Bringing Baby Home Page 9

  Chapter Eight

  “So, when did you know you were a horticulturalist?” she asked, once her eyes became accustomed to the hazy light inside the Quonset-shaped building that had obviously served multiple purposes over the years. One faded and rusted sign used to patch a hole in the tin siding said Mel’s Garage.

  He’d tossed a bunch of empty boxes into the back of his truck and moved the vehicle to the long, rectangular greenhouse, pulling partway into one of the open bays. She noticed that only some of the space was used. One area appeared to serve as a storage area for someone’s junk. She was pretty sure the stuff, which included a dust-covered motorcycle circa the 1970s, didn’t belong to David.

  “I’m not one. I grow cactus. That’s it.”

  And quite well, she noticed. Special lights were suspended over trays of loose, porous-looking soil. Juvenile plants, incrementally ranked by height, were situated beneath roughly framed skylights made of clear plastic. Larger pots containing grayish green mounds with inch-long spikes lined the front of the building, taking advantage of the direct sun.

  “Why cactus?” she asked, using her teeth to extract an almost-invisible sticker from her thumb. She’d accidentally brushed against an innocent-looking plant with thick blondish foliage—which had turned out to be needle-sharp barbs.

  “I find them interesting. You’ve got to admire a plant that can not only survive but bloom and thrive in some of the harshest climates on the planet.”

  She heard passion behind that rather eloquent statement. And something else, too. Sadness? She didn’t ask. Instead, she said, “I have to admit, I’ve never thought of cacti as beautiful. Mom’s always grown flowers outdoors, and she has orchids and violets and green plants indoors, but no cactus.”

  He put on a leather apron that tied around the neck and waist, a pair of clear goggles and gloves that reached almost to his elbows. “Understandable. They’re not for everybody, but in the past few years, there’s been a lot of interest in plants that don’t need a lot of water—or maintenance.”

  “Makes sense. And the combinations you’ve put together on the curbs are really beautiful. Simple yet eloquent.”

  David looked at her and tried to decide if she was buttering him up for some reason or actually meant what she said. Her smile seemed sincere. But she had an agenda, too, he decided.

  He turned back to his workbench where he’d assembled his delivery. Squaring his hips to the waist-high trestle-type table that he’d constructed of used lumber, he reached around the first box that he and Liz had assembled and pulled it in to better distribute the weight. The tailgate of his truck was down. All he had to do was carry each of the boxes six or seven steps to the truck. No problem. He’d hauled heavier loads.

  But two of the boxes he was using today were larger than usual. He’d driven to several convenience stores trying to find the right size, but had finally given up and taken what was available.

  “I could take one end. I’m stronger than I look.”

  He decided to try the first one on his own. As he lowered the box to the bed of the truck with a soft “Umph,” he felt a muscle in his low back complain. He stretched to push the box all the way to the front then went back for another. “I’m curious about these prophecies of your mother’s. How come yours was a two-part prophecy? Have any of the others come to pass?”

  “Well, yes, actually. Grace was told she’d marry a prince, but first she had to save him,” she said, ignoring the first part of his question. “Or something like that.”

  “Your sister is marrying a prince?”

  “Um…well, in Grace’s opinion, he’s practically regal.”

  He couldn’t help but smile. “I see.”

  “Actually, Nikolai’s birth father, Jurek, is a distant relation. Mom calls him a cousin, but according to Jurek, it’s more like second cousin twice removed, or something. Anyway, Mom says we share a family legend that says we’re descended—on the wrong side of the sheets, of course—from royalty. I have no idea what kind of principality we’re talking about, but I’m pretty sure it’s not one you’ve ever heard of. Probably the fairy-tale kind.”

  He started to pick up the second box but noticed that one corner of the cardboard was ripped, so he stopped to find the masking tape he usually kept nearby. “So, how did your sister save this so-called prince?”

  “She stepped between him and a bullet.”

  “Ouch. Is she okay?”

  She nodded fervently. “She’s fine. But be forewarned, if you’re ever around her, don’t ask to see her scar. Her husband-to-be is both jealous and a cop. Plus, she tends to embellish things a bit. There was only one shot, okay?”

  He chuckled. He couldn’t help it. He’d always envied people with large families and with colorful relatives. He’d wound up with a grandmother who had managed to piss off most of their relations, so they never got invited to group functions.

  “I’ll remember that. Now, what about your two-parter?”

  She looked toward the ceiling. “Like fortune cookies, prophesies are often ambiguous and open to interpretation.”

  He finished taping the corner then looked at her until she made a face and recited in a singsong voice, “A man of shadows, a child of light. You will only be able to save one.”

  A shiver passed down his spine.

  She gave an exaggerated shrug and added, “My dad was the sun in the center of our universe—until his stroke. Then a shadow fell over our family. I worked with him every day. Strengthening exercises in the pool. Therapeutic massage. I’m a physical therapist. This is what I do. I save people who are close to giving up and help them find the will to live. I tried my best with Dad, but…I failed.”

  He stopped what he was doing and took a step closer to her, compelled by the stark look of grief that changed her face. “He’s the man of shadows?”

  She nodded.

  “And the child of light?”

  She didn’t answer right away. When she did, her voice had changed. It was softer, happier. “Her name is Prisha. She’s not yet two. She lives in an orphanage in India. I fled there after Dad died. I’m going to adopt her. Well, I’m going to try.”

  You can only save one. Adoptions take money. The bank. All the little clues she’d dropped were making sense.

  “Are you going to let me help you carry that?” she asked.

  He rearranged a couple of the smaller pots to keep them from tipping over. “I’ve got it. I’m fine.”

  He bent his knees and put his arms around the box, being careful not to squeeze too hard. His last-minute adjustments meant the weight wasn’t quite as evenly distributed, but he tried not to let on. He didn’t want Liz getting dirty before her important meeting with the bank.

  “Um, I know this is going to sound kinda crazy, but my sister—the one with the crossroads prophecy—well, she’s getting married on Saturday, and I was wondering if you might be free to go with me? It’s more like a party than a wedding. Nothing big. Lots of food. Music. If I don’t have a date, my great-aunts will give me all kinds of grief.”

  Step. Step. Bend. Drop. Twinge. “Sorry. Can’t.”

  “Oh. Previous engagement? I meant to ask you last week, but then that whole incident with the kids came up. Confrontations aren’t my thing. I read somewhere that second-born children are the peacemakers. I don’t know why, but that’s me. I used to hate to be around when Alex and Dad butted heads. And Mom and Kate are always arguing. Nothing hostile, just…family stuff.”

  He’d never known that kind of family stuff. He went back to the counter for the next box.

  “Do you have siblings?”

  “No.”

  “Are your parents alive?”

  “No.”

  She gave a little snicker. “You’ve really got that word down. Kinda like my four-year-old niece.”

  David blocked a grin by taking a deep breath and picking up the next box. Too heavy, dammit. But he was committed. He walked slowly over the uneven ground and care
fully eased it down.

  Everything was fine until he let go and stood up. A muscle in his midback suddenly went into spasm. David grunted in pain.

  “Whoa. What was that?” Liz pushed off from the post she’d been leaning against. “Are you okay?”

  Sweat broke out on his upper lip. He couldn’t answer because that meant letting go of the breath he was holding. Movement of any kind produced pain. Excruciating pain.

  “Oh-oh. Let me guess. Midback?”

  He nodded a fraction of an inch. Lightning rods shot sideways around his gut.

  “Okay. Not good, but not unfixable. Can you turn around? Slowly. Very slowly.”

  She moved in close enough to act as a crutch as she helped him toward a four-foot-high stack of fertilizer bags. “I want you to lower yourself down across these, but let’s take off your apron first.”

  His welder’s apron. He found it really helped protect against cactus barbs that worked their way into his clothes.

  “Good thing you’re wearing a regular shirt today instead of those coveralls, isn’t it?” she asked as she rose up on tiptoes to pull the loop over his neck.

  He’d chosen jeans and a button-up shirt since he was going into town after his delivery. And yes, he thought, it was a good thing he was in street clothes since he usually wore nothing but Jockeys under the one-piece suit.

  With her help, he managed to shed the heavy leather gloves. He’d already tossed his goggles onto the tailgate. “Let me unbutton that for you. You focus on breathing. I don’t suppose you have any ice out here, do you?”

  He started to shake his head but stopped. She got the message.

  A part of his mind registered the fact that a beautiful woman was undressing him. Her scent was very pleasant. Intriguing. It helped take his mind off the pain…until she eased him forward.

  “No. Stop. That hurts. Why don’t I just take a couple of aspirin and wait for the pain to go away?”

  “Because the muscles that you tweaked need help now, and covering up the problem won’t fix it. Here. Let me put your shirt and apron over the bags first. Now move incrementally. Nice and slow.”

  He appreciated the fact that she hadn’t said, I told you so. He should have let her help him move the flats in the first place.

  “Let it go,” she said, softly, her lips close to his ear. “Tell me if this hurts.”

  She put some pressure on the exact place that burned. Then her fingers shifted. He felt a tingle all the way down the inside of his leg to his arch. It didn’t hurt exactly, but he felt it. “What are you doing?”

  “Pressure-point therapy. Just try to breathe naturally, but concentrate on letting the pain leave your body with each exhale.”

  He focused on his breath and slowly he felt the pain subside. The pulsing beat in his eardrums lessened. He shifted his hips slightly. Not bad. He lifted up just a bit, being careful to use his stomach muscles. No knifelike slice in his lumbar.

  “Wow. You’re amazing.”

  “Right place. Right time. Most people try to ignore the pain and it only gets worse. Swelling and inflammation create more problems. You really should get an ice pack on that ASAP. And no more lifting.” She looked at the remaining pots of cacti.

  “I—” he started.

  “Can’t lift,” she repeated. “Nothing heavy, anyway. So, instead of going the macho weight-lifter route, we’ll break up the boxes. Fewer pots per trip mean more trips, but think of all pain you’re saving yourself. Do you have an extra pair of gloves?”

  “Over there.”

  “Good.”

  It took them twice as long as it should have to complete the transfer, but David’s back, though sore, didn’t experience any more spasms. Liz closed the tailgate while he hooked the chain through the V to keep it secure. “Thanks. I couldn’t have done that without your help.”

  She took off her gloves and handed them to him. “You’re welcome.”

  “Water?” he asked.

  He kept a carton of bottles 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?”

  “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. He’d 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, kindness, 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 Nine

  A wedding. His swan song—of sorts. His backpack was fully prepared with the desert-survival gear he’d gradually accumulated over the past four years. His funds were diversified—one-third in the form of a cashier’s check made out to his new name and mailed to a post office box that he’d opened in L.A., another third was in a Vicks jar in his backpack and the last third was buried in two waterproof containers under a cactus that he’d planted on Canto Lane. Inside his billfold was a note to his landlady instructing her to sell his remaining plants and personal belongings if he failed to return from his excursion into the desert. He was ready. Almost.

  First, he was giving himself a gift. Tonight, he’d pretend he was a normal person. He’d brush off those sorely neglected manners and social skills he’d acquired in his past life and enjoy himself. That required mingling, David thought as he strolled around the large, lush backyard.

  The grass—clearly sod—was so thick and cushiony it felt like expensive carpet. The landscaping was bland, but, as Liz had explained on the drive, her soon-to-be brother-in-law had only recently purchased the house, and most of his efforts since moving in had gone into preparing for the wedding.

  Three tents were strategically situated to take advantage of the setting sun. The smallest held an altar adorned with flowing ribbons of red and gold that danced in the early-evening breeze. Two crystal champagne flutes bracketed a thick Bible, which sat beside a thick purple pillar candle flanked by twin white tapers in ornate silver candleholders.