“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.