Nobody's Angel (8 page)

She knew she should be afraid of the intensity behind his
eyes. He was an intelligent man, capable of going after what he wanted. He knew where she worked, where she lived, and there was no escaping him if he decided to seriously harass her—short of calling the police. She didn't want to resort to that. If Adrian was really innocent, Tony had scarred his life as badly as hers, even more.

She nodded at the ham, pretending she hadn't understood his threat. “Your first home-cooked dinner?”

He raised his eyebrows and didn't smile, but held out the slice he'd chosen for her inspection. “Care to join me?”

“For fried ham? No, thank you. When will your cousin be returning my car? If I have to rent one, it could cost me a fortune.”

“He's coming up to see your gallery and bring you the porcelain consignment tomorrow. I wasn't certain if you were open on Mondays. If you need a ride, I'll be happy to help.”

“I can survive another day. I don't have the case and lighting ready yet for Juan's figurines, though. I hope he won't be disappointed.” She needed to get on with her shopping, go home and fix her lonely meal and do her books as she did every Monday night. She shouldn't be standing here shamelessly lapping up this male attention, for that's what it was. Adrian had an appreciative way of looking at her that made her feel young and flirty and as unburdened by life as she had been at eighteen. She was playing with fire.

“I don't think he's expecting miracles. He's just curious and had to come in for supplies anyway. He'll probably be in around lunch. I'll bring him by.”

She would see him again tomorrow. Her head wished he would go away. Her heart pattered a little faster with anticipation. She needed to get a life if playing with fire was her idea of excitement these days.

“I'll see you, then.” She could have made a graceful exit right there, but the haunted look in Adrian's eyes held her back for one second too long. Holding her breath for the courage to actually meet his gaze, she offered, “Thank you for bringing me home last night. I hope you didn't have to sleep in the truck.”

“It was quieter than the shelter.” His self-deprecating grin twisted her heart even harder. “Don't look like that. I didn't want anything happening to the truck, so I didn't bother going to the shelter.”

Oh, shoot and filth, a man who had probably once driven a BMW was protecting his cousin's wretched excuse for a truck by sleeping in it. The all-too-familiar guilt crept under her skin. She fought it with a brittle smile and a nod. “I'll see you tomorrow, then.”

With the feeling that Adrian's dark gaze pierced her spine, she walked away.

“Mama's sick, Quinn, real sick. Belinda can run over after work and look after her, but Belinda doesn't have time for all the young ones, and they're running wild after school. I'm working after classes, so I can't be there often.” Cesar, Adrian's half brother, stalked up and down the tiny furnished room without noticing his surroundings.

“I can take the youngest home with me,” Juan suggested, “but the twins are at that age …” Adrian's cousin shrugged. “They're just into middle school and don't wish to leave their friends. Isabel is pregnant. I don't know if she can look after them if they come to us.”

“I can quit school, get a full-time job,” Cesar suggested awkwardly.

“Over my dead body.” Grimly, Adrian crushed the soft drink can in his hand and threw it at the trash basket. “What kind of job could you find that would let you be home when the kids come in after school? If you really want to help, get your teaching degree. Why aren't Dolores and Elena looking after the younger ones?”

His half brother exchanged glances with his cousin, and Adrian's temper surged another notch. There was so much they'd kept from him while he was locked helplessly behind bars. And instead of going directly down to his family, he'd come up here, chasing after a spoiled ice queen who'd robbed his family of their future.

“Tell me,” he demanded.

“Dolores is sixteen now,” Cesar said apologetically. “She thinks she is grown. She's working at Burger King and talking about quitting school and getting married. Elena …” He struggled for an explanation. “She turns the boys’ heads. We couldn't afford the cheerleading for either of them, so Elena sulks and flirts and is headed for trouble.”

So the very ones he'd counted on to help with the younger children were behaving like children themselves, as they were, actually. Just because he'd carried responsibility for the world at that age didn't mean the girls should. Adrian balled his hands into fists and tried not to let the fury and frustration inundate him. “I'll come home,” he agreed. So much for his rationally planned choices. Life had never given him many options. “Just don't ask too many questions when I show up.”

Cesar's youthful brow pulled down in a frown. “I'll quit school before I'll let you do anything else to get you sent back to that place.”

Adrian cuffed his half brother upside the head. “Quitting school won't help, I tell you. I can still find work. I just wanted to correct a mistake first. We'll go admire Juan's exhibit, then the two of you go back where you belong. I'll be home in a day or two. Tell those sisters of ours they'd better straighten up before I arrive.”

Cesar looked relieved behind his frown. “My courses are easy this semester. I can take a second job.”

“We'll talk about that later. Let's go visit Ms. Hope and her fancy gallery.”

Juan took his truck while Adrian and Cesar folded themselves into Faith's turquoise beetle and led the way. Feeling murderous, Adrian strangled the steering wheel, but choking it didn't relieve his escalating tension. Tony's widow knew more than she was revealing, he was positive.

For Cesar's sake he put on a pleasant face as they found parking places behind the gallery. Adrian had been the result of his mother's one mistake in life. She'd had him at seventeen, while unmarried and without a high school diploma. It had taken her several years to get back on her feet, earn a
diploma, and fall in love with a decent man. Adrian had been almost six by then, and used to taking care of himself.

His stepfather had been a loving man and a hard worker. He adopted Adrian and added the name Raphael to his fa-ther's given name of Quinn, but even his stepfather had found it difficult to make ends meet when the babies started coming. Adrian could damn the church and its teachings for that, but he loved his half siblings and the rest of his family and didn't waste time cursing their beliefs. Instead, grateful for the father he hadn't had until Rick came along, he'd shouldered as much of the responsibility for his younger siblings as he could. When Rick died in a car accident before the birth of the youngest, Adrian had assumed the responsibility for supporting them. He'd been twenty-five and just out of law school at the time.

That didn't excuse his criminal negligence.

Locking the car, waiting for Juan to park his truck, Adrian dismissed the past and concentrated on the present. Cesar didn't need to know the pressures he had felt at that age. He draped his arm over his half brother's shoulders and steered him toward the front of the small plaza of exclusive shops.

The shop door chimed as they strode in, three brown-skinned men in faded jeans and their best dress shirts and still looking like trash collectors. A few tourists turned and stared. A silver-haired matron expertly examining a contemporary Navajo piece glanced at them and frowned.

Faith's blond head tilted up and a smile of pleasure curved her glossy pink lips as she set aside her invoice pad and emerged from behind the counter.

The impact of that genuine smile smote Adrian right where it hurt, and for a change, it wasn't below his belt.

“Mrs. McIntyre, come meet the artist who created that bowl you commented on.” After Adrian's surly introductions to his half brother, Faith turned and gestured at the matron currently admiring the Navajo pottery. She didn't know what had set Adrian's hackles up this time, but she wasn't being paid to care. Juan, now, was a different story. She could promote his work with genuine pleasure, and profit.

The tourists drew closer as they realized the man carrying the cardboard box was actually an artist. Faith gestured for them to enter the gathering circle. This was what she enjoyed most about her shop—bringing the art-deprived public together with the artists and encouraging their interest.

“Is this the consignment?” she asked eagerly, letting Juan set his box down on the empty exhibit table she'd been preparing earlier. “May I show everyone?”

A little overwhelmed by the audience, Juan deferentially nodded agreement. Faith sensed Adrian's cynicism as he leaned against her counter and watched the proceedings, but she didn't have to put on a show for his sake. She smiled as she lifted the first piece out of the box. “The tiger! You brought me the tiger! Thank you.” She held the delicate figurine up so their audience could appreciate its beauty. “The details are exquisite. Look at the whiskers, and the eyes! This one looks like a protective father watching over his cubs.”

“Sí,”
Juan agreed quietly. “I am still working on his mate.”

“Then they should be sold as a pair,” Faith declared firmly, setting the tiger aside. “I'll display this one until his mate is ready.”

The silver-haired matron picked up the tiger and studied it as Faith pulled out the rest of the pieces. The tourists oohed and aahed over a sleek panther and a cardinal ready to burst into song. A set of tumbling kittens brought a chorus of ecstasy. Haltingly, Juan recited a brief story behind each piece, and before she'd emptied the box, Faith knew she had sold almost the entire consignment. She'd studied her catalogs and had the prices she wanted firmly in mind. There was hesitation on the part of the tourists, but Mrs. McIntyre's definitive purchase of the largest piece and a demand to be notified when the tiger pair were ready swayed them to open their wallets.

As the shop gradually cleared of the triumphant new owners of original hand-signed porcelain, Faith slumped onto her stool behind the counter and beamed. “Juan, that was brilliant! You practically hand-sold every piece. You need to make limited editions of all of them, sign and number them, and I could line up other galleries as well as this one. If you don't mind a little travel …”

Smiling at last, Juan shook his head. “Isabel is carrying our first child. I'll not travel far from home. But I've never seen such enthusiasm before. That was your doing, not mine. They believed in your expertise.”

“She received a nice percentage for that enthusiasm,” Adrian interrupted rudely. “Don't give her too much credit.”

Adrian's half brother—Cesar, Faith thought he was called— still looked amazed as he checked the few remaining pieces on the table. “But did you see how much she sold them for? Maybe I should take up pottery—”

Adrian cuffed him lightly. “After you own a farm like Juan and can raise your own food so you don't starve. It's taken Juan—what?” He turned to his cousin. “Fifteen years? And this is the most money he's ever made. And you've never shown any talent in that direction before. It's not something one can learn.”

“And the bowl didn't sell,” Faith gently reminded the youth. “That is the most original piece of work, the one with the highest price. It could be months before I find someone
willing to pay the cost. The porcelain figurines are brilliant and take forever, but once the molds are created, they can be reproduced a million times. The hand painting can be turned over to artisans. The vase, on the other hand, is one of a kind. There will never be another like it, but most people don't understand or appreciate uniqueness.”

Undaunted, Cesar merely stepped back from the table, shoving his hands in his pockets and shaking his head in admiration. “Adrian, you are missing your opportunity.”

Not acknowledging this enigmatic remark, Adrian turned his dark gaze on Faith. Somehow, she always fell for the depth of his eyes, as if he had some mesmerizing power. Refusing to succumb to any man, she stuck her chin up in defiance, waiting for his next cynical pronouncement.

“Juan and Cesar must go back to … Encee.” A smile tugged at his lips as he used her version of the state's name. “But we could celebrate the occasion this evening. Would you have dinner with me?”

Faith thought she might faint with shock. She dug her fingers into the metal stool seat and stared. He'd stood there and blatantly dismissed her selling abilities, behaved as if she were no more than a used car salesman unloading a clunker, and now he wanted to celebrate? There was something definitely odd about this, especially since he shouldn't have two cents with which to buy dinner.

“You want to renegotiate the consignment contract?” she asked doubtfully. “The one we have is legal. You said so yourself.”

Juan stuffed wads of bubble wrap and newspaper into the now-empty box and tidied the table while Cesar's head swiveled back and forth, trying to follow the undercurrents of the conversation. Juan shoved the box into the young man's hands. “It's time we go. I don't want Isabel alone after dark.”

“Isabel would take an ax to any intruder's head,” Adrian threw after him as they headed out. “You're the one who would invite a thief for supper.”