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