Dog? As in D-O-G? Sam spun around in time to see a hairy pony jump from the SUV’s back seat. Oh, no!
No, no, no, NO! He was not bringing that walking, flea-bitten carpet into her home.
Dani raced the beast across the street, holding onto his leash. “Mom! Look what Dad brought me. Isn’t he adorable?”
No-o it wasn’t. Sam backed away, trembling. In fact, if she hadn’t been told it was a dog, she’d swear the ugly mongrel was a baby Sasquatch crawling across the lawn.
Nick joined them, toting a large duffle bag in one hand and his guitar case in the other. Ryan followed close behind with a cardboard box under each arm.
Dani dropped to her knees and hugged the dog. “What’s his name?”
“Chewie.”
Sam rolled her eyes. “With a name like that, he is definitely not coming into this house.”
“He’s way past the chewing stage. It’s short for Chewbacca Mutt-Fugly.”
Ryan laughed. “Awesome name.”
Dani glared up at Nick. “Don’t think just ‘cause you finally got me a dog it excuses you for leaving us.” She stood and trotted up the steps, leading the dog inside. “Come on, Chewie. Let’s get you a bowl of water.”
After Ryan followed Dani into the house, Sam planted her fists on her hips. “Nick, you know how I feel about dogs.”
“No. I don’t. What do you have against them?”
“They make me nervous, all right? Especially huge ones with big teeth”—she pointed toward the open door—“like th-that vicious throw rug.”
“Rugs don’t bite, and neither does he. I’ve never known a gentler animal than Chewie.”
“How could you do this to me?”
“I didn’t do anything to you, Sam. I’ve had the dog for over three months. I can’t simply abandon him. And I figured giving him to Dani might help her warm back up to me.”
“Well, you’ll have to get him a dog house.”
“No. He’s been living indoors in southern California. It wouldn’t be fair to suddenly make him sleep outside in the cold.”
“He’ll get used to it.”
“And you could just as easily get used to him.” Nick turned and strode into the house.
“This is so typical of you!” She stormed after him. “This was the one issue I was able to stick to my guns on, and the first thing you do when you come back is force a dog on me.”
“Why does everything have to be so freaking personal with you?” Nick dropped the duffle bag in the foyer and the thud echoed up the staircase. “It’s simple. I have a dog. I’m moving back with him. Period. Stop reading hidden agendas into every situation.” He leaned his guitar case against the wall. “Give the mutt a chance before you decide to hate him.”
Once again, the arrogant jerk had painted her as paranoid and unreasonable and left her without a single response that wouldn’t make her seem like an uncompromising shrew. Even so, she’d be damned if she’d let him have the last word this time.
“Fine!” She stomped down the hallway. “But you’re feeding the beast and cleaning up after it.”
“No, that’ll be Dani’s job,” he said before she could complete her exit with the taste of victory on her tongue. “It’ll help them bond.”
Damn him!
~*~
A half hour later, Sam alternated between suppressing the desire to strangle Nick and the urge to skewer him like one of shrimp kebobs the man, who’d previously burned ice water, insisted on grilling for their dinner.
After ordering their daughter upstairs to change into something less obscene, Nick sent Ryan to the grocery store. Sam emptied the dishwasher while Nick defrosted the package of jumbo shrimp she’d planned to make for Adam’s birthday in a few weeks.
“Why don’t you go work on your Worry Pals or something?” Nick shooed her toward the adjoining family room.
She heaved a weary sigh. “That’s probably a good idea. I’m way behind.”
“What’s wrong, cariño?” He grabbed her arm, stopping her as she turned to leave. “You’re not tired of making them, are you?”
“No, I still love sewing them.” Especially knowing so many frightened and sick kids were comforted by her creations. “I’m simply overwhelmed. The four hospital gift shops I consign the toys to are selling them faster than I can make them. And Christmas is only three months away.”
“Hire some help.”
She would, except adding a payroll to her job might be more hassle than it was worth.
“Or raise your price so the demand drops. You’re probably selling them too cheaply. There’s no law saying you have to fill more orders than you can comfortably handle, is there?”
Only the law of economics. “If I want to be self-supporting, I don’t have much choice but to expand my business.”
“There are more lucrative ways to earn a living than sewing.”
“Oh, really?” She released a humorless chuckle. “Did you forget I was too busy raising our daughter to attend college or acquire any marketable skills while you were getting your degree and building a career?”
“No.” He turned back toward the sink to peel the shrimp. “Why do you think I’m still paying the mortgage?”
Clearly because he’d made her his obligation fifteen years ago, and his stubborn Latino pride refused to allow him to shirk his responsibility toward his child’s mother.
The afternoon Sam told Nick she was carrying his baby, he’d insisted that, since they were friends and the sex between them was beyond incredible, it only made sense for them to get hitched. He’d vowed that, even though their marriage might not be a love match, he would always do whatever it took to give her and their child a good life.
She had to admit, Nick had kept his word. During their marriage, he couldn’t seem to get enough of her in bed. Sometimes he even said he loved her in an off-handed way.
“You’re only thirty-two, Sammy. Go to college now,” he said over his shoulder. “I’ll find the money for your tuition.”
“Right. I remember how much time you had for us while you were going to night school and working all day. I wouldn’t have a moment to spare for Dani. But, hey,”—she shrugged, leaning back against the counter—“as you pointed out, I’m still young and fairly attractive. If I can’t support myself sewing, I hear being an exotic dancer is extremely lucrative, as you put it.”
His back stiffened, and he stood motionless for several moments. Apparently he hadn’t found her joke funny. Had she actually hit a bull’s eye for once? “Nick?”
“Shhh.” He held up one finger. “I need a moment to finish picturing you twirling upside-down on a pole, topless.”
Damn him. She had to have masochistic tendencies to start a battle of sarcasm with him when, historically, she rarely won their verbal skirmishes. Regrettably, one of the things she’d always admired most about Nick was his quick wit and ability to spit out the perfect zinger.
“Well,” she quipped back, “at least in that position, gravity will work in my favor.”
He glanced over his shoulder at her and eyed her chest. “They may have gotten bigger, but they’re hardly sagging. Just the thought of you naked gets me all hot and bothered. Go ahead, querida, talk dirty to me while I finish peeling these—”
“Stop it!” She shoved his shoulder. “I’m not participating in your kinky fantasies.”
“Hey,”—he turned toward her, spreading his arms—“if you have an aversion to smutty banter, you’d better forget about shaking your chichis in a strip club.” After firing the first shot in this particular volley of jibes, she really didn’t have a right to be angry with him. “Admit it, you deserved that, chica. I’m sick of hanging on a cross for getting you pregnant.”
“I’ve never held you responsible.” How could she when she’d seduced him? She’d never forgiven herself for destroying his dreams of a professional music career. Her guilt over what her reckless choice had cost him was almost too much to bear at times. Even though she resented his refusal to
have another baby, she often felt maybe she deserved the heartache.
There was no question in her mind that Nick cared for her or that his Hispanic pride longed for a reconciliation so he could have his family neatly back under his roof—and his control. But knowing he’d committed himself to her, purely because of his overdeveloped sense of duty, had eaten at her since Day One.
“You could graciously accept my support, rather than exploiting your body to prove you don’t need me,” he suggested, bitterness infusing his backhanded proposal.
“What’s the difference? Either way, I’d be selling myself.”
Again, he was silent for several seconds. “That wasn’t fair, Sammy. I’ve never treated you like a whore.”
“Maybe I’d be happier if you did,” she said, lifting her chin a notch. “At least a john only expects sex. You want to call all the shots in my life.”
“That’s bull! I let you make practically every decision in our marriage, from choosing our furniture to whether or not we got a puppy for Dani—which you put the kibosh on. Instead, you made her settle for a stuffed dog.”
“Right.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “The Great Puppet Master let me decide as long as it wasn’t about anything important. But what about the really vital issues, Nick? Who dictated when it came to decisions about our daughter’s health and welfare or whether we moved to the other side of the country? Or how about birth control? Where was your ability to bend then?”
When she’d suggested trying to conceive again after losing their son, Nick had flatly refused and insisted on using protection in addition to her pills—as if he’d believed she would try to trick him into impregnating her.
“I refuse to stand by and watch another child die,” he’d insisted in an angry, accusing tone, suggesting she was callous to consider taking that chance—and worse—possibly responsible for losing Michael after she’d insisted on throwing a birthday party for their sick daughter. “How the hell am I supposed to take care of Dani and a newborn if, God forbid, you end up in another coma or have a stroke and become a vegetable or die?”
“Then you can marry a less defective woman who can give you—”
“Now you’re talking nonsense!” he’d yelled. “I’m not getting you pregnant, and that’s final. Our daughter needs you.”
Right. But what about him?
“I have an even better question,” he fired in return, jerking her back to the present. “Why is it you have to turn every damn conversation into a battle?”
Maybe because, if she didn’t constantly remind herself why she’d divorced the control freak she’d loved since puberty, she’d never be able to resist his constant attempts to reconcile.
Sam turned away from him to prevent him from seeing the unshed tears blurring her vision. As usual they’d ended up arguing about trivial crap instead of discussing the real problem they’d had in their marriage. She’d spent a lifetime loving Nick with her entire heart and soul, and all he’d ever felt for her was pride in ownership and his unquenchable, I-want-you-naked-now lust.
Dani bounded down the back staircase, putting an end to any further discussion. When Ryan returned from the store a few minutes later, Nick assigned the kids the task of assembling the seafood, zucchini, mushrooms, red peppers, and onions on bamboo skewers.
While Nick prepared a basmati rice pilaf to accompany his gastronomic creation, Samantha relaxed on the sofa in the adjacent family room, stuffing several of her velvety critters with the silky fiberfill that made them so huggable. As she worked, she watched in awe at the diplomatic way Nick demoted the kids from sous chefs to clean-up crew and then to table setters. His knack for teasing while critiquing and praising their work, all while maintaining total authority, was undoubtedly the same talent that had helped him skyrocket through the ranks in his job to become a corporate vice president before the age of thirty-five.
The gray smoke drifting by the French doors ratcheted up her curiosity and eventually lured her out to the deck. She cringed in horror while Nick finished basting the expensive shrimp and vegetables with some sort of spicy teriyaki sauce he’d concocted, which, judging from the aroma, had enough garlic to repel a legion of vampires.
“What’s the matter?” He turned off the gas before transferring the grilled kebabs to a platter. “You look like you expect this to taste awful.”
“You can’t blame me for reserving judgment. The only things you ever made while we were married were pancakes, steaks, and burgers.” She cringed inwardly at the resentment that insisted on creeping into her tone. She’d always loved cooking for Nick.
“I had to either learn to cook or starve. My promotion included a hefty raise,” he said as he opened the French doors and carried the platter into the kitchen, “but I still don’t make enough to eat out every night—at least, not if I want to continue paying the mortgage and saving for retirement and Dani’s education.”
Sam had wondered how he managed to pay both of their living expenses in addition to making the large monthly deposits to their child’s college fund. Much to her shame, she hadn’t given much thought to what he’d done for meals after the long hours he routinely worked.
“Let’s eat!” he yelled to the kids and moved the pan of pilaf from the stove to a trivet on the table in the kitchen’s dining area.
As soon as everyone was seated, Nick led them in a short grace and crossed himself, something Sam had neglected to continue with their daughter when they’d started dining without him. It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate the food and home they were blessed with, but she’d felt uncomfortable assuming a role Nick had always filled at their dinner table. Thankfully, Dani didn’t put Sam on the spot by commenting on it.
Dani dug into her dinner and moaned, rolling her eyes. “I can’t believe it. This is actually pretty good.”
“Yeah, Mr. R.” Ryan agreed past a mouthful of rice. “It’s awesome.”
“Hey, you guys did half the work, so you get half the credit.”
Sam had to admit the meal was scrumptious. The lightly seasoned basmati rice contained tiny bits of celery, carrots, onions, and red pepper and had toasted sesame seeds sprinkled over it. It was the perfect accompaniment to the spicy shrimp and vegetables, which, she was pleased to discover, had a hint of sesame oil and ginger. It was one of the best meals she’d eaten in a long time. “This is wonderful. What’d you do, Nicky, go to culinary school?”
“I watched a lot of cooking shows and experimented. I make a mean black bean chili, too.”
“Ma-an, I love chili.” Ryan groaned. “Could you invite me again when you have that?”
Dani practically inhaled the colorful garden of vegetables on her plate. When she shoveled in a second helping, Nick flashed a smug smile at Samantha. “Still think she’d live on doughnuts and pizza with me?”
Ignoring him, Sam fingered the pointy bamboo on the side of her plate. It would serve Nick right if she skewered him. Unfortunately, the charred tip probably wasn’t sharp enough to pierce his tough, self-righteous hide.
CHAPTER 5
Chewie had been cooped up in the SUV and motel rooms for the past three days and needed to burn off his pent-up energy. After dinner, Nick put the kids to work cleaning up the kitchen and took the dog out for a long run—something he also needed after eating at truck stop buffets during the entire trip from California. It would be at least a month before he wanted to see fried chicken or mac ‘n cheese on his plate again.
At the first intersection, Chewie sat at the road’s edge, waiting for permission to cross. While an approaching car rolled by, Nick watched Bill Sutton’s daughter shooting baskets in her driveway. Tina was only a year or two older than Dani, but her streaming blond hair and coltish energy reminded him of Samantha at that age. As a teenager, he hadn’t recognized the force of nature behind his impulse to look after the feisty tomboy who lived next door.
He gave the dog the go-ahead and raced after the animal. Unfortunately, no matter how fast Nick pu
mped his legs, he couldn’t outrun the poignant memories swamping him.
The significance of his protective feelings for Sam had never dawned on him until the end of his senior year in high school when he arrived home one afternoon and discovered his fifteen-year-old neighbor sunbathing in the tiny backyard next door with two of her friends.
Sam’s string bikini was merely a collection of postage stamps that barely covered her private parts. When she switched on her boom box and began dancing with her friends, Nick retreated behind the shrub at the corner of his house and stared in shock as Sam did an erotic belly dance that would make any harem girl the star in all of the Sultan’s fantasies.
He shook his head and blinked several times. Was this the same spunky little girl who could beat up half the boys on the block but then buried her face in his shoulder every time it thundered? When had his little bee grown into such a beautiful young woman? And where had she learned to dance so seductively?
Even though Sam’s thick blond waves hung nearly to her waist and hid most of her luscious body, he couldn’t tear his gaze away. A natural temptress, she jiggled and writhed to the music in a sexy bump and grind while her friends egged her on, laughing at her antics.
Her barely-covered breasts played a provocative game of peek-a-boo from beneath the blond curtain, giving him glimpses that turned him on like no other girl ever had—not even the centerfolds hidden under his mattress.
He winced at the intense pressure mounting under his fly and reached down to adjust his aching crotch. At that exact moment, Sam’s great-aunt’s car pulled into her driveway—only fifteen feet away. When the uptight old maid saw him touching himself while enjoying her niece’s uninhibited performance, all hell broke loose.
Throughout the battleaxe’s meltdown, Sam tried to explain she couldn’t find her one piece swimsuit from the previous summer, so she’d borrowed the bikini from one of her friends who, unfortunately, was smaller than Sam.
“How dare you make a slutty spectacle of yourself—especially in front of that hooligan?” Her Aunt Caroline gestured toward Nick in his yard. The sweep of her hand followed through in a hard, audible slap to her niece’s bare shoulder. The mortified blush rising from Sam’s chest proved she hadn’t considered her two friends might not be her only audience.
The Great Bedroom War Page 7
