A Match Made in Heaven?

The kennels were in dire need of repair. The wire link fence surrounding the grounds sagged every which way. Posts teetered, the gate hung off its hinges, and the shed sheltering the dogs was slapped together with rotting wood. She peered through the moonlit darkness trying to see further and shivered at the cold, impersonal surroundings.

“Worse it is then.”

Johnny steeled his abs. She’d just belted him in the gut with her indifferent words. He tried. More than that, he was doing. But it didn’t seem to be good enough for uptown girl. In silence, he watched her waddle across the porch with head held high, about to push open the door.

“Hold it.”

She twisted around, a blank look on her face. “What now?”

One stride took him to her side, and he heaved her up into his arms. His eyes caught and held hers for a revealing moment. A twister roiled inside him. A heartbeat, and she blinked away the connection. He kicked the door open and walked across the threshold. “Your new home, Mrs. Belen.”

She wriggled in his grasp. “Put me down.”

“Sure thing.” He glared down at her mutinous mouth and stole a kiss.

As he deepened the kiss, she wrapped her arms around his neck, swept away, he hoped, by the passion flaring between them.

A lonely pup’s howl penetrated their sizzling embrace.

Dazed, Samantha squirmed in his arms. “Put me down.”

Johnny held onto her for a moment longer, regulated his breathing, then set her on her feet. “You got it, Mrs. Belen.”

Frost sheathed his heart. He withdrew, distancing himself from her.

So, she couldn’t stand him touching her. He wondered what she did feel for him, if anything. Why she married him in the first place was the burning question. Until he got an answer, he’d play it cool.

She spun away from him like a top losing momentum and gaped at the scene before her. Then, she burst into tears.

“What’s the matter?”

She turned on him. “I’m six months pregnant, we’re not legally married, I have no idea where I am, and I’m standing in a house that looks like a tornado hit it. A-and there’s a foul smell, a-a-and I’m cold and hungry.” Her accusing eyes shot darts into his chest. “And you ask what’s the matter?” She hiccupped.

Johnny winced. The place looked like a dump. He cleared his throat. “You’re in Goodsprings, about twenty-five miles from Las Vegas and about ten from the California/Nevada state line. Soon as the kennels are hosed down, there won’t be that smell.” He shrugged off the navy flannel jacket he wore over his tow-driver overalls and draped it over her, his hands resting on her shoulders. Subtly, he staked his claim.

She stepped away from him and sniffed.

“There should be some food in the refrigerator.” He stood motionless. The long hours he’d waited and watched for her compounded the tension in his muscles. “Like you, I’m bummed at the condition of the place.”

After he’d married Samantha, he cut a new deal with Willie to repair and run the kennels until he took over, pending Sam’s agreement to swap urban living for a more rustic style. During that time, Willie hired someone else to manage the place while he took care of more pressing business in Los Angeles, assuring him it was in good hands.

Johnny guffawed.

Samantha sneezed.

Uncertain of how to comfort her, he rubbed the crick from his neck and motioned her to the living room.

After Michael had gate-crashed their home earlier that morning, followed by the fiasco of Sam taking off, he’d called, giving Willie a head’s up that he’d be arriving in Goodsprings that night. The hired hand should’ve had the place ready. Instead … there was a loose screw somewhere in that man’s head.

He wondered if this was what divorce and financial pressure did to a guy. Messed up his psyche. The interior of the house seemed to reflect the man’s life. A wreck.

And now it looked like Johnny’s life was headed that way, too.

He squinted at a moonbeam filtering through the torn bed sheet drooping from the window. Turning, he glanced down at his mud-clumped boots, sure his footprints blended with the multi-stained carpet emanating a musty smell.

He raised his eyes a fraction and breathed a sigh of relief. The fireplace was a lifesaver. Sam loved fireplaces. But then he grimaced – soot and ashes blackened the brick outlay and spilled onto the floor. Although the living room was spacious, the bare furnishings resembled discards from someone’s trash bin. The tainted sofa had a big gouge on the arm; cotton puffed from it, and a matching cushion sprouted its insides. A scarred table and a busted chair were toppled over.

Wind must’ve whipped through the hole in the windowpane and covered everything with a film of dust and ash.

In a corner, a rocker loaded with empty boxes swayed ever-so-slightly as a clue that the caretaker had dodged just before they arrived. Johnny frowned. Something was definitely out of whack here.

A rumble worked its way up from deep in his throat, but got snared behind his set jaw. He’d have it out with Willie, but first he had to take care of Sam. This wasn’t what he had in mind when he decided to bring her here, far away from Michael Scott and mamma. He booted a tumbleweed of paper into the hearth. It seemed the harder he tried to do good by her, the worse things got.

“I want to go home.” Sam swatted wetness off her face, smearing dirt on her cheeks.

“This is your home, Sam.”

She bawled louder.

He stepped closer, ready to wrap her in his arms, but she sidestepped him. An unsteady breath, two…three, and she stood straight to her full five feet six inches. She locked her hands across her full abdomen, cast him a steady, albeit watery, gaze. “This is your home, Johnny.” She licked her dry lips.

And he wanted to taste, touch, hold …

“I draw the line at living in a dump.”

He flinched, her words grating across his already raw emotions. “Sorry, no five-star hotel this time of night.”

“Wouldn’t fit your budget anyway, would it, Johnny?”

“What’s mine is yours, Sam.”

“This?” she snapped. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Copy you.”

“O-o-oh!” She kicked trash out of the way, bumped into the rocking chair and waddled to the fireplace. She swept her fingers along the mantel above. A thick layer of dirt swaddled her hand, and not finding anywhere to wipe it, she rubbed it off on her sweatpants. “Point.”

“Keeping score, are we?”

“Someone has to,” she challenged and stood her ground.

His hiked eyebrow spoke volumes.

Johnny aimed the flashlight at the ceiling and glimpsed a light bulb encased in cobwebs, hanging by a single wire. Electricity. His heart lifted. A beacon in the darkness. “We have light.”

In two strides, he reached the switch on the wall and flicked it on. Nothing happened. His heart sank.

“You were saying?” She tapped her foot, a wry twist on her mouth.