Texas Weddings (Books Five and Six): Angel Incognito & Deep in the Heart of Mayhem

by Janice Thompson

  As if on cue, the young trash collector suddenly shifted his gaze and looked directly at her. His expression also shifted—to one of sheer terror. Immediately the dumpster stopped rising. It rocked back and forth, back and forth, as she clung tightly to the edge. For a moment her entire world began to sway, but she managed to keep everything in check as best she could.

  “Get me out of this thing!” Angel gestured toward the ground. The dumpster slowly inched its way downward until it settled with a grunt onto the pavement. Angel collapsed into the trash as the large arms released their hold with a jolt. Every part of her anatomy trembled. The garbage, which seemed to vibrate around her, released the worst imaginable aroma. From outside she could hear a man yelling, but could barely make out what he said. Her head began to spin and trash began to close in around her.

  “Are you okay?” He repeated the words a little louder. “Ma’am, are you okay?”

  She heard him clearly now, but Angelina could barely lift her head or think of a proper response. She felt strangely lightheaded, faint. The frantic voice seemed to draw nearer as everything around her began to turn. He was shouting now—an anxious, piercing shout. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea you were in there.”

  She should answer him. But she couldn’t seem to force the words as her world twirled on an unfamiliar axis. “I. . .I’m here.” She stared up into the light. Bright yellow-orange, framed in unfamiliar shades of dismal gray. Sunlight, perhaps. Hard to tell right now.

  “Please say something. I need to know you’re all right.” The voice grew nearer and his anxious face peered over the rim.

  He has a kind face, a gentle face. He almost looks like…a beautiful blonde angel…His blue eyes gazed into hers with more compassion than she had ever seen before, then everything suddenly grew quite fuzzy. The dumpster swallowed her alive. The sunlight quickly faded and everything in Angelina Fuentes’s world went black.

  ***

  Peter lunged over the edge of the dumpster and immediately found himself waist deep in putrid trash. He brushed a soiled piece of paper away from his mouth and tried to ignore the bitter taste it left behind. He waded his way over to the dirty young woman who lay so still in the corner and reached to feel for her pulse. “Thank God. You’re still alive.”

  No response.

  “Miss, can you hear me? Are you awake?” She didn’t stir. He continued to talk to her, desperate to awaken her. Nothing. A frantic moment or two passed and Peter nearly gave up, but fought to hold onto both his courage and his faith. I should call the paramedics. I’ve got to get to my cell phone. He scrambled up out of the heap and reached for the top of the dumpster. Just as he got a good grip for springing over the edge, he heard a stirring behind him.

  “Wha. . .What happened?”

  He turned, thrilled to see the young woman’s hands thrashing about. “I almost, I mean, I—” He struggled to find the words to say as he worked his way back over to her again. “It’s all my fault.”

  “What’s your fault?” She tried to sit up, but immediately fell back again.

  “Ooo, careful now.” He slipped his hand under her head, and gently lifted her fragile body. “I’m going to get you out of here.” She’s absolutely beautiful.

  “Whe…Where am I, again?” Her eyes fluttered open, then closed almost immediately.

  “In a dumpster behind a building on Harbor.”

  “A dumpster?” Her eyes shot open immediately. A horrified look crossed her face, but melted quickly into acceptance. “Oh yeah. I remember now. That explains the smell, anyway.” She attempted to sit up once again.

  “Careful now.” He took hold of her delicate hand and helped her stand. Together they made their way to the edge of the dumpster, where he cupped his hands and offered her a step up. Her ragged clothes were torn and dirty, raising suspicions. What in the world is she doing in here, anyway? Maybe she was looking for food. Maybe she’s… A revelation suddenly hit him. Maybe she’s homeless.

  The young woman slipped a foot into his waiting palms and pulled herself up. She clung to the top with a vengeance. “Oh. I need help.”

  Yes, you do. And I’m going to make sure you get it. Peter scrambled over the edge and down onto the ground below to help her down. “There. You made it.”

  She dropped to a sitting position alongside the dumpster and clutched her head in her hands.

  “Are you all right?” He took a closer look. The young woman’s olive skin glistened in the sunlight and her long, dark hair, though mangled and dirty, still caught his eye. Her deep brown eyes seemed to speak to him. This girl, whoever she was, was a knockout. A mess, but a knockout.

  She nodded and her gaze shifted downward. Suddenly she came to life and attempted to stand. Her eyes widened in fear. “Oh my goodness. I need to get back in there.” She struggled to gain strength enough to rise to her feet.

  “What?” What could possibly be so important?

  “I left something in the dumpster,” she explained. “Something really important. I need it. Now.”

  The young woman’s frantic words convinced Peter he had been right in his assumption. She had been looking for food. He should have guessed it from looking at her thin frame. Compelled by her desperation, he flew into action. “What do you need? Can I get it for you?”

  “Oh no. Please. You’ve done enough.” She fought to regain her compose, and brushed dirt from her hair. “Just give me a minute and I’ll—” She tried to pull herself up again, but toppled backwards instead.

  Peter caught her with little effort. “Whoa! Careful, now.” He gently eased her down to the ground.

  A crowd gathered. People appeared from every direction. Some pinched their noses and turned the opposite direction. Others offered cell phones, car rides, 911 calls—anything and everything. What had started as a private embarrassment quickly turned into a public sideshow. He cringed as people hollered out their distasteful comments. Then Peter turned his attentions back to the girl.

  “Please make them go away.” She spoke in a hoarse whisper. “I don’t want anyone to see me like this.” Her head tilted against the dumpster in defeat.

  Peter certainly understood the embarrassment and the pride of the homeless from his years of working at the feeding center in Galveston. They struggled with so many issues, and their privacy and personal feelings could not be ignored or taken advantage of in any way.

  With that in mind, this beautiful child of God needed to be treated with the utmost dignity and respect. He did his best to disperse the crowd, though one or two lingered to watch his next few moves. He would treat her like a lady, regardless of her circumstances.

  The young homeless woman looked up at him with tear-filled eyes. “I’m not having a very good day.” Her lower lip folded down into a pout.

  He smiled and tried to think of something brilliant to say. Nothing came to him. Lord, I know this is no accident. I’ve been praying that You would use me in this job and now You have. Give me the words to say.

  Her stomach rumbled, as if on cue and her cheeks turned crimson. “Oops. Sorry.”

  Here’s my chance, Lord. Thank You. He knew just what to do. Peter spoke with a newfound energy, one birthed out of compassion. “I’ll tell you what. This was my last pickup of the day. Why don’t you come with me and I’ll take you to lunch.”

  “Oh no, I couldn’t possibly.” She looked stunned. “I’ve got to get back to work; I can’t stop now.” She stood on wobbly feet. He wrapped his arm around her small waist and the smell of shampoo struck him immediately. Odd. She must have bathed recently, though she could certainly do with a little cleaning up now.

  He guided her to a sidewalk a few feet away. “Just let me lift this load and we’ll be on our way.” In spite of her very loud objections, he jumped into the cab of the trash truck and started to lift the dumpster once again. This time he made the transfer with no complications, though the look on the young woman’s face below nearly broke his heart in the process.

 
“There.” He climbed out once again. “Piece of cake.” Poor choice of wording, perhaps. She shook her head, staring up at the trash truck. I’d better get her out of here before she climbs up into the back of the truck. She looks pretty desperate. “What’s your name?”

  “Angel.” She mumbled the word, her gaze never leaving the truck.

  “Great name.”

  “Thanks.” She gripped her head with her hands and stared off into space.

  His heart nearly broke for her. She seemed so lost, so desperate. “Do you need a doctor, Angel?”

  “No. I’m sure I’ll be fine. I just need a minute to think. Nothing is making much sense to me right now.”

  He didn’t doubt that. Hunger could drive people to near madness. He’d seen it dozens of times. “Maybe you’ll feel better after a good, hot meal.” He reached to squeeze her slender hand and noticed her chipped nails.

  She quickly hid them. “I, I guess.”

  He shifted his gaze. “I think you could use a nice distraction from what’s just happened and I happen to know there’s a great little coffee shop around the corner. After nearly killing you, the least I can do is buy your lunch.” He gave her his most compassionate look. “I owe it to you.”

  “Oh, I. . .I couldn’t,” she stammered.

  “Of course you could. Doesn’t a nice hot meal sound good? There’s a great Italian place just down the street.”

  “Italian?” She continued to stare upward.

  “Pizza. Say you’ll come.”

  “Come?” Blank stare. She seemed to startle back to attention. “No. No, pizza. I feel. . .sick.”

  “Well, soup, then. I know a great diner just a few miles up the Interstate. Say it’s okay.”

  “It’s. . .okay.” She offered a weak nod.

  “Well, it’s settled then. Hop on in, Angel. And by the way, my name is Peter. Peter Campbell.”

  ***

  Angelina’s mind reeled as she took a couple of minutes to absorb all that had happened. The handsome blonde angel ushered her into the cab of the trash truck. She took her seat and fought against the putrid smell that seemed to surround her on every side. This was by far the craziest thing that had ever happened to her. She should get out of here. She should…

  Should she get into her own car and drive as far away from this place as possible? No. Not yet, anyway. Her mouth filled with saliva and she feared she might be sick. Angel leaned her head back against the seat. I should sit right here and let this pass.

  “Feeling okay?” He climbed into the driver’s seat and shifted the vehicle into reverse.

  She fought the nausea with every fiber of her being. “Just a little woozy. I guess I got pretty shook up.”

  “No doubt,” he said as he backed the vehicle up. “And I’m so sorry. I hope you can forgive me for nearly dumping you out. I had no idea anyone would be in there. I’ve been making these rounds for months now, and I can assure you that has never happened to me before.” He shifted into first gear and pointed the trash truck in the direction of the street. “This is certainly a first—for me, anyway.”

  “I understand.” “Listen. About why I was in the dumpster. There’s something you should know.”

  “No. Please. Don’t tell me.” He waved his hand in her direction. “I never meant to pry. I’m just glad you’re all right, that’s all.” He smiled warmly and reached to squeeze her hand, then pulled it away quickly as he noticed her embarrassment.

  “But—”

  “No,” he explained. “Please don’t feel the need to say anything. Let’s just have our lunch and then I’ll take you wherever you need to go. It’s the least I can do. Agreed?” He looked at her with large blue eyes.

  Great eyes.

  “Agreed.” The feeling of sickness passed and she leaned back against the seat, lost in her thoughts. Mr. Nigel’s going to fire me when he hears I didn’t get those papers. He’s going to… The internal dialogue shifted to include the handsome young man to her left. He had appeared from out of nowhere—an angel in his own right. A handsome angel, she had to admit, who wore a dull, gray uniform with the words City of Galveston stitched across his chest.

  As they passed her car, Angel quickly came to her senses. What did I do with my keys? Oh, please Lord—don’t let them be in the dumpster. She fished around in her pockets, relieved to hear the familiar jingle. She leaned back against the seat with a loud sigh.

  “Everything okay?” The blonde angel looked her way.

  “Mm-hmm.” She relaxed, and tried to imagine what she would say to Mr. Nigel when she got the chance.

  If she got the chance.

  Her mind began to wander. If she lost the job at KPRC, there were plenty of other stations in town. Surely someone would hire her. She played out several scenarios in her mind, but none felt right.

  Ida Davidson is counting on me. I can’t let her down.

  A lone tear trickled down Angel’s cheek. She quickly brushed it away, determined to keep trying. For Ida’s sake. For the sake of the other victims. She wouldn’t give up. She would go back to Anderson Advertising Firm again tomorrow and give this story another shot. She would find the information to put a stop to the identity thieves and all of Houston would thank her.

  In the meantime, she would rest right here until her headache subsided and the world grew a little less fuzzy. Angel’s stomach grumbled loudly and she shifted her gaze to her driver, to make sure he hadn’t noticed. He whistled along with a familiar tune on the radio, his eyes fixed on the road. She relaxed once again. After a good meal, everything would be better again.

  “Here we are.” Peter pulled into the parking lot of Kelly’s Coffee Shop and parked on the far side, away from other vehicles. “Need any help inside?”

  “No. Thanks.” Angelina stepped down from the truck and onto the pavement, her mind still reeling. She excused herself to go to the ladies room right away. I stink to high heaven and I’m sure I look just awful.

  People stared as she passed them on her way. “Don’t worry folks. I won’t bite,” she muttered. Once inside the restroom, she glanced at her reflection in the cracked, discolored mirror and realized instantly what they had been staring at. Streaks of multi-colored dirt covered her face and t-shirt. Her mangled hair stood on end and she wished like crazy she had a hairbrush with her. It, like most of her other possessions, remained locked in her silver sports car in the parking lot of the Tennyson Towers.

  She quickly used a paper towel and some hand soap to scrub her face, and then did what she could to brush the dirt from the shirt and pants. She worked her fingers through her long, dark hair until it reached a more manageable state. Now, if I could just do something about the way I smell. She looked around for something, anything. “Ah ha.” Under the counter she found a spray can of air freshener. “It’s not exactly a designer fragrance, but it will do.” She sprayed herself, not just once, but twice—hoping to erase the odor. Now, she had to get back out there and try to say something sensible to that very nice guy with great blue eyes. He deserved that, at the very least.

  Angel walked back out into the restaurant and tried to ignore the stares from those she passed. One woman pinched her nose and waved her hand in front of her face—a sure sign she had overdone the air freshener. Oh well. Maybe it would wear off by the time she got to the table.

  “What would you like to order?” Peter Campbell’s inquisitive eyes stared into hers as she sat down.

  She tried not to stare back, opting to look at his thick blonde curls instead. “Uh…”

  “Have anything you like. Anything.”

  Angelina’s stomach rumbled. She hadn’t eaten breakfast, but didn’t want to make a pig of herself in front of this guy. On the other hand… Her gaze fell on the colorful picture of a club sandwich with fries and a soft drink. That sounded awfully good. And a bowl of soup would be nice, too. She glanced at a picture of apple pie with ice cream on top and her stomach grumbled loudly. I hope he doesn’t mind if I order dessert. I�
�m really famished.

  He sneezed suddenly and rubbed at his nose.

  She returned her gaze to the menu as she responded, “God bless you.”

  “Thank you.” He sneezed again. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I really don’t.” He sneezed once more and reached for a napkin.

  She winced. She knew what was wrong with him. It was this crazy air freshener. He was probably allergic. I know I am. Her eyes watered unmercifully and she dabbed at them with her napkin.

  “Please don’t cry, Angel. I know this whole situation is awful, but everything’s going to be okay.” He looked at her compassionately and she felt as if her heart would melt.

  “I’m not crying. I’m really not.” She reached up to wipe her eyes. “I am ready to order now, though.”

  Peter gestured for the waitress, an older women with a broad smile, who approached the table. Her expression changed more with each moment she stood at the table’s edge. She rubbed at her nose as she scribbled down their order. Okay, that’s a chef salad for you, Handsome, and for the lady a club sandwich, extra tomatoes and bacon with a double order of fries, a large bowl of vegetable soup on the side and an extra-large peach tea. Follow that with a large slice of apple pie alamode. Is that everything?”

  “Yes. Whatever the lady wants.”

  Angelina looked up sheepishly into Peter’s kind, blue eyes. I’m starting to think this guy’s just too good to be true.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “Tell me about this girl you’ve met, Son.”

  Peter looked up from his breakfast cereal into his mother’s teasing eyes. “How did you know I met a girl, Mom?”

  Donita Campbell rinsed out the coffee pot as she responded. “I’m just guessing based on your level of distraction since last night. You hardly said a word during dinner; your mind seemed a thousand miles away. You’re usually more talkative.”

  “Ah, true.” Last night’s dinner had been a fiasco of sorts. Peter had spent the entire meal lost in another world, one that revolved around an olive-skinned angel who had smelled anything but angelic. He couldn’t help but smile as he remembered those sparkling eyes and tear-stained cheeks. What she had lacked in style, she had certainly more than made up for in personality and charm.