“Merely honest. My parents live their lives. I live mine. Keeping an ocean or two between us facilitates the arrangement.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Does that mean what I think it means? You’re not going to see him?”
“I have a business to run. Clients’ hands to hold, noses to wipe.” Morgan was one of the few on his client list who didn’t need coddling. “Abused women to transport,” he added, grabbing the one straw that might deflect her obvious concern.
Before she could say anything, a piercing whistle filled the teepee. “The bride and groom are cutting the cake,” Cooper announced. “Cameras ho.”
William spotted Mac, Morgan’s fiancé—and Libby’s brother…Lord, the interconnectedness of this group made his head spin—motioning for her to join him and the child pulling him toward the cake cart. Morgan turned back to William. “I have to go, but I am really sorry about your dad. And while I appreciate you helping Daria—and I know why you’re doing it—” she added meaningfully, “I think you’re making a mistake by not going home to see your dad as soon as possible. Cancer’s wicked tricky. You never have as much time as you think you will. I mean, look at Kat.”
She pointed toward the bride and groom, dueling playfully with frosting-tipped fingers. “When Kat and Jack set this date, Kat was sure her mom would be here. Helen’s cancer was in remission, and although she had some breathing issues, overall she seemed fine. Then, suddenly, something changed. Kat said her aunt called in hospice this morning.”
William had heard a rumor to that effect. “I appreciate your concern, my friend. Truly. And I’m very sorry to hear about Kat’s mum. Now, hurry off. Your future groom is shooting daggers my way. Be quick.” He made a shooing motion with his hands. “Mac’s a miner. He could hurt me.”
William watched her traipse across the room into the waiting arms of Mac McGannon. William liked Mac a great deal and didn’t feel the least bit threatened, but he couldn’t blame the man for feeling possessive. The couple spent a lot of time apart given Morgan’s job and Mac’s obligations in Sentinel Pass.
They planned to marry sometime in the future and William wished them all the luck in the world. He could speak volumes on the subject of long-distance marriages—at least from the point of view of such a marriage’s child. But what was there to say, after all? So he hadn’t had a storybook upbringing. What did it really matter? He’d learned a long, long time ago not to expect anything from his mother and father in the way of warm, familial exchanges. They simply weren’t that sort of people, and no amount of wishing or hoping or dreaming would ever change that.
He looked around the room at the many outwardly happy people. Morgan and Mac were wrapped in an embrace now, smiling with such tenderness they could have been a poster for Hollywood’s next blockbuster romance.
Unfortunately, the cynical part of him knew that appearances rarely told the whole story. His father had repeated many times the tale of how he met William’s mother and was knocked “tail over toes.” “Your mum was the most confident, imperturbable woman on campus,” his father would say. “When Laurel made up her mind to do something—even marrying me—it would have taken an act of God to dissuade her.”
And while the marriage had lasted—on paper, at least—their family was a complete and utter sham. No wonder, he supposed, that while he might wish for a wife and family of his own, he had little faith that he’d ever manage to acquire one.
He turned to leave. The thought of cake made the champagne in his gut start to curdle. He’d nearly reached the exit when Libby caught up with him. “Wait. William. I. Can’t. Run.”
He turned to watch her hurrying toward him with far more grace and speed than she gave herself credit for. She grabbed his arm like an exhausted swimmer clinging to a buoy.
“I heave like a huge boat listing sideways,” she admitted. “Sometimes left. Sometimes right. Depends on how the baby is lying. At least, I hope it’s a baby. Lately, I’ve had dreams of giving birth to a hippo.”
He smiled. He couldn’t not. Libby was a delightful person. Since she’d moved into Cooper’s Malibu home, which was only a few miles up the beach from William’s own house, William had noticed a distinct and positive change in his previously flighty, slightly manic friend. Libby was bedrock, even when balanced on the fault line that was Hollywood. “How much longer?”
“Till I explode?” She patted her belly. “Three weeks, they say. But what do they know? Hippos sometimes have minds of their own.”
William laughed. “I don’t think it would matter to Coop if you actually did give birth to a hippo. The man is obnoxiously happy about the prospect of becoming a father.”
She cast a glance over her shoulder toward the sounds of merriment in the teepee. “I know. He’s still a kid at heart, so he’ll be a great dad. Um…while we’re on the subject, Morgan just told me about your father.”
He blinked in surprise. “That was fast. Gossip at the speed of sound?”
She fished her phone out of the pocket of her simple but glamorous cashmere sweater. “Text message. Even faster.” She threw her arms around him. “I’m so sorry, William. I had no idea when I asked you to fly Daria here. We’ll make other arrangements. Cal will understand. Family is everything to him, and he’d never want to be the cause of you not making it back to England in time. Truly, it’s—”
He stopped her. “Libby. Your compassion is as genuine as it is misplaced. I only got the news about Father’s condition today. There’s a great deal of doctoring to be done. I’m not privy to all the details, but I’m quite confident he will still be with us after I help Cal’s granddaughter.”
She didn’t appear convinced, so he changed the subject. “Speaking of Cal’s granddaughter, isn’t Daria the name of Cooper’s former secretary? The one who ran off with his first ex-wife?”
Libby rolled her eyes. “I was hoping no one would remember that. Trust me, the two women have nothing in common except their name. Cooper’s assistant was a twenty-year-old opportunist looking for a shortcut to fame and riches. Cal’s Daria is a stay-at-home mom by choice. She has a college degree but quit working to be with her daughters. Something I understand completely. Now.”
William wondered how different his life might have been if his mum had chosen to live in the same country as he, let alone the same house. That kind of devotion and selflessness deserved to be honored and protected. “I’ll do whatever I can to facilitate her decision.”
She patted his arm in a very motherly manner. “Of course you will, William. You’re the most gallant man I know.”
She gave him a soft peck on the cheek then waddled toward the crowd.
Gallant? He gave a wry smile and shook his head. The word brought to mind swordplay and white chargers. He was nobody’s hero. He might have aspired to the role at one time, but he’d learned the hard way that he didn’t have what it took, and an innocent person had paid the price. Maybe that was the real reason he couldn’t say no to helping this Daria woman and her children.
Penance.
CHAPTER TWO
JANUARY WAS William’s least favorite month. He couldn’t complain about the weather, as he had in England. Storms in Southern California passed through quickly, dousing the usual brownish-gray haze from the air, churning up the ocean and lowering temperatures enough for a jacket. Nothing like England.
Unfortunately, January was still the worst time for his business. Privately, he called it post-holiday distress month. None of his clients were happy, and everyone wanted something William was powerless to give them—a part in that new sure-to-break-box-office-records movie, micro changes to already eye-straining fine print on a perfectly adequate contract, permission to bring a pet snake back into the country. The latter was part of a thirty-message text conversation with JoE, a rapper who had more money than common sense.
Dude, du somting now. LAX sucks. Nazi snake patrol coming 4 him.
William sat forward to read this latest message.
With
a groan, he put one hand to his face and squeezed his temples. “What, JoE?” he muttered. “What am I—your agent in Malibu, for God’s sake—supposed to do about the illegal python you tried to sneak into the country in your amplifier?”
“Are you talking to yourself again?” a woman’s voice asked.
Morgan had dropped by after her run. She and Mac were renting Cooper’s neighbor’s house for a couple of months.
“Yes. I’ve told you before, my clients are going to be the death of me—one brain cell at a time.”
She took a sip from the water bottle he’d given her earlier. She wanted something from him, too, but she had too much class to come right out and demand it. “Poor William. An agent’s work is never done.”
“Truest statement I’ve heard today. And the reason for that is most clients consider an agent their surrogate parent. But even JoE’s mum, who happens to be a very nice lady, would tell him what I’ve told him ten times so far—‘You can’t bring a snake into the country without going through the proper channels.’”
She tossed her ponytail from side to side. “Could be worse. Don’t most rappers try to smuggle drugs into the country?”
William scrolled down until he found the number he wanted, then hit send. “John? William Hughes here. How would you like a new slant on an old story?” He quickly rattled off the details—to Morgan’s obvious amusement—then hit end.
He held up one finger to indicate he wasn’t done. With thumbs flying, he quickly texted.
L.A. Times on their way w/camera guy. Headline tomorrow: JoE’s Snake on a Plane.
“Clever agent saves day,” Morgan said, offering a headline of her own.
William sighed. “A really clever agent never would have gotten sucked into signing a rapper in the first place. What do I know about the music industry?”
She shrugged. “You know words. Your literary background has served you well, I think. And JoE’s lyrics are some of the best poetry of our day. It’s your nature to try to protect him.”
“Only a fool would try to protect a man bent on self-destruction. Mostly, I despair about the loss of his natural talent if he fails to get his act together. As we both know, you can’t force someone to get help.”
She jumped slightly. “Help. That’s why I stopped. I almost forgot. Mac talked to Calvin this morning. His granddaughter is supposed to be calling you today. Her little girl had a bad asthma attack right after the holidays so Daria had to postpone their trip. She wasn’t sure you were still available to help, what with your dad’s situation and all.”
A slightly metallic taste developed in his mouth. He was tired of people fretting about his father’s health. “Does the whole world know about my father’s condition?” he grumbled. He was sick of dealing with e-mails, calls—even tweets. “What has happened to the right to privacy?”
He stood, intending to get a bit of vodka to go with his sparkling water. He’d only made it two steps when his phone rang. He picked it up without looking at the display, certain it was JoE.
“Snake or no snake, you need to clear customs so you can get your butt in the country. Are we clear on that?”
“I beg your pardon? I’m trying to reach William Hughes. This is Daria Fontina.”
Daria. He scrubbed his hand across his face. “My apologies. I was expecting someone else. How may I be of assistance?”
“No problem. Is this a good time to talk?” The voice on the other end of the line sounded slightly breathless, as if she were standing outside in the wind to hold this conversation.
“Yes, it’s fine. Go on.”
“My grandfather said you would be willing to fly us—my two daughters and me—to South Dakota. I know that was a week ago, so I’m wondering if your offer is still good. I’m sorry we weren’t able to leave sooner, but…something came up.”
He liked that she didn’t go into detail about her daughter’s health problems. That showed restraint and respect for the young girl’s privacy—something the people around him could benefit from embracing.
“Our plane and my services are at your disposal,” he said, a bit too formally, he gathered, from Morgan’s eye-rolling. “Do you have a departure date in mind?”
He walked to his desk where a large daily planner was open to this week. He had a dozen meetings scheduled, at least. Three lunch dates with clients. One phone interview.
“Would tomorrow work for you?” There was a tentative quality in her voice that told him she wasn’t used to asking for help. Abusers often made their victims believe that nobody would answer their call if they reached out. She was expecting him to say no. He heard that, too. He’d heard it before.
“Whatever works for you.”
Morgan clapped silently and made a Rocky gesture with her arms in the air.
“I… Thank you, Mr. Hughes.”
“William. Please. Let me grab a piece of paper and take down your specifics. I’m going to need a little information. You and your daughters’ full names and approximate weights for starters. And an estimate of how much baggage you’ll be bringing along.”
She gave a low, rueful chuckle. “A lot, figuratively speaking. But on my grandfather’s advice, I haven’t told my daughters this move is permanent. ‘Loose lips’ as Cal likes to say. So we’re only doing carry-on.”
He wasn’t sure what he thought of that news. Had her ex-husband upped the threat level? “Should I come armed?”
She didn’t answer right away. When she did, her tone was lighter somehow. “No. That won’t be necessary, but thank you for asking. I’m leaving on the sly for exactly that reason—so my ex-husband and his brothers won’t show up.”
He gave her full marks for that. “Then, we’ll be gone before anyone’s the wiser. Let me get your number so I can file a flight plan, get a look at the weather and figure out the best time to meet.”
He jotted down everything she told him, including her daughters’ names and ages. He was thinking ahead to what he’d need to get done between now and then when she said, “My grandfather speaks very highly of you, but he never mentioned that you sound like Hugh Grant.”
How many times had he heard that? A few thousand, give or take? “Not true. I sound a great deal more American than Hugh.”
“Hmm,” she said. “Now that you mention it, I think you’re right. But I should tell you, my husband—my ex-husband—made me stop renting English films because he said I went gaga over Hugh Grant. Apparently anyone with an English accent was suspect, as well. Even Judi Dench.”
William laughed. Her quip was so unexpected, and given her situation, so brave. Suddenly, he couldn’t wait to meet this woman. He looked at Morgan, who was standing a foot away, mouth open and eyes wide with shock.
“I would gladly ask Dame Judi to accompany us—she could hold her own in any fight, I’m quite certain—but I believe she’s in London at the moment.”
“What was that, sweetheart?” Daria called to someone else. “Okay. I’ll be right there.” To William, she said, “Thank you for doing this for us, William. You have no idea how much it means to me and my daughters.”
Simple words, hastily spoken, but William didn’t doubt their sincerity. “I will see you tomorrow, then.”
“Okay. Fly safe.”
He hit the off button and looked at Morgan. “Tomorrow.”
“That’s fast. How’d she sound? Damaged? Frightened?”
“Businesslike.”
She nodded. “Oh…your type.”
My type? “She’s a mum, doing what’s best for herself and her children. How does that make her my type?”
Morgan sighed heavily. “Look at this place, William. Your last girlfriend called you Mr. OCD.”
William opened the filing cabinet where he kept the plane’s log book. “She spilled a martini on my BlackBerry. Didn’t apologize. Or offer to replace it. If that makes me neurotically picky, so be it. What does that have to do with Daria?”
“You’ve lived alone too long.”
/> My entire life, actually.
“This kind of perfection isn’t natural, you know. You need rowdy, messy chaos to shake things up a little.”
“That’s why I have clients. You’re the exception, although I remember a few months ago when your life was fodder for the tabloids. You weren’t overly pleased at the time, if I recall correctly. I think I’ll stick with neat and tidy, thank you.”
“Boring.”
He opened a drawer and withdrew the leather-bound flight log that had come with the eight-passenger Twin Commander Turbo prop plane he’d purchased with Cooper and Shane. The others called it a jet, which it wasn’t, though it was jetlike in speed and range. Since he was the only licensed pilot of the bunch, he’d recorded a fair amount of hours flying to South Dakota and back. When one of the men accompanied him, William generally didn’t bother with a copilot because both Coop and Shane had taken an emergency training course. This time, however, he intended to hire someone.
The additional expense would be well worth the peace of mind an extra set of hands and eyes would provide. Daria sounded capable and in control of the situation, but she’d also mentioned keeping the intent of the trip a secret from her daughters. He glanced at his notes. The eldest was twelve. He’d worked with several young actors in the past, and he guessed there wasn’t a teenager on the planet that didn’t know a great deal more than his or her parent thought they knew.
Best to be prepared. For everyone’s sake.
“William?”
William looked up. He’d forgotten Morgan was still there. “Yes?”
She cleared the distance between them and touched his shoulder lightly. “Your father would be proud of you.”
“You have absolutely no basis for that opinion. You’ve never met my father.” He saw her surprise at his caustic tone and was quick to add, in a less prickly voice, “But I’m sure my mother would approve. She’s spent the better part of her career trying to help women and children.”
The Good Provider Page 3
