by Sun Chara
“Yeah.”
“You’re worse than mother and Michael.”
Johnny winced, her brittle words lacerating his insides.
“At least mother had a legitimate reason. Her life was in ruins.”
Spikes skewered his gut, icing his heart and numbing him all over.
“And Michael.” She waited a moment for her quivery lip to still. “His approach may have been a little underhanded—”
“A little, huh!” Johnny thawed enough to fire back.
“But I think he does care about me.” Trance-like, Samantha seemed to look right through him. She’d been so close to happiness, and then to lose it at a word … a word from Johnny, whom she loved, had trusted.
“I have to go.” She tottered several steps to the door, their argument echoing in her mind … her heart. She winced. Perspiration dampened her palms, and, sucking in a breath, she gripped the doorframe.
A second … two ticked by.
“Michael,” she called, knowing she had to think, pray this through.
“Don’t do this, Sam,” Johnny said, a note of desperation in his voice.
“I-I-I have to.” She glanced over her shoulder at him, her face ashen, her eyes glacial pools.
He couldn’t very well hog tie her to him and never let go. That would get him arrested and leave the playing field wide open for the caffler. “You don’t know everything—”
“I know enough.”
She combed her fingers through her hair, and he almost reached for her but checked the motion. He felt helpless.
Powerless.
Didn’t she realize from the get go that the letter had been a con staged by Michael and mamma for self-serving purposes? To break them up—branding him the bad guy and her the jackpot bride deluxe for mamma’s choice second time ’round?
It destroyed him not to blast it from the top of his lungs, but the timing was off. He had to keep mum. With the baby so near, he didn’t want to stoke the inferno of discontent between them, and thus play into ‘enemy’ hands. Best he could do now was watch, wait, and strike a knockout on target. And he would, he promised himself. Nothing less would do.
“On my way, Samantha,” Michael hollered from the living room.
Samantha glanced around. “Where’s my Bible?”
Johnny toured the room with his gaze and picked it up from behind the bedside lamp. “What do you want your Bible for?”
“Answers.”
At precisely that moment, the doorbell rang, and Johnny curled his top lip. Was it possible? Saved by the bell. It would’ve been amusing in other circumstances. Not now. Not with every muscle in his body knotted against the raw ache assaulting his insides.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“You have visitors,” Michael said, poking his face around their bedroom door.
Samantha walked to him.
Johnny stood rigid as the plywood patching the walls.
When the other man grasped her elbow to escort her out, Johnny shot forward ready to battle, then reined in. Couldn’t rush it. His instincts told him that much, and the gouge in his gut confirmed it.
“Mirabella, Janey.” Samantha stepped away from Michael and extended her hand in greeting. “What a perfect time for a visit.”
“That it is.” Mirabella smiled, and caught sight of Johnny standing by the bedroom door. Hmm, troubled waters brewing. He had his arms raised above his head, one hand gripping the top of the doorframe, his other behind his back. Looked like he wanted to topple the building on Michael’s head like Samson had done to the Philistines.
Not a good idea, Mirabella. Samson went down with the building. Don’t want that to happen here.
She glanced at heaven and nodded. Message received. Help!
Apply what I’ve taught you.
This is getting a little outta my league.
He chuckled. Hardly.
Oh, come on.
His grin broadened. You know I’m there for you, always.
Yeah. She tilted her mouth in a knowing smile, and her whole face sparkled.
Samantha opened her eyes wide, and then blinked several times. The Good Samaritan coming to her rescue on the freeway flashed through her memory. She shook her head. Stress. That must be it.
“Please sit down,” she invited, motioning to the living room with her hand. At that moment, Michael hooked his arm through hers and his other through Janey’s, escorting them both to the sofa beside the blazing hearth.
“We were passing by, and Mirabella suggested we visit,” the young girl murmured, her gaze straying to Michael.
“With goodies to boot.” Mirabella patted her shoulder.
“Beats soup and crackers.” Michael stood at attention, ogling the basket Janey held in her hand. “Let me help you with that, ma’am,” he offered, playing gallant gentleman. And then he snatched the basket from her grasp and sampled a cookie. “Mmm, good.” His eyes seemed to be gobbling Janey instead.
The girl smoothed her skirt, and a nervous laugh bounced from her lips. “You sound like the folk ’round here.”
“Like to blend right in.”
Janey glanced at his designer slacks and cardigan and caught the glint of the gold chain around his neck and matching bracelet encircling his wrist. “Not highly likely, Mr. …”
“Scott.” A wolfish smile split his mouth. “But Michael, please.” He plopped down on the cushions, bopped up and down once and placed the hamper on his lap. Then, he patted the place next to him. “I feel like we’re old friends.” Popping a chocolate éclair in his mouth, he chewed and rolled his eyes. “Exquisite.”
Janey blushed and sat on the edge beside him. At the same instant, he bounced to his feet, looped the handle over his wrist and traipsed for the kitchen. “I’ll be right back.” He hurried away, whiffing at the basket like a Cocker Spaniel.
“Janey, why don’t you go and help him,” Mirabella said in a soft, yet persuasive tone. “If I remember, plates are in the top right-hand cupboard.”
Samantha chuckled. “You’re right.” Now, how did she know that? They’d only had a couple of mugs when Mirabella had brought them the cherry pie nearly three months ago. Miraculously, the house had become so clean it sparkled. Samantha squinted at her.
A pause, and she shook her head, dismissing her foolish musings.
“Anyone like a drink?” Johnny released his viper grip on the door and ventured in, leaning casually against the wall. Time he played host. After all, it was still his home. For how much longer he didn’t know, but for now it was his zone.
Mirabella turned the sweetest look toward him, and it was like a heavy weight lifted from his shoulders. He returned her smile. And it actually came from his heart.
“I make a nice cup of tea,” Mirabella said. “If Samantha won’t mind my using her kitchen.” She turned and drew Sam into her luminous gaze.
“Mirabella, tea would be like heaven right now.”
Mirabella glanced from one to the other. “Wouldn’t it now.” The words glided from her mouth, but neither heard. “You just sit there, dearie, and rest.” A nod at Johnny. “That husband of yours can keep you company ’til we trot back.” Noticing he held the Book in his hand, she lifted a shapely brow. “Good reading.”
Johnny came to, realizing he was still gripping Sam’s Bible between his fingers. “I don’t know.” He pushed himself away from the wall and slammed it on the coffee table.
“I guarantee it,” Mirabella whispered. “A really Good Book.” A covert glance from beneath her golden lashes, and she twirled, seeming to fly from the room. “This’ll only take a minute.”
Heavy silence filled the room. The walls seemed to be closing in, suffocating. Samantha fidgeted and avoided looking straight at Johnny.
“I won’t bite.” He pinned her on the spot with his rock brown gaze but made no move to bridge the gap between them.
She shuffled forward on the sofa and made to stand.
“Going somewhere?” he clipped, stepping in fr
ont of her.
“I feel hot.” She placed a hand at the collar of her blouse and fluffed the fabric, allowing air to circulate her skin. “I’m going to open a window.”
“Sit down,” he said, his words tight. “I’ll open it for you.”
His tension was like a tangible, viable force drawing her to him like a magnet, and she settled back, rubbing her arms.
“Fresh air will do you … er … both of us good.” He raised the window several inches and a gust whirled an icy snap into the room.
“I’m not helpless.” She reclined against the cushions and closed her eyes.
“Not with dancing boy marking every step you take.” He tapped the pane of glass, and it rattled. Something else that needed mending. He smirked at the intimation in his thoughts.
Samantha lifted her lashes and stared him full in the face, her eyes frosty. “I’m glad I have a friend like Michael to call in time of need.”
Johnny snorted. “You should know the half of it.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.”
“Then I’ll ask Michael.”
“Ask me what?” Michael strolled back in the room, stuffing his mouth with a strawberry tart and reaching for another from the plate Janey held in her hands. “Mmm, delicious, Janey.”
A hint of hot pink tinted the girl’s cheeks, and she lowered her lashes.
“High tea,” Mirabella proclaimed, rolling in the trolley with a silver tea set upon it. “As the British say.” She curved her lips in a sweet smile.
Steam rose from the teapot, and cinnamon spice wafted to them.
“Oh my, how lovely.” Samantha glanced at Mirabella then at Janey.
“Where’d this come from?” She crinkled her brow. “I don’t have a tea set like that anywhere in the house.”
“You do now, sweetie.” Mirabella adjusted her square spectacles and offered her a cup.
Samantha gaped, her mouth falling open, then slammed it shut. The eyeglasses, the gentle yet commanding voice, the squeaky-clean image … her guardian trucker flashed across her mind. Oh my gosh, could it have been Mirabella?
“Your tea, dear,” Mirabella said in her motherly voice.
Sam came to and took the cup from her extended hand. “Thank you.” She took a sip, and the fruity spice soothed her wild imaginings. Of course, that’s all it was. Fanciful thinking.
She cradled the cup between her palms, and warmth seeped into her fingers. Just then, Michael plopped down beside her with such gusto, the cup shook in her hand and hot liquid spilled over the rim and onto the saucer, startling her totally back to the present.
“Oopsy daisy,” Michael said, causing everyone to sputter a giggle.
Except Johnny.
Unabashed, Michael chuckled, taking the teacup from her fingers and setting it on the coffee table. Then, he took her hand in his and raised it to his lips. “So sorry, my lovely Samantha.”
A split second before his lips fused on her skin, Johnny leaped and yanked him off the couch, a right hook smashing his jaw. Michael thumped to the floor, groaning.
“I told you to stay away from my wife,” Johnny muttered, each word like another strike.
Janey set the pastry plate on the table and rushed to Michael, while Samantha struggled from the sofa to offer her help.
“Must you be such a boor, Belen?” she asked, her words spiking into his heart.
“Yeah.” When their life and their future was at stake. Heck, how’d he turn out to be the bad guy again? Resigned, he backtracked to the window, propped his hip on the ledge and watched the proceedings from beneath his bunched brows. He’d struck out again. Unable to get a foothold on home base, it looked like he was losing the game for good. He huffed in a breath and let it whoosh from his tightlipped mouth. In another week or so he’d be clear of this, one way or another. Yet a thorn stabbed through the twister inside him.
He scraped his fingers over the stubble on his jaw and dismissed the unsettling feeling. Shifting his gaze, he smacked into Mirabella’s kindly eyes. A split second zinged by, and she winked. If he hadn’t punched that pompous jackass, she would’ve done it for him. She poured a cup of tea and brought it to him, her face beaming like a golden halo.
Don’t give up. The message vibrated in his heart.
Was he imagining things? He ran a hand across his eyes.
Janey knelt beside the bimbo and stroked his hair, cooing words of comfort. The creep lapped it up like a cunning fox.
Samantha held his hand.
Johnny bit iron between his molars.
Couldn’t she see beneath his sophisticated façade? Michael was under the impression that he’d clear mamma’s note and in return play with Samantha. Bile surged in his belly, stinging his throat and corroding his tongue. On the verge of hauling Michael up and chucking him out on his rear to the dogs, Johnny hardened every muscle of his body, and the gale scaled to a category five typhoon inside him. With extreme caution, he set the teacup on the trolley. He needed something stronger than this delicate brew.
Something with bite … fire.
Not having anything in the house to quench the raging in his gut, he thought a change of scene might help. “I’m going out.”
Samantha’s head snapped up, her eyes locking with his in an unforgettable moment.
Time suspended.
“Mirabella, a damp cloth please,” she murmured, still connected to his gaze. The moment she blinked and turned back to Michael, the force field shattered between them, but didn’t dissipate. “Michael’s breaking out in a sweat.”
Johnny stomped out and pulled the front door nearly off its hinges, then slammed it shut behind him.
When Samantha heard the truck’s engine roar, her heart sank. She handed the towelette to Janey who eagerly mopped Michael’s brow. She collapsed on the rocker, rocking to and fro. What had just happened?
Johnny had walked out, that’s what.
Her temples pounded, her palms damp. She shut her eyes and then popped them open. She swallowed, the taste bitter. Soon as her guests left, she would pack her bags.
************
Johnny was drowning his sorrows in a glass of Volcanic Sparkler when Mirabella materialized beside him at the Tavern.
“How you doin’?”
“Don’t ask.” He tipped the tall glass and guzzled a mouthful, the fire burning his throat from hot sauce rather than hard liquor.
“But I am.” She crinkled her eyes at him. “Asking.”
He shrugged and took another gulp from the tumbler. “Take a guess.”
“I don’t need to.” She propped herself on the stool next to his, bracelets jingling on her wrist. “It shows.”
He finally glanced her way. Her eyes were like laser beams piercing straight into his heart. Instead of pain, he felt a healing balm. “Mirabella, what … who are—”
“Buy a girl a drink?” She tilted her lips in that timeless smile, and Johnny blinked, giving her an answering grin.
“You drink?”
“Sure.” She chuckled. “Sparkling water.”
Johnny nodded to the bartender. A pause and, “Where’s Janey?”
“Took her home,” Mirabella murmured. “That child’s had a heck of a life.” A twinkle entered her eye. “But her world’s about to go kaboom in the best way possible.”
At that moment, the bartender placed her order on the counter, and she smiled her thanks, pushing the glass away and picking up the bottle.
“Such a doubting Thomasina about—” Mirabella took a swig from the bottle, her gaze distant. “Why, it’s all about love.” She set the bottle on the bar and smacked her lips. “When in doubt” – she glanced up – “ask Him.”
He chuckled, pleased. Thank you, Mirabella.
“You’re welcome, Sir.”
“You say something?” Johnny asked.
Mirabella giggled, took the bottle and tapped his glass, “Cheers!”
“Yeah, mud in your eye.” Johnny
swallowed and screwed up his face as the liquid flame blistered his throat. The wild Desert Tepins were indeed the world’s hottest peppers, topping chilis, jalapenos—and then he got whacked—a triple wallop on the head, and he sputtered, “Who’s with Sam?”
Mirabella lifted a smooth eyebrow.
“No!” The word detonated from his mouth. Since Mirabella sat here beside him and Janey was home, that only left Michael. That slime was alone with his wife. Johnny leaped off the stool, hurled several bills on the bar and tripped through the door in his hurry to get to her.
“S’long, handsome,” Mirabella whispered after him. This assignment was nearly over, and she could sigh in relief. Fantasize about sunshine, beaches, cute guys …
A hearty laugh from above.
“I work hard,” she said.
And you love it.
“Must you remind me?”
Now and then.
“Okay, okay.” But she grinned.
************
The moon hung in the star-studded sky, but Johnny didn’t notice. He didn’t notice the storm had lifted and cleared the night. He gripped the wheel in his hands and floored the gas pedal, barreling down the road like a thousand demons were chasing him.
After what seemed like eons, he swerved into the driveway, tires screeching, and vaulted out. He jogged down the track, bounded the stairs in one leap and shouldered the front door. It didn’t budge. Frowning, he rammed it with his body.
Nothing.
“Samantha, open the door,” he belted out.
Silence.
“I know you’re in there.” He pounded, and the door rattled on its hinges. “Sam, open the door, now!”
The night breeze rustled palm fronds at the side of the house, the sound mingling with his agitated breathing. Unsavory images plagued his brain. He grabbed the doorknob and shook it so hard it nearly dislocated. A suction of oxygen, and he pressed his forehead against the door.
Control, Belen, control.
He counted to three. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he searched for the house keys and came up empty. He slapped his hand to his forehead, groaning. In his rush to exit earlier, he must’ve left them on the mantel above the fireplace. He’d meant to hide a spare set in a safe place outside but hadn’t done it yet.
