A Match Made in Heaven?

“Scram.” Johnny chased him out, slammed the door behind him and straightened his shirt cuffs. “Glad that’s done with.” In two strides, he was beside her and plunked down on the sofa, his weight pressing down the cushions. He laced his fingers with hers, his thumb stroking the inside of her wrist, his breath a sliver of sound in the lull of silence.

“It’s not.” She gritted her teeth, trying desperately to ignore his heat zapping into her. Her pulse leaped. Before she succumbed to the emotion and curled into him, she withdrew her hand. Not quite meeting his eyes, she snatched a cushion and hugged it to her bosom.

“No?” he asked.

Tick. Tock. The cuckoo clock sounded the half hour, the echo ominous.

“I want you to leave, too, Johnny.”

Chapter Four (#ulink_70d08918-1844-5e04-89ce-ba43813786d9)

Taciturn, Johnny marched out and slammed the back door behind him, the sound reverberating around the room.

Samantha pressed her hands over her ears, tears welling in her eyes.

Seconds slipped by.

Silence, thick and dark, swelled around her, pressing, choking.

She had to get out. Grabbing her jacket from the hall closet, she shoved her arms into it and rushed out to the car. What had she done? Confusion clouded her mind, and she gripped the steering wheel, blinking rapidly to clear her vision. A drive might help her figure out how she’d landed in this predicament.

But where could she go? A woman alone with limited funds had only so many choices. Distraught, she buckled up and pulled out of the driveway, cruising toward her parents, and then changed direction. She couldn’t face her mother’s gloating. ‘I told you so.’ She needed to be alone. To think. Sort things out in her mind.

Her heart.

Golden State 5 North beckoned, and she veered onto it. A faint smile quivered on her mouth. Seemed no matter how bad things appeared, there was always something to be grateful for—she hadn’t hit L.A. rush hour traffic. “Phew!”

The car motor hummed a soothing rhythm, and she relaxed. She kept driving.

And driving.

She stopped once for a bathroom break, to fill up the car with gas and buy a sandwich and an apple. For her baby’s sake, she forced herself to eat.

Several hours crawled by, and dusk hovered, turning the horizon ablaze with color. She hoped the old turn of phrase ‘Red sky at night, sailors’ delight’ would be true for her as well. A grin curved her mouth; yes, the weather was on her side.

City lights blurred behind and open countryside stretched far ahead of her. Then, in a twinkling, night fell, and she couldn’t get her bearings. Her heart stuttered, then sped, keeping tempo with the spinning wheels. She flicked on the headlights, and brightness illuminated her path. A sigh sounded from deep inside her. She searched for a place to turn around and head back home, but there was no exit sign. A few cars whizzed past and disappeared into the darkness. She leaned onto the steering wheel, peering through the windshield, and realized she was lost. The road stretched before her, lonely and deserted. Exactly how she felt.

“Samantha Belen,” she whispered, and her lip quivered, wondering how long she’d be keeping that name. “Get a grip, girl.” The smart thing to do would be to pull into the next town and rent a room for the night. A deep breath, and she exhaled a blast of air. After a good night’s sleep, she’d feel better, think more clearly.

She didn’t get far.

Several yards further, the Chevy coughed and sputtered. She glanced in the rearview mirror. Oncoming headlights flashed, nearly blinding and looming ever closer; the car seemed to slow for a second, then sped past.

“Don’t panic, don’t panic.” She glanced at the gas gauge, relieved to see it was half full. A moment later, she swerved onto the shoulder, stopped, and watched the other vehicle become a speck then disappear into the night.

She didn’t know whether to be glad or annoyed that the driver hadn’t stopped. She glanced over her shoulder. Neon signs advertising gas and lodging had been swallowed by darkness long ago. Overhead, stars sparkled like diamonds. The clock on the dashboard indicated the eleventh hour, and she twisted her lips in a self-deprecating way. Like a dodo, she’d forgotten her cell phone on the bedside table in her rush to leave. Dejected, she laid her head on the steering wheel, and hopelessness engulfed her.

“What am I to do, Lord?” she murmured.

A rap on the window startled her, and she snapped her head up, her pulse doing double time. A truck driver, slender in build, with hair tucked beneath a work hat, peered at her through square spectacles. She rolled the window down a fraction and glimpsed his Semi across the street.

“Ma’am,” the worker’s voice seemed to boom in the eerie darkness. “You, okay?”

“Yes.” A calmness enveloped her. “But my car’s conked out.”

“Want me to drive you to the next gas station?”

She shook her head and loose curls fell around her temples. “You’re a stranger and … uh …”

“S’ right, ma’am, I understand.” He scratched his nape and smiled, his teeth sparkling white. “You got road service?”

“My husb—I mean yes, yes I do.”

“Give me your card number and I’ll drive into the next town and call ’em for you. Someone’ll come by and tow you in to the nearest garage.”

“Thank you.” She rifled in her purse and jotted her AAA membership code on a crumpled napkin.

“Mind you” —the man rubbed his smooth chin— “Doubt you’ll get anyone to work on it ’til mornin’.”

“How early?”

“Maybe seven, seven-thirty.”

“Um, okay.” She rolled the window a fraction lower and met the man’s steady green gaze, his smile still in place. Was that a pink hue glinting from his headgear? A trick of the light for sure. “Here it is.” She gave him the number, wondering how a trucker could look so squeaky clean, white shirt and spic and span jeans. And his hands; not a speck of car oil or dirt on them. Did Good Samaritans come looking like this? she mused.

“Shouldn’t take more ’n half an hour for someone to get here this time of night,” he reassured, breaking into her thoughts. “Best stay put in that car of yours ’til then.”

At her nod, he touched two fingers to his temple and was gone as instantly as he’d appeared.

“A guardian angel.” She chuckled at her musings, then sobered as silence enfolded her, deafening in its intensity. Resting her head on the steering wheel, she closed her eyes only to pop them open a second later.

Someone pounded on the windshield. Had the man returned? It seemed like he’d just left moments ago. She glimpsed the back of a much taller, heavier man who bent down to inspect the front of her car, his tow truck a few feet behind him.

“Lady,” the driver said, pulling his red cap low over his forehead before straightening. “Put it in neutral and come on out.”

He drew closer, and she glimpsed the company logo on the breast pocket of his oil-smeared overalls. The glare of the truck’s lights had her shielding her eyes with her hand, and she couldn’t decipher the name nor see the man’s face clearly. She rubbed her eyes, thinking it must be about midnight. The man shifted sideways and pulled up the collar of his shirt against rising wind.

He smelled of gas and grease, and she wrinkled her nose in distaste. What a difference from her Good Samaritan. She shrugged and opened the door, thankful for the help. At a time like this, she couldn’t be choosy.

Reaching inside the car, he snapped the knob beneath the dashboard that opened the hood. The motion had him nearly touching her, and although she shrank back against the seat, her nerve endings went on alert. Must be the chill in the air, she thought. He whipped out, moved to the front of the Chevy, and raised the hood. A flick of a flashlight, and he poked his head in the machinery.

“Not the battery.” He tinkered for a few minutes more. “Alternator belt is loose.”

“Can you fix it?”

“Afraid not, ma’am.” With his face hidden under the hood, his words were barely audible. “I’ll have to tow you in.” He flicked off the flashlight, slammed the hood down and bent to hook the chain beneath the front fender. “Come on out.”

She hesitated.