A Match Made in Heaven?

“The hardwood beams across the ceiling are sturdy.” He pounded the wall with his fist to prove his point.

“You mean the roof won’t cave in on us?

“That’s right.” He paced back and forth inspecting the corners for water stains. “And it doesn’t leak.”

“Well, what d’ ya know?” She grabbed the flashlight from his hand and walked from the room. “No electricity. Dare I ask if there’s water?”

“I’ll check.” Johnny hurried after her but she was way ahead of him.

“Don’t bother,” she called over her shoulder. “There’s water all right. It’s ice cold and rusty. The bathtub and sink are streaked with it. And the toilet— Argh! It’s yellow black and horribly smelly.” A second later, her voice broke mid-sob. “A hundred Mr. Cleans would have a tough time scraping through that goop.”

“Aww, Sam.” He sidestepped boxes stuffed with packing paper, slipped on an empty tin can, muttered sharply below his breath and regained his balance. “Hey, Sam, with your fashionista ingenuity, we’ll turn this into—”

She trundled across the hall to the bedroom. “Flattery won’t—” Then she screamed.

Chapter Seven (#ulink_da651f55-8e24-5859-8e54-db0f5f200566)

“Sam!” Johnny sprinted into the bedroom, his heart vaulting in his throat. “Are you all right?”

She stood stalk still on the middle of the floor. A mouse scurried past her legs, its icy tail brushing her ankle. “Agh!”

The moment he reached her, she fell into his arms, shaking. “I-I-I want to go home.”

He stroked her hair, stumped for words. “Ah—uh—can’t.”

She eased out of his embrace. “Why not?”

“No place to go.” He swooped up the flashlight she’d dropped on the floor when the rodent came calling. “Besides, it’s three a.m. and you need to rest.” No way would he let her leave at this time of night.

“What do you mean?” She retreated several more paces from him.

“Sleep, Sam—”

“Johnny …” She placed her hands on her hips, her eyes indignant.

He scratched his cheek. “I gave notice to the landlord.”

“Without consulting me?”

Okay, Belen, start paddling upstream. He was treading unchartered depths of woman and about to get grilled. His shoulder blades tensed.

“You weren’t there to consult, remember?” He rubbed a hand across his nape, a sardonic twist to his mouth.

After he’d booted Michael out, he ‘d been stunned when Sam had asked him to leave too. He’d stomped out to their dime-sized backyard to think. When he heard her crying, he fought the urge to storm back inside and haul her into his arms. Instead, he pressed his hands against the brick wall, every muscle in his body rigid. After all, she more or less kicked him out, hadn’t she?

The slamming of the front door and revving of the Chevy’s engine had him spring into action. By the time he stumbled out front, he’d just caught a glimpse of the car’s taillights turning the corner. He set his mouth hard. Where was she going? And to whom? Dashing back inside, he contacted Willie and had her trailed. Then he called a cab, rented the tow truck and hit the road after her.

“You’d left and neglected to say where you were headed.” His eyes steady on her face. “When you’d be returning.”

“I wasn’t sure where I was going.”

“In that frame of mind and in your condition, you had no business touring alone.”

Samantha pointed her chin. “I had to get away.”

“From?”

She stared him eye for eye but remained silent.

“Me.”

“Yes … no … I don’t know. From everything.”

He swallowed the bitter lump lodged in his throat. “I won’t be in your way here.”

“Here?” She uttered the word with such distaste it would’ve been amusing in other circumstances. “I don’t think so.”

“Why not? You didn’t like the apartment.”

She laughed, glancing around the room. Paint was peeling off the walls, and the bed was nothing but a moth-eaten spring mattress with stuffing popping from its middle. An ancient bureau with dried bits of food strewn across the top stood opposite. She took another step toward the doorway. “Compared to this trash heap, the mouse pad was a palace.”

“Sorry.”

“Well, just un-give notice.”

Johnny shook his head. “Probably rented already.”

“How would you know?” She squinted at him, a glint of suspicion in her eyes.

He shrugged.

“Tell.”

“Willie needed a place,” he blurted. “Being evicted from his digs.”

She slapped her hand across her forehead.

“Figured moving here—”

“Moving?”

“—we wouldn’t need both.” He attempted a grin, but it turned into a twitch at the corner of his mouth.

“Right. We don’t need both.” She kicked a soiled rag from her path. “The city flat will do.”

“Afraid not.” He propped his boot on a wooden crate that’d probably contained dog food and tightened his fingers around the flash’s handle. Time to come clean with her. “I have something to tell—”

“I’m going home.”