Part 2 (1/2)

”Care to explain stuff?”

”I'm Samuel McLean. Or just Sam.”

”That's not an explanation, that's an introduction. I need more in order for us to have a fulfilling beginning to our relations.h.i.+p. And I'm Phoebe Reynolds.”

He nodded and fluffed the platinum blond wig in his hands before letting it fall to his lap. ”Yeah. I heard. You know, from my place on the floor. Anyway, I'm not sure I'm mentally ready to say the words to explain what the stuff is out loud yet. I'm in what those three”-he nodded his head in the direction of her newfound sister, who stood by an enormous fireplace with the other two women who'd kept Nina from killing Phoebe-”call the third stage of denial. Grief. I think. I don't know. I can't remember the number of the stage. I just know I've exceeded most who encounter this strange new way of life, and thus far, they claim I'm their star pupil at OOPS.”

When Phoebe had begun the search for her only living relative and she'd found out that Nina was part of an organization t.i.tled OOPS, she hadn't known the meaning of the acronym. Nor had she spent a lot of time researching it due to her excitement over finally finding the address where her half sister worked.

So, OOPS plus the stages of grief plus Sam had to equal out of the cross-dressing closet-like out big in Sam's case. What the letters p and s could possibly stand for escaped her.

The last information she'd found on Nina had her employed as a dental hygienist. How you went from cleaning tartar and fluoride treatments to counseling men who liked to dress in women's clothing was a leap she hoped to be able to sit and talk about with Nina someday.

Well, when she wasn't so hostile and violent, that was.

But that didn't explain what Sam's stuff and the stages of grief had to do with her.

Right now, it hurt to think. So she didn't. Instead Phoebe said, ”So what does your lifestyle and denial thereof have to do with the stuff that happened to me? I mean, I love makeup, obviously, and heels and s.h.i.+ny dresses, too, but I'm not conflicted about it. Not even a little.”

His expression went from attentive to confused, his dark brows knitting together. ”I'm not conflicted about it, either.”

She patted him on the knee, avoiding the bare spot where his shredded nylons revealed thatches of springy dark hair on his thighs. ”Good. That's so healthy to feel free enough to be you, even if you need a lesson or two in makeup application. You'll get it with more practice. It's all about the blending. I'm a personal stylist by trade, so when I locate my purse, I'd be happy to give you my card and maybe you can make an appointment and we can discuss ... er, this.” She waved her hand in a sweeping up-and-down motion at his choice of outfit.

Sam c.o.c.ked his head, his garish red mouth a perfect O.

And yet another crazy thought struck her. ”You know what this reminds me of?”

His glance was wary. ”That it reminds you of anything ever gives me great pause, but I'll bite. What does this remind you of?”

”This conversation we're having right now reminds me of the time when Alejandro Delacortez had to come to terms with his ... um, preferences and out himself to his very strict, Catholic family. Sweet purgatory, his mother, Lucinda, behaved like he'd just told her he'd murdered his secret twin brothers, Frank and Giuseppe, who, by the way, were the result of a torrid night with a possessed-by-the-devil Father Duncan. But it's not exactly like that because, of course, you're not a swarthy Puerto Rican, and I would never judge you the way Alejandro's mother judged him. Of that you can be sure.”

Sam nodded his head in serious confirmation, but his beautiful eyes glimmered. ”Oh, yes. I can see where this is almost exactly like that.”

Phoebe smiled at him, sensing he understood that she had a zero tolerance for bigotry of any kind. ”So we're on the same page? And I hope, after I figure out why I can't remember getting from point A to point B, B being this unbelievably gorgeous house, we can sit and swap makeup tips. But for right now, I just want to know where I am and how I got here.”

Sam's deep brown eyes clouded with bewilderment and then obvious concern. He braced his arm on the back of the couch and leaned in to examine her.

Despite his melting makeup and smeared lipstick, he had a presence. One that demanded female attention in the way of hard muscles and sculpted upper arms that rippled when he s.h.i.+fted positions on the couch. He pried one of her eyes open wide and peered into it as though he were inspecting something, then let go with an abrupt removal of his finger. ”You really don't remember ...?” Sam shook his head. ”Forget it. How do you feel, Phoebe?”

What a gentleman. She'd all but punctured his lung by landing a.s.s first on him, and he'd just come out of the proverbial closet-which had to be freeing and frightening all at the same time. Yet, here he was asking how she had fared.

So decent and maybe even a little bizarre, if she were to judge the intensity of his eyes when he asked the question ...

But what about this day hadn't been bizarre? It had been filled with bizarre. This man in the s.h.i.+ny dress, lying on the floor in a heap of women's shoes, for instance. Or the two women who'd rushed to her defense and shouted words at her half sister like superhuman and the phrase, Remember you can take out a Sherman tank singlehandedly! just before Nina had made her trip and fall. Or Nina herself, who gave the t.i.tle antagonistic b.i.t.c.h a s.h.i.+ny new meaning.

Phoebe had expected upon meeting and introducing herself to Nina that there would be some anger and resentment involved. Who wouldn't be angry to find they weren't the only apple of their beloved father's eye? Before her death, her mother had forewarned her about Nina's temper and infamous mouth. According to her mother, their father, Joe, had fretted over Nina often just before he'd died. So she'd been mentally prepared for some irate swearing.

However, she certainly hadn't antic.i.p.ated that anger would involve intimidation and flying fists. Without a doubt, she hadn't planned their conversation to end up with her a.s.s in some stray drag queen's mouth.

But there it was. So there was only one thing to do and that was onward and upward. She'd asked Nina for some privacy in order to reveal her secret. The last thing she'd wanted to do was blindside one of the only living relatives she had in the world-or worse, alienate her.

Phoebe had definitive proof that Nina was her half sister. But she'd wanted to share that with her in a sensitive manner, not in some screaming match. Phoebe wasn't so uncaring that she didn't realize she'd also be met with a certain amount of disbelief and betrayal, and she'd prepared herself to deal with that, too.

In fact, in the year she'd spent looking for Nina, she'd run a million scenarios of their eventual meeting over and over in her mind.

But Nina's refusal to at least grant her some alone time and her almost dare for Phoebe to spit out the reason for her appearance at OOPS had gotten the better of her.

Sometimes you get what you wish for.

In most cases, Phoebe had learned to keep her temper and her compet.i.tive spirit in check. But a dare was a dare. And now she was here, wherever here was. She didn't remember much other than the ground falling away from her and landing on Sam. She hated to admit it, but she must have hit her head and pa.s.sed out after that.

How weak she probably looked to these people. Weak was something a Reynolds just didn't do well.

”Phoebe?” Sam's voice filtered through her reverie when he placed a cool hand on her arm. ”How do you feel?”

Feel? She felt like an utter moron. That's how she felt. And her a.s.s hurt as though a pin had punctured it. ”I feel like an explanation is in order. Did I pa.s.s out when I fell, and where are we?” She craned her neck to take in the beauty of the enormous home she was in.

Sam rolled his tongue in his cheek, a look of disbelief pa.s.sing over his expression. ”We're at Nina's castle, er, house ... no, castle. Yes. It's definitely a castle with a moat and everything. In Long Island.”

Her head began to throb, and her lack of anything in the way of sustenance other than some fruit and cottage cheese for lunch hours ago left her with a gnawing hunger. ”And we got here how?”

Sam held up a finger with one red nail still precariously attached to it and paused as though to gather his words. When he finally spoke, it was low and husky. ”Again, I'm still not sure I can properly articulate the form of transportation that brought us here. It's mind-bending. Which leads me to believe these women have pegged my emotional state all wrong. I think I have more work to do on these stages of grief than they think, because I'm just one bullet shy from a loaded Glock.”

Commotion from the area of the enormous fireplace thwarted further investigation, making Phoebe shush Sam with a finger to his mouth so she could eavesdrop.

The woman who wore a pencil-slim skirt and a silk blouse like she was the Queen of England crossed her arms over her chest and addressed Nina. ”So do you think this could be true, Nina? Is it possible that she's your sister?”

The blond Phoebe vaguely remembered complimenting her on her hair color gave Nina a squinty-eyed gaze. ”Who, for the love of all things chosen, would declare Nina, of all the sisters in the world to choose, hers if this woman wasn't telling the truth, Wanda? I mean, honestly. Ask yourself, would you tell anyone-an-ee-one-Nina was blood unless she was someone famous like, I don't know, Lady Gaga? Oprah, maybe? You know, someone who at least had some fame as a redeeming quality to make up for the fact that they're the single most difficult person in the world to get along with? Why couldn't you have at least given her a chance to explain so we knew her story before you snarled and raged, Nina? Because guess what, Houston, we have a problem. Twice the problem we had before you got involved, night dweller.”

Nina flicked the woman's hair with a long finger. ”Blow me, Marty. I never touched her. She tripped.”

”She tripped because you intimidated her with your boot camp Marine Corps tactics. Nice job, you reincarnated Neanderthal. You've so done it now,” Marty snipped, shaking a finger in her face, her band of bracelets clanging together. ”If just once you'd not react like a raving lunatic, none of this would have happened. I can't wait until you have to explain this to Greg.”

Nina's chin tilted in defiance, its sharp edge glinting in the orange-hued light coming from the flames dancing in the fireplace.

She used her height to hover over the pet.i.te blonde much in the same way she had Phoebe. ”f.u.c.k you, Marty. You did hear what she said, didn't you? She said she's my f.u.c.king sister. That's some serious s.h.i.+t. s.h.i.+t I don't need. I don't have a sister. I have Lou. End of.”

”And that meant you had to rush her like you were the shopper and she was the Filene's Bas.e.m.e.nt sale?” the chestnut-haired woman named Wanda asked, her lips thinning in disapproval. ”Nina, your temper is foul. You know it. I know it. I've warned you time and again, and you've created more than one problem for yourself because you go from zero to a hundred and ten in a half second flat. But this? Oh, this is beautiful. Just so much fabulous. Now we don't have just poor Sam to deal with, but this innocent woman, too? So what if she said she was your sister? Now, it doesn't matter if she's related to you or not because this is your fault and we absolutely must-nay, will-make this right. You can't threaten to clock every crackpot simply because they're a crackpot, Nina. Because guess what, vampire? It ends up like this!” Her hand made a sweeping gesture in Phoebe's general direction. ”And now you might not just have a sister, you might have a vampire sister!”

Phoebe chose to dismiss the word vampire-a strange mystical word when attributed to Nina indeed-and she dismissed the fact that she was in a strange house with, for the most part, strangers.

She also dismissed the notion that in getting from that dank bas.e.m.e.nt office where she last remembered being to this incredibly tasteful great room with its crystal chandeliers, winding staircase, and big, overstuffed furniture, someone would have had to physically bring her here and she'd missed it all due to her unconscious state.

Those were things to ponder for later.

For now, Phoebe popped off the couch upon the use of the word crackpot with reference to her. She was on her feet, thwarted only by a slight dizzy spell that made her sway momentarily, fighting the strange croak in her voice and the thickness of her tongue in order to speak. But speak she did-even with Sam at her side attempting to prevent her from doing so. ”I have proof Nina's my sister, and I resent the word crackpot. I'm not a crackpot.”

Three heads in varying degrees of color shot up, their eyes landing on Phoebe, who was running a hand over her wrinkled skirt. ”Yeah?” Nina crowed, pus.h.i.+ng the other two women away. ”Well, I resent the word sister.”

Phoebe's eyebrow rose with a condescending tip upward. Boo-hoo. ”Then isn't that just too bad for you?”