“You’re not very grateful for the ride, now are you?”
Angel smiled sheepishly. Her car would be in the shop for another day or so to repair the broken lock. “I’m grateful. Just let me out.”
As he pulled over to the curb, the brakes let out a piercing squeal. Angel groaned. “This old car of dad’s—”
“Is a classic! And it’s going to be a beauty when I’m done with her. Just you wait and see.”
“Okay, okay.” She clutched her tiny handbag. “Just let me out. I don’t want anyone to see you.” After hours of working on his precious car, her older brother remained covered, head to toe, in grease.
“What’s wrong? Ashamed of the way I look?”
“Nardo -”
“Come on, now.”
The car came to a stop and she reached for the doorknob. “Thanks for the ride.” She turned, shocked to find Peter standing just outside the car.
“He looks a little freaked out.” Nardo grinned then reached over to give her a playful slug on the upper arm.
“Ow!” She rubbed at her arm and slugged him back. “See you later.” Angel opened the door carefully, trying to keep the window from slipping out, as it so often did. She stepped outside and closed the door gingerly behind her, then waved goodbye. Nardo pulled away, tires squealing. Angel shrugged, and then looked at Peter with a smile. “Sorry. He’s not the best driver.”
“I’ve been meaning to ask you about him.” Peter’s gaze followed the car as her brother rounded the corner a little too fast.
“Who, Nardo?” She looked up at Peter nervously. “He’s a great guy.”
“Does he hurt you?”
“What?” Angel immediately took offense. “Nardo wouldn’t hurt a flea.”
“I saw him hit you just then—on the arm.”
“Oh, that.” She laughed. “We play around like that all the time. You know how it is.”
“Not really.” He took a step toward the large home. She followed at a distance.
Angel took a deep breath before continuing. She tried to make light conversation as they walked. “Great house. Lived here long?”
“Three years,” he said. “We lived in Houston until a couple of years ago. My dad’s a talent scout.”
“Here on the island? I’m surprised he’s not in L.A. or someplace like that.”
“Trust me, there are a lot of things stirring on the island. There’s even a TV show filmed here now.”
“Oh, that’s right. I heard about that.”
“We couldn’t pry him away from the island, trust me.” Peter turned to look at her. “But, what about you? You must like the Galveston area pretty well. I mean, you live here too, right?”
He looked at her suspiciously and she felt the usual jitters in her stomach. Obviously the time had come to tell the story. The whole story. “Well, actually. . .”
The front door swung open and a woman in a beautiful white blouse and linen skirt stepped outside. Her blonde hair was swept back with a beautiful shell clip and her hazel eyes shone with excitement. “This must be your friend.” She took Angel by the hand.
“Mother, this is Angel. Angel, my mother, Donita Campbell.”
Angel squeezed the woman’s hand tenderly, surprised at such a warm reception. “Pleased to meet you.”
“The pleasure is all mine, I’m sure. Now you two just follow me inside.” They made their way through the front door and into a large entryway with a wide curving stairway leading up to the second floor. “I hope you’re not terribly bored tonight, Angel.” Donita reached to take her bag. “This is really more of a business dinner. My husband has a client over.”
“I’m sure it will be great.”
“Well, every time he starts talking about this commercial or that commercial, I just lose interest. I hope it’s not too dull for you.”
“If it is, I’ll just jump in and save the day.” Peter interjected. “I can usually manage to get Dad to shift back into normal conversation.”
“So, your dad does commercials?” Angel was more than a little interested. Perhaps she could discover a few things about how a real advertising firm operated. If she worded her questions correctly.
“Not exactly,” Donita explained. “He’s an agent. You’ve probably seen some of his clients in commercials, TV shows, movies. Have you seen the new commercial for Sassy Shampoo? The one where the girl is—”
“Dancing across the living room with the hairbrush in her hand?” Angel finished the sentence excitedly.
“That’s the one. That girl—the one with the red hair—she’s his client.”
Angel immediately broke into the Sassy Shampoo ditty and Mrs. Campbell joined in. Peter added the harmony just as Mr. Campbell joined them.
“Peter.”
They abruptly stopped singing as he answered. “Yes, Father?”
Angel immediately noticed a change in Peter’s expression, a more controlled look.
“This is your friend, I take it.” Mr. Campbell extended his hand, lips tight.
Angel shook it firmly. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Angel Fuentes.”
“Angel. Interesting name. I’m Peter Campbell, Sr.”
“Mr. Campbell.”
“I’d like you to meet my client, Mr. Branson Starr.” Angel tried not to stare at the shockingly handsome young man who had suddenly appeared in the doorway. He wore a designer suit and sported a tie so white it glistened—even from this distance. It was almost as white as his teeth.
Almost. She nodded in his direction and Mr. Campbell continued. “I believe Gavin has dinner ready for us. Let’s make our way to the dining room, shall we?” He led the way into a large room with rich mahogany furnishings. The table seemed to beckon with its exquisite china and large crystal goblets.
Angel tried to analyze Mr. Campbell as they sat. He was a tall, foreboding man with a narrow face. Pale. All work and no play, no doubt about that. And he certainly had an eye for spotting talent from the looks of the glistening Mr. Starr. But why would Peter’s whole disposition change when his father walked in the room?
These were questions worth finding answers to. But right now the most delicious salad she had ever laid eyes on was placed in front of her. And now, after little more than a few chocolate chip cookie crumbs to fend off her hunger today, she couldn’t wait to dive in.
***
Peter watched Angel out of the corner of his eye, half terrified she would slip and say something inappropriate in front of his father and half relieved she was here to ease the pressure in the room. His mother seemed content to act as hostess, and even paused on several occasions to chat with Angel. They seemed to connect right away. On more than one occasion, his mom caught his eye and winked. Peter couldn’t help but wonder what she would think if she knew the truth. The whole thing made him a nervous wreck.
Peter didn’t have to wonder what his father would think if he discovered Angel’s identity. He knew without a shadow of a doubt. The man thrived on spending time with the right people and making the right connections. Usually those connections took place on evenings such as this, at stuffy business dinners. These events had always left Peter a little nerve-wracked. The elder Mr. Campbell couldn’t seem to leave his work at the office. He also battled an inflated ego, which occasionally put their guests on edge.
But Angel didn’t seem to notice. Or, if she did, she didn’t seem to mind. On the contrary, she complimented his father on several occasions and spoke to Mr. Starr as if they were old friends.
Mr. Starr. Now there was another story. Peter looked at the fellow with a certain degree of suspicion. He was about as phony as his name. A couple of commercials, one TV sitcom walk-on and the guy thought he was a superstar. Give me a break. On the other hand, Angel sure seemed to be paying a lot of attention to him tonight. Of course, he was good looking. No denying that. Surely she wasn’t. . .
Nah. Surely not.
Suddenly Peter felt an awkwardness he hadn’t sensed before. He tried to lay it
to rest as the meal continued on, though he struggled a bit. But why? Why would he care if Angel showed an interest in Branson?
Was she interested in Branson? For some reason, the very thought worried him. Starr seemed glaringly overambitious. Angel, clearly, had little ambition. Besides, she didn’t need to be interested in anyone right now. She needed to be focused on getting her life together. There would be plenty of time for relationships later. And when she was ready, it wouldn’t be with a guy like that.
Not that he had anything to do with it. However, several times during the meal Peter found his attentions shifted to Angel. She looked absolutely beautiful in her sleek black gown. It accentuated her dark brown eyes and olive skin. Her makeup complemented her lovely features and had been artfully applied. She was exquisite, right down to her polished nails and black heels. None of this made any sense.
Clearly, Branson had noticed her appearance as well, telling her on several occasions what a knockout she was. She had blushed and thanked him, then politely tried to change the direction of the conversation.
Peter had missed nothing. But where had the dress come from? That’s what he wanted to know. More curious yet, where had she come from? She spoke professionally, clearly impressing both of his parents. They would never have to know he had found her in a dumpster. She had apparently conquered the art of covering her tracks when she had to.
“Mmm. This is wonderful, Mrs. Campbell.” Peter watched as Angel took a delicate bite of the salmon. “I’d love to have your recipe.”
“Oh, I rarely cook, Honey,” Donita said with a laugh. “But I’ll pass your compliments on to our chef.”
“Please do.” Angel took a larger bite, and washed it down with a swallow of water with lemon. Peter couldn’t take his eyes off of her. She had a marvelous appetite, another puzzle for someone with such a trim physique. Obviously years on the street had left her with curious eating patterns. She had managed to eat every bite of her salad and even asked for seconds when the first round of salmon, fresh vegetables and rice pilaf had been consumed.
As a beautiful dessert of fruit and sorbet arrived, Peter finally began to relax. Perhaps his fears concerning Angel were ill founded. Besides, there seemed to be a real goodness about her that could not be ignored. If only he could balance that with the stolen computer he had seen in her hands just a few short hours ago. Had he completely misunderstood?
As the conversation continued, Peter joined in, content in the fact that the Lord remained in control of this situation. Just as they began to discuss his father’s latest client, a woman by the name of Jeanene, something caught his attention. What was that sticking out of Angel’s sleeve?
A price tag? Angel wiggled her arm a bit as she reached for a loose strawberry and the tag fell slipped out in full view of everyone in the room.
$395.00?
Suddenly Peter’s blood began to boil. Every horrible thing he had imagined about Angel was true. She was a thief—and not a very good one, at that. She had stolen a computer, a credit card and now an expensive dress. Maybe she had paid for it with the bogus credit card and left the tag on so she could return it for cash. Obviously she had become skilled at scamming people, but enough was enough. He had to do something. . .and now.
But not in front of his parents.
Peter awkwardly fought to get Angel’s attention. He tried clearing his throat and dropping his napkin, but nothing seemed to work. Finally he resorted to kicking her under the table.
“Ouch!” She glared at him. He glared back, with a pointed, accusatory expression. She followed his gaze and immediately reached for her sleeve. Her mouth flew open in despair.
“Are you alright, Angel?” His mother looked concerned.
“Fine. Thank you.” Her cheeks turned crimson as she fingered the tag and shoved it up under the sleeve once again.
“You look a little flushed, dear. Are you warm?”
“No, I’m fine.” With a little maneuvering, she managed to get the tag hidden without anyone else at the table noticing.
“Tell us about your work, Angel.” Peter directed the question at her with a look that could not be ignored.
She looked at him nervously. “My work?”
“Yes, tell us what you do for a living.” An adrenaline rush began to propel him, one he could not explain. He had to get to the bottom of this mess, right here, right now.
She bit her look and shook her head slightly. “There’s not much to tell, really. It all started when I went to college at Lonestar. Then I transferred to U of H.”
“Great school,” his father interjected.
“I went there, myself.” Branson had to throw his two cents worth in.
Peter stared at her impatiently. If she went to U of H., I’m a Harvard grad. A little quizzing was in order here. “What did you study?” he asked.
“You’re a fine one to be asking,” his father muttered.
Peter twisted the cloth napkin into knots as he responded. “Dad, you know I’m going to be picking up some ministry classes online next semester. I can’t help it that I didn’t fit in with the secular University crowd. It just wasn’t my bag.” He thinks I’m such a disappointment because I didn’t get my degree. But he doesn’t understand that I have different goals. We’re not the same man.
“Hmph.” Peter Campbell, Sr. turned his attentions to Angel once again. “This young woman was about to tell us her story.”
Angel looked about as scared as a kindergartner boarding the school bus for the first time. “Well,” she stammered. “At first I studied history. Then later, when that didn’t work out I started working on my—”
“I know just how that goes,” Branson interrupted. “I started on a music degree my first year. Second year I switched to Business. I finally got it right my third year when I switched to acting.” He went off on a long dissertation about his journey to stardom, which only proved to further irritate Peter, who sat in stony silence as the coffee was served. Branson rambled on and on, but Angel never got around to answering the original question.
And Peter decided she was clearly beyond help.
***
Angel’s heart pounded as they stood to leave the dining room. Something had happened to change Peter’s attitude toward her, but what? Had the loose price tag really been that much of an embarrassment? Was he so concerned about the opinions of his father that a simple slip-up could have upset him to such a degree?
How prideful could one man be?
She raced back through the conversation in an attempt to figure out his change of attitude. Peter Campbell suspected her of something, to be sure. She looked across the table into his beautiful blue eyes. They raged with anger.
Angel fought back tears. When he heard her story, he would understand.
Without a doubt, she must tell him.
Tonight.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“What’s your problem?” Angel could feel the veins in her neck bulging, but didn’t care.
“What’s my problem?” Peter echoed. “What’s your problem?”
Angel stared him down. “I don’t have a problem.”
“Don’t you? I’d say you have a lot of problems.” Even in the dim moonlight, his clenched lips let Angel know he was prepared for battle. She had felt it coming as they walked out the front door of his house. But why? What in the world had she done to trigger this sort of reaction?
He forged ahead, giving her no time to respond. “Look, I think it’s time you and I had a little talk. A serious, get it all out in the open kind of talk. Nothing held back.” He grew louder with each word.
Angel shook her head in defeat. “Calm down and I’ll be happy to talk to you.”
“I am calm.” He paced back and forth.
“Peter, what’s happened to you?” She sat on the front steps, exhausted with his behavior. “You were so nice before, and now you’re—”
“I’m what?”
“Well, you’re just not yourself.” She shrugged
.
He blazed ahead, clearly on a roll. “How do you know? You don’t know me well enough to make that kind of judgment call.”
“Judgment call?” What in the world was he talking about? “I’m just saying that you’re acting different now and I think it’s got something to do with your father. Is that it? Am I right?”
“This has nothing to do with my father.”
“I think it does,” she said. “You’re completely different when you’re around him. What’s up with that?”
“Angel, look. I don’t want to get into that right now. To be honest, I just need to know what in the world is up with you.”
“Up with me?” She swallowed hard, and realized the time had finally come. She had to tell him everything. “Peter, there’s a lot to say, but I don’t know where to start.”
“We’ll talk about it as we drive. Then I’m going to come back home and get some much-needed sleep. Maybe things will look better in the morning.”
“Maybe what will look better?” Have I really embarrassed him that much?
“Forget it.” He yawned.
As she stood, tears began to course down her cheeks. Angel’s patience had all but worn out. “That’s exactly what I want to do,” she said. “Forget this whole night. If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to go home right now.”
“Fine. I’ll get my car.”
“Don’t bother. I’ll take a cab.” She fished around in her purse. “If I can find my stupid phone.”
Peter looked stunned and did his best to prevent her from entering the house. He spoke in a coarse whisper. “Cabs cost a lot of money, Angel.”
She turned to look at him, stunned and offended. “Okay. And your point is?”
His jaw locked in place again. When he did speak, the words were well rehearsed. “Do you really think you need to be spending money you don’t have?”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m just saying—”
“I heard what you said. But how would you know what I do and don’t have?” Calm down, Angel. He’s making that call based on your clothing at Tennyson, that’s all.
Texas Weddings (Books Five and Six) Page 7