Free In Harm's Way by Lyn Stone Page B

can understand how upsetting that would be.”
    â€œNo, I don’t understand at all,” he argued. “She threw you out?”
    Robin got up and paced over to the window. “Not physically, of course. I’m a lot larger than she is. But, yes, she did want me to go, so I went. Found my own apartment. Createda new life for myself. She left New York a few weeks later and bought a place in Florida.”
    â€œAnd you visit on her birthday,” Mitch said, watching her reactions closely. “Are you closer now?”
    She turned from the window and grimaced. “You’re the one who started this business about mothers. Do we need to get this in depth? We both got the boot when we went independent. What’s the big deal?”
    â€œNo big deal,” he said, forcing a smile, making himself abandon the subject she seemed to find difficult. “So, you gonna try my soup or what?”
    She picked up her purse and slung the strap over her shoulder. “Lead on, but I warn you it might be slow going. I’m not used to going barefoot outside, even for a short distance.”
    Mitch already had the door open and was waiting for her to exit. “Not a problem. I’m just across the hall.”
    She stopped. “What?”
    â€œThere,” he told her, inclining his head toward the door facing hers.
    â€œWhen…when you said next door, I thought…”
    He shrugged. “You assumed I meant in the next house, right? I knew you thought that, but I decided it might make you uncomfortable having me just across the hall. Does it?”
    She met his gaze and hers looked distinctly wary. “No, I suppose not. No one lives…with you, I take it?”
    â€œNope. I live alone.”
    Robin was still questioning the advisability of staying with him when they reached his kitchen. The room was larger than the space allotted in Sandy’s apartment for cooking.
    â€œIt smells divine in here,” she commented. She plopped her purse on the counter and lifted the lid to his Crock-Pot for a closer sniff. “What is it?”
    â€œBeef vegetable soup. Old family recipe. Please tell me you eat meat.”
    She nodded and trailed her long delicate fingers along the counter as she continued to explore. Mitch pretended to ignore her snooping when she peeked into the pantry.
    â€œWho lives downstairs?” she asked.
    â€œExcept for the foyer and parlor, the first floor is mostly gutted right now and waiting for me to remodel,” he told her. “I’m only renting to Sandy to help pay for the materials. Eventually, this will be a one-family dwelling again, the way it was originally intended.” He fished out his large cast-iron skillet and set it on the front burner of the stove. “The kitchen down there will be huge. Lots of counter space and a big island. I’m thinking about a walk-in fridge.”
    She made herself comfortable on the stool at the end of the counter. “You’re bringing your family here to live with you?”
    â€œBite your tongue.” He laughed and plopped a small sack of cornmeal down beside the sink. “The Winton crew’s pretty big, though. When we all do get together, we need lots of room.”
    â€œThey come here often?” she asked, looking truly interested. He supposed she would be. It sounded as if she had very little family of her own. He ran hot water into the cornmeal and stirred it briskly.
    â€œNot so much now, but I hope they’ll come over a lot when I get everything finished. That’s why I bought this place.”
    â€œEver been married?” she asked.
    He grinned. “No, Miss Nosy.”
    â€œAre you gay?”
    â€œNo, I’m just getting the nest ready for Miss Right.”
    She looked around the room as if reassessing it. “Yes, I can visualize some lucky woman filling this house with children for you. Happily-ever-afters do occur occasionally, I