Desert Angel (Family Justice Book 2) (6 page)

“Shut the fuck up, you little rugrat,” he chortled once he tore himself away from Meghan’s mouth.

“How come you get to say shut up?” Meghan sighed.

“’Cause I’m the M-A-N, that’s why!” He laughed as he swatted his woman’s butt. “You girls run along and go play with your Barbies. I’m headed out to the construction trailer.”

“Yeah, I saw that,” Angie squeaked, remembering what she’d seen on the way in. “What’s going on, Alexander? You making some changes?”

“You could say that. Look, we’ll catch up and share newsletters at dinner, okay? Meghan’s been jumping out of her skin with excitement for you to get here so in the interest of peace and harmony . . .”

Angie snorted at the comment.

“As I was saying before the heckler in the peanut gallery added unwanted sound effects,” he said with a shake of his brotherly head. “With a nod to peace and harmony, you two get the rest of the day to lose your shit over all this girlie stuff. Fun now. Get down to business later.”

Kissing her quickly on the forehead, Alex lingered quite a bit longer on Meghan’s lips, then said. “Later,” and strode from the room.

Meghan’s sigh as she watched him go clutched at Angie’s heart.

“Okay, bride, so show me the latest pictures from your dress fitting. I have a trillion questions and want to show you some awesome ideas for attendant gifts.”

“Thank god you’re here, Angie. I’m drowning under the weight of all the wedding details.”

Looping their arms again, she shrugged like all this was no big deal. “You relax. Enjoy being engaged. Let me take over, okay?”

“Gladly,” Meghan hooted. “Come on. Donuts first. Ria left a whole bunch.”

Playfully pushing her new sister out of the way, Angie taunted, “Donuts? Dibs!” and went dashing into the house as Meghan’s happy laughter split the air.

“W
OW. THIS IS A LOT
to take on, you guys. Do the ‘rents know about this?” Angie asked Alex.

“Absolutely.” He was quick to assure his sister. “Just because I have legal control of the property doesn’t mean I’d do anything without Dad’s approval. This is Valleja-Marquez land. By shifting things around and moving the Justice areas further from the main house, we’ll be preserving our privacy. Less blending of the two. With the family expanding, it was time to draw a line between work and home.”

“And Meghan,” Angie gasped. “Oh, my god, Red. What you’re doing is off-the-hook, lady!”

Meghan did a quick half-shrug, dropping one of the miniature buildings back onto the table where the working display of the new compound layout sat. It was like her very own dollhouse only with roads and benches, an outdoor pavilion, and a parking lot.

“Tell her the rest, darling,” Alex encouraged with a smile and a nod.

“There’s more?” Angie chirped. “How the hell do you even have time for more?”

“She never does anything half-assed. One of those hard-working New Englander traits.”

Shut up,
she mouthed with a pout, earning her a salacious leer and the mouthed reply of
five
as he held up the fingers on one hand.

“Ignore him, Red,” Angie sneered. Sticking her tongue out at Alex and wrinkling her nose, she said, “What the hell else could there possibly be after all this?” She waved her hand at the impressive model and shook her head in wonder.

Alex childishly stuck his tongue right back out at his sister then started babbling to her. Meghan thought about her brothers and their own unique dynamic. She understood Angie’s relationship with Alex.

“Remember that rundown luncheonette on the old county road out on the other side of the interstate? The one with the fake desert windmill?” he asked Angie.

“Sure, sure. Busty’s. God, Mom loved that place, remember? Is it still open?”

Smiling broadly, Alex came to Meghan’s side and drifted a possessive hand across her butt and up until ending at her waist, which he squeezed softly. She felt a familiar warmth spread through her. He was proud of what she was doing.

Kissing the side of her face, Alex answered Angie’s questions and quickly filled in the blanks.

“Open and Busty still runs the place! She’s something of a legend now—must be at least eighty. Right, hon?” he asked.

“She’ll be eighty-four this year,” Meghan chortled. “And I seriously heart her! I mean, c’mon! With a name like Busty Winds, what isn’t there to love? The pictures she has on display of her doing burlesque in Vegas before the dawn of the showgirl era are mind-blowing.”

Angie agreed. “Probably why Mom liked that place so much. Some aging pastie-twirler telling tales about gangsters and movie stars? Right up her alley,” she snickered.

“Well, wait for it, little sister, ‘cause you haven’t heard anything yet!”

Meghan fidgeted. She was uncomfortable taking the spotlight. Sheesh. Anyone in her position would be doing the same thing. Alex nudged her playfully. “Go on, baby. Tell her. It’s not like it’s a secret!”

He had a point. And come to think of it, maybe she should be picking Angie’s brain for ways to get some media attention for the project.

“We heard that Busty wanted to sell the land adjacent to the luncheonette. That area is off the beaten path and nobody was interested. Then we started throwing ideas around.” Meghan paused to smile warmly at her fiancé. “What this area needs is community outreach. We thought a multi-purpose center for families with an emphasis on veterans and active military would be a win-win scenario. Busty could be the food vendor, even do catering. Think of it as an updated version of a community center. For families.”

“Meghan’s been involved with a military spouses project that offers support and resources for service families on active duty.” Alex beamed at her, and she swore her heart fluttered. “She teaches yoga as a stress reliever.”

“Good lord, Red.”

A quiver of emotion in Angie’s voice made Meghan look at her sharply.

“Can I help? I mean, what do you need?”

Meghan was somewhat stunned. Angie actually sniffed. And reached for her hand, squeezing her fingers. She was the center of a Marquez sandwich with Alex plastered to one side of her and now Angie on the other.

“When Alexander was hurt,” Angie said quietly, emotion clogging her voice, “the support Mom and Dad got from the groups assisting families of the wounded was phenomenal. And now, even from our outpost in Spain, the vineyard is involved in military outreach. The Spanish forces fought with the coalition.”

Meghan understood. It must have been frightening for Alex’s family. That awful time was when she first came to know Major Alexander Valleja-Marquez. He had been a physical and spiritual mess. Their letter exchange during his long convalescence gave her a rare glimpse inside the mini-universe of pain, fear, and loneliness that marked the end of his military time.

“I want to see a place where families can go that is packed with all sorts of organic, holistic stuff. You know, whatever nourishes the soul. Not just entertainment. Anyone can build a community center with game rooms and big screen TVs. I just want everything to be positive. There’s far too much toxic negativity to go around these days. It’s hard enough for families as it is.”

Meghan abruptly stopped talking and looked away blushing. She was starting to sound like one of those new age-y life coaches—preaching about spreading love and acceptance. Alex, always alert to her every mood, chuckled softly and squeezed her waist.

“Okay, enough with the serious talk,” he drawled. “My bride and my little sister are in da house.” Smacking Meghan on the butt, he pushed her toward the hall and shooed Angie along as well. “This calls for a drink.”

They shuffled from Alex’s study into the big family room and made for the built-in bar where Meghan quickly set up camp behind the polished wood. Pulling a bottle of Jameson’s from the shelf, she slapped it dramatically on the bar and smirked at her fiancé.

“Oh, my god,” Angie cried. “So this really
is
a thing?”

Pouring a healthy splash of the fragrant amber liquid into a large tumbler, Meghan played her part with teasing perfection. She didn’t care what anybody said. This would never
not
be funny.

“Glenfiddich is for pussies,” she purred. “Angie?” she asked politely, holding the bottle aloft in invitation.

“Oh, absolutely, Red! I’ve even been practicing so I can keep up with your family of Irish hooligans!”

Meghan poured them each a drink as she openly snickered at Alex. “What about you, Major?” she cooed with a purposeful smirk.

“You know, it’s just not fair,” he muttered. “First, I lose half my damn closet. Then I keep finding hair ties in the weirdest places. Like inside my socks.”

Meghan’s feminine giggle complemented Angie’s wide-eyed smile.

“And my whole crew. A bunch of flaming fangirls every time you make an appearance. It’s fucking ridiculous.”

Alex made sure to interject just enough long-suffering sighs to make his whining completely adorable. Pushing an empty tumbler on the bar toward Meghan, he growled, “But taking a man’s favorite pastime away just for the sheer hell of it? That sucks, ladies.”

A sound came out of Meghan’s mouth, a word she bit off before it was fully formed, and then she grinned from ear-to-ear. “Bite me,” Meghan chuckled.

Alex roared with laughter. “Choked on a
shut up,
hmmm? Still holding at thirty-five. Smart move, love.”

With Alex’s glass now filled, Angie held hers up for a toast. “Obviously an inside joke and no . . . I definitely don’t want to know what’s holding at thirty-five. To Alexander and his beautiful bride-to-be and hopefully another generation of the Marquez dynasty!
Salud y amor y tiempo para disfrutarlo!
”

Angie enjoyed the burn from the Irish whiskey as it spread warmth throughout her body. She hadn’t been kidding about practicing. With her life in Spain taken up by the vineyard and family label, she’d grown accustomed to endless samplings of the wine and sherry associated with the region. Throwing down with hard liquor rarely occurred. Neither did enjoying an ice-cold beer on a hot desert day. Two things she was looking forward to during this visit.

Eyeing the happy couple, she loved the unique vibe rolling off her brother and his lady. It was so unexpected and charming plus her sister was going to fall over laughing when Angie confirmed that, yep, the Jameson Glenfiddich rivalry was for real.

“Health, love, and the time to enjoy. I like that,” Meghan told her with an enthusiastic nod.

Alex snorted with amusement and rolled his eyes at Angie. “My bride thinks she has to learn Spanish in a hurry.” He
tsked
and quirked a half-grin. “Someone needs to tell her that we aren’t exactly a bilingual family.”

“Speak for yourself, Alexander!” Angie yelped. “Just ‘cause you were lazy about language doesn’t mean we all were.”

Something that smelled seriously amazing wafted from the kitchen and immediately got her stomach growling. She’d been traveling for days and was looking forward to a relaxing meal that didn’t involve container food or throwaway utensils.

Angie was relieved when Meghan led the way into the much cozier and smaller family dining area rather than to the formal dining room. Exhaustion was starting to get the better of her and all she wanted to do was kick back and relax.

“I made a brisket.”

Alex’s playful laugh split the air. “You
so
did not!” His mock-stunned expression struck Angie as truly funny. “Ria barely lets you put butter on toast,” he taunted a clearly exasperated Meghan.

“Major Marquez!” she barked at him. “Shut . . .”

“Eh, eh, eh,” he
tsked
with a wink and shake of his head. “Forty? You want to try for forty? Better curb that tongue, woman!”

“You two are so weird,” Angie chuckled. Raising an eyebrow, she looked back and forth between them and pulled a comical face. To Meghan, she drawled, “Hon, whatever y’all are tallying, forty sounds like too many!” And to Alex, she sniped, “And you, brother? You look entirely too pleased with yourself.”

Throwing them a saucy wink-smirk, she set her tumbler on the table and eyed the place settings. Four?

“I thought you said Calder wasn’t here,” she muttered as Alex slid by.