One Day at a Time Page 4

  “What are you doing here?” Coco asked sternly as she looked at him. He was wearing jeans, a turtleneck, and a black leather jacket, and he didn't look like a burglar, but she had no idea how he'd gotten in.

  She was still standing in the maple syrup as she stared at him, and he was trying not to smile at the vision and the acrobatics he had just seen. She looked like a lion tamer, with her long, red hair wild around her head, her nightgown and socks soaked in maple syrup, and the huge dog barking in her arms, while the Australian shepherd ran rings around them, yelping frantically. He could smell the maple syrup and see it in her hair, glistening like spun glass. He couldn't help noticing that she was a very pretty girl and looked about eighteen.

  “Did you have some sort of food fight?” he asked with a twinkle in his eye. “I'm sorry I missed it. I love that sort of thing. I think I'm meant to be a houseguest here for a few days, or a refugee.” He held up the key to show that he entered the premises honorably, as Coco caught her breath. That couldn't be. Her sister had told her that a woman would be staying there. There had been no mention of him. Or had she also given access to someone else? And then suddenly, it all registered, the British accent, and as she stared at him, she nearly screamed. It couldn't be. This was impossible. She was dreaming it. She had watched him two nights in a row on her sister's enormous screen.

  “Oh shit… oh my God… it can't be you…,” she said. But it all fit together now. Leslie. Not a woman. Leslie Baxter, the world-famous British heartthrob and movie star. How could her sister not warn her who it was? She blushed furiously as she looked at him, and his eyes laughed as he smiled, just as they did on screen. She had watched his movies a thousand times, and now he was here.

  “I'm afraid it is me,” he said apologetically, and then he glanced at the mess around her. “I suppose we ought to do something about this.” She nodded, bereft of speech for the moment, and then she looked up at him again.

  “Do you suppose you could get the dogs outside…” she asked, pointing to the open door to the garden, “so I can clean this up?”

  “I would,” he said hesitantly, “but I'm terrified of dogs actually. If you do the dog thing, I'll find a Hoover somewhere and clean up.” She laughed at what he said, as much over the suggestion as the word. Ian had called their vacuum cleaner a Hoover too. Leslie Baxter was British, and no vacuum cleaner was going to suck up maple syrup.

  “Never mind,” she admonished him, and commanded both dogs to follow her, which very reluctantly they did, as he shrank away from them. Coco was back sans dogs a minute later. She picked up the glass in paper towels, and peeled off her socks so she wouldn't slip again. It was a miracle none of them had gotten hurt with the broken glass. Then she soaked up the gooey mess with her sister's pristine, spotlessly white, seemingly brand-new kitchen towels, while he helped. He got some of it on his good-looking brown suede shoes, and she had it all over her, as he smiled and tried hard not to laugh.

  “I don't suppose you're the housekeeper,” he said conversationally as they worked diligently to get it all up and the mountain of sticky towels grew. “Are you a friend of Jane and Lizzie's?” He had spoken to Jane and she hadn't mentioned anyone staying there, but clearly she wasn't a burglar either. Goldilocks maybe. Or an intruder who had spent the night in her funny nightgown with the hearts on it, and had decided to eat a hearty breakfast before ransacking the place.

  “I'm dog-sitting for her,” Coco explained, getting more of the sticky mess in her hair, as he tried to help her pull it back. It was impossible not to notice how beautiful she was as he struggled to keep a straight face. By then, the ancient threadbare nightgown was glued to her, and the effect was very appealing. “She sent me a text message that a friend called Leslie was coming. She never said it was you, and I thought it was one of her gay friends escaping a homicidal ex-lover.” She looked up at him in embarrassment then, having said too much, and as she did, she noticed a nasty bruise on one cheek. “Sorry… I shouldn't have said that… I expected you to be a woman.”

  “I didn't expect you at all,” he admitted, and by then he had some of the syrup in his hair too. He had dark brown, almost black hair, and startlingly blue eyes. He had already noticed that hers were green. “Well, you were half right. I am escaping a homicidal ex-lover, I'm just not one of their gay women friends.” He looked apologetic again. And then he gazed at her with a curious expression and the words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them. “Are you?”

  “Am I escaping a homicidal ex-lover? No, I told you, I'm dog-sitting. Oh…” She realized what he meant then. “No, I'm not one of their lesbian friends. I'm Jane's sister.” As soon as she said it, he could see the resemblance, but their styles were so different that it hadn't occurred to him at first, and he had been so stunned to see her, particularly sliding around in a pool of maple syrup in a funny old nightgown, with two big dogs going berserk. He had been as startled by her as he had been terrified of the dogs. This was more than he had bargained for when Jane had told him he could use her empty house. This was not his definition of empty, by any means. It was anything but.

  “How did you get lucky enough to be assigned as dog-sitter?” He was intrigued by her, and by then they had cleaned up most of the mess, although their feet stuck to the now-sticky floor like Super Glue.

  “I'm the family black sheep,” she said with a shy smile, and he laughed. She looked very young and very pretty, and he was trying not to look at the way the nightgown was glued to her.

  “And what does a black sheep do? Drink to excess? Recreational drugs? A string of bad boyfriends? Drop out of school?” She looked like she was in high school, but he could tell she wasn't.

  “Worse. I dropped out of law school, which is considered a capital offense, and I'm a professional dog-walker. I live at the beach. I'm considered a hippie, a flake, and an underachiever.” She said it grinning, in the face of his good-humored assessment of her, and suddenly it didn't seem so awful saying it to him. It sounded funny instead.

  “That doesn't sound so bad to me. The law school thing sounds very dreary. The dog-walker bit sounds quite terrifying, and very brave of you. I was a black sheep too. I dropped out of college to go to acting school, and my father was very nasty about it, but apparently I make more money now than I would have as a banker, so he's forgiven me. You just have to wait a while, they'll get over it. Perhaps you should threaten to write a book about them, and expose all their secrets. Or sell embarrassing photographs you've taken of them. Blackmail might be a useful thing. And I don't see what's wrong with living at the beach. People pay fortunes for houses in Malibu, and they're considered quite respectable, even enviable. You don't sound like a very convincing black sheep to me.”

  “I do to them,” she assured him.

  “I can't tell if you're a hippie, in that thing.” He gestured toward her nightgown, and for the first time she realized how it was sticking to her and how much of her shape it revealed. “Perhaps you'd better take that off and change into your dog-walking clothes,” he suggested discreetly. “I'll find a mop and try to get this stuff off the floor.” He started opening closets and found one, as she turned toward him and smiled. He had a nice sense of humor, and he seemed almost shy as he looked at her. He didn't act like the movie stars she knew.

  “Do you want anything to eat?” she asked politely, and he laughed.

  “Presumably not anything that would require syrup. You seem to be fresh out. What was it, by the way?” he asked with interest.

  “Waffles,” she said from the doorway.

  “Sorry I missed them.”

  “There's a half a head of lettuce in the refrigerator,” she offered, and he laughed again.

  “I think I'll wait. I'll pick up some food later. I'll get you some more syrup.”

  “Thank you,” she said, as he poured water into a bucket, and then she scampered up the stairs, leaving sticky footprints all the way up to the bedroom. She was back a few minutes later, in jeans, a
T-shirt, and running shoes. Her hair was still wet from the shower, and he had made himself some coffee and offered a cup to her, which she declined. “I only drink tea,” she explained.

  “I couldn't find any,” he said, looking tired as he sat at the kitchen table. He looked like he'd had a rough couple of days, and the bruise on his cheek seemed fresh.

  “We're out of everything. I'll pick up some stuff on my way home. I have to go to work, but I've only got two dogs to walk on Saturdays.”

  He looked fascinated, as though she had told him she was a snake charmer. “Have you ever been bitten?” he asked in awe.

  “Only once in three years, by a crazed teacup Chihuahua. The big dogs are always sweet.”

  “What's your name, by the way? Since your sister didn't introduce us. You know mine, but I don't know yours.”

  “My mother named us after her two favorite authors. Jane was named after Jane Austen. Mine is Colette, but no one calls me that. I'm Coco.” She held out a hand and he shook it, with a look of amusement. She was an enchanting girl.

  “Colette would actually suit you,” he said with a thoughtful expression.

  “I love your movies,” she said softly, feeling stupid as she said it. She had met hundreds of celebrities and famous people in her lifetime, many of them actors and important stars, but sitting across the table from him in her sister's kitchen, she felt awkward and shy, particularly since she watched his films so often and loved them so much. He was her favorite actor, and she had had a crush on him for years. She would have felt incredibly stupid if she'd admitted that to him. And now they were both staying in her sister's house. That wasn't the same thing. Now she had to treat him like a real person, instead of gawking at him on the screen.

  “Thank you for saying that, about my movies,” he said politely. “Some of them are awful, and some are all right. I never watch them myself. Too embarrassing. I always hate the way I look, and think I often sound ridiculous.”

  “That's the sign of a great actor,” she said with conviction. “My father said that. The ones who think they're wonderful never are. Sir Laurence Olivier didn't like his performances either.”

  “That's reassuring,” Leslie said, looking at her sheepishly as he sipped his coffee. The sleepless nights he'd had, thanks to his ex, were catching up with him, and he was dying to get to bed and sleep, but he didn't want to be rude to her. “Did you know him?”

  “He was a friend of my father's.” He knew who her father had been, and who her mother was, since he knew Jane. And he could see why they'd be upset that she was a dog-walker and lived at the beach, but he could also see why she would want that too. They were a lot for anyone to contend with, and he was fond of Jane, but she was a powerful woman. This girl with the auburn hair and green eyes looked like a whole different breed. She was a gentler soul. He could see it in her eyes and sense it in her manner.

  She could tell that he was tired and offered to show him to his bedroom. He looked grateful when she said it, and she walked him upstairs to the main guest room, which was next to the master suite. She knew that Liz slept there occasionally when she was working late on scripts. It was a big, beautiful room with a spectacular view of the bay, but all Leslie could see was the bed, beckoning to him. He wanted to take a shower and sleep for the next hundred years, and he said as much to her.

  “I'll bring back groceries in case you're hungry when you get up,” she said kindly.

  “Thank you. I'll just take a shower and go to bed. See you later then,” he said as she waved and bounded down the stairs. She let the dogs back in as she left, ran out the front door, and got into her ancient van. She drove off a moment later as he watched her from the window and smiled. What a funny, lovely, unspoiled girl she was. And what a breath of fresh air to meet someone like her after the nightmare he'd just been through.

  Chapter 3

  Coco picked up the toy poodle and the Pekingese she always walked on Saturdays. After that she went to Safeway and stocked up on everything they might need. She could live on lettuce leaves and takeout food, and had been for two years, but with a man staying at her sister's house, she felt some obligation to supply more substantial fare. She figured that Jane would expect her to. So far Leslie Baxter seemed like a very nice person. She still couldn't quite get over his staying at the house with her, and wished her sister had warned her who was coming, other than an anonymous “Leslie” who was fleeing a psycho ex-girlfriend. Who knew it would turn out to be him? At least it would liven up the house for a few days while he was there, although given his phobia about dogs, she couldn't leave Jack with him and go home for the weekend, which she had hoped to do.

  It was three o'clock by the time she came back with the groceries, an early edition of the Sunday paper, and some magazines for him. She suddenly felt obliged to play hostess and not just house-sitter, although she'd gotten off to a bit of a rocky start with maple syrup and broken glass everywhere. She was impressed that he'd been such a good sport, and had even helped her clean it up.

  The house was strangely quiet when she walked in. She assumed that he was still sleeping, and the dogs had apparently tucked themselves in somewhere to do the same. So she unpacked the groceries quietly in the kitchen, and gave a start when he walked in. He was wearing a clean white T-shirt and jeans, with his very elegant, very English-looking brown suede shoes. Ian had only owned Tevas and running shoes. He didn't need anything else except hiking boots. Everything he wanted to do was involved with the outdoors, and she had shared that with him. All her mother had ever worn when she was growing up were four-inch heels. And they seemed to get higher every year.

  “You're already awake?” she asked, as she put the last of the food away, and turned to look at him with a smile.

  “I never went to sleep,” he said ruefully, and she looked surprised.

  “How did that happen?”

  “Someone beat me to it.” He beckoned her to come with him, and she followed him up the stairs to his room, faintly worried. Maybe Jane had invited someone else too, without telling them, and they had taken over his room. But she laughed as soon as she stood in the doorway to the guest room. Jack had sprawled out on the bed when Leslie was in the shower. He had his head on the pillow, was spread across the bed, and was snoring loudly. Sallie was nowhere to be seen, but Jack had made himself totally at home. “I didn't want to argue with him about it. I checked out your room, out of curiosity, and the other dog is asleep in there.”

  “She's mine,” Coco explained with a grin. “This is the lord of the manor, it's his house. His name is Jack, although my sister doesn't let him sleep on the beds. He only does that when I'm here. He knows.” She walked quickly toward the bed, patted the huge dog to wake him up, and pulled him off the bed. He looked very unhappy to be so rudely awakened, and headed toward the master bedroom to join Sallie. “Sorry.” Coco looked at Leslie apologetically. “You must be beat.”

  “I dozed a little on the couch. But I have to admit, a real bed will feel good. I slept in my car last night. And hid out at a friend's the night before. L.A. is a little too small for both of us just now. She's nuts,” he added, instinctively touching his cheek. “She's rather a big star, and she packs a hell of a punch. She does her own stunt work in action films.” Coco knew who he'd been dating from the tabloids, but admired him for not saying her name. He seemed very polite. “I rented out my house six months ago, for a year. I've been living with her. I'm going to have to find an apartment, once I get my bearings. I've never been mixed up in anything so crazy in my life.” He grinned at her sheepishly. “First time I've ever been slugged by a woman. Then she damn near killed me with her hair dryer, she threw it at me. When she threatened me with a gun, I figured it was time to leave. Never argue with a psychopathic woman with a gun. Or at least, generally, I try not to.” He still looked a little shaken as he smiled.

  “What got her so pissed off?” Coco asked cautiously. It was a lot more exciting than her life, or than she even wanted to im
agine. Ian had been the gentlest man in the world, and their arguments had been brief, respectful, and harmless. She had had relationships that ended before him, but never badly. But she had heard plenty of stories from her father over the years of his famous clients being pursued by stalkers and psychopaths.

  “I'm not sure,” Leslie said in answer to her question. “She wanted to know which of my costars I'd gone out with, and then she got into a jealous rage about it, even though I explained that they were over. She kept insisting that I was going to get involved with the next one, and then she went nuts. She had a little problem with the bottle. It was all a bit over the top, to say the least. She called me on my cell and said she was going to kill me. I believe her. So I left town.”

  “Maybe you need to stay a little longer than a weekend,” Coco said seriously, although it sounded typical to her of the madness she hated in Hollywood and L.A. She couldn't have lived like that herself. It was too high a price to pay for fame. “Guns and alcohol aren't such a great mix.” He nodded. He hadn't figured out what he wanted to do yet. He had called Jane to tell her about it, since Jane knew her and had worked with her, and he had wanted her assessment of just how crazy the woman was, and how dangerous she might be. Jane had suggested he get out of Dodge, and go up to their place in San Francisco. It seemed like a good idea at the time. He didn't want to run into this woman anywhere right now, and in Los Angeles, he might. Jane thought she was even more dangerous than he feared.