Angel in Disguise (17 page)

“Don’t listen to her, Red,” he said, patting the roof as he got behind the steering wheel. “She doesn’t mean it.” He turned the key, put Old Red in reverse and backed out, leaving Meggy standing in the driveway with her hands on her hips.

“Pete, wait!”

He hit the brakes. He knew that panicky sound.

She ran down the drive after him. “I almost forgot the reason I came,” she panted, clinging to the frame of his open window. “I want to talk to you about the report-back taping tonight. You received the reminder in the mail, didn’t you?”

He’d gotten it and wanted to show up as much as he wanted to repeat a surgery, but he wouldn’t risk getting her in trouble. Besides, Sunny needed him to complete the job.

“You can save your pitiful little-sister thing,” he said, “I’ll be there.”

Meggy’s smile was the watery, grateful one he’d always suspected was as manipulative as it might be sincere.

“I bet you’re looking forward to seeing Sunny, huh?”

Manipulative. Definitely. And she deserved to sweat for trying that on him. “You know,” he said, as if he’d just thought of something, “there is this one thing I have to do before the taping that could make me a little late. But I don’t think I’ll miss the whole thing.”

Her blue eyes widened. “Petey! Don’t do this to me!”

Pete smiled and took off. In his rearview mirror, he saw Meggy stamp her foot. She wouldn’t get so upset if she’d learn to mind her own business.

Rush-hour traffic on the Santa Monica Freeway was the steady grind one expected at this hour. Being part of it felt right. Like the other drivers, he had a destination, a purpose, a goal. He could have waited until later in the morning when the drive would have taken less time, but he liked it this way, riding along with his arm out the window, feeling the wind whip his hair, listening to his tunes, just being part of the crowd.

It didn’t matter that his life had turned upside down in the last two years, that he’d lost his wife, his dad, the job he loved and his friends. When he saw the ocean, his spirits always lifted. His life was nothing compared to the vastness of the sea. If the Creator could keep all that power in check, he could take care of a sorry beach bum like himself, maybe even make him into something.

At one of the more modest beachfront homes in Malibu Colony, he turned into the driveway and cued a remote control to open the garage door. Parking inside, Pete went straight to the kitchen, plunked his thermos on the counter and transferred his lunch from the pail to the refrigerator.

Early-morning sunlight shone through skylights overlooking the living room as he headed upstairs and walked along the balcony. At the end, he entered the master bedroom and its huge walk-in closet. Stepping out of his sneakers, he placed them carefully on an otherwise-empty rack, removed his jeans and hung them on a hook. From a built-in
drawer filled with beachwear, he chose a pair of black trunks.

Clad in the trunks and his T-shirt, Pete gave the empty tie rack a spin and checked his watch. Dithering with Meggy had put him off schedule, but not much.

Walking downstairs, he ran his hand along the stairway rail he’d installed five years ago. Though he’d worked on many upscale homes with his dad, this place was a favorite. It connected with the best part of his life. When he had more money than he knew what to do with and more hours than he could fill, the house had been available. For a million-five, it became his.

As he did every day, Pete poured a thermos-lid of coffee and carried it to the deck. Like a thousand watercolors of ocean meeting sky, the scene before him was sun-filled serenity. The rhythmic sound of the surf made him feel relaxed and alive at the same time. He sipped his coffee, relaxed in a lounge chair and wondered what the day would bring.

A school of dolphins might appear. He’d watch old men fish from the pier and pelicans bob for lunch. Bev Sapato next door would water her flowerpots and tell him the latest gossip her movie-producer husband brought home. Neighbors would pass and greet him by name. One was a rock star, another had his own sitcom. People were friendly out here, their back doors sharing the same ocean.

He finished drinking his coffee and lowered the back of the lounger. If he dozed a bit when people ought to be working, it wouldn’t matter. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on the peaceful sound of water
gently lapping the shore. He let his mind drift aimlessly. He hadn’t a care in the world.

Except Sunny. She was unfinished business. He hadn’t been this obsessed with a woman since his hormones raged as a teen. He told himself it was a logical reaction because he hadn’t been with a woman in a long time, but he lied.

The wanting was for Sunny, and Sunny alone. He wanted her laughter, her sassy independence and her outlook on life. He wanted to see her beautiful eyes light up when she smiled, and he wanted to feel her touch on his brow.

To be very honest, he also wanted to sleep with his body molded to hers, his arms around her, their bare legs touching as they had on Big Bear. But it wouldn’t happen. That was a fluke, a one-time necessity. That kind of closeness called for a man’s heart, commitment, promises.

The promises he’d made to Lisa hadn’t been enough to hold her. Without meaning to love her less than she needed, he’d failed. A man couldn’t fail if he didn’t try.

Chicken. That’s what he was. A scaredy-cat chicken.

Afraid to go after what he wanted, playing it safe, letting the real world pass him by. But he’d never been a risk taker. At restaurants, he ordered steak and potatoes, nothing exotic. He didn’t jump out of airplanes or dive into unknown waters. What he couldn’t see, he didn’t trust.

There it was: trust.

A couple of weeks ago, when Sunny talked about trusting God, he’d thought she was a little naive.
Now he knew she’d been right on the money. How long had she been a Christian? Maybe with time, a person got better at trusting, though he couldn’t see himself bungee jumping or anything stupid, no matter how close to God he became.

“Pete?”

The bloodhound? Not again. Her voice came from the beach. Ignore it. Maybe she’d go away.

“Pete?” She’d reached the steps to the deck.

Go away? In his dreams.

“What are you doing here, Pete?”

He groaned and peeled himself up off the lounger, marching toward the house. Meggy padded barefoot behind him.

“Answer me!” she demanded. “What are you doing here?”

Whirling, he jabbed a finger at her. “How did you get here?”

“I followed you.”

“You followed me? I didn’t see your car.” He had checked his rearview mirror for it, several times.

She grinned. “That’s because I borrowed a van. Gotcha!”

He ought to be furious with her, and he was. Unfortunately he couldn’t stay mad nearly long enough when she was this happy with herself. Yanking a lock of her hair, he said, “Sisters!”

“Brothers!” she retorted with a kiss on his cheek.

He wiped the kiss off, scowling, hoping she’d back off.

But she beamed. “Are you house-sitting this place?”

Since it looked like his hideaway days were over,
he might as well come clean. “The house is mine. It was the last one Dad and I built before he died.”

Meggy looked shocked. “You bought a house in Malibu Colony? What bank did you rob?”

“You knew there was a settlement from the accident.”

“I didn’t know you got this kind of money! You didn’t act like it, and you live like a pauper. You let me rent you a truck when you could afford a place like this? Shame on you, Pete!”

“Renting the truck was not my idea.”

For once she had no comeback. She sighed in contentment looking around the deck with its containers of flowers planted by good neighbor Bev. “This place is great.”

Pete grinned, the happy pride of ownership making him glad to have someone to share his place with, even if it was his nosy sister. “Want a tour?”

“Sure, especially if it comes with a cold drink.”

Pete stood aside, letting her precede him into the house.

“Good grief! It’s a gym!”

It was, almost. Instead of filling the living room with furniture, he had splurged on exercise equipment to help his recovery. He hated those gyms where single women hung out, and he sure didn’t fit in where guys were in love with the mirrors.

“Diet cola okay?”

“Sure.” She followed him into the kitchen. “I see now why you didn’t have a cooler,” she said, laughing at herself.

He opened the refrigerator door and she peered
over his shoulder. Only a miracle would save him from another lecture.

“Uh, Pete…”

No miracle today.

“I know you’ve been in rehab, so I don’t expect leftovers, but where’s the food? Mustard, pickles, the standard stuff?”

When he didn’t answer, she turned to the cupboards, finding them empty, slamming each shut a little harder than the last.

He crossed his arms, not liking this one bit, but knowing there was no stopping tornadoes, hurricanes or snoopy sisters.

“What’s going on? There’s not one dish, not even a broom.”

“The cleaning lady brings her own supplies.”

“Okay, but where’s the dishes? The dish soap? What about all your vitamins? And your peanut butter? You can’t make it without your peanut butter. It’s like nobody lives here.”

“Nobody does.” He handed her a can of cola and carried one of his own into the living room.

“You don’t live here?” She followed him like a shadow. “I thought you said you bought the place. I don’t understand.”

“What’s to understand? I still live in Sylvan City. I come here to go to the beach and work out.”

Her jaw dropped. Her blue eyes snapped. “You stay cooped up in that little house when you could be living here?”

“Sylvan City’s good enough for me.” When had Meggy turned into a snob?

“Good enough! What’s that got to do with anything?
A roof over your head is ‘good enough’ as long as it’s paid for by honest work. We weren’t raised to judge people by things. The only one who ever gave a rip about ‘good enough’ was…”

She stopped and stared at him, her eyes comprehending.

“Oh, Petey, if you’re living at the old house to prove it should have been ‘good enough’ for Lisa, that’s just pathetic.”

She could stow that attitude and keep her opinions to herself.

“Don’t you know by now that nothing would have been good enough for that greedy two-timer?”

It was true. Nothing had been good enough for Lisa. Not his job or the house. Not the amount of time he spent with her or the quality of life they’d had. He could still hear her voice, listing his shortcomings, justifying her reasons for leaving him. But he didn’t discuss that with his little sister, especially when she stood there with pity on her face.

“There were a lot of things that bothered Lisa,” he said, wanting Meggy to leave it at that.

“C’mon, admit it, Pete. Lisa was a pain. If you’re still clinging to an old address when you could be here, you’re just trying to prove a point. Unfortunately, the only thing you’re proving is how much Lisa still controls you.”

Pounding anger ripped through his body. Meggy had no business butting into his life, no business at all. His know-it-all sister had crossed the line. To make things worse, it didn’t help realizing she just might be right.

Behind the pulsing neon heart on the
Dream Date
set, Sunny waited with Pete for their cue, wondering what had happened to the easygoing guy who’d gotten her through their camera-chaperoned dates. Standing here, he was as standoffish as a little boy forced to share space with a yucky girl.

Maybe he was nervous about going out there in front of the studio audience. That she could understand. The butterflies in her own stomach were having a party. Then again, maybe he was just here, doing his duty, helping her extricate herself from Bruce’s life, yet wanting her to realize this was it for him.

If that was the case, so be it. Hadn’t they both said they weren’t ready for relationships? It wasn’t his fault she felt differently now. She’d made it alone before. She could again. Still, only yesterday, he’d sounded as if he thought of them as a couple with a future.

“Are your girls here tonight?” he asked, breaking his silence.

“Yes, though Mouse is miffed because I wouldn’t let her pick out my clothes. She says this looks like an old lady’s dress.”

Her peripheral vision caught him checking out the dress she’d chosen from her pre-San Josita wardrobe. There’d only been one that was sexy enough for the character she was playing, yet a step up from the leather miniskirt. A designer label, the style emphasized her figure without being too revealing.

“Mouse was wrong.” His lopsided smile made an appearance. “You look terrific.” His gaze lingered
somewhere between her short hem and three-inch heels.

It was just a stab in the dark, but if there was such a thing as a leg man, she’d say Pete was it.

She returned the compliment. “You look nice tonight.”

“Nice” was such an understatement. With his ebony hair freshly cut, his tanned, angular jaw closely shaved and his blue eyes just as kind and unconceited as ever, she could hardly keep her eyes off him. Dark jeans molded to muscular legs. A white shirt hung perfectly over his wide shoulders and powerful chest. The man was a genuine hunk.

“Nervous?” he asked, his eyes skittering everywhere.

“A little,” she admitted. “How about you?”

“I’m so nervous, I’m about to be sick.”

So that was it. How had she missed the tiny beads of sweat on his brow and the pallor around his mouth? “Are you going to be all right?” she asked.

He nodded. “It’s the waiting I can’t take.”

Meggy passed them, escorting the program’s chosen couple offstage. She must have known how Pete felt, for she patted his arm sympathetically and said, “You’re on next.”

Pete knew he was about to be seriously sick. Like the last time he was here, giant willy worms crawled in his belly. His heart pounded crazily, and breathing was a voluntary task. How did they get people to go on this show day after day? Maybe Meggy had been desperate for a replacement when she’d begged him to help out.