Alex and the Angel (Silhouette Desire)

by Dixie Browning

  “Thanks, but combing won’t help. My mother says it’s a curse Granddad Reilly laid on her when she married my pop instead of the nice Irish boy he had all picked out for her. Neither comb nor brush, nor the finest conditioners shall ever unsnarl these tangled locks,” she intoned solemnly.

  She grinned, and Sandy pointed to her own waterfall-straight hair. “At least yours is interesting. I wanted to have mine cornrowed, but Daddy wouldn’t let me. He won’t let me do anything.” Sighing, she poured two glasses of lemonade that frosted up invitingly, and hooked a lounge chair with her foot, dragging it over. “Sit. You look like you’ve been working. Hey, it’s really neat, owning your own business and all that. How’d you do it?”

  It was impossible not to respond to such frank, fresh admiration. And besides, Angel had been working hard. She had plodded over every square foot of raw red mud on the Lancaster site, figuring what went where, allowing for root growth and overhang, and then drawing up a plat her guys could follow.

  By the time Alex pulled into the driveway, some forty-five minutes earlier than usual, they had covered Angel’s widowhood, which she had glossed over in deference to her listener’s youth and innocence, touched on the problems of doing business in this age of city, county, state and federal regulations, backed up by the usual bureaucratic alphabet soup of agencies, and moved on to the stupid rules that prevented a woman of nearly fifteen from pursuing her own interests.

  Which in Sandy’s case, included a boss hunk named Arvid Moncrief who drove a Vette, and becoming either an artist or an airline pilot.

  Alex came around the house, having already shed his coat, turned back the cuffs of his white-on-white monogrammed shirt, and loosened his tie, in time to hear Angel saying, “—hooch, hormones and horsepower. My brother used to say any one of the three could cause trouble, but taken together, they were a surefire recipe for disaster. Now, I’m not saying big brothers can’t be a royal pain, because they sure as heck can, but I learned the hard way that it pays to listen to mine. Not that I always do.”

  “Not that you ever did, to my knowledge.” Alex watched the color come and go in her face, watched her struggle to climb out of the low lounge chair, and felt a sharp, hot pull of sexual awareness that took him totally by surprise.

  “What do you mean, the hard way? Hi, Dad, we were just having some lemonade before we get to work. Angel’s going to show me how to prune a tree so it scars over just right and doesn’t get infected. I guess that’s why they call ‘em tree surgeons, huh? You used to talk about being a doctor, didn’t you?”

  How could she have known? That had been another lifetime. Before he’d become a father, before he’d met Dina. Before his father had hammered home his responsibility as the sole heir to two generations of furniture makers.

  “Sorry you caught me goofing off,” Angel said, her smile as fresh and unabashed as ever. “Don’t worry, the meter’s not running yet.” She set her empty glass on the wrought iron table. “So! Shall we get started, Sandy? I can tell you right now, Alex, you’re either going to have to waste a couple of those gorgeous Japanese maples or bite the bullet and cover your pool.”

  Another thing about her that hadn’t changed, Alex thought as she took out a grubby-looking notebook and put on her business face, was those eyes of hers. The color of lapis, with sparkles of gold that glittered when she laughed.

  He’d almost forgotten the way she had of wrinkling her nose when she concentrated. He used to tease her about it back in the days when she’d look for any old excuse to hang around, gazing up at him in a way that had made him feel manly and worldly and about seven feet tall.

  How would he handle it if she looked at him that way now?

  “I suppose you know that maple roots always head for water. They can be a royal pain where you have a septic tank.” He was thinking hero worship and she was talking septic tanks?”I’m not sure a pool’s much safer.”

  Sandy started humming the theme from Jaws, and Alex found himself grinning. Once, maybe twice every few months he found something to smile about, which made it all the crazier, the way the woman affected him, coveralls and combat boots notwithstanding.

  They set off for the pool, Sandy and Angel moving on ahead, Alex lingering to empty the lemonade pitcher into the glass Angel had used. He didn’t deliberately seek the place where her mouth had touched, but he didn’t avoid it, either.

  Kid stuff. God, just let him run into an old friend, and he reverted to his childhood!

  Following the two females as they sauntered off down the hill, he couldn’t help but admire the way the center seam in Angel’s bright green coveralls twitched when she walked. She had the kind of build that, according to the medical experts, was the best kind to have for a healthy heart. Pear-shaped. Full hips, small breasts, tiny waist.

  Studying that small-scale, pear-shaped body from behind, it occurred to him that it wasn’t his own heart that was giving him trouble at the moment, but a part of him that had been anesthetized for so long, he’d damn near forgotten it existed.

  He was aroused. By a woman in coveralls and combat boots. A woman who had come to talk to him about trees and septic tanks. Not only was he embarrassed, he felt guilty! Angel Wydowski had definitely grown up, but she was still off-limits. She’d said she was no longer married, so that was no problem, and he was certainly long past the age where he could be led around by his gonads.

  But she was still Gus’s kid sister. Now that he had a daughter of his own to protect, Alex understood fully why Gus had come down so hard on any guy who’d even looked at his kid sister for more than five seconds running.

  The old 3-H Club. Kid stuff. This time, there was no hooch involved, only watered-down lemonade. Definitely no horsepower. What could be safer than a stroll across a backyard, with a daughter acting as chaperon? The only trouble was, a few hormones he’d thought had gone into early retirement were evidently still alive and kicking.

  His stride took on elements of swagger, his grin a certain macho quality that would have sent him gunning for any kid who came sniffing around his daughter with the same look on his face. By the time he caught up with them, they were designating which branches above what height would have to go. Every time Angel lifted her arm to gesture, Alex found himself unconsciously searching her chest for any indication that she’d matured in the bosom department. Why couldn’t she wear jeans and a T-shirt like everyone else?

  Judas Priest! When had he turned into a dirty old man?

  Embarrassed at the direction his thoughts had taken, he stared at the spreading limbs and tried to concentrate on what she was saying. Something about how close to the trunk to make the cut so that it would scar over properly.

  Before he could come up with a single intelligent question that would prove he was interested in her mind and not lusting after her body, the phone inside the house began to ring. Reprieved, he turned toward the house just as Mrs. Gilly stuck her head out the French doors. “Sandy, it’s for you. Your young man.”

  Alex’s knees locked. His angular features took on a steely look that had made more than one young man swallow his Adam’s apple. “If that’s Moncrief, Alexandra, you can tell him—”

  But Sandy was already gone, long legs flashing in the late afternoon, early autumn sunlight.

  Angel came up silently beside him. “Not that it’s any of my business,” she said quietly, “but if Sandy were my daughter—”

  “She’s not.” He regretted his short reply even before he saw the gold flecks in her eyes disappear, leaving them opaque. “Sorry. Nothing personal, Angel, but Sandy’s my problem.”

  He might have known she wouldn’t back down. “Fine. But I hope you know how lucky you are to have such a problem. She’s a bright girl, Alex, but even the smartest girl needs more than some fathers are willing to give.”

  “Are you offering your services?” Another dig he regretted too late. The trouble was, since his divorce he’d had to go on the defensive where women were concerned.
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  “To Sandy, maybe—if she needs me. Not to you.” Very deliberately, she scribbled a name and number on a scrap of paper, tore it off and then closed her notebook, twisted her mechanical pencil and tucked them both away in the pocket of her coveralls. With a smile that was about as genuine as a ten-dollar Rolex, she said, “Here’s the name and number of the best tree guy in town. He’s not cheap, but your trees will be in good hands. I’ll see you around, okay?”

  Alex jammed the scrap of paper into his shirt pocket without even glancing at it. “Angel, wait! Look, I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean that the way it sounded, it’s just that—”

  “I’ll tell Gus I saw you, shall I? He usually calls on weekends.”

  Feeling lower than pond scum, Alex watched her walk away, her short legs twitching the heavy cotton twill enticingly over her rounded buttocks. He cursed himself for being rude, for being an arrogant jerk. And then, as he watched her tug open the door of her van and swing herself up by the side view mirror, he cursed himself for being a lecherous bastard.

  Watching her back down the driveway, he wondered if she still had to sit on a pillow, the way she had when he and Gus had taught her to drive Gus’s old Falcon. She’d begged to try out Alex’s Mustang, but Gus had put his foot down. Alex would probably have given in. He’d had a secret weakness for Gus’s kid sister in those days. Part of being an only child, he’d tried to tell himself.

  “Hey, where’s Angel going?” Sandy asked plaintively, coming to stand beside him at the edge of the driveway.

  “Home, I suppose. It’s getting late.”

  “But I wanted to invite her to have dinner with us tonight. Mrs. Gilly said it would be all right.”

  “Mrs. Gilly doesn’t make the rules around here, in case it escaped your notice.”

  “Is it because she’s wearing, like, coveralls? Daddy, that’s just plain arctic! Nobody—”

  “Archaic,” he corrected automatically.

  “I mean, nobody cares about junk like that anymore! I think your old rules stink!”

  “I’m sure you do, but as long as you’re—”

  “I know, I know—as long as I’m living under your roof, I have to bow and scrape to your royal highness.”

  A grin threatened to kick in again, against all logic. He had a pretty fair notion what she was thinking, and it wasn’t about his royal highness. “Sorry, sweetheart, it’s the system. It suckers us all in, and before we know it, we’re nothing but mind-numbed robots, having to wash up before meals, having to listen to DWEM composers instead of demolition derbies set to music while we dine. Having to—”

  “All right, all right!” Out came the lower lip. Down came the scowling brows. “But I’m not going to stop being friends with her, I don’t care what you say! And I might even work at her place next summer. She hires, like, school kids sometimes.”

  “Fine with me,” he said mildly. Last week it was the record shop at the mall. The week before that, she was planning to look for a job at a riding stable. At least she’d given up on the airline thing. “By the way, I won’t be in for dinner tonight, but I won’t be out late, either, if you want to talk after you finish your homework.”

  She looked hurt. He didn’t want to see it. “If I want to talk, I’ll call Angel. At least she treats me like an adult, which is more than I can say about some people.”

  Pond scum. That about said it all.

  * * *

  Before they even ordered dinner, Alex knew the evening was going to be a bummer. Carol had made several pointed remarks about friends whose daughters went off to school and how well it turned out for all concerned.

  “I’d be the first to admit I lose patience sometimes—whoever said raising a daughter alone was easy, obviously never had tried it—but I’d miss her too much, Carol. She’s all I’ve got left.” He attempted a smile, but it failed for lack of conviction. “I guess it comes of being an only child of an only child. We only children have special obligations. We have to be there for each other, whether or not it’s always convenient.”

  “Nonsense! Darling, Sandy has plenty of friends. No girl her age wants a father always hanging around, cramping her style.”

  “Maybe her style needs a bit of cramping.”

  “And maybe she just needs to be with kids her own age. It’s not as though you’re some doddering old relict, gathering his family around him for support in his waning years. You’re young, healthy, virile—and certainly more than able to take on additional responsibility.”

  “Additional responsibility?”

  “You could even have a second family.”

  “Not if I want to stay sane.”

  “That’s what boarding schools are for. Did it ever occur to you, darling, that Sandy would adore having a baby sister or brother? It would give her something to do with her evenings besides hanging around boys.”

  A waiter appeared at his side, and Alex ordered the broiled chicken for Carol and braised calf’s liver for himself. Maybe he needed more iron in his diet. God knows, he needed something he wasn’t get-ting.

  “Things are different now than when we were kids, Carol. These days, girls Sandy’s age are exposed to a lot of new dangers. I want her to know—especially after Dina—” He shrugged. “At any rate, she needs to know she comes first with me. I’m not sure taking on a second family would be the thing to do.”

  “Oh, but the experts all say—”

  “Any dozen experts will say at least a dozen different things. Experts are like statistics. You can always find a few to back most any crackbrained theory you want to propose. The trouble comes when you put theory to the test and find out it’s full of holes. I guess I’ll just have to blunder along the best way I can and hope for the best.” Leaning back, he crossed his arms casually over his chest, hoping she would take the hint.

  Subject closed.

  “Now...shall I order us another bottle of wine?”

  * * *

  Later that evening, Alex told himself that he owed Angel a call. Owed her an apology, too, only he wasn’t entirely sure which offense to apologize for first. Cutting off her attempt to help with Sandy, or lusting after her delectable little body.

  The truth was, he suspected it was more than her body he lusted after. She made him smile. She made him want to laugh. She made him feel young again.

  Which was why he decided not to call her. Not to expose himself to danger. He had enough to deal with without waking any sleeping dragons.

  Three

  Having recently studied every new line, every slightest hint of aging on Alex’s face, Angel now examined her brother with the same squinty-eyed concentration. “Ah-ha! Six more gray hairs,” she pronounced with grim satisfaction. Why was it that men improved with age, while women only aged?

  While he would never be called classically handsome, with his wicked blue eyes and his full black beard, Gus looked like the pirate hero on the cover of one of her new paperback romances. He had aged remarkably well.

  So had Alex, dammit.

  There was a lot to be said for aristocratic bone structure, she concluded dismally. So far as the naked eye could discern, she didn’t even possess any bone structure.

  “What happened, did you fall on your head?” She indicated a scar that snaked into the edge of his unruly hair, diagonally up from the one she happened to know was hidden by his beard.

  “Two-by-four. Guy didn’t signal his turn in time. Hey, Angel, what’s with the blinking lights? Does that happen often?”

  “No more than once or twice a week. Want a bagel with your coffee?”

  “Hmm. I should’ve checked out the wiring last time I was here. A bagel? Yeah, sure, hon. Remind me to get my meter out of the truck when I bring in my bag, will you?”

  Angel poured coffee, set out a crock of cheese and a half-dozen fresh bagels. She’d been working like a Trojan all day. Gus had pulled in just before dark, looking gaunt and tired, but when she’d offered to cook him a meal, he’d said he wasn’t hungry.


  The day Gus Wydowski wasn’t hungry was the day they laid him out in the front parlor with a lily in his fist. Something was bothering him, and it was her duty as his only relative east of the Mississippi to drag it out of him.

  She decided on the indirect route. She wasn’t very good at it, but one didn’t butt heads with Gus Wydowski and come out the winner. “Guess who I saw twice last week?” she mentioned casually as she slathered cheese on half a bagel and handed it across the table. “Hightower. And I met his daughter, too, and she’s something else. Blond, gray eyed, tall—she looks like Dina, but she’s a lot more interesting, even at fourteen.”

  Gus had been in love with Dina. They’d never spoken of it, and Angel didn’t think Alex had ever guessed, but she’d known practically from the first. If she hadn’t already hated the woman for stealing Alex, she would have hated her for that. Dina ex-Hightower was a gold-plated bitch, even if she was a countess or duchess or whatever in some two-bit kingdom nobody’d ever heard of.

  Poor Gus, he’d stood up with Alex at the wedding, and then headed for the hills, seven months short of graduation. He never had gone back for his degree.

  “Great. So how’s Alex?” Without waiting for an answer, he continued. “You know, I’ve got a job lined up at the beach, kid. Probably take until November to get it under cover. Why not take a break and come on down for a week or so?”

  “Aren’t you even curious?”

  Gus reached for another bagel, smeared it with cheese and then got up and rummaged around in her refrigerator for something sweet to spread on top of that. “Curious?”

  “About Alex. How he’s doing and all. You two haven’t seen each other in years, and you used to be close as two nuts in a hull. Make that three, counting Kurt.”

  “So? I’ve been busy. Have you got any lime marmalade?”

  She took a jar out of the pantry, opened it and handed it over. “Your teeth are going to rot out. You know, if Alex were my best friend, and I hadn’t seen him in—”