Making Babies. Wendy Warren

her question. “How’s your nose?”

      “It hurts. I think I’ll go to bed early.”

      Mitch plowed a hand through his hair and surrendered. Okay. Get to the point. Once he clarified the situation, she would realize he was here to make amends. No doubt she would be surprised by the news, so he’d give her a moment to process it. Because he tended to feel uncomfortable with profuse expressions of gratitude, he would take his cue to leave when the thank-yous began.

      “If you recall, Maggie is a former client. I represented her in her second and third divorces.”

      Elaine raised a brow. “I hope she got the frequent flyer discount.”

      “I beg your pardon?”

      “It’s a joke.”

      “Oh.” She was being wry. Unfortunately, humor was not his forte. He’d been told that on a number of occasions as well. Clearing his throat, he attempted to get back on course. “As I was saying, I know Maggie, and because I referred you to her originally, she thought I would be interested in any changes that occurred in your current living situation.”

      “There aren’t any changes occurring in my living situation.” Elaine frowned then stared at him hard. “Are there?”

      Mitch hesitated, his assurance beginning to waver. Something told him his news was not going to be quite as graciously received as he’d originally thought.

      The furrow between Elaine’s brows—the one she was going to Botox come Monday—deepened. Mitch had tucked Maggie’s card in her hand, and she’d used the referral because she knew she needed the good deal he had said Maggie would provide. She had a nest egg—half the proceeds from the sale of the house she’d owned with Kevin—but that was in savings, and her thirty hours a week at Dr. Gussman’s didn’t stretch very far. She’d been looking for a new job, but the market was slim in Portland. The cheap rent here had turned out to be her saving grace, so— Oh, no.

      “The new owner wants to raise the rent,” she deduced. “Maggie told me she was certain he wouldn’t raise it for at least a year.” She made no attempt to check the panic coursing through her. Welcome to the perfect end to her perfect day: special delivery notice of a raise in rent. There wasn’t enough ice cream in all of Portland to make this news go down sweetly. With her lower lip pushing hard against her upper, she went ahead and glared at Mitch even though it wasn’t his fault and she’d been darned grateful to him for turning her on to Maggie in the first place. Stubbornly, she crossed her arms over her chest. Screw logic. She wasn’t in the mood. And then suddenly it occurred to her.

      “So that’s why you came out here.” Her eyes widened. She put a hand on her forehead. “And that’s why you were mowing my lawn. It was a pity mow!”

      “Your rent is not being raised. I came out here—” Mitch paused for a moment and stared. “A pity mow?” He shook his head. “I came out here to tell you the duplex has been sold.”

      “Sold.” It took a protracted moment to process that information. Mitch wore a small smile, as if he considered this good news. “Sold? Sold is worse than the rent being raised,” she told him as if she were explaining why we don’t bite to a stubborn five-year-old. Lord, she was exhausted. She had lost too much; she was not losing her run-down duplex with the tilting ornamental cabbage. “They can’t do this. No way! I…am not…going…anywhere.”

      She grabbed a dish towel—anything she could harmlessly wring to within an inch of its life—and used it to point around the kitchen. “Do you see those walls? I painted those walls. I did it. I went to classes at Home Depot for a month to learn how to glaze. I’ve invested something here. Time, energy, expectation.” She flung out an arm. “I gave my youth to those walls! One person cannot just waltz in and stomp all over another person’s dreams.”

      “That wall is your dream?”

      “Yes,” she said, but that sounded pathetic, so she backpedaled. “No. That’s not the point.”

      “What’s the point?”

      He asked gently, like he’d asked her a lot of things during the divorce, and those damn ready-to-roll tears threatened again. She took a breath. “The point is I have a lease. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll get a lawyer.”

      “You’re one tough cookie, Elaine.” Amusement shone in his eyes, but not only humor. There was appreciation, too. He wagged his head. “Stop glaring at me a minute. I think you’re right. You shouldn’t let anyone get in the way of what you want. And you do have rights. If you’re not satisfied with your current lease—for any reason—we can draw up a new one to keep on file with the rental agency.”

      Elaine’s confusion showed plainly in the furrow of her brow. “‘We’? You’re a divorce lawyer.”

      “Yes.” Mitch cleared his throat. Now was a good time to tell her the rest of his news. She’d worked herself into a pretty good froth over a misconception. He was about to bring comfort and relief. Though most people didn’t think of divorce lawyers in this way, bringing comfort and relief was part of the job description. He was tying up loose ends so Elaine could feel safe and secure in her home, and he could put an end to the guilt that had been gnawing at him. Then he could stop thinking about Lowry vs. Lowry and get on with life the way he knew it.

      Holding out his hand, he introduced himself as if for the first time. “How do you do? I’m your new landlord.”

      The door on Mitch’s newly purchased Toyota Tacoma slammed with a satisfying crunch.

      He attempted to start the vehicle, realized the key wasn’t in his hand, dug it out of his pocket and shoved it into the ignition. Grinding the gears, he backed out of the driveway.

      Elaine had been slightly less appreciative for this turn of events than he’d anticipated. Her exact response, in fact, when informed that he had purchased the duplex and intended to give her a five-year lease guaranteeing her current below-market rent had been, “No, thank you. I’m moving.”

      Moving. Two seconds after she’d just insisted she’d fight tooth and nail to stay!

      Punching the steering wheel, he expelled a slow hiss of air. Who the hell could figure out people? Did she have any idea that he’d lain awake nights wondering if she could swing more rent right now in the event a new owner raised it, not to mention wondering how long her money would last and whether she was investing wisely? Then he’d got the idea to buy the duplex. According to the real estate agent he’d consulted, it was a sound investment—well-priced property in an up-and-coming area. Mitch figured he’d work a little less than he normally did on the weekends and become a handyman for a couple of months, getting his exercise here instead of at the gym. It was supposed to be simple.

      He’d anticipated Elaine’s relief, her pleasure and, dammit, yes, her gratitude. He had not imagined she would look at him like he’d come to tell her he was putting a freeway through the family farm. He was offering her an updated, rent-controlled duplex, for crying out loud, in a city that had no rent control. And with him as her landlord, she could trust him to keep an eye on things. But following her initial shock had come a look of profound resentment.

      The hell with it. He’d tried to make amends. The lady wasn’t interested? Fine.

      “Stick to what you’re good at.”

      The new-car smell in the cab of this pickup reminded him that he’d bought a truck and gardening tools with the expectation that he was going to be a landlord for a long time…but the hell with that, too. Abusing the stick shift as he came to a stop sign, Mitch realized he had no desire to go home to an empty apartment. He did, however, have to find someplace in his complex to stow the gardening tools, then shower and change. A glance at the digital clock in the dashboard and a quick calculation told him it would be approximately seven-thirty by the time he was done. Seven-thirty on a Friday evening. Between now and then he had plenty of time to find a dinner companion. A rare-steak dinner at Jake’s, a scotch and some logical conversation was just what