His Devious Angel Read online

  “Sadie thought up a program where she was in charge of this part of the business. And it’s worked out very well. We’re all happy with her role both as the dogwalker and the fitness trainer. She also does yoga with many of the clients. But this keeps her very busy, and we’ve been telling her for some time to slow down. Except as you might have noticed, she’s as stubborn as her jackass mule-headed father, God bless his soul and keep him smiling.”

  Mama Bertolli tickled his funny bone. He smiled, and then a mushy feeling exploded when she returned it so sweetly. The thought he’d had returned, and he said, “Couldn’t the dogs miss a couple of days? It is an emergency. It’s not like she’s at fault for the accident.”

  “It’s a business, Liam. They would expect us to be prepared. I’ve been after Sadie for some time to take on a partner to train with the animals. We’re talking spoilt canines that many of these people treat like precious babies. They have idiosyncrasies that need to be understood.”

  “The dogs or the owners?” Liam grinned at the thought.

  Bea’s face stayed serious even if her eyes twinkled. “Both. And Sadie has their number.”

  “The dogs or the owners?” He couldn’t help himself.

  “Both.” This time she did laugh.

  Dora piped in as if she’d stayed quiet long enough. “Sadie, take Liam up on his offer. He’s a big guy and those mutts won’t scare him. You know you need someone who can take control.”

  Liam raised his eyebrow at Sadie, wondering what the hell he’d gotten himself into. This time her grin evoked pure mischief.

  Chapter Nine

  Liam drove through his familiar childhood neighborhood where he’d ridden his first bike—his father running behind him holding on to the seat. He’d forgotten that memory until his phantom friend all of a sudden appeared as his passenger and mentioned it.

  “How did you know?” Liam was shocked. He pulled over to the curb a few houses before his own and parked the convertible.

  Johnny, Liam’s nickname for the ghost dude, gave him the “what-are-you-stupid?” look, and he felt his bile rising. Man, he wished a guy could punch out an angel.

  Ignoring his celestial stalker, he turned away to watch as his old man, hunched over a little more with age, raked the leaves, and another vision blasted from his memory banks. Him and his dad making a big pile, and then him running and leaping, leaves flying in every direction, his father doubled over with laughter.

  Unfortunately, his thoughts didn’t stop there. He remembered his mother at the window flaying them both, especially her husband—cutting him down, the words vitriolic and hurtful—the old man taking it, saying nothing. Sorrowfully reaching to help him out of the mess, his dad would get back to work, head lowered and peace restored.

  Anger seized and tightened his gut to where he had difficulty breathing. He remembered that it had always been that way; his mom berating her husband, and the man allowing her to cut him up in little pieces. Liam had hated it, and as he’d gotten older, he’d begun to hate his father for allowing his wife such wicked control. Sick inside from remembering, he started the car and peeled away, tires squealing.

  Once past the old place, he checked the rearview mirror and watched his father stop what he was doing and examine the passing vehicle. In seconds, Liam saw his shoulders stoop worse than ever, a riveting visual of misery and despondency.

  “You couldn’t cut him some slack, hey? Had to make sure he saw you, dig the knife in a little deeper?” The angel sounded sad.

  “What’s it to you?” Liam had to grate his teeth to stop the sob that almost escaped. He crunched his lips together so they wouldn’t wobble; he was that close to losing it. What the hell was wrong with him? Ever since that last patrol, he’d felt vulnerable and weak. As a man who’d never let himself be anything but strong and cocky, he didn’t have a clue how to handle this bullshit.

  After the last horrific battle, he’d gone through intense debriefing, but it hadn’t worked for him, not this time. Maybe if he’d stayed longer, he’d have dealt with the psychological stress, but his time had run out. He’d been sent home with a Distinguished Service Cross in one hand and his broken spirit in the other.

  Now he had two choices for his future. Take on a new career. Or sign up again. With his unique capabilities as an elite member of Special Forces, he had his choice of missions both here and overseas.

  “Aye there, you don’t have to make up your mind just yet, you know. You have time.” The British accent soothed, stroking his anxiety to where it magically disappeared. It felt great.

  “Thanks, dude. I don’t know what you did, but you can do it anytime.”

  “You’re welcome. Where are we off to now?” Johnny settled in, seatbelt tightly in place.

  “Well, I don’t know where you’re going. Off to a cloud to catch some shuteye, maybe? But me, I’m going to check on a little boy.” Liam headed in the direction where the Ruiz family lived. He turned on the radio and let the music soothe. As he pulled up to a corner, he looked in a grocery store’s large window and, with the sun at the perfect angle, saw his car and himself, but the passenger seat was unsurprisingly empty. Gave him goose bumps, since the pirate sprawled in full sight.

  Once he arrived, he slowed down perceptibly, having learnt his lesson. The street was clear, and there was a place to park in front of the house with the rundown façade. He stooped to get out of the car, since he’d put up the convertible top, and hesitated, then turned in the direction of the fellow who rested in the passenger seat. Liam’s one arm held open the door while the other leaned against the frame. “You coming?”

  “For the time being, I’m comfy here. Don’t hurry.”

  “You’re going to trust me alone?”

  “You’ll do splendidly, I have no doubt.”

  Liam slammed the door and walked away muttering. “Sure! I can’t get rid of him when he isn’t wanted, and now when I could use some backup, he’s too comfy to move. Bast…!” He cut himself off before finishing the word. “Guess I can’t even call him names.”

  As he approached the stairs, he heard crying, and the sound of it made him take the steps two at a time. He knocked and then noticed the door hadn’t been closed all the way. He stepped into the room.

  Pedro, the child, was sobbing heartbrokenly as he knelt beside his mother, who lay on the floor in a pool of water. Liam ran towards them to check the woman and soothe the boy. “What happened, Pedro?” His rough voice seemed to shock the boy out of his hysterics, and with a glad cry he flung himself at Liam. “Mi mamá is dying. Help her, señor, please.”

  A soft pleading came from the pregnant woman who had arched her body, contorting it this way and that. “Sir, the baby is coming. You must call my midwife.”

  The pain seemed to intensify, as if it intended to break up her insides. She writhed in agony, biting her lips bloody to stop the screams. Once the contraction had passed, she whispered to Liam, “Take him away from this. He mustn’t see.”

  “What is going on here?” A very angry dude dressed in working-man’s clothes and big boots stood in the doorway, rooted to the spot. “Isobella!” Once he’d taken in the details, he dropped his lunchbox and rushed to kneel next to Liam. “Papá,” Pedro reached for his father, leaving Liam’s arms without a moment’s hesitation. “Help mamá. She is sick.”

  “I’m calling an ambulance.” Liam whipped out his cell phone and would have dialed 911 if the other fellow hadn’t ripped it from his hands and flung it across the room.

  “No ambulance. Her midwife. I’ll call.” Settling the boy on his hip, he rose then rushed to the telephone table by the wall, where a small book lay open.

  Liam watched as he dialed the number, and when he felt a trembling hand clutch his, he encircled her fingers reassuringly. “Don’t worry, honey. We’ll get you some help.” A glance told him the woman worked miracles to keep the shrieks from breaking loose. Her lips were torn and raw while tears poured from her eyes nonstop. First he patte
d her shoulder. Then he cleared the damp mass of wild curls away from her face.

  Behind him, Liam heard the Spanish torrent of pleas, and because he was multi-lingual in four different languages, Spanish being his best, he knew immediately from the one-sided conversation that the midwife couldn’t be reached. Son of a bitch! He had no idea how to birth a baby, and he wasn't sure her husband did, either. He’d seen the look of horror and fear on the other man’s face.

  “Look Mr. Ruiz, this is an emergency. Your wife needs a doctor, and I have no idea of how to help her. Do you?”

  “Yes. I can look after her if you’ll help. There’s no time to argue. The baby will come quickly if she has the same delivery as she did with Pedro. Go to the kitchen, boil the kettle, and take the boy with you.” Saying this, he forcefully held out the boy, who’d been twisted around him like ivy growing on the north side of a building. “Bring the clean towels from the drawer. Pedro, you show the hombre where mamá keeps them.” Ruiz ran to kneel beside his woman and began to position pillows under her back from the nearby sofa.

  Shocked to his core, Liam felt as if a brick had been slammed into his face. The guy couldn’t be serious. “Hey, bud. She needs a doctor.”

  “No, she needs help. Now go!” Ruiz pointed to a doorway, then began loosening her clothing and removing her pants. When he realized that Liam stood glued to the spot, he yelled again, louder and made a move, as if to threaten. “Go!” This time the man bellowed and Liam felt an unknown force push him forward.

  Liam went.

  Being separated from both his parents, the boy screamed with ferocity, the decibels rising. Oh god, where the hell was the angel when he needed him? He’d rather face a battalion of rioting enemy soldiers than deal with a hysterical brat.

  “Shush, big guy. We need to help your mom now, okay?” Once in the kitchen, he lowered the boy and knelt in front of him. The wet cheeks and big terrified eyes got to him, and he swiped gently at the tears and gave a quick reassuring hug. “Your dad gave us a job to do, so we need to follow orders. You go get me the towels your papa wants, and I’ll fill the kettle.”

  Giving the boy a little push to start him off, he quickly ran to the stove, turned it on high, and grabbed the kettle. He let the hot water run until it steamed, filled the thing, and placed it on the red burner.

  Spying the washroom, he flew in and checked out the medicine cabinet. Happier than a pig in shit, he found what he wanted, a big bottle of hydrogen peroxide. It stopped infection. He knew it worked. During his childhood, when he’d collected the cuts and scrapes of an active child, his father had used this as an effective treatment.

  His dad! Funny how the thought popped into his head just then, as if he needed to think of things like that now. But the truth was it had always been his father who’d kept his head in moments of stress. Unlike his mother, who’d normally screech for her husband.

  “Señor. Here are the towels.” The little guy held so many in his chubby arms that they trailed on the floor behind him and the weight almost toppled him over.

  “Good boy.” Liam lifted them from him. “Now you go in the kitchen, watch the kettle, and yell when it’s boiling, okay? And don’t touch anything.” Liam remembered to add that last bit. Who knew what went through a child’s mind when he wanted to help.

  Pedro nodded and ran over to stand guard in front of the stove.

  Liam hightailed it back into the living room and saw that Ruiz had gotten his wife undressed and covered with a blanket. He was crouched down between her knees.

  As soon as he heard Liam, he looked up, his expression calm while his eyes screamed “Help!”

  “I found the disinfectant; you should clean your hands.” Liam flung the towels down next the man and steered clear of the working area.

  “Where is Pedro?”

  “I have him watching the kettle; he’ll call when it’s boiling.”

  Grunts and whimpers broke loose as Isobela’s body reacted to another contraction. Liam could feel the pain rippling though his own in sympathy. He tightened his muscles and his butt cheeks clenched.

  The wild-eyed glance from Ruiz scared the daylights out of him. “You know what to do, right?”

  “Yeah! Yeah! I need scissors. We need them to cut the cord. They should be in the kitchen drawer. And a big pot, from the cupboard under the sink.”

  Isobela’s cracked lips opened, and her tired voice stuttered. “The suitcase—baby clothes—hallway.”

  “Papá, the water is ready.” Pedro rocked back and forth in the doorway, his legs scissored.

  “Good, mi hijo. Now go to the toilet like a big boy.” His telling glance at Liam pleaded.

  “Come, Pedro, I’ll help you. You have to show me where your mom keeps her scissors. He took the boy’s extended hand and led him to the bathroom, where the boy fetched a stepping platform, stood on it, and pulled down his pants.

  “You okay, big guy?” Liam waited for Pedro’s nod, fondled his hair, and then backed away. I need to get the water.” He rushed to the kitchen and fetched the big pot, pouring it half full of boiling water. Finding the scissors, he threw them into the water to soak and hefted the pot with the handle to carry to where Isobel’s nightmare progressed. In the hallway, her suitcase leaned against the wall, and he grabbed that also.

  “I’m boiling the scissors, but they’ll still need to be washed with the peroxide.”

  “Good idea. The baby’s coming, I can see the head. Help Isobela. She needs to lean against you now.”

  “Who, me?”

  “Do it!”

  Liam settled behind the exhausted woman and lifted her shoulders gently so they rested back against his chest. He grabbed a towel, leaned over her to wipe the sweat from her face, and asked soothingly. “Comfy?”

  “Yes-s, gracias.” She let her body weight fall back trustingly.

  Liam noticed the painfully dry edges on each side of her mouth. He scanned the room and sure enough, there was Pedro crouched under a wooden chair, watching. “Hey, kiddo, can you get your mom some ice from the freezer?”

  The boy nodded and jumped up to disappear.

  And at that moment, Liam watched as Isobela’s stomach rippled and her legs splayed. After a moment, she balanced her heels on the floor, reached for his hand, and using it as a counterweight, the little warrior began to push. He felt as if she’d be ripping his arms from their sockets before she stopped. And no sooner did he get to rest for a moment but she started again, this time almost in a sitting position.

  “Perfecto, mi amor.” Ruiz’s face, sweaty as his wife’s, beamed for a moment from above the blanket. Then his head disappeared once again. His voice came muffled but understandable “The baby comes soon. Push once more.”

  “Ahhhh!!” The scream tore from her before she scrunched her face for the final grunting thrust.

  Liam heard Ruiz’s gasp of joy and felt intoxicated himself from the swell of relief. The baby’s cry sounded loud and annoyed.

  “Una bebé niña! Una niña Hermosa! Beautiful! She’s beautiful.” The proud father cried the words, taking sobbing breaths between each phrase, tears cascading down unshaven cheeks. He wrapped a towel around the infant and laid her over his lap.

  Isobela fell back against Liam and sighed deeply, her hand wiping her face before reaching for the babe. “Darla a mi.”

  Liam felt his own body sobbing inside and tried desperately to stop the tears that wanted to fall. He shared a moment with the proud mother that would be etched forever in his memory, and then propped her with the pillows. On his knees he crawled to where Ruiz had collapsed, seemingly useless now that the worst of the trauma had passed. Not thinking, he reached in the water for the scissors.

  “Son of a bit…god, that’s hot!” Just in time he spied the boy crawling to his mother, holding out a prized piece of ice. He hefted the pot in his hands and returned to the kitchen to pour out the water so they could retrieve the tool they needed. And then he hurried back to Ruiz, who waited with the hyd
rogen peroxide. Once they’d soaked the scissors long enough to be sure, the two looked at each other and hesitated.

  Liam spoke first. “I’ll hold it and you cut.”

  “We need string. We need to tie it.” The man looked around as if he’d never seen the house before.

  It was Isobela who chimed in and made sense. “The telephone table.” She pointed, and Liam cautiously handed the slimy grayish umbilical cord back to Ruiz. He’d disarm a live bomb any day over this ordeal. He scuttled to the table and back, string clutched in his hands. In moments the deed was done and the noisy infant lay cuddled in her mother’s arms.

  “Chico,” said Ruiz, dragging his son’s rapt attention from his new baby sister. “Go and get two beers from the fridge for me and mi amigo, por favor.”

  His raised eyebrow asked and Liam’s nod answered. The two men, shoulders slumped, drew deep breaths while their eyes stayed glued to the charming performance of a mother meeting her daughter for the first time.

  Just then, the outside door was flung open and a middle-aged woman dashed into the house, only to stop dead at the sight of her patient holding the newborn. At a glance, she seemed to know what to do and quickly took control, pushing her way between the men and taking charge. With a very few terse questions, she deemed everything to be in order.

  Liam backed away and watched as Ruiz scooped wife and baby into his arms and hugged them both so tenderly that Liam once again had to bite down hard.

  Since both he and the boy were superfluous, Liam led him into the kitchen, to the table, and sat him on top. After he shut the open freezer door, he looked to see if there was anything in the fridge for the boy to drink while he sucked up his beer in three swallows. “Want some Coke?” He’d seen a can on the door.

  “Mi mamá says no pop—only milk and juice. I have a new sister?”

  “Yes, and she’s beautiful.” He took the apple juice carton and snagged a glass to fill halfway. Once the boy held it, Liam clinked his bottle against it in a toast and said, “Here’s to the new princess Ruiz.”