. “They’re sticklers for cleanliness.” Tilting his head, he considered her a moment…a long moment. “Now that you’re here you—”

“If you think I’m—”

“You’re so industrious, Sam.”

“Not in my condition.”

“Thought a little exercise was good for pregnant women.”

“Yes, but—”

“This is light stuff, Sam.”

“Uh, uh.” She raised her hands, shaking her head.

“You can handle it.” As soon as the words left his mouth, Johnny cringed, knowing he’d made another blunder. “Didn’t quite mean it that way.”

With a slight toss of her head, she walked away, side-stepping a brown mound. “No.” The word floated over her shoulder and drifted away in the night breeze.

“Come on, Sam.” He stomped after her, stopping so close behind her, he nudged her backside with his thighs. Her rose perfume heightened by her body heat wrapped around him like a warm caress, stirring his blood. He almost yanked her into his arms but instead used the tense energy to fuel his words. “You want to be independent, self-supporting. Here’s your chance to make good … show mamma—”

“This is not what I had in mind.”

“Of course not.” Society girl would skip out by morning. His heart rejected the thought, but his mind accepted the possibility. “And going home to mamma when the going gets tough is?”

“Yes … no.” She threw her hands up in exasperation and marched past him to the house. A moment later she stopped, bristling with indignation. Slowly, she turned and squinted at him. “How did you know I was going to mamma?

“I … er … well …” He brushed a hand across his brows.

She closed her eyes and swayed.

He grabbed her.

She pushed him away. “You didn’t, Johnny?”

A heartbeat of silence throbbed between them.

“You had me trailed?”

“You bet I did.”

“Why?”

“You were distraught … I wanted to ensure you and the baby were all right.” A pause. “I couldn’t be in two places at the same—”

“It’s the baby you were concerned about.” Fiercely, she blinked tears welling in her eyes.

“Of course.” He stepped closer to her. “And yo—”

“Who did you sic on us?”

He closed his eyes and counted to ten. His blood began to simmer, then iced over at her accusing tone. She didn’t believe him. “I asked a friend to watch out for you and let me know—”

“He did a good job spying.”

“I’d done him a favor in the past.”

“Naturally. One favor deserves anoth—”

“I bailed him out when his marriage busted.” He didn’t go into the details of buying the kennels from Willie so he could pay alimony.

“How apt.” She smirked. “Let’s see, he’s a trim and fit trucker, with a commanding, gentle voice and the kindest eyes.” She pressed her finger to her temple as if thinking. “Oh, and he has a penchant for pink hats.”

“He must’ve morphed since I saw him last.”

“What do you mean?”

“Willie’s about five foot six and round as a barrel.” He grinned. “You met at the wedding.” A heavy beat. Maybe it was not such a good idea to remind her about that. Quickly, he regrouped. “He’s a joker most of the time and yeah, I guess he’s kind. To the animals at least.” Then, he copied her gesture, running his finger down his cheek as if in deep thought. “About the pink headgear, gee, Sam, I dunno.”

She dismissed his mocking words and hit the mark, instead. “He wasn’t the one who called the tow company for me.” She eyed him up and down. “He was supposed to wasn’t he, Johnny? But someone else got there first.”

He remained quiet for so long, she thought he hadn’t heard her.

“If it wasn’t Willie who helped me, who was it, Johnny?”

“Beats me.” He scratched his head. “Somehow he knew who I was and signaled you were up ahead.”

“So you did plan this … this … er … takeover?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Sam.” He laughed, and then swallowed the irritating sound. “I did nothing of the kind.”

“There are those who’ll disagree.”

“Who?”

“Take a guess,” she said in an offhand way, navigating her way up the front stairs of the rambling cottage.

He followed on her heels, not leaving well enough alone. “Michael Scott wouldn’t be one, would he?” he asked, his words dry as the peeling paint on the walls.

“Think what you like.” She flounced another step ahead and figured with all her extra weight, she must appear comical. She didn’t care. She was too tired to get into another verbal sparring match with her husband; or should she be thinking of him as her ex? Her heartbeat swerved, and she paused on the landing to regulate her breathing.

Forcing the troublesome notions away, she focused on what was to be the roof over her head for the next couple of days. Wind whistled through the rafters. She wrapped her arms around herself and glanced up at the clouds drifting across the moon. The weather had turned, and she was thankful she wasn’t stranded on that deserted stretch of freeway.

A sudden bark in the darkness made her jump. Johnny leaped up the last two steps and stood by her side. He was so close his body heat warmed her skin, but not close enough that he touched her. She bit her lip to stop herself from leaning into him. “One of your brood?”

“Yeah.” He made to smile but didn’t quite make it. “A welcome sound.”

“Is it?”

“Thought you liked dogs.”

“I do.”

He cocked a russet brow as if contesting her words.

“The friendly ones,” she conceded, flicking a blonde strand off her shoulder.

“Ah huh.” He sidestepped to her right and almost nipped her heels. “These canines helped you marry the right man.” She turned so abruptly, he bumped into her protruding belly and instantly stepped back.

“That’s debatable.” She almost retracted her words when she glimpsed pain flash across his eyes; then again, it could be a trick of the light from the flash in his hand.

In the circumstances, words were her only defense. Otherwise, she’d be falling into his arms, his eyes … him. And she couldn’t do that and make a smart decision, so she allowed the verbal barrier to stand and protect her from her turbulent feelings.

“That could work both ways, Mrs. Belen.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Figure it out.

She raised her shapely brows and placed a finger on her chin. “Hmm, for better or worse was what the preacher said.”

“Yeah,” he said, his eyes drilling into her.

She squashed the breathless sensation, but her stomach fluttered. “That’s it.” She scanned the premises, breaking eye contact and swallowing her panic.

The kennels were in dire need of repair. The wire link fence surrounding the grounds sagged every which way. Posts teetered, the gate hung off its hinges, and the shed sheltering the dogs was slapped together with rotting wood. She peered through the moonlit darkness trying to see further and shivered at the cold, impersonal surroundings.

“Worse it is then.”

Johnny steeled his abs. She’d just belted him in the gut with her indifferent words. He tried. More than that, he was doing. But it didn’t seem to be good enough for uptown girl. In silence, he watched her waddle across the porch with head held high, about to push open the door.

“Hold it.”

She twisted around, a blank look on her face. “What now?”

One stride took him to her side, and he heaved her up into his arms. His eyes caught and held hers for a revealing moment. A twister roiled inside him. A heartbeat, and she blinked away the connection. He kicked the door open and walked across the threshold. “Your new home, Mrs. Belen.”

She wriggled in his grasp. “Put me down.”

“Sure thing.” He glared down at her mutinous mouth and stole a kiss.

As he deepened the kiss, she wrapped her arms around his neck, swept away, he hoped, by the passion flaring between them.

A lonely pup’s howl penetrated their sizzling embrace.

Dazed, Samantha squirmed in his arms. “Put me down.”

Johnny held onto her for a moment longer, regulated his breathing, then set her on her feet. “You got it, Mrs. Belen.”

Frost sheathed his heart. He withdrew, distancing himself from her.

So, she couldn’t stand him touching her. He wondered what she did feel for him, if anything. Why she married him in the first place was the burning question. Until he got an answer, he’d play it cool.

She spun away from him like a top losing momentum and gaped at the scene before her. Then, she burst into tears.

“What’s the matter?”

She turned on him. “I’m six months pregnant, we’re not legally married, I have no idea where I am, and I’m standing in a house that looks like a tornado hit it. A-and there’s a foul smell, a-a-and I’m cold and hungry.” Her accusing eyes shot darts into his chest. “And you ask what’s the matter?” She hiccupped.

Johnny winced. The place looked like a dump. He cleared his throat. “You’re in Goodsprings, about twenty-five miles from Las Vegas and about ten from the California/Nevada state line. Soon as the kennels are hosed down, there won’t be that smell.” He shrugged off the navy flannel jacket he wore over his tow-driver overalls and draped it over her, his hands resting on her shoulders. Subtly, he staked his claim.

She stepped away from him and sniffed.

“There should be some food in the refrigerator.” He stood motionless. The long hours he’d waited and watched for her compounded the tension in his muscles. “Like you, I’m bummed at the condition of the place.”

After he’d married Samantha, he cut a new deal with Willie to repair and run the kennels until he took over, pending Sam’s agreement to swap urban living for a more rustic style. During that time, Willie hired someone else to manage the place while he took care of more pressing business in Los Angeles, assuring him it was in good hands.

Johnny guffawed.

Samantha sneezed.

Uncertain of how to comfort her, he rubbed the crick from his neck and motioned her to the living room.

After Michael had gate-crashed their home earlier that morning, followed by the fiasco of Sam taking off, he’d called, giving Willie a head’s up that he’d be arriving in Goodsprings that night. The hired hand should’ve had the place ready. Instead … there was a loose screw somewhere in that man’s head.

He wondered if this was what divorce and financial pressure did to a guy. Messed up his psyche. The interior of the house seemed to reflect the man’s life. A wreck.

And now it looked like Johnny’s life was headed that way, too.

He squinted at a moonbeam filtering through the torn bed sheet drooping from the window. Turning, he glanced down at his mud-clumped boots, sure his footprints blended with the multi-stained carpet emanating a musty smell.

He raised his eyes a fraction and breathed a sigh of relief. The fireplace was a lifesaver. Sam loved fireplaces. But then he grimaced – soot and ashes blackened the brick outlay and spilled onto the floor. Although the living room was spacious, the bare furnishings resembled discards from someone’s trash bin. The tainted sofa had a big gouge on the arm; cotton puffed from it, and a matching cushion sprouted its insides. A scarred table and a busted chair were toppled over.

Wind must’ve whipped through the hole in the windowpane and covered everything with a film of dust and ash.

In a corner, a rocker loaded with empty boxes swayed ever-so-slightly as a clue that the caretaker had dodged just before they arrived. Johnny frowned. Something was definitely out of whack here.

A rumble worked its way up from deep in his throat, but got snared behind his set jaw. He’d have it out with Willie, but first he had to take care of Sam. This wasn’t what he had in mind when he decided to bring her here, far away from Michael Scott and mamma. He booted a tumbleweed of paper into the hearth. It seemed the harder he tried to do good by her, the worse things got.

“I want to go home.” Sam swatted wetness off her face, smearing dirt on her cheeks.

“This is your home, Sam.”

She bawled louder.

He stepped closer, ready to wrap her in his arms, but she sidestepped him. An unsteady breath, two…three, and she stood straight to her full five feet six inches. She locked her hands across her full abdomen, cast him a steady, albeit watery, gaze. “This is your home, Johnny.” She licked her dry lips.

And he wanted to taste, touch, hold …

“I draw the line at living in a dump.”

He flinched, her words grating across his already raw emotions. “Sorry, no five-star hotel this time of night.”

“Wouldn’t fit your budget anyway, would it, Johnny?”

“What’s mine is yours, Sam.”

“This?” she snapped. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Copy you.”

“O-o-oh!” She kicked trash out of the way, bumped into the rocking chair and waddled to the fireplace. She swept her fingers along the mantel above. A thick layer of dirt swaddled her hand, and not finding anywhere to wipe it, she rubbed it off on her sweatpants. “Point.”

“Keeping score, are we?”

“Someone has to,” she challenged and stood her ground.

His hiked eyebrow spoke volumes.

Johnny aimed the flashlight at the ceiling and glimpsed a light bulb encased in cobwebs, hanging by a single wire. Electricity. His heart lifted. A beacon in the darkness. “We have light.”

In two strides, he reached the switch on the wall and flicked it on. Nothing happened. His heart sank.

“You were saying?” She tapped her foot, a wry twist on her mouth.

“The hardwood beams across the ceiling are sturdy.” He pounded the wall with his fist to prove his point.

“You mean the roof won’t cave in on us?

“That’s right.” He paced back and forth inspecting the corners for water stains. “And it doesn’t leak.”

“Well, what d’ ya know?” She grabbed the flashlight from his hand and walked from the room. “No electricity. Dare I ask if there’s water?”

“I’ll check.” Johnny hurried after her but she was way ahead of him.

“Don’t bother,” she called over her shoulder. “There’s water all right. It’s ice cold and rusty. The bathtub and sink are streaked with it. And the toilet— Argh! It’s yellow black and horribly smelly.” A second later, her voice broke mid-sob. “A hundred Mr. Cleans would have a tough time scraping through that goop.”

“Aww, Sam.” He sidestepped boxes stuffed with packing paper, slipped on an empty tin can, muttered sharply below his breath and regained his balance. “Hey, Sam, with your fashionista ingenuity, we’ll turn this into—”

She trundled across the hall to the bedroom. “Flattery won’t—” Then she screamed.