Nobody's Angel

by Patricia Rice

  “I've got a Stetson that will hide that bandage,” he assured her. “But you can't wear it in the shower.”

  Holding the sheet up to her chin, wondering who had put this nightgown on her, Faith tried to ease her leg toward the edge of the bed. “Go away, Quinn. Go far, far away. You're a walking, talking jinx if ever I saw one.”

  “Yeah. Go figure.” Without warning, he leaned over and scooped her off the bed, still trailing the sheet in her clenched fists. “But sometimes,” he whispered in her ear, “you need a man.”

  She'd have to drop the sheet to rip his hair out.

  You could tell a lot about the character of a family by their bathrooms, Faith mused as she removed several pairs of panty hose from the shower bar and folded them over the counter. This bathroom was obviously used by Adrian's teenage sisters. Judging by the cosmetics, towels, hair apparel, and scented lotions strewn across the counter, they were as self-conscious as all girls that age.

  Still, everything was well-scrubbed, and stacks of neatly folded towels filled the narrow closet, so someone in the family was cleanliness oriented. A colorful dried flower arrangement decorated the white rattan shelves over the commode, and crisp yellow eyelet curtains picked up the bright designs of the stunning cobalt and yellow tiles surrounding the mirror. Their creativity added originality and interest to what would have been a dull, ordinary ranch-style house arrangement. Of course, an ordinary family wouldn't produce a man like Adrian.

  Belinda had liberated a white T-shirt with lace inserts and a pair of denim shorts from one of her sister's dressers. After washing—not an easy task while keeping her bandages dry— Faith carefully maneuvered into the new clothes. She was less groggy now, but the various aches and pains still made her feel less than herself.

  Grateful the clothes came close to fitting and weren't so outlandish as to make her feel like a clown, she leaned on the crutch for the two steps to the door. Opening it, she discovered Adrian lounging against the wall, arms folded, waiting for her.

  He looked her up and down with an interest that shivered her insides, then shook his head in disbelief. “You're wearing my baby sister's clothes. She was playing with Barbie dolls last time I was here. I don't know whether to give you a doll or hide Elena away so men like me can't see her looking like you do now.”

  She didn't want to feel that frisson of sexual interest. Not now. Not here. Not ever. Maybe she should have gone to bed with him at the motel last night and worked this out of her system. Half the interest lay in anticipation, she was certain. “I can assure you, she doesn't wear clothes like these so she can hide from men. Or boys. A girl that age likes to test her powers on the opposite sex. I've grown past that stage,” she warned as she swung from the bathroom.

  Adrian unfolded his length from the wall. “I used to change Elena's diapers,” he complained. “I definitely don't want to hear that. Makes me feel ancient. How are you feeling—besides grouchy?”

  “Alive. Almost. Better steer me to your mother before the real pain sets in.”

  He looked as if he were about to carry her again, but he backed off at her scowl and offered his arm instead.

  “Mama's been undergoing chemo. The doctors say the cancer is under control, but the treatment has caused complications. She's been on other medicines for osteoarthritis and high blood pressure and who-the-hell-knows-what, and now she's really weak. They're saying she'll gain her strength now that she's off the chemo, but …” He shrugged expressively. “Just keeping her in bed is a full-time job.”

  “Is there anything you could have done to change anything that's happened?” she asked quietly as they limped down the narrow hall.

  “I should have been here.”

  She heard the bitterness, recognized it because she'd suffered the same. Not as painfully, perhaps. She'd hurt only herself and not others. But it was unproductive either way.

  “It was your fault you were framed?” she asked bluntly. “You want to take responsibility for your mother's cancer, too? Why don't we just move on to the wars in Africa and world hunger?”

  “And you're the sweet little woman Tony bragged about?” he asked incredulously, stopping outside a closed bedroom door.

  “Not anymore, I'm not. Now, are you going to introduce me to the poor woman who's had to endure your arrogance all these years, or shall I just go in and offer her my sympathy without you?”

  Faith faced the door, refusing to look at him. Physically, Adrian was far too attractive, and she was feeling far too weak. She had to remember she detested arrogant lawyers and kidnappers who thought they could push women around. If she could keep thinking of him in those terms, perhaps she could ignore his indefatigable loyalty and love for his family.

  “You might as well make my day complete.” He knocked, then pushed open the door at a call from within.

  “Pobrecita!” the woman in the bed exclaimed as Faith awkwardly dragged the crutch through the door. “Mi hijo es un idiota mayor.”

  Faith grinned. “Solamente un idiota menudo, señora.”

  A wide white grin like Adrian's broke across the woman's tired face. Even though her thinning black hair was streaked with gray, and worry wrinkles lined her brow, she still laughed like a young woman. “My son has finally learned some sense in his choice of women. That's better than any pill the doctor can prescribe.”

  “I figured you'd approve of any woman named Faith Hope,” Adrian said dryly from the doorway. “Shall I leave the two of you alone to shred me into little pieces?”

  “No, you take that poor girl back to bed where she belongs. Dolores and Elena will be bringing the little ones from after-school classes. Let's not scare her off too soon. I can rest easy now, knowing you're in good hands.” Smiling, she leaned back against her pillows. “Faith Hope, we will visit more tomorrow, comprende?”

  “Sí, señora, con su permiso.”

  “She doesn't speak Spanish, Mama,” Adrian threw over his shoulder as he steered Faith toward the door. “She's faking it to make a good impression.”

  Faith didn't understand the rapid spate of scathing Spanish that followed, but Adrian was grinning as he closed the door behind him.

  “I take it she's feeling better?” Faith asked as she stumbled down the hall. Exhaustion was setting in.

  “She called me three kinds of fool if I let you go, among other things,” he admitted cheerfully as he pushed open the door to her assigned room. “So I guess I'll just have to hold you hostage, and we can make beautiful babies together. We'll all flip hamburgers for a living.”

  Damn, he was good. He'd just warned her off with an irony that would have done Shakespeare proud. Not that she needed warning. She wouldn't mind a beautiful baby, but she'd had enough of men with serious problems. She'd enjoy her own life from here on out, thank you very much.

  Besides, she knew making babies was the last thing Adrian wanted. Or needed.

  “I think your mama will understand perfectly when I escape. I need to call my insurance company and arrange transportation.”

  He snorted and removed the crutch from her hand as she sat on the bed's edge. “Not today you won't. First thing tomorrow, maybe. If I know my sisters, that telephone will be occupied for the rest of the evening, and you look as if you're dead on your feet. Besides, your insurance company will be closed for the day. You slept the afternoon away.”

  Muttering a curse under her breath, Faith accepted the inevitable. She felt like death warmed over. She didn't even want to think about how long it would take to drive back to Knoxville.

  She scowled at Adrian. “One of these days, I'll make you pay.”

  “You don't think I already am?”

  Quietly, he closed the door, leaving her alone.

  “Call around. Find someone presentable with sales experience who knows pottery, even if they don't know fine porcelain,” Adrian told Juan as he paced the floor with the cordless phone at his ear. He frowned threateningly at his sisters who were waiting impatiently to reclaim the
phone line. “She has a clerk but she can't work eighty-hour weeks. We have to keep her store open. It's in your best interest, if nothing else.”

  The twins ambled in, bouncing a basketball between them, as self-consciously insouciant as only thirteen-year-olds can be. They eyed Adrian with a mixture of hope and skepticism, and his guilt climbed even higher. Boys that age needed a man around the house, a man they could trust and use as a role model. Like he fit the bill. Right.

  Not acknowledging that painful thought, he concentrated on Juan's end of the conversation. After rejecting several of his cousin's suggestions, he pounced on one with the kind of class Faith's store needed. “Yeah, team her with Bill. Bill will know the merchandise. Pearl can sell it. Grab a pen and I'll give you directions to the friend who has a key.”

  Hanging up after giving him Annie's address, Adrian turned to face the growing collection of family in the tiny living room. Little Ines was hiding in the kitchen, pretending to help Belinda with supper. Cesar had gone back to campus. But ten-year-old Hernando had limped in after the twins. Along with Dolores and Elena, the teenagers, that made a houseful.

  “Do you all need the phone?” he asked wryly.

  Dolores chewed her gum and twirled an ugly hank of shorn hair between her fingers. “You've got her installed in my bedroom. Where are you going to sleep?”

  Leave it to too-old Dolores. Adrian was certain that wasn't the question bothering the boys, who slept together all in one room. He'd installed Faith in his old room. Dolores was actually asking if he was moving back in, and how Faith fit into the picture.

  He didn't have much choice. Aside from the fact that he was broke and had no job, it was obvious his mother was in no shape to keep an eye on six kids.

  He'd hoped to be so far beyond this by now—

  It could be worse. He could still be in prison.

  “Faith will only be here until she's a little better. I'll sleep on the couch until then. But you may as well resign yourself to sleeping with Elena and Ines again. I'm home, and you're not a princess.”

  Dolores gave an exaggerated sigh, grabbed the phone from his hand and flounced out, followed by a muttering Elena. The twins broke into excited chatter about ball games, and Hernando took it all in silently, apparently reserving judgment.

  For better or worse, Adrian was home.

  After the kids were all fed and ushered out to the school bus the next morning, Adrian returned to the kitchen to find Faith balancing on her crutch while filling a coffee cup.

  “I could have brought you that,” he grouched, conveying the cup to the table. “You just had to wait a minute.”

  Her look was eloquent as she lowered herself to a kitchen chair, glanced from his harried expression to the assortment of dirty cups and cereal bowls scattered across every conceivable surface, then leaned over to mop up Ines's spilled milk with a paper napkin. “I don't suppose you ever pulled kitchen duty in prison?”

  “White collar criminals are treated better than that. You don't think they put lawyers in with cop killers, do you?” He grabbed the napkin, sponged up what he could, and heaved it at the trash can. “What do you want to eat?”

  Belinda had apparently helped her to wash her hair and arranged a smaller bandage over the stitches. Faith still looked fragile. He wanted her back on stage, dancing in red boots, hair flying around her shoulders again. No, he didn't. Not unless he was the only audience.

  Cursing his perverse nature, Adrian turned his back on her and poured a cup of coffee for himself.

  “Toast, if you have it,” she said. “Then I need a phone. I really have to arrange some transportation and get back to the shop.” She glowered at her damaged knee. “I suppose I better call the guys and talk about a replacement for this weekend. I won't exactly be a ball of fire on stage.”

  He popped bread in the toaster and handed her the cordless. “Transportation is fine, but you're not driving anywhere with that knee. Forget the shop, too. Juan knows a couple of people who can handle it for a week or two.”

  “I can't let strangers run my shop!”

  He could hear her irritation but ignored it. He hadn't given up his own mission yet. Returning to this house where he'd spent his adolescence had forcibly reminded him of all the reasons he had to prove his innocence.

  “They're not strangers. They're good friends of ours. Bill's a potter and knows what's what. Pearl used to work at a fancy store in Atlanta until she married some jerk who skipped town ahead of his creditors a few months ago. They can both use jobs. Will minimum wage and commission hurt you for a few weeks?”

  She sighed, and he knew he had her. Bleeding heart liberals were suckers for a down-on-their-luck story. He popped the toast, stuck it on a plate, and carried it to the table. Butter and jam were already there, probably mixed together, courtesy of Ines.

  Faith looked decidedly grim as she poked numbers for information into the phone. “Why do I have the feeling you're usurping my life?”

  He couldn't answer that one. He had worse to tell her, but he thought he'd break it a little at a time.

  She made the report to her insurance agent, jotted notes on a pad Adrian shoved in front of her, and sipped her coffee. He wondered what it would be like to have a wife sharing his breakfast every morning. He twitched at the idea. He'd spent over half his life burdened with the responsibility of family. He'd be damned if he'd take on any more. He'd like the luxury of freedom for a little while.

  He wouldn't have that or any other luxury unless he proved his innocence.

  Faith hung up and pried nervously at the bandage on her head as she straightened out her notes with quick, decisive pen strokes. “I hate this. We pay half our income to insurance companies. They ought to work for us instead of the other way around.”

  “I can't believe you had collision insurance on that rolling wreck.”

  “I carry expensive pottery.” She shrugged, as if that was explanation enough. “The insurance company refused to cover it unless I had collision.”

  He thought she ought to find a new insurance agent, but he didn't argue. “Cesar has a friend who's a good mechanic. He recommended a couple of good body shops for estimates. They'll handle it.”

  She looked up sharply. “I thought the car was totaled.”

  “It is.” He sipped his coffee and wondered if he could balance his limitless supply of family against all the damage he'd done to her. “But they won't believe it without estimates. Cesar will stop by and pick up the police report for you, too. Let me assure you, Cesar and his friends have lots of experience with accident routines.”

  “Why does that not reassure me?”

  She was wearing Elena's shorts again, and she stretched her leg to examine the knee bandage. Adrian could swear her legs belonged on a woman twice her height. They went on forever, and he struggled with the urgent need to wrap his hands around them, to hold and explore and—

  “The agent gave me the name of a rental car company I can use until something's decided,” Faith said, jerking him back to reality. “They deliver to the door.”

  She was exercising her leg, planning her escape. “You have one little problem with that,” he said carefully, handing her a jam-slathered slice of toast.

  Faith looked at his offering with suspicion. “I don't want to hear this, do I?”

  “You need to report your credit card stolen.”

  Her eyes widened into blue pools of accusation.

  Adrian held up his hands. “I said I was sorry. You kept calling for that stupid vase, and I made sure you had that. I didn't think about your purse.”

  “My purse?” she asked weakly.

  “Credit card, keys, license, everything,” he admitted. “All gone. Some jackal stole it from the wreckage.”

  Saintly, angelic Faith Hope uttered a string of expletives that would have made a sailor proud.

  “I'm fine, Annie, really. I just want to clear up some old business while I'm here, and let this knee rest a bit.” As she spoke int
o the phone, Faith chewed on a piece of her hair and stared at the small living room where Adrian had led her. Her parents had never lived in one place long enough to build a wall of photos like the one proudly displayed in here. “I've called the band. They've had a pest hanging around, wanting to try out. They'll put her on stage in my place this weekend. I'll be back before next weekend.”

  Adrian paced like an angry panther, picking up a framed photo on the end table, kicking a soccer ball, glancing out to the street of identical houses beyond the front window. He looked far too exotic to be in this commonplace cage. Faith contemplated opening the front door and letting him escape.

  “Thanks for the offer. I'd appreciate that. My plants probably need watering by now, and the mail will pile up. Help yourself to anything in the fridge before it perishes. The boys promised to change the lock, just in case, but it may be a day or two before they get over there. I told them to stop by your place first.”

  “The boys,” Adrian snorted as she hung up. “If you're referring to your band members, they're almost as old as you are. They're not boys.”

  “They're like younger brothers, with the maturity of teenagers. Quit picking at me. I didn't ask you to turn my life upside down. Tell me what we're going to do about the bank boxes.” She hung up the phone and retreated into the couch cushions.

  He pulled back the curtains at the sound of a car arriving outside. “There's your rental. After we take care of the car, you can rummage through Elena's closet. There ought to be something in there that isn't ten inches above your knees. Then we go bank shopping.”

  What did he care if she wore a miniskirt to the bank?

  She let Adrian take care of the rental car proceedings. She signed the sheet where told, then manipulated her crutch into Elena's bedroom. There wasn't much point in worrying about her stolen purse. Her credit card was already almost maxed. She hoped the thief got caught trying to use it. Anybody low enough to steal from an accident victim ought to fry in hell.