A Match Made in Heaven?

by Sun Chara

  Samantha shut her lips and swallowed a silly laugh. Fashion 101 definitely wouldn’t go amiss.

  Her guest had the knock-out body of a twenty-year-old and a dress code a cross between Cosmo hip and Steampunk frump, a direct contrast to her motherly demeanor. The woman grinned, as if levitating coats were the norm.

  Thinking she must still be a little dozy from sleep, Samantha rubbed her eyes and remembered her manners. “Won’t you sit down?” she invited, pointing to a wooden crate, an embarrassed blush warming her cheeks.

  Mirabella straddled the crate like a trooper. “Nice place you’ve got here.”

  “Really?” Samantha filled the black pot with water and set it on the wood-burning stove to boil.

  “Mmm.” Mirabella crossed one leg over the other, one galosh bobbing up and down. “Beats a battlefield fox hole or urban card-box deco.” She propped her glasses back on the bridge of her nose. “A quick sweep would turn this pad into a palace.”

  “It’d take more like a bulldozer—” Samantha bit off the rest of her words before she blurted something she’d cringe at later. “Please excuse me, I’d like to go freshen up.” She trudged by Mirabella’s coat draped over the door, paused and glanced back at her. “Make yourself at home.”

  “I will.” She grinned.

  By the time Samantha waddled back five minutes later, Mirabella had the table set for tea fit for a queen. She sat on the crate opposite her guest and cradled a mug of steaming mint tea between her hands, her gaze fixed on her empty plate.

  “Mmm, that was so-o-o good.” She licked a drop of cherry syrup off her bottom lip. “I don’t know how you managed it, but it was deliciously warm”. She chuckled. “In fact, the whole kitchen is comfortably cozy.”

  Mirabella gazed deep into her eyes. “Did it myself.”

  An unexplainable peace enveloped Samantha, and she sighed in contentment. It was like the last two days of turmoil propelling her and Johnny to the brink of a break-up never happened.

  “Although the cherries were canned.” Her guest tapped her hot pink fingernails on the tabletop, then leaped up, collected the dishes and placed them in the sink before Sam could make a move.

  “Please, leave them.” Sam started to stand. “I’ll do them later.”

  “Done.” Mirabella picked up her pink hat off the counter, placed it on her head and tied the still damp ribbon under her chin. That eternally youthful smile brushed across her lips. It was almost cherubic.

  “I hear your husb … er … guess your husband will be home soon.” She stepped to the door and pulled on the coat, and when she lifted her arms, it fell in place over her body.

  “Ye-es.” Sam couldn’t take her eyes away. “Ho-o-w did you do that?”

  “Do what, dear?” She slipped brass buttons in buttonholes and pulled on her woolen gloves.

  “The coat. “I-it … uh …”

  Mirabella crinkled her eyes in amusement and walked to the front door.

  “Uh, nothing, I guess.” Samantha lumbered after her.

  “Glad to have a new neighbor.” Mirabella adjusted her glasses and peered at Sam like she could see into her soul.

  That ripple zapped through Sam again, and a memory teased her mind.

  “Wish I could return the favor, Mirabella.” But she wouldn’t be here long enough to do that.

  “I’m stationed at the local Pub ’n Grill.” Mirabella chuckled. “A.k.a. The Pioneer Saloon & Goodsprings Café circa 1913 fame.”

  “Stationed?” Sam crinkled her brow, amused. You mean you work there?”

  “You could say that, dearie.” She smiled, and her cheek dimpled. “You can always find me flitting about the place.”

  “Yeah, sure.” Sam shook her head to clear it. Was this woman for real or was she hallucinating? The quiet isolation, except for the dogs barking and the drumbeat of rain, might be getting to her. “I could give you a lift. Johnny should be here any minute.”

  “Lift indeed.” Mirabella giggled. “I’ll be home in the twinkling of an eye.” Her gaze glided across Sam’s swollen belly. “I’m good with babies, too.” She nodded. “Call if you need anything.”

  Perhaps in a day or two a phone would be connected, and she wouldn’t feel so secluded, like a poodle on a desert island. But by then it wouldn’t matter. She’d be long gone.

  As if reading her thoughts, Mirabella grinned. “I’ll get your message, Samantha.” Then she opened the door, waved and disappeared through the curtain of rain.

  Dazed, Sam closed the door behind her, the silence of the house buzzing out of proportion in her ears. She started for the kitchen and paused. Mirabella said to call her, but she’d forgotten to give her a telephone number. Sam shrugged, took another step and froze.

  Samantha.

  The woman had known her name, but in her befuddled state, she’d forgotten to properly introduce herself. How had Mirabella known—

  A gust of wind brushed the back of her neck. Slowly she turned, and a sigh of relief burst from her mouth.

  “How’d you make out, Sam?” Johnny shoved the front door open with his shoulder and, juggling grocery bags in his arms, booted it shut behind him.

  “Miraculously.” A secret smile curved her lips. Now why had she said that?

  Chapter Eleven

  “Glad to hear it.” Johnny followed her to the kitchen, set the rain-drenched grocery bags on the table and packages on the counter.

  “Did you see her?”

  “Who?”

  “Mirabella.” Samantha peeked into one of the bags and pulled out a package of rice and a milk carton.

  “Mira— who?”

  “Thought you might give her a lift. She just left. You couldn’t have missed her.” The words tumbled from her mouth at speed, and she backed away from him to the fridge. She opened the door and put the milk on the shelf, the frigid air fanning her face. “It works,” she said below her breath and closed the door. “And it’s clean.” Shuffling several steps opposite, she opened the cupboard. “The shelves are lined with—” she stumbled back a step— “pink paper.”

  “Say something, Sam?”

  She brushed a hand across her eyes. “N-no.” Turning a full three hundred and sixty degrees, she glanced about the room and blinked. And blinked again.

  “Nobody out there, Sam. No one in their right mind would go out on a day like this.” He caught her arching a shapely eyebrow. “I had to go.”

  “Sure you didn’t see anyone?”

  “Not a soul.” He pulled several food items from the bag and set them in the cupboard. “Who’s Mari … who?” He reached for a pack of Cheerios, stopped and did an about face. “Pink shelves, Sam? Come on—” Then realization smacked, and he gaped, spinning around the kitchen. Awestruck.

  Of course he would be. The kitchen sparkled. Walls and cupboards painted a glistening white, the stove and fridge were like new, the floor swept and mopped, and the trash in the corner from last night, gone.

  “Sam?”

  “Bella, Mirabella.” Sam took the items from his hands and placed them on the shelves.

  “Told you I’d take the garbage out,” he grumbled.

  “I didn’t—”

  A sudden clap of thunder drowned out her words.

  Spooked, she dropped the rice pack on the counter and swallowed her uneasiness.

  “Don’t want you to over exert yourself, Sam.”

  “I’m pregnant, not helpless, Johnny.” She snatched up the rice and slammed it on the shelf.

  “When did you do all this?” He pointed here and there with the cereal box in his hand.

  “I-I didn’t.”

  “No?” he challenged. “Fairy godmother did it for you, Cinderella?”

  “No … yes … no.” She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  An angel of mercy’d be more like it. She plodded around the kitchen, brushing her hand across the wall, counter, cupboard, refrigerator, and even the window at the back door. She stopped in front of the sink. No sign
of the dishes, not even a tea stain, marked the once decrepit sink. Even the chrome tap was shining. Samantha plodded back to the table and collapsed on the crate. She propped her elbows on the table, chin in hand, and stared into space.

  Angels?

  Could she be under such emotional strain that she imagined that kind woman? Mirabella. Odd name that.

  “Guess the wind whooshed through here full force when I opened the door and swept up all the dust and junk.” She didn’t believe it for a minute. Sounded less believable than an angel visiting.

  Johnny peered at her from beneath his bushy brows and touched his fingers to her forehead. “No fever.”

  She knocked his hand away. “I’m well, thank you.”

  He glowered. “Glad to hear it.”

  “I had a visitor. We had tea and cherry—” She pushed herself up and trudged to the sink to double check. No dishes. She glimpsed the plastic bag from behind several packages Johnny had placed on the counter.

  Pink. Bright. Real. Hot pink.

  Samantha pushed the packets aside and Mirabella’s trademark stared her in the face. She peeked inside and pulled out the cherry pie in the tin plate. “Aha!”

  “Cherry pie?” Johnny’s eyes nearly popped from his head. “You did all this cleaning” –he inclined his head— “and had time to bake a pie?” He slapped his hand to his forehead. “Am I hallucinating?”

  “A possibility,” she mumbled, but which one was going bonkers was the guess.

  He peered over her shoulder, his face crestfallen. “Aww Sam, you ate half of it.” He slapped the box of cereal on the counter.

  “I did not.”

  “Couldn’t you have waited for me?” He curved the corner of his mouth in a lopsided grin that had her heart fluttering. “You are eating for two.” He extended his arms on either side of her and trapped her between the counter and his chest.

  A sizzle of energy.

  She quivered.

  He sucked in a breath.

  Wrapping his arms around her swollen middle, he stroked her with his fingers, and exhaled in a grunt, “I understand.”

  She turned in his embrace and bumped into his hot gaze. Her pulse skittered off course, and her hands became clammy. He smelled rain-fresh, and she wanted to link her arms around his neck and curl into him. Feel his heart beating against hers. His hands … His lips … Of course, that would be foolhardy. So, she glared at him and, lifting his arm up, ducked away from him.

  “Mind if I have a piece?” He yanked a drawer open and grabbed one of the plastic spoons he’d tossed in there the night before. Dipping it in the pie, he scooped sweet fruit and flaky pastry and placed it in his mouth. “Mmm, unbelievably good.”

  “You might say that.” Sam plopped back on the crate, folded her arms on the table and laid her head upon them.

  “Sam, I want you to take it easy,” Johnny said between mouthfuls. “Bang on delicious.” He dipped the spoon back in the thick syrup and, spooning up cherries, popped them in his mouth. “Hot coffee would hit the spot right about now.”

  Sam lifted her head and hurled him a look, rivaling the tempestuous elements outdoors. She dropped her head back on her folded arms and bawled.

  “What’d I say?” He chewed and swallowed sweet cherry taste. “Don’t get upset, okay. I can do without the coffee.” He’d learned that pregnant women had a tendency to get overly emotional at times, but Sam? So frequently? Then he licked his mouth in appreciation of the treat. Be thankful, Belen, that she didn’t start throwing things, like the batter missiles she did at the apartment. He smacked his lips and smiled. She sure had a good eye for a target.

  “What’re you grinning about, Belen?” Sniffing, she grabbed a package of macaroni and threw it at him. He angled to the left, and it landed in the sink. She pushed herself up and brushed a stray curl off her brow. “And I’m not upset.” Her shoulders drooped.

  “Okay.” He was thankful the canned goods and water bottles were at the bottom of the bag.

  The day’s events must’ve caught up with her, leaving her emotionally and physically exhausted. Heck, he was putting on a good show, but he was feeling whacked himself. He wanted nothing more than to haul her into his arms like old times. Dip his head to her bosom and taste ambrosia, rivaling the sweet cherry taste upon his tongue.

  He pulverized the pastry in his mouth, knowing that with the baby due, he had to exercise extreme control. The unexpected dessert was a welcome distraction. He heaped another spoonful and put it in his mouth. Slowly he chewed, noting she gripped the tabletop tight. “Something wrong, Sam?”

  “No. Yes.” She waved her hand around encompassing her surroundings. “Everything.”

  He swallowed the piece of pie in his mouth. “I’ll hire some help.”

  She took a deep breath and expelled it in a rush. “Fine. At least you’ll be doing something constructive.”

  He narrowed his eyes to laser points. “That’s not fair, Sam.” He tossed the spoon in the sink.

  Quick as she could, she shuffled past him to inspect the sink. It was still there. The spoon he’d thrown in the sink lay next to the macaroni packet she’d hurled at him. It hadn’t been miraculously washed and replaced in the drawer. What was going on? She brushed a hand across her eyes smarting with tears and held them in check.

  “You’re not fair, either.” She turned and faced him. “Bringing me to this deserted place. Miles from anywhere.”

  “I thought we could talk, work out—”

  “You thought wrong.” She stomped her foot and waddled from the kitchen to the bathroom, tossing over her shoulder. “Talking ’s over.” Her voice wobbled. “It’s time for action.”

  Chapter Twelve

  At the sound of her weeping, Johnny whacked emotion down his throat and, tough as it was, he let her be. She wanted time alone, he’d give it to her. He leaned back against the counter and shoved both hands through his hair, a humorless sound bursting from his mouth. She’d been alone. Obviously, she didn’t want to be near him. Once or twice, he’d even caught her glancing at him like he’d sprouted horns and landed in her life from another planet.

  Red flag alerts flashed in his mind, signaling their domestic dispute was on the verge of detonating. To diffuse the bomb, he was forced to walk a tightrope from Mount Everest to the Grand Canyon. One wrong move and … kaboom!

  He collected the packages from the counter and stuffed them in the cupboards. If he and Sam survived a week together, never mind three months, it would be a miracle.

  “Johnny, get in here,” she called from the living room.

  “In a minute.” Heck, he could play hard to get a little, couldn’t he?

  “Now, please.”

  Please. Well, that was an improvement. Worth an investigation.

  He marched from the kitchen and down the hall way to the living room. “What is—huh?” He skidded to a stop, stunned.

  “This is what’s the matter.” She stood in the middle of the floor, swiping her damp face with one hand and waving around the room with the other.

  The room nearly sparkled it was so clean. Johnny gaped at the moth-eaten sofa, now like new. Lace curtains hanging from the window had replaced the torn bed-sheet. The carpet had been vacuumed and reflected the original dusty rose hue. Not a sign of paper or box anywhere. Several chocolate-colored cushions with pink tassels sat in the rocker, and a fire in the grate blazed a welcome.

  Perplexed, he scrubbed his chin with his fist. He’d stacked the fireplace with enough logs before he’d left for town to ensure the fire lasted until he returned. By now it should ’ve turned to embers. Someone had refueled it. He furrowed his brow. In her condition, Sam shouldn’t be traipsing out in that rainstorm and carrying logs back to the house. She could have slipped in the mud and … he checked that thought slam fast. “Sam, I don’t like you going out in that rain.”

  “What?”

  “I would’ve stocked more logs and started the fire in a few minutes.”

  She s
lipped him a bemused glance. “I haven’t stepped out of this house since you brought me here last night.”

  “Now, Sam …”

  “Yes?” She gave him such an innocent look that he chuckled.

  “What’s going on?”

  “That’s what I’d like to know.”

  “You did a great job with this room, Sam.”

  “Mmm.” She plunked down on the rocking chair and rocked. “The whole house.” And rocked.

  “You’re a super whiz for sure.” He raised a hand and rubbed the crick from his neck. “I want you to take it easy. Don’t do too much.”

  “I didn’t lift a finger.” Adjusting the cushions, Samantha leaned back and stretched her legs out in front of her, her thickening ankles a sore spot. A hint of a smile, and she hugged her swollen middle. Her baby’d be worth it.

  “You didn’t do this?”

  “Nope.” She rocked.

  Johnny guffawed and hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his jeans. That had her pulse tripping and her eyes focusing on the snap. Slowly she raised her eyes, and he shuttered his. He took a step closer, and she stopped rocking. He brushed a finger down her cheek and curved his mouth in a rakish smile that fueled her heartbeat to a nonsensical speed. She reached out and grabbed his wrist, his strong bones and sinew hard beneath her fingers.

  Hot.

  She’d touched him. Big, big mistake.

  She felt his heat … him.

  At once, she rerouted his hand to the arm of the chair and gave it a pat. Avoiding his baffled look, she made to get up and fell back on the cushions. A nervous giggle glided from her mouth.

  “Let me help you,” he offered, extending his hand to her.

  “I’m not helpless.”

  He stepped aside, watching her struggle through his narrowed focus.

  Samantha gritted her teeth and managed to push herself to an upright stance.

  “Well done, Mrs. Belen.” He clapped his hands in slow motion.