Sun Chara

A Match Made in Heaven?


Скачать книгу

       Chapter Six

      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