Risky Baby Business Page 4

  “Takes one to know one,” she murmured under her breath.

  After she finished tidying up, she pushed back from her workbench and looked around. She’d converted one corner of her garage into a small herbal pharmacy. She’d used a roll of thick opaque plastic, which she’d stapled to two-by-fours held upright by diagonal cross members to partition the space. She stored her herbs in the air-conditioned house to protect them from the heat, but this area provided space and fresh air while mixing them.

  The oscillating fan at her feet helped stir the hot air. Her morning visit to her mother’s had cut into her cool time. She shifted her shoulders to catch the caterpillar of sweat inching down her neck.

  Usually, she didn’t mind the desert climate. She’d traveled on four continents and had grown pretty flexible when it came to hot, cold, rain and snow.

  “Leez,” a voice called from the door leading into the house.

  One of her roommates. Lydia, she guessed. “Yes?”

  “The man. Dig in dirt. Now.”

  Lydia and Reezira, who had been living with Liz since the day Charles was arrested, had spoken practically no English when she’d met them. Television, the Internet and the Clark County library system had changed that. They now knew lots of words. But putting the hodge-podge vocabulary into complete sentences was another challenge.

  “Thanks. I’m almost done here. Keep an eye on him for me, will you?”

  “One eye? Or two?”

  Liz turned back to her mix so Lydia wouldn’t see her smile. “Your pick. I’ll be there in a minute.”

  “O…kay.”

  Liz had no idea what was going to happen with her young friends. The police had finally tracked down an interpreter who got their story. It wasn’t a pretty one. Orphaned at very young ages, both girls, who weren’t related, had turned to prostitution for survival. Prisha might find a similar fate awaiting her if Liz wasn’t able to rescue her. Although in Prisha’s case, her physical handicap might make any future questionable.

  The thought strengthened Liz’s resolve to do whatever was necessary to procure her loan. She planned to turn in her application as soon as she was done making amends. She’d acted like a nincompoop yesterday when the gardener yelled at her. She should have apologized and insisted on paying for the plant right away. Laughing had no doubt added insult to injury. Being rude and insensitive wasn’t her style. Self-control and kindness were her trademarks. She planned to prove it.

  Nevada’s dry heat was a stark change from what David was used to in northern Virginia. It had taken some getting used to, but the vastness of the desert more than made up for the weather. The second half of his childhood had been spent in his grandmother’s claustrophobia-inducing brown-stone in Pittsburg. She’d believed in keeping the curtains, which in later years were thick with dust whenever he visited, closed. Maybe that explained why he liked his sky—and his life—uncluttered.

  Another aspect of his adopted city that he approved of was how easy it was to remain anonymous. That could be true of all large cities, David thought as he worked a second cup of fertilizer into the soil he was preparing for the next planting on Canto Lane. He’d already replaced the flattened cactus that he’d lost his cool over yesterday.

  He glanced toward the house where the woman he’d accosted lived. Her car was gone. But there was some kind of activity going on in the backyard. Music emanated from behind the stucco fence.

  The pushy one won’t like that.

  Crissy Somethingorother. He’d known a number of women like her in the pharmaceutical industry. Aggressive, focused and intensely concerned about keeping all their boats in the water and at the front of the armada at all times.

  Kay, his ex-wife, had been just the opposite. Gentle and kind. Too forgiving for her own good. She’d forgiven her ex-husband over and over—until he took a swing at one of the boys.

  He rocked back on his heels and reached for the succulent he’d brought from his greenhouse that morning. A hearty survivor. Like him.

  “Hello.”

  He nearly dropped the plant. The woman from yesterday. But her car…He glanced at the driveway.

  “My sister has my car, if you’re wondering why it isn’t in the driveway. Her fiancé bought her a new SUV as a wedding present, but it was missing a couple of bells or whistles. I’m not sure which or how many. I followed her to the shop then she dropped me off. Getting ready for a wedding is no easy task, you know.”

  He didn’t say anything and she gave a little laugh. “Too much information, as they say. But you looked curious.”

  “When?”

  “When what?”

  “When did I look curious?”

  “Just now.”

  He gave her a look that usually made people take a step back. “What are you? A mind reader?”

  To his immense surprise, she smiled and nodded. “Um…I have my moments. My mother is a bona fide Gypsy fortune-teller and most of the people in my family think I’m next in line to fill the role of Puri Dye.”

  Pure what? Gypsies? Does she think I’m an idiot as well as an antisocial caveman?

  “You think I’m making this up, don’t you? Well, it’s no big deal. I don’t usually mention my background because people have all kinds of misconceptions about the Romani, but you don’t strike me as the kind of person who would be prejudiced.”

  Why? Because I’m a day laborer? Because I drive an old truck and work with my hands? He didn’t ask. He had no intention of allowing himself to be drawn into a conversation.

  “Whatever,” he muttered and returned to his work.

  “I came outside to offer you a glass of cold tea.”

  “Not necessary.”

  He leaned over to position the plant correctly. Placement was everything in the landscaping business. Put the wrong plant in the wrong location and you wound up making work for yourself a few years down the road.

  “I know it isn’t necessary. I didn’t run over that plant on purpose. But I don’t want you to think that I’m a heartless fiend who purposely mows down defenseless succulents.”

  “It was a cactus.”

  “Don’t be obtuse. I’m trying to apologize here.”

  He leveled the dirt around the base of the plant then stood up. She was a good foot shorter than him, but she seemed taller. Maybe her no-nonsense attitude gave her added height.

  “As you said, no apology is required. I don’t like losing plants, but, hey, sh…stuff happens.”

  She widened her stance and squared her shoulders, as if prepping for battle.“Listen, we got off on the wrong foot. I like what you’ve done so far on the street, and I wouldn’t mind picking your brain about how to make some cheap improvements to my landscaping. Key word in that sentence being cheap.” Her smile sent a tingle of warning? awareness? deja vu? down his back. “I’m in the middle of refinancing. Most the money I’m trying to pull out of this place is already earmarked, but if there’s any left, I have to do something to keep the garden zealot next door off my back.”

  He tugged on the brim of his hat. The gesture less a way to escape from the sun than it was escape from her gaze. Why did he get the feeling she sensed that? Was she already asking herself what he had to hide? He couldn’t claim a drop of Gypsy blood, but his brain was sending a get-out-of-here-fast alert every minute he stood there.

  “Please,” she said, giving him a pleading smile. “Just a glass of tea on my front porch. Surely, you’re entitled to a little break. The association is paying you by the job, not the hour, right?”

  He nodded in answer to her question, but still hadn’t agreed to join her for a cold drink. Even though his throat suddenly felt as dry as the pavement under his feet

  “It’s my own herbal blend.”

  Herbs? “You grow herbs?”

  “No. I buy them from a wholesale distributor. Some are from India and some are Western.”

  “This is your business?”

  “One aspect of it. I’m a physical therapist by tr
ade, but lately, I’ve started leaning more toward holistic healing—for a number of reasons.”

  She rolled her eyes in a way that reminded him of his daughter. “Again with the T.M.I. Sorry. But I really do need an outside taste tester for my new blend. I’m calling it Please, Refresh Me.” Her tanned cheeks flared with color. “A play on an old Engelbert Humperdinck song my mother was listening to the other day. The tune got stuck in my head. When it came time to name my tea…well, you get the idea.”

  She turned and trotted a few steps ahead of him as if certain he’d follow her. And to his surprise, he did. But more slowly.

  Even before he’d met her, he’d pegged the owner of this house as unconventional. Unlike most her neighbors’ homes, this house had a covered overhang that stretched from the wall of the garage to the corner of her living room. The nook was nothing special as patios went, but she’d added some white pickets between the columns to give it a cottage feel.

  “Morning glories,” he said, lingering by the single step that led to her front door. “You don’t see those much.”

  “My mother gave me the seeds. She grows everything in her backyard. She has the only green thumb in the family. Have a seat. I’ll be right back with your tea.”

  “I’m dusty and grubby. I don’t want to get your chairs dirty.”

  Her grin seemed genuine. “My white...plastic...lawn chairs?”

  Although inexpensive, they looked well cared for. Everything about the place, from the white rock borders to cobweb-free rafters said someone who lived here cared.

  “You obviously know how to make the most of your space--even on a budget,” he said, stepping into the area that felt noticeably cooler than where he’d been working. “Too many of the people I work for never seem to enjoy the elaborate living art, which is how I think of my finished product, once they have them. The landscaping is for their neighbors’ benefit, not their own.”

  He would have resented their attitude if he hadn’t been the same way…in his old life. Too busy to see the roses, let alone smell them.

  “I like what I like. I don’t care if the neighbors do or not.” She motioned for him to sit. “I’ll be right back.”

  He felt a combination of nervous and hopeful as he lowered his butt into the plastic armchair in the shady corner of the overhang. To do otherwise would have been rude. His grandmother had stressed civility and manners above all else. Hunching forward, hat in hand, he studied the sweat-darkened headband etched with white from his dried perspiration.

  “Here you go,” she said, returning a few seconds later. She handed him a tall glass filled with dark amber liquid. No ice cubes. He found that curious.

  “I brewed this last night to test the blend and just finished putting the tea in bags. It’s been chilling all morning. Ice cubes dilute the efficacy of the herbs. I hope it’s not too sweet for your taste. The stevia leaf is one of my favorites, but it can be a bit much for some people.”

  She took the chair adjacent to his. “Nothing lasts long in the desert, which is why I don’t spend a lot of money on outdoor furniture. Besides, my roommates’ cats love to sleep on these cushions. You’ll probably be covered in cat hair when you stand up.”

  Cats. He’d never given them much thought until one adopted him. “What kind are they?” He lifted the glass to his lips.

  “The free kind.”

  Her grin seemed so engaging and real he smiled, too. The corners of his mouth felt rusty--like the Tin Man from the Wizard of Oz. I smile. Don’t I?

  Rather than stew on the question, he took a sip of tea.

  The cool, instantly refreshing liquid exploded in flavors he couldn’t immediately identify. He ran his tongue across his teeth to recapture the taste. “Wow. This is great.”

  She blushed at the praise. “Do you like it? Really?”

  He took another drink, savoring the way it soothed his parched throat. “You should bottle it. You’d make a million.”

  “I could use a million.” A sad look crossed her face.

  David wondered, but he didn’t ask. A person with secrets didn’t seek revelations from others. It just wasn’t fair since no information could be offered in return.

  She perked up a second later and set her glass on the little plastic table between them then she wiped her hand on her slacks and held it out between them. “I’m Liz Parlier.”

  He had no choice but to shake her hand and say, “David.”

  “David what?”

  Good question. “David Baines.”

  “Nice to meet you, David. I felt badly about our run-in yesterday and I wanted to call and apologize, but you’re not an easy man to reach. How do you stay in business when you don’t have a phone? Crissy gave me the number of your answering service, but don’t most people in your line of work have cell phones?”

  He shrugged. “I get jobs by word of mouth. And I sell wholesale plants to nurseries. When I have seedlings available, I call them. Everything is on a cash basis. It’s simpler.”

  She smiled. “You’re trying to keep off Uncle Sam’s radar screen, huh?”

  Someone’s radar screen. David didn’t know if Ray had people looking for him or not, but he wasn’t about to take any chances. Who would be the least bit curious about a handyman who grew cacti and succulents, minded his own business and rarely talked to anyone?

  Until today, when he sat down to tea with a beautiful woman who reminded him of how much of himself he’d left behind. This was a mistake, he knew. Her smile was too normal, too inviting.

  “I’d better get back to work.” He stood up, downed the last of his drink, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Thank you. The tea was delicious.”

  She took the glass from him. “You’re welcome. I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

  Reaching down beside her chair, she swiftly produced a small brown paper sack with a white label across the front. “Here,” she said, holding it by the crimped top. “This is my way of apologizing for being such a ninny yesterday. Please take it. My conscience has been bothering me something fierce.”

  A gift? No one had given him a gift in so long, he took it without thinking. Without speaking.

  Good Lord, he thought, as he hurried back to the safety of his truck, I really am a mannerless oaf.

  Liz watched David Baines almost run back to this truck. He reached in through the open window to put her gift on the seat, then walked to the rear of the vehicle and lowered the tailgate. He leaned over to pick up a hand trowel before returning to where he’d been working when she’d interrupted.

  He was intriguing. An anomaly. Refined language occasionally poked through an outwardly rough demeanor. At times, courteous and polite then moments later utterly lacking in finesse. His sandy brows that didn’t match his dark burly mustache were just the tip of the incongruities where David Baines was concerned.

  She heard the phone ring in the house behind her. Neither of her roommates would pick it up, she knew, so Liz got up and went inside.

  “Hello?”

  “Your mystery man’s name is David Baines. No wants or warrants. A perfect driving record.”

  Zeke. Damn. She’d meant to call him and tell him not to bother. “Um…thanks. I’m really sorry to be a pest.”

  Zeke didn’t say anything. The Rom in her told her there was more. “Hey, a clean driving record is a good thing, right? A girl can’t be too careful these days,” she joked. “You never know what kind of deviant might be lurking around the corner.”

  “I guess so,” Zeke said. “But I’m always suspicious when someone just seems to materialize out of thin air. I think I’m going to probe a little deeper.”

  Liz could have protested, but most of the cops she’d met over the years followed their instincts and rarely took advice from civilians. Besides, the guy was interesting. If anything came of this attraction she felt, then maybe being forewarned of any skeletons in his closet was a good thing.

  “Well, lookee here,” a gleeful voice said. “The f
lotsam has finally surfaced. Your hunch was right, boss. Paul really did fake his death in that fire. Well, at least, it looks that way. Somebody is putting out feelers for information on a guy that sorta matches Paul’s description. Same general age, height and weight. The hair and eyes don’t match, but we both know how easy it is to change that,” he added with a soft snicker. “Plus, it looks like he’s got a business growing plants. Wasn’t that one of the things you listed as a possible career choice if he tried to start over some place else?”

  The man quickly scooted his chair aside to make room for another person at the computer.

  “See?” he said, pointing to the monitor. “Those questions look a lot like yours. Might be a long shot, but I think your boy is in Vegas.”

  Chapter 4

  Liz sat down at her laptop, which she’d set up on a makeshift desk in her bedroom after her “roomies” moved in. The two women had assured her they were comfortable sharing a room, but Liz preferred privacy over space, so she’d moved her office into her miniscule master suite.

  She’d bought the house not for its spacious design or gracious perks, but because it was in her price range. The previous owners had just gone through a messy divorce and Liz had been at the right place at the right time. And, thanks to some first-time buyer tax credits and the fact that she had been bringing in a pretty respectable income from her job at the hospital, she’d been a loan officer’s dream client.

  Now her balance sheet didn’t look so hot. A fact that could have a negative impact on both her refinancing and the adoption. A smart person probably would hold off on the latter until the former was squared away, but mothers don’t always think with their heads, she’d heard Yetta say.

  Liz wasn’t a mother…yet. But she felt like one. Even though her daughter was a half a world away.

  She typed in her password then clicked on a shortcut link to her favorite place: Sha Navanti Ashram and Orphanage. Weekly, Jyoti, Liz’s friend and mentor, e-mailed photos to the ashram’s U.S. sponsors, who maintained the Web site and conducted fund-raising efforts on behalf of the children. Normally, the ashram cared for the children for the entire length of their childhood, giving them a loving home and an education in a group setting, without allowing for adoption. Parents of the children were welcome to visit at any time.