Making Babies. Wendy Warren

insemination on the Internet until an assistant librarian kicked her off the computer.

      After the library, Elaine hit the craft store, Babies R Us, and PetCo to look—only look for now—at the puppies. Eventually she wanted her child to be raised around animals. Thoughts of country homes with space to roam flitted through her head as she laughed at the gymnastics of an exuberant Lab puppy before she made her seventh and last stop before home—the health food store.

      Grabbing a basket, she wandered the aisles, acquainting herself with sprouted grains, fermented soybeans and “natural” chickens that, according to the literature they came with, had been raised at a veritable Club Med for poultry. Unfortunately she couldn’t bear the thought of eating something so happy, so she pressed on to the organic dairy case. If she was going to make a baby, she had to prepare her body. Good nutrition was a cornerstone of fertility.

      By the time Elaine arrived home, laden with shopping bags and information, perspiration trickled beneath her T-shirt, her limbs felt rubbery and her stomach howled for food. She could have killed for a burger—the kind someone else made and which took three minutes, max, to serve up—but fast food was strictly off-limits from now on. She consoled her tummy by promising to feed it a yummy tempeh Reuben sandwich as soon as she got all the perishables put away.

      Low blood sugar was probably the reason she didn’t react strongly when she saw the Toyota truck parked outside the duplex. Mitch was back. Not that she was surprised. He owned the building, after all, and he had said he was going to work weekends fixing it up. What he did with his duplex was his business; all she had to figure out was whether she intended to stay here or not.

      Or not would have been ahead by a mile except that Elaine couldn’t imagine being able to afford anything more appropriate given her current job, her savings…and her plans. Which meant, of course, that she was going to have to call a truce with her landlord. She didn’t want his rock-bottom rent; she refused to accept it. Why he considered her his personal charity case, she didn’t know and refused to ponder. Stress interfered with ovulation.

      Business, pure and simple—that’s all she wanted to think about where Mitch Ryder was concerned. Decent housing at a fair-to-both-of-them price was the deal she was determined to strike. When she found a better job, she would find better housing. Or, at least, comparable housing with a different landlord.

      Hefting two of the grocery bags into her arms, Elaine lugged them up the porch steps, setting them by the front door while she fiddled with her house keys.

      The apartment unit next to hers had been vacant since she’d moved in. Today the windows were open for the first time and she heard someone, Mitch evidently, working inside. Rhythmic hammering filled the air.

      Elaine quickly decided to unload her purchases and feed herself before she faced him.

      He had other ideas.

      On her second trip from the car to her front door, she turned with three shopping bags in her arms to find him striding toward her, a scowl of displeasure directed her way. “What do you think you’re doing?”

      Surprised, Elaine had to think about it a minute. “I’m carrying my packages to the house,” she said mildly, deliberately meeting his scowl with a frown of concern. “That’s not a violation of my rental agreement, is it?”

      Mitch scowled harder. “Funny.” He reached for the bundles, all the bundles, in her arms without asking. “I mean, what are you doing carrying so much at one time?”

      After a futile protest, Elaine plunked her hands on her hips and eyed her purloined bags. “What are you doing carrying so much at one time?”

      The scowl cleared briefly to make room for surprise. Then his eyes narrowed. “Are you one of those women?” He hitched his chin at her, indicating she should continue moving toward the door. “The kind who wants to believe she can do everything without a man?”

      You have no idea. She nearly laughed out loud, but he didn’t appear to be in a laughing mood and the packages were heavy, so she let them in the door without further ado. Mitch followed her to the kitchen.

      “Just set it all on the counter, thanks.”

      He elbowed the first bags she’d brought in farther back and placed his in front of them. “You were busy today.”

      As she nodded, her stomach growled loudly, reminding her just how busy she’d been.

      Mitch cocked a brow. “Do you have anything else in your car?”

      “Yes.”

      “I’ll get it. You start unpacking and make yourself something to eat.”

      Elaine was inclined to be grateful. Kevin had stopped helping with groceries so long ago, he’d completely missed the “Paper or plastic?” revolution. On the other hand, she figured Mitch’s authoritative tone and her newly avowed status as one of those women made her honor-bound to decline.

      “That’s okay,” she said. “I’ll get the rest of my things and then—”

      Grrrrrr. Her stomach protested decisively.

      Mitch shook his head at her. “Eat something, Elaine. You have a great body, but your legs are skinny.” Without waiting for or inviting a reply, he turned and strode out of the duplex.

      Elaine stared after him speechlessly. For a recently divorced woman with Ben & Jerry’s running through her veins, those words were music to her ears.

      Mitch headed for Elaine’s red Volvo to bring in the rest of her purchases.

      He’d been hard at work since quarter to nine this morning, surprised to find Elaine gone so early, but deciding it was better that way. No arguing, no verbal sparring. He’d get more work done.

      Except that his peaceful morning hadn’t been nearly as enjoyable as his contentious evening the night before with Elaine.

      After he’d left her, he’d ended up having dinner with his sister, who had been useless in decoding Elaine’s behavior. To his question, “Why would a woman get so damned riled about a rent discount?” M.D. had replied, “No idea.” Then she’d ordered steak, rare, and a scotch and water from the waiter at Jake’s. Mitch had gotten the picture: If he wanted to know how a woman’s mind worked, he would have to ask someone who thought like a woman, which pretty much ruled out M.D.

      In lieu of ruminating about Elaine, he’d decided simply to distract himself. The physical work today had felt good, and he’d been congratulating himself on not wussing out by hiring someone to handle the minor repairs in the vacant unit when Elaine wobbled by the window, lugging the first group of grocery bags. Once again he’d had a nearly instantaneous protective response. Carrying all those heavy bags, he’d thought, can’t be good for her.

      Jeez! Was part of his brain misfiring? Had a crucial synapse died? As of last night, Elaine Lowry is only a tenant, he reminded himself.

      Reaching into the open rear door of her car, Mitch saw that the remaining bags held books. There were two plastic bags with a bookstore logo and a large canvas bag that had Multnomah County Library printed on the side. Some of the library books had spilled out onto the seat.

      Leaning farther into the car to scoop them up, Mitch realized he was curious about what Elaine read and about the sheer quantity of reading material. Come to think of it, though, having a plethora of books seemed to fit her image. Underneath the quirky outspoken feminist lurked a shy, bookish heart. Definitely the quiet evening at home with a cup of tea and fuzzy slippers type. Though the women Mitch dated were happier in sophisticated restaurants and clubs than they were ensconced on their own sofas, Mitch liked that about Elaine. He liked—

      What the hell?

      He looked more closely at the books on the back seat.

      Fertility Nutrition.

      Soy Drinks for Hormonal Health.

      Dragging the canvas bag closer, he pulled out more books.

      Yoga