Risky Baby Business Read online

  Risky Baby Business

  Betting on Love, Book 3

  Debra Salonen

  Copyright © 2018 by Debra Salonen

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Betting On Love: the series

  Praise for DEBRA SALONEN

  Dear Reader,

  First Kiss

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Betting On Love #4: Alexa’s story

  About the Author

  Also by Debra Salonen

  For my Family - I couldn’t do this without you.

  Betting On Love: the series

  Welcome to Las Vegas!

  Kingston “King” Parlier—late Las Vegas Romani linchpin--named his four daughters after royalty: Alexandra, Elizabeth, Katherine, and Grace (after Grace Kelly, of course.) Before he died, he established dowries fit for a queen.

  Their mother, a revered fortuneteller, offered each of her daughters a prophecy to help them find the same happiness she’d enjoyed with their father.

  Grace: “You will marry a prince--but you will have to save him first.”

  Kate: “You can’t escape your destiny or avoid the past...when the two intersect.”

  Liz: “A man of darkness. A child of light. You’ll be able to only save one.”

  Alexa: “A child’s laughter can heal a wounded heart, but first you have to heal the child.”

  The Parlier sisters are smart, beautiful, headstrong, and...single. Despite--or, perhaps, thanks to their mother’s prophesies--none can claim to have found her happily-ever-after soulmate. And with so much going on in their lives, not one of them is in the market for romance...until a certain someone enters--or in Alexa’s case, re-enters--the picture.

  But even in Vegas, the odds on love aren’t in their favor.

  Praise for DEBRA SALONEN

  “Debra Salonen captures reader attention with multifaceted characters, layered conflict and fast pacing.”

  —Pamela Cohen, Romantic Times

  * * *

  “People who scoff at romances and accuse them of being

  trite, frivolous or too predictable will be very surprised,

  pleasantly so, I think—by the intensity, the depth and the

  heat of Debra Salonen....”

  —Linda Mowery, www.TheRomanceReader.com

  * * *

  “…a wonderfully written love story with loveable characters.

  The plot is engaging and certainly keeps the reader

  riveted throughout the story...just the sort of book to curl up with to while away some lazy afternoon hours.”

  —Jenna Richardson, www.HeartRateReviews.com

  Dear Reader,

  Dear Reader,

  Families fascinate me. I start every book I write by investigating the backstory of my central characters. I need to meet their siblings, parents and grandparents. Sometimes, I bump into distant relatives who like to gossip. This “history” helps me understand both my characters and their world. I love this part of the process and am always sorry to type “the end” because it means saying goodbye to the family I’ve come to love. Fortunately, that didn’t happen with Grace because her three sisters had stories to tell, too.

  Elizabeth--Liz, by choice--is a true heroine, the kind who rises to any challenge--even falling in love with a man who is an imposter. David Baines--Liz’s hero who took her to task for running over a hedgehog (cactus)--had me from the moment I heard his voice in my head say, “Dying had been difficult, but it had been a lot easier on him than on his loved ones. He would regret that for the rest of his life.” Oooh...

  Wishing you all the best! And Happy Reading!

  Debra

  First Kiss

  © excerpt by permission: Loner Llama Press

  “Water?” he asked.

  He grabbed a bottle from the carton store under the workbench. The concrete floor kept them surprisingly cool.

  She accepted his offer and quickly downed a long, thirsty drink. “Wonderful. Well, I’d better get going.” She looked at him. “Will you be okay?”

  “I’ll be fine, thank you. There’ll be people to help me unload at the greenhouse.”

  They lingered in the shade a moment. David had a feeling there was something she wanted to say. He wished she’d say it quickly—before he kissed her. Her lips were wet from the water. Lush and naturally dark red. Her nose was slender and long. Her cheekbones strong, like her jaw. Her beauty came from her lineage, he decided, her exotic past.

  She let out a sigh. “Okay.”

  The sun was intense and neither of them had sunglasses on. David wondered if he’d ever see her again. Maybe he’d just blown the only opportunity he’d ever have to kiss her. But that was a good thing, right?

  She took a step toward the strip of bright sunlight streaming through the open garage door, but hesitated and turned around to face him. “Um, maybe I’m totally off base here, but I feel a connection between us.” He didn’t refute her claim. He was many things but not a liar. “Normally, if a guy made it clear he wasn’t interested, I’d let it go. But, the Rom in me says we’re not done with each other yet.” She blushed. “Darn. I’m really bad at this. I wish Grace were here.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She hesitated. David could see an ongoing debate in her eyes. “I’m the healer in the family, not the seer. Mother’s sight became compromised after Dad’s death, but Grace appears to be heir apparent to those abilities. She…um…sees things.”

  “What kind of things?”

  “Well, she says she saw the gun that our cousin’s wife pulled on Nikolai. And she saw blood—she just didn’t guess it would be her own.” She grinned sheepishly. “Like I said, prophetic interpretation isn’t exactly an exact science.”

  Could she tell me if Ray’s still alive and hunting for me?

  “She’s coming home for your other sister’s wedding, isn’t she?”

  “Yes. This Saturday.”

  “At a church?” He hadn’t been inside one in years.

  “No. It’s going to be held in the backyard of Kate and Rob’s new house. Very casual. No suit required.” She blushed as if mentioning his wardrobe might embarrass him. “The food will be fabulous. Did I tell you Kate and her future mother-in-law own a restaurant? It’s called Romantique. They’re both pretty amazing chefs.”

  One night in public. I’ll leave the next day.

  Her brows came together above her nose. “Are you reconsidering my offer?”

  He knew what he should say, what he intended to say, but what came out of his mouth was “Yes.”

  “Really?”

  Impulsively, he was sure, she suddenly propelled herself across the distance between them, and kissed him. A quick, friendly peck at the corner of his mouth.

  But he instigated the kiss that came next. Her lips were soft and lush and inviting. Her scent curled into the recesses of his sad, empty life and made him desire every drop of goodness she could give him. Hope, k
indness, love…yes, even love. A fool’s dream, of course. But for a few minutes on a sun-drenched afternoon…he’d play the fool.

  She moved closer and put one hand on his shoulder—to steady herself or to push him away, he wasn’t sure. But the little sigh that hummed between them sounded happy and content. She turned her head slightly and pressed closer, her tongue finding his.

  The first touch sent a shiver through him as crisp and potent as an electrical shock. His blood raced, making a high-pitched sound in his ears. He hadn’t felt this sort of passion dance through his veins in so long he thought he might embarrass himself.

  “Wow, where’d that come from?” Liz asked, lifting her chin, eyes still closed. Her voice was husky, sexy.

  “I don’t know, but it was probably a mistake.” Probably? He knew without a doubt any kind of connection was out of the question. What the hell was he thinking?

  He stepped back, causing her arm that had been resting on his shoulder to drop between them. Instead of arguing with him, she grinned. “Absolutely. But it was sweet, just the same. Thanks.”

  He blinked and shook his head. “Thanks?”

  Her smile made him want to grab her hand and pull her into his hotbox of a house. He was pretty sure they wouldn’t notice the heat.

  She touched her fingers to her lips. “It’s been a while. But that was really nice. Made me remember what I’ve been missing. Now that might not be a good thing, but the kiss was worth it.”

  He knew exactly what she meant. And she was right. The memory would come in handy when he was running for his life.

  Chapter 1

  The stack of papers on the passenger seat of her Honda CR-V toppled sideways as Liz Parlier turned onto the street leading to her house. The two-inch pile edged precariously toward the ridiculously messy floor, which was symbolic of her life, in general. Chaotic.

  She slowed at the first of the newly installed speed bumps on Canto Lane.

  “Ka-thunk,” she said aloud in harmony with her car’s rear suspension. She hated the four-inch hurdles that C.A.N., the Canto Association of Neighbors, had recently convinced the city of Henderson, Nevada, to install. There were two in the middle of her block—pretty much bracketing her driveway. She couldn’t help but take their presence personally, even though the road committee had insisted this was for the good of the children.

  “If you had kids, you’d understand,” Crissy Montoya, mother of two and current president of the group, had told Liz while circulating a petition to enforce curb appeal. Buoyed by her success in curtailing speeders, Crissy was now on a crusade to make the four-block radius around her home more “charming.”

  Liz had been abrupt when confronted with the petition and pen. Not because she didn’t approve of curb appeal, but because the concept sounded like something that would cost her money.

  And it had.

  Crissy’s project had been approved by the majority of homeowners and she’d hired a gardener, who was slowly adding plants, boulders and creativity to the otherwise boring tract houses that made up her subdivision. Nestled between Boulder Highway and the River Mountains to the east, the Canto development had sprung up when the line between Henderson and its neighbor to the north, Las Vegas, was still easily identifiable.

  Liz hadn’t met the man responsible for making all these decorative changes, but she’d seen him several times from a distance. Tall and lanky, he usually wore a wide-brim hat with a sort of curtain that covered the back of his neck and shoulders. Shirt, pants, hat—all tan. The color of the desert. He almost looked as though he was deliberately trying to blend in.

  But he was good at what he did, she had to admit, smiling at a cascading bridal bouquet of a mature yucca. She had to respect a man who could transplant succulents and keep them from dying in this climate.

  She figured her place was next, and the thought of an additional outlay of money—cash she couldn’t spare—was enough to make her stomach heave.

  “You need to be more proactive,” her sister Alexa had told Liz recently at one of their weekly roundtables. “You shouldn’t let that Crissy woman boss you around. Tell her you’re between jobs and can’t spare the cash. She should be able to understand that, shouldn’t she?”

  Between jobs. Liz wished it were that simple. She had lost her physical therapist job after the administrator and several of the doctors at the private hospital where she’d been working were arrested. That had been one of the many repercussions the Parlier family had suffered after Liz’s youngest sister, Grace, blew the whistle on old family friend Charles Harmon, a lawyer and casino owner who had broken too many laws to count.

  Liz had never had any trouble getting a P.T. job anywhere in the world. Until now. Either there was a glut of applicants in Vegas or her name carried some invisible black mark. Liz didn’t know which and wasn’t sure she cared. In a way, every closed door seemed to be a sign. She was ready for a change and knew what she wanted to do—help people stay healthy instead of trying to fix the body after something went wrong.

  She was Romani and came from a long line of healers—women who knew which herbs could ease a tummy ache, help prevent arthritis and steady nerves in difficult times. During her stay in India, she’d been exposed to a different kind of healing—Ayurveda, the oldest medicine in the world. She hadn’t stayed there long enough to become proficient in the practice, but the knowledge she’d garnered had fed a need in her soul.

  Was there a market for herbs, teas and therapeutic oils in a city like Las Vegas? Liz was pretty sure the answer was yes. She’d recently started offering a few small-batch teas for sale and had heard only glowing reviews. The patrons at her sister Kate’s restaurant, Romantique, had gone from ordering her three-mint blend from the menu to demanding tea bags to take home with them.

  Could she make a living selling specialized teas? That was the real question. And how would opening a new business affect her other goal? Her most important goal—adopting Prisha.

  Prisha, whose name meant God’s gift, was the abandoned infant Liz had fallen in love with at the ashram where she’d volunteered in India. Underweight, with an obvious birth defect—her little feet were both turned inward—Prisha was one of the lucky ones. Her maternal family had cared enough to drop off the tiny baby at the ashram when the mother decided she couldn’t care for the child.

  Normally, the ashram didn’t handle children with severe birth defects, simply because it wasn’t set up as a nursing facility. But Liz had convinced the staff that daily, gentle therapy on Prisha’s legs might be enough to correct the problem. She’d been wrong. A visiting doctor had confirmed her secret fear that Prisha was going to need more extensive care, including surgery, if she ever hoped to walk. And Liz was certain the only way that would happen would be if she adopted Prisha and brought her home to the United States.

  Starting a new business and adopting a child from a foreign country at the same time probably didn’t make sense, but Liz had no choice. Prisha needed her. And as long as the bank approved her application to refinance her mortgage, she’d have the money she needed to start the adoption process.

  She eyed the sliding papers. Everyone was refinancing these days. Why shouldn’t she? And surely her reason was valid. She wanted to make a home for a child who desperately needed one. Prisha was nearly a year and a half old. She should already have started undergoing the surgeries that would allow her to develop normally—and, eventually, to walk.

  Liz shifted her gaze to the twenty-year-old house that she’d bought upon her return from India. Nothing special, really. Affordable. A good starter home, the agent who’d handled the deal had called it. Three bedrooms with a nice-sized backyard. Room for a child to romp and play.

  “And if there’s any money left over, I’ll be able to pay for my front yard’s facelift,” she murmured.

  Between making and trying to market her herbal teas, plus doing side jobs like helping at Alexa’s child-care center, there hadn’t been time for landscaping.

&n
bsp; As she slowed in preparation of the left turn into her driveway, she made a detour around the primer-gray pickup truck parked in front of Crissy’s place, which as luck would have it was right next door to Liz’s house.

  She looked around but didn’t see the owner. The tailgate was down, though, and an obviously homemade ramp was angled against it. She took the turn extra wide, to be safe.

  The rear tires of her compact SUV bounced over the curb, lifting the car cockeyed, which made her papers slide to the floor.

  “Damn.”

  She jammed her foot on the brake and leaned over sideways to collect the collated homework assignment in which the bank had asked for her life history, projected income till death and purchasing habits. She returned to an upright position and checked to see if anything besides dust had attached itself to her pristine pages.

  Rap, rap, rap.

  The aggressive sound of knuckles on glass made her jump. Her heart rate spiked. Adrenaline poured through her veins, bringing with it memories she could normally suppress. War sounds. Cries of pain. The harsh, acrid taste of blood and sweat and fear. Her armpits tingled. A sharp pain twisted across her brow.

  “Hey, open up. Don’t you know how to drive? You just killed a four-year-old Echinocereus triglochidiatus.”

  As her panic receded, Liz forced air into her lungs. Her vision cleared. She wasn’t in Iraq. She was in her car, in Nevada. Home.