Desert Angel (Family Justice Book 2) Read online

  “Daughter of mine,” her mother cooed in that way she had that always made Angie sit up and take notice, “kindly remember who you’re speaking to and cut the horseshit young lady.”

  Ouch. As always. . . . a direct and uncomfortable hit.

  Ashleigh Dane Valleja-Marquez was a law unto herself whose unique dance to a different drum had been what enchanted the American-born heir to an old Spanish family.

  Petite to the point of being tiny, she was the quintessential California girl who still wore her blond hair long, had a wicked sense of humor mixed in with an appreciation of the absurd, and who, despite her small stature and soft voice, ruled her family with an iron fist that to outsiders must seem laughable.

  The disapproving tone being applied from thousands of miles and a different continent away was very much the case in point.

  “I’m waiting,” her mom bit out.

  Squeezing her eyes shut, Angie ran a hand through her hair as she pressed the phone to her ear. Moms. Sheesh, they could be scary.

  “Uh . . .” Mother–of-god! When had she become so tongue-tied?

  “Angelina!” her mom snapped. “Are you sleeping with that boy?”

  That boy? That BOY? What the hell was this? High school? And how had her mom gone from discussing her having dinner with the Sullivan’s to whether or not sleeping with that boy?

  “Mom!” she yelled. “There’s no sleeping going on.”

  Angie squeezed her eyes shut again and muttered, “Shit.” She sounded like an idiot.

  Her mom snorted. “Well, Daddy and I don’t do much sleeping either and you know perfectly well what I’m asking so don’t word game me, young lady.”

  Oh, god. The last thing she needed in her head was any reminder of her parents’ sex life. Talk about raging seniors! For as long as she could recall, Angie hadn’t known her mother to bother with a chair if her husband’s lap was available. There was something adorably cute about a couple of sixty-somethings getting handsy and giggling when they thought their kids weren’t looking.

  But right now? There was nothing adorable or cute about her mother’s line of questioning.

  “It’s dinner, Mom. That’s all. Seriously, you guys,” she whined, “what’s with the gossipy phone calls?”

  For the briefest second, she thought a bit of laughter could be heard in her mother’s voice before she used that don’t-even-think-about-it warning tone that parents did so well.

  “I knew that boy was trouble where you were concerned. Had to forever shoo him away from your cradle whenever he was around. Him and your brother. They’d spend hours rocking you and reading stories. Boy stories!” she chortled.

  “Parker would do the sound effects and Alexander would do the acting out. No cute fairy tales for you, my dear! Oh no. Treasure Island. Tom Sawyer. Robinson Crusoe. Sherlock Holmes. All the classics.”

  “Whaaat?” Angie squeaked.

  Her mom was outright laughing. “Now, I’m going to have to look around but I know someplace there’s a videotape that Daddy shot of their theatrical extravaganzas.”

  “Oh, my god. Are you serious?”

  “Yes, I’m serious,” she replied. “And your delighted reaction isn’t helping make the case that this is no big deal.”

  Angie sighed. Wasn’t she just thinking the other day that she wanted to talk to her mom? Why the hesitation?

  “Mom,” she mumbled as her pacing stopped and she folded onto the edge of the bed. “I don’t want you to be mad. Or disappointed.”

  “Oh, sweetie,” Ashleigh Marquez said in a soothing mom tone, “you’re my baby girl. Daddy and I named you Angel for a reason, honey. We could never truly be mad at any of you kids. And I doubt you’re capable of disappointing me so whatever it is that you’re not saying . . .”

  Scooting back, she pulled her feet up and sat cross-legged against the bank of pillows stretched along the headboard. There was a lump in her throat and that tingling sensation in her nose that signaled tears about to fall.

  “He’s not a boy, Mom. I didn’t know him as a boy—I’ve only ever really known Parker as an adult. A grown up man. And before you say anything, I know he’s too old for me.”

  Her mom tsked a couple of times. “Don’t make assumptions, Angel. Nobody said anything about age. Was he too old for you when you were fifteen? Yes. There’s a decade and more of water under that bridge now though, sweetie.”

  Wow. Her mom was friggin’ awesome.

  She took a deep breath. “I’ve loved him since I was old enough to say the words.”

  “I know.”

  The crying started. Not violently. Just a soft, steady stream of hot tears.

  “He broke my heart when I was at Georgetown.” Her voice sounded hushed and vulnerable.

  An understanding sigh from her mother warmed Angie’s heart. “We suspected as much. That was hard for his parents and us to watch. You were so happy and then suddenly, you weren’t. And Parker, well . . . Wendy had a fit.”

  “I don’t know what to do, Mom.”

  “I will snap that boy in two like a twig if he’s pressuring you.”

  Seriously? Angie had to put a hand over her mouth to stop the bark of laughter her mother’s description triggered. Picturing tiny little Ashleigh snapping beefy hunkster Parker in two was deliciously amusing. It could happen, too. She’d seen both her brother and father stopped dead in their tracks on more than one occasion by one of her fierce looks. Parker didn’t stand a chance against her, no matter how big he was.

  She snickered. “It’s me who’s the problem. Not him.”

  “What in the world does that mean?”

  “Tell me first what you meant by Aunt Wendy having a fit.” She needed to know. Had her aunt been upset by Angie’s short affair with her son? Damn. She shuddered at the thought of upsetting so many of the people she loved.

  Her mother’s gentle laughter filled her ear. “You young people all think your parents are imbeciles. It’s hilarious. I mean, after all—it’s my generation who ushered in the sex, drugs, and rock ‘n’ roll era so why you act like we have no clue is funny as shit.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Think about it, Angie. You have always been like a magnet for Parker and vice versa. Did you think we were all blind when of every college in the whole wide world that you could choose from—Georgetown was where you ended up?”

  “Oh, my god,” she groaned dismally. Had it been so obvious? The embarrassed heat made her cheeks feel on fire.

  “Honestly, baby, it was more than Wendy or I hoped for when you two seemed to be so perfect together. And happy. Both of you. And then, overnight, all that stopped. You became quiet and distant. Almost as serious as your sister and Parker just shut down completely. A crystal ball wasn’t really necessary.”

  “I didn’t know,” she murmured.

  “Yes, well . . . when we realized something had happened, Wendy went off. She couldn’t believe her son had been stupid enough to let you slip out of his hands.”

  “How do you know it wasn’t me and not him?”

  “Baby, you have a lot to learn!” She laughed heartily. “I have a son, you know. The one you’re staying with. He and Parker Sullivan were cut from the same damn cloth. Why am I sure it was him? That’s why!”

  “He wants to start over.”

  “And here you thought you were going to the desert just to scratch an old itch. I bet he’s playing for keeps this time, isn’t he?”

  “I can’t believe you just said that,” she told her mom. “Is that what you thought?”

  “Sweetie, I knew the second you ended that farce with Aldo that Arizona was your next stop. Tell me something . . . does Alexander know about this?”

  “He knows and he’s meddling so fast I’m surprised he hasn’t hurt himself.”

  “Meddling in what way?”

  “In that big brother pain-in-the-ass way he has. You know Alex. He throws us together, stirs the pot, and then threatens Parker to an inch of h
is life for reacting to the obvious provocation.”

  “Typical.”

  “He tried to intimidate Parker at the door when he was dropping me off after a dinner date, Mom! It was so embarrassing. They’re grown men, for heaven’s sake. It was worse than having Dad hovering at the door.”

  She heard a heavy, mom sigh through the phone. “Is he what you want, Angelina? Talk to me, sweetie. Is Parker why you went to Arizona? Are you ready to carpe diem, baby girl?”

  The million-dollar question. Was she ready? To seize the day? She knew he was hers for the asking, but this wasn’t a dress rehearsal this time. They really were playing for keeps which meant she had to know what the hell she wanted and also had to be prepared to give herself to the things he wanted. Whatever that meant—and she was in no way implying that cheering for the same sports team fit the requirement. But no way was she getting into that with her mom.

  “Mom, I think I want to stay in Arizona. After the wedding, I mean. When we all come back to the Villa after Boston, I’m thinking about hanging here. Meghan’s doing something amazing for the vet community that I’d like to help with.”

  “You didn’t answer me about Parker.”

  “I know. It’s hard to see clearly where that’s going, Mom. But I wanted you to know that besides Parker . . . I think Arizona is just in my soul. I missed being here. Hey, did you ever hear Uncle Matt call me Desert Angel?”

  “All the time, sweetie. All the time. And don’t you worry. Daddy and I know you’ve carried those red rocks and that bright sunshine inside you while you’ve been with us at the vineyard. We were just waiting—giving you the time and space to figure it out for yourself. You scared us shitless when agreed to marry Aldo. There was no love there, Angie, no matter how perfect a marriage may have seemed. If you going home to Arizona is the price to be paid for coming to your senses, we’ll take the distance with a grain of salt and thank our lucky stars that you were brave enough to chase your dreams.”

  “UNCLE MATT!” ANGIE CRIED WITH delight when his dad flung open the front door and came rushing out to the driveway. She was unbuckled and scrambling the second he put the car in park.

  He watched as his father swooped in and picked her up, twirling in a circle as she laughed and hugged him tight. Parker chuckled. Matthew Sullivan had a bit of a soft heart when it came to Angie. The old man adored her and had always treated her as though she were his own daughter.

  Lowering her, she landed with a thud as her cowgirl boots hit the pavement, he held her out at arm’s length and proclaimed, “I know it’s been less than a year since we’ve seen each other, girl, but I swear you look even more beautiful here under the sun of the Southwest than you do at the vineyard.”

  Parker shook his head and groaned. The campaign to convince Angie to stay in Arizona was underway.

  Angie beamed then made a wry, conspiratorial face. “There’s something in the water at the Villa. I think Alexander has tapped into the spring of contentment at his little kingdom of desert land.” She giggled.

  Weaving her arm through his, she turned as if suddenly remembering who the hell she came with and smiled at Parker.

  “Don’t forget the wine, okay?” And with that he was forgotten. Pushed aside to toddle in her wake as she bestowed her endless charms on his old man. “Nice going, Dad,” he griped out loud.

  By the time he made it into the house after stopping to grab her shawl and purse along with the carry-bag holding the bottles of wine, he was odd man out judging by the laughter and joyful banter coming from the kitchen.

  They knew he was coming to dinner too, right? Jesus Christ.

  He was an only child—used to undivided attention from his adoring parents—not virtually ignored as they jumped for fucking joy over a visitor.

  But Angie wasn’t exactly a visitor. She was family.

  Shit. This was complicated.

  “Made your favorite!” his mom crowed. “Cowboy Enchilada Pie.” As he made his way toward them, his mom smiled sweetly and added, “And cheesy jalapeño biscuits for my boys.”

  “Hi, Mom,” he drawled, dropping a dutiful kiss on the cheek she proffered. Taken aback slightly by the gleam he saw in her eyes, he looked at her quizzically, but she wasn’t giving anything else away.

  Pushing the handles of the carry-bag into her hands, he said, “Angie brought some rioja . . .”

  “The one you like, Uncle Matt!” she interrupted.

  His dad perked up. “Oh! Is it that one we got hammered on last year when we visited the Aragon finca?”

  “The very one,” she snickered. “Have you heard that Mom and Dad are giving the newlyweds the finca property as a wedding present? I guess after that visit, they decided it would be perfect for Alex and Meghan.”

  “Getting shitfaced does that to you.”

  “Oh, shush,” his mom admonished her husband with a playful swat. “The four of us have been falling down drunk in half the cities of the world. Seeing the completed restoration through inebriated eyes may have had something to do with it, but I’m not surprised. Alex and his bride will love it.”

  “Haven’t you met her yet?” she asked stunned.

  When they shook their heads, she looked at him with astonished eyes. “Parker! What’s the matter with you?”

  Huh? What was the matter with him? Fuck. Nothing was the matter with him. It was not his goddamn responsibility to introduce Alex’s fiancée to his parents. This one was squarely on his friend’s shoulders.

  “Me?” he barked. “Talk to your brother. I’m his fucking lawyer, not the keeper of his social calendar.”

  She looked at him strangely. The grumpy bark that was just this side of a snarl was a bit much even by his standards. Did it help that his dad was openly smirking at him? No, it did not.

  “Well,” Angie sniffed after giving him a dismissive look, “you must meet her before Boston. That way you can tell my folks how awesome she is.”

  “Why don’t we do lunch in town?” his mother suggested enthusiastically. “Or go get a manicure. Just us girls.”

  “I think our manly importance in this matter has been pretty thoroughly spelled out, don’t you, son?” his dad snickered.

  Humph. Parker just grunted and stomped to the refrigerator. He needed a beer. Maybe a couple of them. When he turned around again after tossing the cap away, he was alone in the kitchen.

  What the fuck? Really? Glad to know he was as important to the evening as, well . . . as what?

  Laughter rang out from the family room. On reluctant feet, he headed toward the sound, grumbling the whole way.

  He found Angie bending over his dad’s shoulder as he showed her something on his laptop while his mom was nowhere to be seen.

  “So you know how your dad and I have that Rube Goldberg Challenge?”

  “Challenge?” Angie snickered good-naturedly as she nudged the older man’s shoulder. “How about lifelong pissing contest?”

  “And then there’s that.” His father chuckled. “Well, anyway—this time, instead of doing a video reveal, your dad’s shipping his machine to the Villa so after the wedding while we get in a long, extended visit, we can complete the challenge together.”

  Oh, god,” Angie muttered sarcastically. “My mother must love that!”

  “Hey!” his dad teased. “Come on now. Be nice. We keep it within a set of restraints so neither of us can get too crazy.”

  “You call no bigger than a big screen TV and can’t use electricity restraints?” She chuckled.

  “Tell me, Angel, do you know what he’s building this time?”

  “Hell no, Uncle Matt! Sophie and I stay away from the mad professor’s workshop and Mom only goes out there when she has to.”

  From his perch in the doorway where he leaned casually against the door jam and nursed his beer while eavesdropping on their conversation, Parker blurted out with a snarky snort, “Mad professor. Good one! Alex’s apple didn’t fall far from your old man’s tree.”

  Angie, w
ho had turned around the moment he’d made his presence known, laughed joyfully.

  “Oh, my god! You’re so right. What’s that expression?” she asked with a questioning frown. “Two peas in a pod? Something like that.”

  “The Marquez men are most definitely two of a kind,” his mom chimed in as she came into the room carrying a platter overflowing with homemade tortilla crisps, a mound of guac, and a carafe filled with fresh salsa. Apparently, it was southwestern night at the Sullivans.

  “Dig in,” she nodded at the pile as she put out individual salsa cups for each of them. “I kept the hot in the salsa to a slow burn.” Turning a raised eye in Parker’s direction, she noted the beer in his hand and said, “And Uncle Matt has a pitcher of margaritas ready to go, Angie. You ready to get your tequila on?”

  “Don Julio!” his dad hooted. “None of that Cuervo crap in my house.”

  “I’m stuffed,” Angie groaned. Laying her napkin over her empty plate like a tarp at a crime scene, she pushed it away and clutched her stomach. “Everyone look away.” She giggled. “Have to let out my belt a notch or two.”

  Uncle Matt, who always had the best one-liners, made the perfect response to her comment by way of an ear-splitting belch that was met with a stern groan from Aunt Wendy and a quiet chuckle from Parker.

  “Must you?” Wendy drawled.

  “Better out than in,” her uncle quipped with a wink.

  Lord but she loved these two people.

  “Need help with the dishes?” she asked politely, rising from her chair.

  Angie was startled when her aunt pounded Parker on the shoulder and said, “See? That girl’s been raised right. Not like that Allison person. Nobody bothered to teach her any manners.”

  What? Allison? Who the bloody hell was Allison?

  “Mom!” Parker groaned.

  “Man up, Parker,” Aunt Wendy smirked. “The woman was a twit and you know it. No need to be embarrassed just because your girlfriend was brought up by hillbillies.”