A Match Made in Heaven?

“Now who’s patronizing whom, Sam?”

“You started it.”

“I did?” He rubbed a hand over his face trying to make sense of what they were saying to each other, if anything.

“You’re on the defensive, again.”

A guffaw pushed up from his chest but got snared in his throat. “Me, again?”

“Seems like it.”

The chuckle finally burst from his mouth, but it sounded galling, even to his own ears. “Whatever you say, my love.”

“You are so maddening,” she said, her words frosty.

“Because?”

“Because … because …” She folded her arms across her breasts and muttered, “There’s just so much, I don’t know where to begin.”

He clicked his tongue. She had him there.

He drummed on the steering wheel, and then abruptly stopped, recalling her ire of moments ago. “Just blurt out what’s bugging you—”

“Nothing is bugging me, Belen. Except—”

“We’re almost there.” He maneuvered around a narrow curve that brought them to the last mile of their journey. “Try and control your temp--”

“I’m not the one who has to control—”

“It won’t take long. Another two min—”

“You can bet on that, Belen.”

“Fine.” And what did you get with that interchange, you pigheaded Irishman? You want to push her into that simpleton’s arms? A sigh erupted from the pit of his stomach, and he swept his hand through his hair. Could he hope to bridge this ever-widening chasm between them? He doubted it. Not when they were bickering like a couple of teenagers. Is this what love and marriage did to you?

A moment later, he turned into a dirt road and pulled up in front of a rickety picket fence. A hand-painted sign with the words Canine ResortKennels hung askew from the gate.

“Here we are,” he grunted.

She glanced at him in disbelief.

“Welcome home, Sam.”

Chapter Six (#ulink_341f6a3c-c95c-5a8e-ab39-37271533b20c)

By the time Samantha collected her thoughts, Johnny had grabbed a flashlight from beneath the driver’s seat, jumped out and shut the door. He walked around to her side, yanked the door open and extended his hand to help her down. Shifting the flashlight’s handle between his fingers, he slipped his hands around her middle, and she nearly fell on top of him.

He staggered backward, and her giggle mingled with his chuckle. Joy filled her heart, and she caught it mirrored in his gaze. The turmoil that had invaded their lives with a vengeance the last twenty-four hours vanished for a moment. She glanced over his shoulder and it all came rushing back.

“It’s not what you’ve been accustomed to, Sam.” He clicked the flashlight on and slid his fingers to her elbow, guiding her to the building.

“It’s not,” she said in an awed voice. “It’s a real house and not a shoebox.”

“I meant it’s not luxury—”

“I know what you meant.” She wiggled her arm away from his hold and traipsed onward, wishing he’d get that she didn’t care so much for luxury as for plain old-fashioned comfort.

Posh and glamour she’d had, and it left her cold. Unless one controlled it, it often took control, playing the person like a puppet on a string. She wanted a warm, cozy home with a rose garden and a white picket fence. Where she could live with her husband and play with their kids…build a future with Johnny. A chance peek from beneath her lashes showed he’d gone quiet again. She itched to reach out and stroke the crinkle from his forehead, kiss—of course, she couldn’t do that.

What if she was wrong about him? About everything?

She faltered in her step, her heart rejecting the idea. Air constricted in her throat. She coughed, and then filled her lungs with oxygen, regaining her equilibrium.

“Something wrong, Sam?” He stepped to her side, his words full of concern.

Real or feigned?

“No.” She walked a few paces, stopped and screwed up her nose. “What’s that smell?”

He sniffed and lifted the corner of his mouth in a grin. “Dog.”

“Isn’t he ever cleaned?”

“Don’t let them hear you say that.” He placed a finger to his lips. “They’re sticklers for cleanliness.” Tilting his head, he considered her a moment…a long moment. “Now that you’re here you—”

“If you think I’m—”

“You’re so industrious, Sam.”

“Not in my condition.”

“Thought a little exercise was good for pregnant women.”

“Yes, but—”

“This is light stuff, Sam.”

“Uh, uh.” She raised her hands, shaking her head.

“You can handle it.” As soon as the words left his mouth, Johnny cringed, knowing he’d made another blunder. “Didn’t quite mean it that way.”

With a slight toss of her head, she walked away, side-stepping a brown mound. “No.” The word floated over her shoulder and drifted away in the night breeze.

“Come on, Sam.” He stomped after her, stopping so close behind her, he nudged her backside with his thighs. Her rose perfume heightened by her body heat wrapped around him like a warm caress, stirring his blood. He almost yanked her into his arms but instead used the tense energy to fuel his words. “You want to be independent, self-supporting. Here’s your chance to make good … show mamma—”

“This is not what I had in mind.”

“Of course not.” Society girl would skip out by morning. His heart rejected the thought, but his mind accepted the possibility. “And going home to mamma when the going gets tough is?”