Bringing Baby Home Read Free

grew the plants that he transferred to people’s raised beds and patios. He didn’t call himself a landscaper, though. That sounded too presumptuous. He was a handyman/gardener. He felt the combination sounded innocuous enough. Certainly not the kind of job a person with three postgraduate degrees would be doing.
    Once he’d started his new life, he’d had no choice but to learn a new trade. He’d ceased to be a scientist with credentials up the wazoo and had become a man who worked with plants. He grew them in his makeshift greenhouse at the rear of the oversize lot behind the house he rented fromhis elderly and slightly whacko landlady. Mimi Simms lived in the double-wide mobile home on the adjoining lot. Her late husband had spent his final years in the shack she euphemistically called the “guesthouse.”
    The rent was reasonable, so David couldn’t complain even though the one-bedroom, one-bath residence was impossible to heat or cool. And in the four years that he’d been renting from her, he’d managed to grow a wall of hardy and unforgiving thorn bushes that gave him privacy and some illusionary sense of safety.
    He realized that he was hiding behind the hedge. Like an ogre in some children’s fable, he’d distanced himself from polite society, only venturing forth to fulfill his private vow to do good. He’d done enough bad to last a lifetime.
    He no longer made “better living through chemicals.” He made a better world through plants. This time, on a very small, humbling scale.
    Which partly explained why he lost it when someone destroyed one of his plants. Or so he wanted to believe, but he was too honest to place the blame for his temper tantrum on the lovely shoulders of the woman he’d just yelled at. He’d been in a funk for over a week. Happened every year around his daughter’s birthday. Memories would slip past his defenses. Despair would fill the hole in his heart like air in a balloon—until he blew up.
    This time, at a woman. He’d terrified her. And made her cry.
    But she’d laughed, too, he reminded himself. As if his attack had been that of a crazy person. And she was right. Sane people didn’t explode over little things. He owed that poor woman an apology. It wasn’t her fault she’d smashed his cactus on a bad day. A day when the past couldn’t be denied.
    Todaywas Ariel’s birthday. Number nine. No doubt she would celebrate with a party, friends and gifts galore. She was probably four or five inches taller than the last time he’d seen her. Maybe she had a retainer or braces. From what he’d gleaned from his clients with young children, orthodontists were starting earlier these days.
    He tried not to think about Ariel.
    She wasn’t really his child, after all. He’d married her mother when Ariel was a toddler. Ariel’s real father was a rat-bastard who had abused Kay and neglected their baby daughter and twins Jordie and Randall who were two years older than their sister. The man’s only response to his wife’s request for a divorce was his fierce refusal to pay child support.
    David hadn’t wanted his new love to be tied to a man like that in any way. He had a high-paying job with a billion-dollar pharmaceutical company. He could certainly provide for his new family. And he had—until Kay, the children’s mother, left him for another man. A neighbor who was home when David hadn’t been.
    The timing, it turned out, had been providential. Kay and the children were safe from the fallout created by David’s losing favor with his boss, a megalomaniac named V. A. “Ray” Cross. Born Vincente Aurelio Conejo, Ray went from being the first kid in his family to graduate from high school to the boardroom of one of the largest privately owned pharmaceutical labs in the country. His staff had often speculated about the number of bodies buried along Ray’s remarkable climb to the top, and the closer David got to the man he’d at one time considered his mentor, the better