Risky Baby Business

by Debra Salonen

  “I’ll do that.”

  As he watched Rob move into the crowd, David reflected on his past two days. He’d cashed the check for his plants and paid his rent for the coming month. He’d cleared up his small bills by sending money orders for his utilities and car insurance. The rest of the time—when he wasn’t at his landscaping job—had been devoted to planning his next move. Free Internet at the library had helped.

  Was he overreacting? A part of his mind said yes. The person nosing around his truck on Canto Lane could have been innocent—somebody looking for a business card, perhaps. He hadn’t noticed any strange cars in the area. Nobody had contacted his landlady asking questions. The trip wires he’d set up around the greenhouse were still intact. Nothing seemed to indicate that he was in trouble—except for a feeling that someone was watching.

  But he didn’t feel that now, in the midst of a Gypsy wedding. He felt…snug. And accepted. And surprisingly safe. Which, he knew, was an illusion.

  “He’d be gorgeous if it weren’t for that mustache. What’s with that?”

  Liz looked at her baby sister and rolled her eyes. “I thought so, too, the first time we met, but I haven’t gotten up the nerve to ask. I guess he likes it.”

  “He really doesn’t look like a gardener,” Alexa said. “A college professor maybe. History? Geology? Biology? Yes, definitely one of the earth sciences.”

  Alexa, Grace and Liz were gathered in the second-floor master suite of what would soon be Kate’s new home. Kate was pacing—and adding the finishing touches to her makeup. “I can’t wait to meet him. Liz’s mystery man. He sounds so you, sis.”

  Alexa and Grace chuckled in obvious agreement. Liz didn’t bother arguing the fact. In a way, they were right. David was a hermit, nearly as prickly as the plants he cultivated. Liz had been accused of being a changeling herself—distinctly antisocial for a Rom.

  A minute later, a vision in white lace emerged from the adjoining bathroom. “Ta-daa. What do you think? If I look silly, blame Grace. She bought the dress, even though I told her white was for first-time brides, not the recycled variety.”

  “Oh, Katie, you look like royalty.”

  “It’s a gorgeous dress, but on you, it glows.”

  “I told you it was perfect. Absolutely exquisite.”

  The last was from Grace, who looked so proud she could have popped a button on her chest, except her simple sapphire sheath was a halter style and didn’t have buttons.

  “And I don’t think your handsome groom cares about your first marriage. He’s so head over heels in love he’s down there pacing—just like you. Isn’t that cute?”

  Liz walked to the tall window where Grace was standing and looked down at the crowd below. She wobbled just a bit on her three-inch heels. Grace was the one who loved sexy shoes, but tonight all four sisters were in pumps. Walking on the grass was a nightmare—she’d be lucky if she didn’t hyperflex her Achilles tendon, but she had liked the way she’d accidentally fallen against David. They’d fit together perfectly thanks to the extra height from the shoes. She couldn’t wait to slow dance with him.

  Kate joined them, dropping an arm across both sisters’ shoulders. “I love the dress, Grace, really I do. You have amazing taste—and the tents are so festive. Thank you for everything.” She kissed her on the cheek then looked at Liz. “You’ve been a big help, too, Liz. You must have blown up twelve zillion balloons today.”

  “Photo op,” Alexa called from behind them.

  “My camera, too,” Liz said, pointing to the little digital on the dresser.

  As soon as Alexa lowered the camera, Liz switched places with her. “I know Rob’s hired a professional photographer who is going to burst through that door any second, but I want a couple of shots of my own.” She planned to send a group photo to Prisha so the little girl would recognize her aunts when Liz brought her home. “Let me grab somebody to take one of the four of us.”

  “Not Rob,” Kate hollered after her. “I want to watch his jaw drop when I walk up the aisle.”

  Liz poked her head into the hallway—and spotted a tall man in neatly pressed black slacks and a dark blue shirt. She couldn’t believe her luck. Her date was standing at the end of the hall, peering over the railing at the crowd on the first floor. “Psst,” she called. “David. Come here a minute.”

  He turned around at the sound of his name and walked toward her. His long legs cleared the distance in seconds, but watching him move gave Liz the same thrill she’d experienced when she’d picked him up that evening. His shirt was made of fine cotton and looked brand new. The burnished gold tie was simple, but of good quality. Except for the mustache, he almost looked like a different person.

  “Could you take a photo for me?” she asked.

  “I can try.”

  She held the door open and followed him in, keeping the introductions short. “You’ve met Grace and Alexa. This is Kate, the bride.”

  “Obviously,” Grace added with a snort.

  Liz ignored her. “Let’s put Kate in the middle. How ’bout over by the balcony?”

  Since the bedroom faced east, the last rays of the setting sun had turned the hillsides in the distance tangerine and ruby. A perfect foil for Alexa’s purple, Grace’s blue, Kate’s white, and her own wine-colored dresses.

  David looked through the viewfinder a moment then lowered the camera and said, “Wow, you ladies are gorgeous. You don’t even have to smile and this will be a great shot, but go ahead and show me what’s in your hearts.”

  Liz felt pride and pleasure warm her midsection, until Grace, who was standing at Liz’s side, whispered, “Ooh, I like him. Too bad he’s not who he says he is.”

  Liz glanced at her sister. “Huh?”

  “Look at me, Liz,” David called.

  “He’s…not real.”

  “Smile.”

  Liz wanted to strangle her youngest sister, but she plastered a not-real smile on her face. Everyone trusted Grace’s ability to see beyond the obvious. And her recent experiences had added to Grace’s confidence in her gift—something Liz couldn’t claim. In Iraq, Liz had failed to give heed to the warning voice that told her not to return to the hospital that night for a second shift. And when she was taking care of her father, Liz had pushed him harder than she should have, ignoring the voice in her head that said he was only going through the motions to give his family time to prepare themselves for the inevitable. Liz hadn’t listened either time, and both outcomes had broken her heart. She desperately needed to hear what Grace saw that she, herself, had missed where David was concerned.

  But first David insisted on taking a dozen more shots, then included Yetta in a few when she showed up to tell Kate it was time to start the ceremony. By the time he handed the camera back to Liz, her sisters were laughing and hamming it up like they were on a photo shoot for a magazine.

  “Ahem.”

  The pointed cough from the doorway made everyone freeze.

  “Hi, honey,” Grace called. “Wait till you see these shots. David’s a genius. Have you two met?”

  She dragged David across the room to where her fiancé, Nick Lightner, was standing. The two men, who were nearly equal in height—although Nick had a good twenty pounds of muscle on David, exchanged a quick, perfunctory greeting. “The music is swelling,” Nick said, taking Grace’s hand. “If we don’t get down there now, they’ll be playing ‘Here Comes the Bride’ for us.”

  Grace kissed him playfully. “Think of all the money we’ll save. Bye, all. See you when we change for the dance.”

  Argh. Liz wanted to ask Grace to explain her earlier comment about David, but now she’d have to wait until after the ceremony.

  “Shall we join them?” David asked, suddenly appearing at her side.

  He’s not real. Well, hell, who was? “Sure,” she said, offering him her arm. “I had no idea I’d invited the Annie Leibovitz of gardeners to the party. Where’d you learn photography?”

  “I always take a dispos
able camera with me when I go into the desert after new stock. Believe me, if you can get a cactus to smile, working with four beautiful women is a breeze.”

  Liz laughed, letting go of her worries. He was handsome, multitalented and fun. And her instincts were telling her to relax and enjoy the moment, so that was what she planned to do.

  He seemed comfortable letting her link her arm through his as they descended the grand, curving staircase. “You’ve got an interesting family,” he said.

  “Loud.”

  “Boisterous.”

  She smiled. “You’re too kind. Wait till the food and drink arrives. And the storytelling starts. Thank goodness we don’t have a fire. Give my uncle Claude a bottle of brandy and a fire pit and you’d be here all night.”

  “Sounds romantic—in the sense of tall tales being passed on through generations.”

  She chuckled softly. “Sometimes, yes. Depends on who’s telling. My father used to make up fairy tales about each of his princesses. We were always doing valiant things like rescuing villages and taming unicorns. Unicorns are actually quite difficult to catch and the tips of their horns are poisonous to the mean of spirit. I bet you didn’t know that, did you?”

  Her tone was a mix of tenderness and something else. Regret? Remorse? David couldn’t tell, but he was curious. When they reached the foot of the stairs, he impulsively pulled her to one side to let the rest of the latecomers file past.

  “How long ago did your father pass away?”

  She didn’t have a chance to answer because two servers in black pants, white shirts and wine-colored aprons rushed past, trays clanging with empty wineglasses.

  “We need to sit down.”

  He could tell she was intentionally avoiding his question. Why? he wondered.

  They went out the side door and joined the last of the guests slowly making their way down the center aisle. Liz’s grip on his arm intensified.

  “You miss him a lot, don’t you?” he asked softly.

  She nodded, moving closer. “He was an amazing man. Larger than life, as they say. You should have seen all the people at his funeral. The local paper ran a story called The Last Gypsy King. Losing Dad was…well, it rocked our world. None of us was prepared—even though we probably should have been. We had nearly a year between his first stroke and the one that took him.”

  If only it was that simple. “Is anyone ever really prepared to lose a parent? Mine died when I was twelve. In a car accident. My grandmother’s friends tried to tell me that sudden was better, but I don’t think that’s true.”

  She looked at him while they paused to let an older woman with a walker get settled into her chair.

  “Twelve?” The sympathy in her eyes was easy to read even in the waning light. “That must have been so scary. I can’t imagine.”

  David very rarely talked about that time, which was why he couldn’t figure out why he was bringing it up now. Maybe the empathy in her eyes encouraged him to admit, “It was tough. I was an only child and we’d always done everything as a family. That was the first trip they’d ever taken without me. A second honeymoon, they’d called it.”

  You stay with your grandmother, honey boy, and we’ll be back before you know it. Have fun, sweetheart. Fun? Fun was the last thing his grandmother ever thought about—especially after she learned that she was expected to take over raising her dead daughter’s child.

  David stepped forward to help the older woman fold her walker. He tucked it to one side of the aisle then returned to escort his date to their seats. The sweet trill of a harp filled the air along with the low murmur of the fifty or so guests. An empty chair on each side of them created an island effect, which might have accounted for the reason David confessed, “I never really forgave them for not taking me with them.”

  She gripped his hand in hers and said softly, “It took me six months in an ashram in India to stop blaming myself for my father’s death. Finally, one morning I woke up and a voice in my head said, ‘You’re a physical therapist, not God.’”

  She shivered. He reached behind them for her loosely woven silk shawl and draped it across her shoulders. He decided they both needed a change of topic. “Tell me about Rob, your new brother-in-law. Seems like a good guy.”

  She lifted her chin and looked toward the altar where Rob Brighten stood to the left of a short, plump woman dressed in a black robe topped with a colorful stole. “He’s a sweetheart. He and Kate are so madly in love it’s almost painful to watch, but I’m really happy for them both. Kate pushes herself too hard, and Rob’s a bit more laid-back, so I think they’ll be good for each other.”

  “Why is it painful to watch?”

  Her skin tone turned dusky. “I didn’t mean that exactly, but when everything is going well for someone else and your life is in chaos, it’s tough not to be a little envious. Unless you’re a saint, and I’m definitely not that.”

  He wasn’t so sure about that, but he didn’t argue. Partly because the music changed to the wedding march. Heads started to turn. David pivoted in his chair. His knee brushed against Liz’s thigh. Warmth seeped into his bones. How long had it been since he’d made love with a woman? Too damn long. She wasn’t a saint and he wasn’t a monk, but did that mean they belonged in bed together? A guy could dream, couldn’t he?

  Chapter 10

  Liz decided the only way to get through this dance was to let her mind play. She wouldn’t worry about whether or not she was any good. She’d try to recapture the joy she remembered from when she and her sisters had danced for their father.

  She could almost picture him in the front row, his thick wavy black hair gleaming from the greasy tonic he used to keep it in place. His wide grin always beamed with pride when he watched his girls, his princesses. He’d named them each after strong women who knew their worth and made a lasting impression on the world around them.

  A lot to live up to, perhaps, but when he was healthy, he’d always made Liz believe she could do anything she set her mind to. She needed to remember that, now, when inhibition told her she was going to make a fool of herself.

  “Ready, ladies?” Alexa asked.

  “Absolutely,” Grace said, rising up on her bare toes to stretch her calves. “We are going to rock.”

  Or sink like a rock.

  Liz adjusted the snug bodice of her costume, being careful not to snag any of the hand-sewn sequins that made it shimmer in the stage lights. She’d been pleasantly surprised to find that the outfit fit as well as it did. Her body had changed some over the past few years, but she still exercised. Not the vigorous, athleticism of dance, but they were only doing three numbers. She was pretty sure she could keep up.

  “Well, here goes nothing….” Alexa said, nodding to the DJ who pushed a button on his console.

  The distinctive sound of a flamenco guitar filled the tent. Drums and castanets blossomed. A beautiful but foreign voice seemed to float on the desert breeze that teased the colorful scarves Grace had tacked about.

  Alexa and Grace moved into the spotlight, to a swell of applause.

  Liz gave an encouraging nod to her niece, who positively glowed in her miniature belly dancer costume. White, like her mother’s gown, Maya’s sheer pantaloons and sleeves were trimmed in gold. Her hair was loose and wild, a flowing mane of deep chocolate curls, like Kate’s.

  On cue, Liz wiggled the finger cymbals she’d played since she was Maya’s age and lifted her arms. She and her niece danced onto the platform that been hauled out of storage for this performance. The squeaky sound of bare feet against the shiny flooring sounded loud in Liz’s ears, but she knew the crowd would hear only the music, which seemed to course through her veins like a drug.

  They finished the first number with a flourish and a low bow. Liz glanced up see David clapping and cheering—surprise and pleasure in his eyes. He was glad for her, proud of her. Oddly, his presence made what was coming next less intimidating.

  Their second routine gave each sister a few minutes in
the spotlight to a song by Dulce Pontes, a Portuguese singer whose fado, or poetry set to music, appealed to Liz’s love of the exotic. The raw passion of the music touched something deep inside her soul, but putting that emotion on display for public consumption was never easy for Liz.

  But this time, she wasn’t dancing for everyone. She was sharing a personal, private gift with David, the man whose sad childhood had touched her deeply. As the haunting chords of the singer’s voice swelled, Liz twirled, giving herself over to the love story she heard in the words of a language she’d never studied. She unconsciously searched the audience for her father. Tears worked their way into her eyes. Intellectually, she knew he was gone, but…then she saw him. At the back of the audience. Right where he always stood. Smiling. Clapping and nodding. Enjoying the spectacle as any proud father would.

  Her spirit soared with a lightness she couldn’t explain. A healing had taken place. She stumbled slightly as she exited the stage to give Alexa her time in the spotlight.

  “Wow, where’d that come from?” Grace asked, embracing her. “That was gifted.”

  A gift. Yes. That was what she felt. She had her father’s blessing. His forgiveness.

  She was too overcome with emotion to speak, so she hugged Grace back, then turned to clap to the music. Alexa looked ethereal—as graceful as any ballerina. Her long, slender arms swaying with undeniable loveliness—and sorrow, Liz realized.

  Suddenly, the music changed and Grace and Maya traded places with Alexa, who returned breathless to Liz’s side. Smile in place, Alexa appeared happy and content with her performance—and her life.

  Liz made a mental note to have a serious talk with her big sister in the near future. Now wasn’t the time. Now was about celebrating—love, hope and gifts too precious to question.

  “WOW. I’VE NEVER seen anything like that before.”

  David had had to fight his way through the crowd to find Liz after the Sisters of the Silver Dollar performance. The entire audience seemed energized by the dazzling efforts of the Parlier sisters and their adorable niece.