Page 2 of Sam to the Rescue

“Did you just call me darlin’?” Lucky chuckles on the other side of the line as I ease onto the highway,

“Not you, smart ass, the newswoman.” A deep breath releases some of my pent-up tension. “Okay, where were we?”

“Getting you some help, ya bloody nutcase.”

“Been there, done that.” My toe presses on the pedal, I switch on a blinker, and speed forward in the fast lane.

“Riiight. Well, just in case you need Blake’s number, I’m sending it.”

“I promise, if the problem worsens, I will. Okay mum?”

“Fair dinkum.”

“My dinkum is a helluva lot better than average.”

“Means good enough, ya dipstick.”

“Again, with the references to your skinny cock. You jealous?”

“You wish, mate.”

After exchanging a few more insults, I hang up and use the drive time to think. Was the Afghan woman a figment of my imagination, a stupid coincidence, or purposefully put there as a distraction.?

Whatever the reason, today was a close call. One I dare not repeat.

Chapter 2

Samantha Sutcliff

Grinning, my son kicks his feet in his battery powered swing. “Da-da-da-da-daaaaa.”

“Momma. C’mon honey. Say maa-maa.” Kneeling in front of my sweet boy, I can’t help but share his giggles.

“Da-dee. Da-dee.” As he catches my eye, I swear he’s trying to mess with my mind but I will not be deterred by his blatant refusal to say my name.

“Okay, kiddo. From now on, I am Dad, the woman formerly known as mommy. Got it?” Problem solved, I kiss his talc-smelling head, stand, stretch, and sip on my cold cup of decaf. For over a year, I’ve given up caffeine and am ready to resume the habit.

Swallowing, I stick out my tongue and hold my mug toward my cherub. “Look at all I’ve sacrificed for you.”

Even as we share a laugh, a few tears well. Mikey grows bigger every day and his nursing days are at an end. Those two front teeth came in sharp and no amount of guidance helps when he’s hungry.

On the plus side? Wine and cappuccino, here I come. I wonder if I could mix them as a cocktail. Probably not, but I might try it once, to celebrate.

Hey, don’t judge me. It could be a thing.

With my son happy, I settle down at my kitchen table. In a way, I miss my old loft-slash-office but my tough guy and I talked about the move at length. We like sex, so doors are important.

Smiling, I recall this morning’s bed play and my still-tingling lady lips twitch. The best part of waking up is not coffee in my cup. It’s my man deep inside me.

Daydreaming and procrastinating, I open our company’s new accounting application. Woo hoo! After paying all our bills,Suds and Samis in the black. Thanks to the pandemic, divorce rates are up. Apparently, for a lot of couples, too much togetherness is not optimal.

Sighing, I pick up a bucket of crumpled papers and flatten them on the table. We have a place to upload receipts but no-no-no,myhusband prefershismethodology. Like the hamper, I will mansplain it to him and eventually, we’ll reach a compromise, meaning he’ll do it my way.

I could use it as leverage. I agree to his paperwork if he stops insisting I’m a danger magnet. During our last conversation on said subject, he made me promise to stay home. In his opinion, I must prove I can take care of myself before going out in the field.

Once I stopped yelling, I calmed and agreed to more training. I don’t want to put anyone, especially those close to me, at risk. Since then, I’ve worked out daily at the dojo and practiced at a shooting range almost as often. Soon, I’ll be able to prove I’m a perfectly capable private detective.

As I’m closing down the spreadsheets, my doorbell app rings on my phone. “Suds and Sam. Can I help you?”