A Match Made in Heaven?. Sun Chara

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СКАЧАТЬ the distance, the dogs howled in the wind. The windows rattled.

      “Sam, you can’t go now.” He trudged after her, feeling like lead weights shackled his ankles. “Storm’s about to break. And you’re half asleep on your feet.” He sure as heck was. “Wait ’til morning.”

      “No.”

      Another soulful sound from the pups, then the heavens opened, and rain pounded the roof.

      “Thank God.” He sidestepped empty jars, an old shoe and several soiled rags and marched across the room, shutting the window.

      “I can’t believe this.” She held onto the doorjamb for support and her face crumpled, tears trembling on her lashes.

      In three strides, Johnny stood beside her. He reached out to touch her shoulder, thought better of it and pushed his hand in the back pocket of his overalls. “I’d better go check on the dogs. When I come back, we can rustle up something to eat.”

      He got a sniffle and a wail for his trouble.

      A puff of air built inside him, ready to burst from his lungs, and he shoved it back. He stood so close to her that the work jacket he’d draped over her earlier brushed his arm. Awareness charged into him, and the breath he’d constrained exploded out of him. He placed his hand on her shoulder.

      She jerked away.

      He let his hand drop to his side. “Okay, Sam.” Plunking the flash in her palm, he stepped past her into the hallway. “If that’s how you wanna play, fine by me.” He paused, his gut twisting. “Except in an emergency, I won’t come near you again.” A few more paces down the hall took him to the front door. He wrenched it open and banged it shut, the screen door rattling on its hinges. She’d have to ask him next time.

      Pulling up the collar of his shirt, he trampled across the grassless lawn, blobs of mud clinging to his heels. The rain shot down like pellets, stinging his face. A gust of wind cut through his clothes, turning his skin to gooseflesh. Each step he took had him sinking deeper in the mire. A grumble roared from deep in his chest.

      Like his life.

      As soon as Sam heard the door clang behind him, she released a heavy breath and sniffed. She brushed hair off her face and wiped wet from her cheeks with her sleeve.

      “Fine by me, Belen,” she murmured, her words echoing in the empty room. Patting her swollen belly, she pushed up her sleeves and determined there would be no emergency. She’d get him out from under her skin. And to do that, she’d have to avoid any and all physical contact with him. She felt her body jolt in denial, but her mind was resolute. Her heart thudded a warning, but she ignored it.

      A wistful smile played on her lips. Johnny may have been out of the house, but his indomitable presence remained. Even the hint of motor oil from his jacket draped over her shoulders couldn’t smother the cool spice of his aftershave; it wrapped around her like a memory, not letting go.

      Until she’d met Johnny, her life had been a blueprint of what the ‘elite’ dictated. From a very young age she’d gone to boarding school, and unlike most children she rarely interacted with her parents. Even during vacations, she was often cared for by nannies.

      Over time, under mamma’s delegated tutelage, Samantha had learned to walk and talk, drink tea, dress, and even think like a ‘lady’. A quick learner, she soon became exactly what her mother wanted. Samantha thought she had it all, until one winter afternoon when a brown-eyed, red-haired Irishman shielded her from a storm. Suddenly the superficiality of her life shattered, and she realized she was nothing more than a poor little rich girl. She’d had everything but love until Johnny Belen exploded into her life, turning it topsy-turvy.

      A sigh dragged from deep inside her. She stepped out into the hallway and twitched her nose at the musty smell. Of course, she’d gone from one extreme to the other, from wealthy debutante to pauper’s wife. Neither gave her what she wanted, for here she was, pregnant and supposedly not legally married to Johnny.

      Three years ago, when Johnny tore out of town after their explosive argument on wealth and status, she’d been devastated. With no one to turn to, mamma, fluttering amidst gaming tables and in between bets, pushed Michael at her; papa, oblivious to his wife’s extracurricular games, trekked the golf course at the Bel Air Country Club, thinking he’d have money to burn upon retiring. Sam hadn’t wanted to burst his bubble. And with her friends in the midst of finals and their own troubles, she’d kept her angst under lock and key.

      She had never felt so empty and alone … and angry at Johnny.

      A faint grin skimmed her mouth. Numerous lattes and a shopping extravaganza had masked the wound but hadn’t dissolved the hurt.

      A shutter banged, startling her from her deep thoughts, and she smothered a yawn with her hand.

      She pointed the spray of light ahead of her in the hallway and, rubbing her arms to calm the chills, poked her head into each of the rooms. Each room seemed to be worse than the last.

      A disaster, not unlike how her life was shaping up.

      She wondered what lay ahead of her…with or without Johnny. The mere thought of the latter had her nerves skidding on her spine and her hands going clammy. He could still get her riled up with his Irish charm and his sexy smile. To keep a clear head about the future, she’d have to stay far away from him and keep busy.

      A dry sound staggered from her mouth, and she retraced her steps to the living room. She ’d have no trouble keeping busy. Sidestepping the debris strewn across the carpet, she walked to the fireplace and picked up her handbag from the mantel where she’d left it earlier. She clicked it open, rifled through the contents, and pulled out a rubber band. A lipstick and comb followed. After she combed her hair up into a ponytail and secured it with the elastic, she outlined her mouth with a soft strawberry hue.

      Amazing what a boost putting on lipstick gave a woman. She curved her mouth in a tremulous smile and, replacing the items in the bag, clicked it closed. Screwing up her face in distaste, she blew dust off the shelf and sneezed. A sniffle, and she placed her purse on the clean spot, glancing out the window.

      Rain beat a savage tempo against the pane. Oddly enough, even amidst this chaos, she felt cozy being inside. An image of Johnny out in that deluge whipped through her mind, but she quickly curbed it. Instead she moved out, searching for the kitchen, determined to show that man what she was made of, pregnant or not. He’d learn a lesson.

      Her heart seemed to glow, then flash like a neon sign … another warning? Hmm. She dismissed the uneasy feeling and blew a wayward wisp of hair off her brow.

      She’d leave tomorrow.

       Chapter Eight

      Johnny stomped through the front door, arms laden with blankets and a canvas bag. He paused and sniffed. An illusion? His taste buds went on alert, and he followed the smell of tomato soup.

      Ah, the simple life. A cabin, a wife, a kid, a dog. Joy of simple pleasures danced in his head with love, warming on a cold winter night. He laughed. He married a rich society girl, accustomed to all the comforts and baubles dollars could by. Major mismatch for sure. It was time he accepted that fact. And with the ‘legally not married’ summons, СКАЧАТЬ