Texas Weddings (Books Five and Six)

  Texas Weddings

  BOOKS FIVE & SIX

  Angel Incognito

  &

  Deep in the Heart of Mayhem

  Angel Incognito

  by

  Janice Thompson

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  BOOK SIX: Deep in the Heart of Mayhem

  Dedication

  To Josh and Debs Walker.

  You have found your identity in Christ, and it has birthed in you a contagious passion to reach your community and your world with the Word of God. Your enthusiasm motivates the rest of us to want to soar alongside you.

  To the other ‘ministering’ angels in my life: Kim and Martin Dale of YWAM/Houston, Joe Williams Ministries, and Turning Point Ministries: you all encourage me to want to do more to reach the “unreachable” ones in the inner city. Together, we can help them discover their true identity—one that can never be stolen from them. May God richly bless each of you in your respective ministries and may we, together, continue to love those who have been labeled hopeless.

  Sometimes discovering who you’re falling for is half the fun.

  CHAPTER ONE

  “Angel, I don’t know any other way to say this, so I’ll just say it. You’re not cut out to be a reporter. You don’t have what it takes.”

  “But—” Angelina Fuentes’ eyes filled with tears as she stared into the stern face of KPRC station manager, Kurt Nigel.

  His expression remained unchanged. “No buts.” He paced across the plush Houston office and spoke with fervor. “We’ve given this several months and you’ve made little improvement. To be honest, you’re just too, too—” The older man snatched a glass paperweight from his untidy desk and rolled it around in his palms. His gaze shifted to the ground as he shrugged in defeat.

  Angel sighed and pushed a strand of her long hair behind her right ear. “Go ahead and say it,” she whispered. “I can take it.”

  “You’re too soft.” Mr. Nigel looked up with a determined expression. “When we hired you for this position you told us you had a tough side, but we just haven’t seen it. Everything about you is, well, frankly, sweet.” He dropped the paperweight with a thud.

  Angelina lowered her head and fought back tears as the wayward hair slipped from behind her ear again. “I’ve tried. I really have.” She twisted the curl with her slender right index finger then pressed it back in place once more.

  “Being sweet is nothing to be ashamed of.” He patted her on the shoulder, his first attempt at kindness. “But reporting is a tough line of work and calls for tough people. People who can be mean. Nasty. People like me.”

  Angel gasped. “Oh, Mr. Nigel, you’re not mean and nasty. You’re one of the greatest men I’ve ever known.” Her words were genuine, free from manipulation.

  Her boss paced the room, clearly frustrated. The frown lines on his forehead deepened as he spoke. “See what I mean? You can’t even be rough on me and I deserve it more than anyone. Here I am, in the middle of firing you, and you compliment me.” He shook his head and the three hairs on top shifted slightly. “You’re not making this any easier, I might add.”

  “Is that what you’re doing? Firing me?” Angel suddenly felt the weight of the conversation bear down on her. He couldn’t be firing her. She had only worked at KPRC a short time and hadn’t even had time to prove herself yet. She needed time.

  “Yes, if you’ll let me. I’ll even add a ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ if it will soften the blow a little.” He grinned.

  The lump in Angelina’s throat wouldn’t allow her to respond. She simply couldn’t lose this job. The Lord had led her here. Surely He had a plan. She trusted Him completely, though her knees wobbled a bit at the moment.

  She swallowed hard, but the lump refused to budge. To lose this job would be too devastating. Her struggles through college had been hard enough, but the transition from student to employee had almost sent her reeling. For weeks she had applied for positions and prayed for open doors. When the call came from KPRC, she felt confident she had heard the Lord’s voice.

  The station had wanted a hard-hitting reporter. She had vowed to be tough from the beginning. She needed to remain just as tough right now, inside and out. Angel took a deep breath and stared squarely into Mr. Nigel’s full, round face. He would change his mind. He had to. She opened her mouth to speak, but he managed to cut her off before she even began.

  “You’re a tiny little thing.” He looked her over, lips pursed.

  “Petite, Sir,” she corrected as she stretched to full measure. “Five foot one is nothing to be ashamed of. I’m taller than my mother and both of my grandmothers.”

  “Petite. Short. Whatever. And you’ve got those big brown puppy-dog eyes.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I guess what I’m saying here is this—from all outward appearances, you don’t fit the mold of the tough reporter type. I was willing to give you a chance, thought maybe I’d find a bundle of energy packaged in that tiny little person, but—”

  “Oh, I am, Mr. Nigel, I am!” She seemed to come alive with the words. “You just haven’t seen me in action yet.”

  “That’s putting it mildly.”

  She forged ahead. “I can do this job. I’ve trained for it. I’m determined. I just haven’t found the right story yet. You’ll see, Sir.”

  He stared with cool gray eyes, undaunted.

  “Please, Mr. Nigel.”

  “Hmmm.” He took a deep breath and dropped into the chair. It squealed beneath his hefty frame. “Well, I’ll tell you what… I’ll give you until the end of the month.”

  “Really? Oh, thank you so much. You won’t be sorry.”

  “I’d suggest you spend the time looking for a new job,” he continued with a shrug. “I hear they’re hiring receptionists down on the first floor. Now that’s something a nice girl like you could handle. They need pretty faces down there. And you’re bilingual. That’s a plus in the Houston area, for sure.” He smiled warmly, as if her entire future could be summed up in one such simple statement.

  Her hands shook as she fought to regain her composure. “You don’t understand, Mr. Nigel.” She spoke with a growing determination. “My father brought our family to this country when I was just three years old. Back in Juarez, life was hard. It was even harder once we got to Houston, but we made it. My dad took our little family business and turned it into something he’s very proud of. We’re all proud of him.”

  “Your point is?” He glanced at his watch.

  She spoke with passion. “He took what little he had and turned it into much.”

  “And?”

  “Don’t you see?” she explained. “I might be small. I might even be sweet, but I am supposed to be a reporter. I plan to take the little and turn it into much. Not for notoriety or anything like that. I just want to make a difference in this world.”

  “You and hundreds of other wannabe’s.” He smirked. “What makes you so unique?”

  His eyes seemed to penetrate her and a little shiver ran down her spine. Angel tried to explain, “What sets me apart is my zeal, my drive.
Nothing has ever come easily for me, but I’ve always been determined to succeed as a journalist. My professor at the Lonestar College laughed when I told them I would one day work for KPRC. My own mother begged me to reconsider when the job offer came in. Everyone seems convinced I can’t handle this position.”

  Mr. Nigel chuckled. “Shouldn’t that tell you something? Be honest with yourself.” He took a big swig from his coffee cup then leaned back in his chair with an exaggerated stretch. His rounded belly jiggled as he settled into place and the loose hairs on top of his head shifted again. “Honesty is the best policy. At least, that’s what I always say.”

  His comments carried some truth, and they stung. She didn’t respond for a moment. When she did, her words were heartfelt and carefully thought out. “It’s honesty that concerns me. And I need to be honest with you right now. You see, Sir, I’m a kind-hearted person. Always have been. I can’t deny it. Maybe that’s why I haven’t found the perfect story to cover yet. They’re all so, so—”

  “Real?” He folded his arms.

  She shook her head. “I was going to say ‘depressing’ but if you insist.”

  He seemed intrigued at her sudden burst of energy. “Go on. I’m listening.”

  Angel summoned up the courage to continue. “I’d like to think that deep inside each one of us there is a bit of kindness, goodness. It’s that side of reporting I’d like to explore. Those are the stories I’d like to tell. After all, not every news report has to have a negative twist. There are plenty of good stories out there, waiting to be told. Happy stories.”

  Mr. Nigel shrugged and shuffled the papers around on his desk in search of something. “Angel, you don’t get it.” Finally, he found a container of breath mints and snapped it open. As he popped one in his mouth, he added, “Happy stories don’t elevate ratings,” then began to chew vigorously.

  “But they do elevate the spirit,” she responded with a smile. “Maybe that’s what I could do for KPRC.” An idea came to her suddenly, one that could not be ignored. Suddenly Angel knew why the Lord had sent her to this particular news station at this stage in her career.

  “Elevate the spirit? Explain.” His coffee cup nearly toppled off the edge of the desk as he set it down.

  “Don’t you see, Mr. Nigel? Maybe that’s why I was sent here.” Angel’s excitement grew by the moment.

  “Sent here? You mean, like from—” He pointed upwards.

  She nodded. “Yes. I could be the reporter with a difference, the soft one. The one who looks for the good and finds it. I could be the—”

  “Angelina. The voice of the Angels.” His eyes suddenly filled with an excitement she had not seen before.

  “Um, well, that wasn’t exactly what I had planned to say, but if that’s what you think.”

  “It could work. It could work.” His eyebrows relaxed and his furrowed brow seemed to release itself a bit. “You could be the good one. The kind one. The one with a sweeter perspective.”

  “Uh, right.”

  “The one who makes a difference.”

  She relaxed and felt the corners of her mouth turn up as she spoke with confidence. “I would like to try, anyway.”

  “Okay, kid. Give me a night to sleep on this and I’ll give you my decision in the morning. In the meantime, be thinking of how we can take that angel slant and use it to draw the people in.” His eyes narrowed to slits as he seemed to disappear into his own private thought world.

  “I’ll do it.” She released a slow breath as she thought it through.

  “Great. Now get out of here. I’ve got work to do and all of that goodness is starting to rub off. I don’t think I can handle much more.”

  “Of course, Mr. Nigel. Anything you say.”

  Angel left the office, trembling with a mixture of relief and anticipation. She couldn’t be sure, but thought she heard him whisper the words ‘angelic visitation’ as she went. At any rate, he gazed at her with renewed interest, which gave her hope.

  A whispered prayer crossed her lips. God, I know there’s got to be more to this reporting thing than tearing people down. I’ve seen so much of that, and I want to be a part of changing it. You didn’t put me in this place by accident; I just know it. And you haven’t placed me in the Houston area by coincidence. I want to do some good in this city. I know I can, with Your help.

  With a renewed sense of purpose, Angel made her way back up to the fourth floor of the prestigious KPRC office complex, overwhelmed at the prospect of what the future might hold.

  ***

  Peter Campbell looked down at the dark-haired receptionist, who appeared to be preoccupied with painting her fingernails a shade of bright fire engine red. The Galveston sunshine streamed in through the window, causing the bold color to practically jump off of her nails. The young woman smacked her gum as she worked, and ignored the ringing of the phone to her right. Her radio blared out a familiar love song. She sang along. Off-key.

  Peter cleared his throat to get her attention. She remain fixed on the job at hand. When he did finally say something, an element of determination laced his words. “Excuse me. I need to speak to someone about the dumpster in your back parking lot.”

  She looked up at him, clearly frustrated at the interruption. Her expression changed dramatically when their eyes met. “Ooo. You’re a cutie.” She reached to snap off the radio.

  “Um, thank you. But I really need to—”

  Her bright blue eyes sparkled with excitement. “Great hair. Who does your color?”

  “My color?”

  “Who highlights your hair? I just love all those different shades of blonde. Must’ve taken hours.”

  As she stood to have a closer look, Peter forced his attention away from her plunging neckline. Her perfume nearly choked him. He flinched and took a giant step backwards as her fingers reached for a lock of his hair.

  “Just washed out from the sun, I guess,” he explained. “Too many years out at Stuart Beach.”

  “Oh, you’re a surfer.” Her eyebrows elevated mischievously.

  “Used to be.”

  “Well, you’ve certainly got the tan to prove it.” She gave a little whistle. Peter felt his cheeks turn warm. “And look at those muscles,” she added, giving his upper arm a squeeze. “Do you work out?”

  “Uh, not really.” He pulled away. “Lately I’ve been busy working. And that’s what brings me here today.”

  She interrupted him once again. “So, Surfer Boy, I’ve been thinking about highlighting my hair. What do you think? Should I go with reds or yellows?”

  “I, um, I don’t really know.”

  “I’ve been thinking about going platinum, but everyone tells me I’d look really great as a redhead.” Peter glanced at his watch and she apparently took the hint. “Okay, okay. Enough about me.” Her eyelashes bobbed up and down. “What was your question again?”

  “Not really a question. I just need to speak to someone about the dumpster in your back parking lot.” Someone who could pay attention would be nice.

  “Our dumpster? What about it?”

  He pointed to the logo on his shirt once again as he tried to explain. “I work for the city of Galveston. Actually, I’m with the Sanitation Department. Recently we’ve noticed someone has been using your dumpster to dispose of illegal substances.”

  “Ooo. Illegal substances. Sounds intriguing.” She leaned back against the desk and feigned a serious expression. “Tell me more.”

  Good grief. “I’ve noticed the presence of toxic substances during the last few pickups. A paint-stripping product. Someone in the building must be remodeling or something. But they can’t leave products like that in the dumpster. It’s against the law.”

  “Uh huh. I see.” She clearly didn’t see. Or care.

  He forged ahead, undeterred. “The substances I’m referring to are hazardous. We recently handled a similar case on the other side of town. Over a dozen seagulls died after ingesting paint stripper residue found in a dumpste
r outside a business complex. The management company was fined a pretty hefty amount once the EPA found out.”

  “So, you’re one of those crazy environmentalists?”

  “Well, not exactly.”

  “A bird-lover, then?

  “I work for the City, Ma’am. I collect and haul trash.”

  She shrugged. “Everyone’s got to do something, I guess.” She popped her gum and reached to snap the radio back on.

  He took a deep breath and plowed into his carefully prepared speech. “The City has recently published guidelines concerning the handling and disposal of toxic substances and your building manager needs to take a look at it.”

  She batted her eyelashes furiously. “Wow. You do take your work seriously. What can I do to help, Surfer Boy?”

  “I’m really only authorized to talk to the building manager, a Mr. Jake Whitestone. Do you know where I could find him?”

  “Sure. I know where he is.” She stood, saying nothing. Their eyes locked in a showdown of sorts.

  “And that would be?” Peter tried not to lose patience.

  “Last door on the right, handsome. Suite 103. Tell him Darla sent you.”

  Finally. “Thanks.” He turned to walk in the direction she had indicated.

  Her voice trailed behind him. “Don’t forget to stop back by on your way out. Maybe we can talk about something a little more interesting.”

  Peter shrugged and forced his attention to the matter at hand. He did take his job seriously. Always had. In the eighteen months he had worked for the City of Galveston, Peter Campbell had fought to prove his worth, both to his family and friends. His occupational goals had never been terribly lofty, though Peter knew his heart for the lost would make any job enjoyable and challenging. At least, as a sanitation worker, he found himself among those who were content to mingle with the ordinary people.

  Unlike his father.

  Peter’s thoughts shifted slightly. The elderly Peter Campbell ran a well-known talent agency in Houston. His success as a businessman had afforded the family a beautiful home on Broadway, Galveston’s most illustrious boulevard. Nothing wrong with that. But the affluent lifestyle never sat well with Peter, Jr. Expensive business dinners. Expense accounts. Lobster and Caviar. He found himself more content working among the down and out. Inner city ministries had become his passion. His greatest joy came from hours of volunteer work at the local feeding center for the homeless. Getting his hands dirty came naturally, which is why working as a trash collector made perfect sense.