A Place Called Home

by Jo Goodman

Genres: Family Life; Small Town & Rural; Romantic Comedy

Synopsis

When Thea Wyndham and Mitchell Baker learn they've been named joint guardians for their late friends' three children, they're little more than acquaintances. Barely polite acquaintances, at that. Something about Mitch's forthright intensity has always left ad exec Thea feeling off-balance, while Mitch makes no secret of his disdain when Thea offers him financial assistance if he'll take sole guardianship.

Thea is far from heartless. She's just plain terrified of her new parenting responsibilities. Both she and Mitch are romantically involved with other people. Yet the more time they spend together, the less certain she is of her loyalties. There are complications and missteps, tears and laughter--lots of it. And somehow, through it all, the dawning realization that the last place she thought she'd find herself could be just where she belongs. . .

Praise for Jo Goodman's Marry Me

"Fans of historical and western romance will appreciate Goodman's witty dialogue, first-rate narrative prose and clever plotting." –Publishers Weekly (starred review)

"An insightful, gently sensual love story." –Library Journal

Release date: May 26, 2011

Publisher: Zebra Books

Print pages: 416

Sample

Kids made women look twice at a man. Usually in a good way. That was the lesson of these last twenty-seven days. Mitchell Baker had never really thought about it before—had had no reason to—and now he was considering that with what he’d learned, maybe in the future he would rent a kid from time to time, take him to the park, ride a bike, play touch football or catch (depending on the season), and wait for the women to gravitate toward him. They seemed to be fascinated, well, at least interested, in a man on his own enjoying himself with his kid. In this case, three kids.

It helped they were pretty cute tagalongs. He couldn’t take any credit for that, though, and he didn’t point it out to the inquiring women until pressed with comments like “She has your eyes” and “I can see where they get their athletic talent.” What his eyes had in common with eleven-year-old Emilie’s was the color green. As for athletic talent, Mitch had never noticed he was particularly gifted in that area while the twins, just turned five, were almost preternaturally coordinated.

When he pointed out that the trio didn’t exactly belong to him, the women weren’t noticeably less affected. In some cases, their curiosity was piqued and they hung around to offer helpful parenting hints, stain removal advice, and occasionally, a phone number. Life was good.

Mitch slouched in the burgundy leather chair in his lawyer’s office. Under the high gloss cherrywood table his hands were folded loosely in his lap. His thumbs tapped out a rhythm because it was not easy for him to be a body at rest. He was dressed casually: jeans, Cole Haans, white Oxford shirt (lightly starched). The cuffs of the shirt were rolled crisply to three-quarter length, revealing forearms that were dusted with golden brown hair and leanly muscled. On his right wrist he wore a watch with a scuffed brown leather strap. Plain and serviceable. He glanced down, flicked his wrist, and checked the time on Mickey’s golden silhouette.

Half past two. Where the hell was she? Didn’t she realize the kids were waiting for her?

The door behind him opened and Mitch turned his head just enough to glimpse that it was his own lawyer who had entered. “Is she here yet?”

Wayne Anderson was a button-down type who was more at ease in his own skin when he was wearing a three-piece suit. He dropped his briefcase on the table and took the chair beside Mitch. “Good afternoon to you, too.”

“Well?”

“You’re not even going to attempt a civil overture?”

Mitch merely shot him a sideways glance, his mouth flattening.

Wayne sighed. “Perhaps pleasantries are overrated. No, she’s not here yet.” Ignoring Mitch’s grunt, he opened his briefcase and pulled out the topmost folder. “You got my message, didn’t you?”

“I don’t know. What was it?”

“I told Gina that it was very likely that Thea wouldn’t be here today. Just her lawyer. I’m sure—”

Mitch held up one hand, cutting Wayne off. “You told Gina?”

“Hmmm. Yesterday, I think. I made a note somewhere of when I called.”

Mitch was certain he did. “Yeah, I’ll see it when I get your bill.” Sitting up, he ran a hand through his hair. “Hell, Wayne, it wasn’t Gina you talked to. She hasn’t been at the house for days. You should have called my cell. That was Emilie.”

“Emilie? Couldn’t have been. I think I would have recognized a child’s voice.”

“Emilie is older than you and me together.” It didn’t seem like much of an exaggeration. “Body snatching. Mature woman in the guise of a self-absorbed eleven-year-old. I’m pretty sure there’s a pod in my basement.”

Wayne chuckled. “Sorry.” He snapped the briefcase shut and dropped it between the chairs. “I really thought it was Gina. Afraid I just spit out the message and hung up.” He started to open the folder, paused, and closed it again. Turning sideways in his chair he looked carefully at his client and friend. “Everything all right with you and Gina?”

There was an infinitesimal pause. “Sure.”

Wayne regarded Mitch’s carefully neutral expression, searching for a chink in the armor. He let the pause pass. “Glad to hear it. This thing with the kids could throw anyone for a loop.”

“This thing will be over today.” Mitch waited for some reassurance from Wayne. “Won’t it?”

“I suppose that depends on how you define ‘over.’ ”

That wasn’t what Mitch wanted to hear. His fallback position was wry humor. “You’d think a sharp lawyer like you would know that. Finished. Finito. Le fin. The end. History. Does that help?”

Wayne grinned. His broad, craggy features split along the fault line of his mouth. The lines at the corners of his eyes deepened. He tapped the folder with his index finger. “Have you considered a prenup?” At Mitch’s blank look, he explained. “A prenuptial agreement.”

“I know what a prenup is. What I don’t know is why you’re changing the subject.”

“I’m not. Not really. Have you and Gina considered one?”

“We’re not that serious. We haven’t even discussed marriage.” It was almost the truth. To the best of his recollection, he had listened while Gina talked. If he hadn’t contributed anything it wasn’t technically a conversation, was it? Just a monologue. Maybe a soliloquy. It sure as hell wasn’t a discussion. “I have issues.”

Wayne smirked. “Issues?”

“Uh-huh. Like Gina doesn’t know where she was when Kurt Cobain died.”

Whistling softly at the enormity of this chasm, Wayne shook his head. “I knew Gina was young, but—” He made that whistle-sigh again. “I didn’t realize she was practically prepubescent. You could be facing charges.”

Mitch grimaced. “Very funny. She’s twenty-two.”

“Ouch.” Since Wayne and Mitch had been sixteen when Cobain shot himself, and mourned the event with a candlelight vigil in Buddy Yarbrough’s basement listening to grunge rock, there were some significant years separating Mitch and his current girlfriend. “Then she probably doesn’t understand the existential subtext of Scooby-Doo either.”

Mitch ignored that. “Look, Wayne, I make a decent living, but women aren’t after me for my money. I don’t have three homes and a lucrative stock portfolio to protect.”

“I know, and you should let me give you the name of someone who can help you with that.” He held up one hand when he saw Mitch was running out of patience. “Actually I was thinking of Gina. She comes from money. I don’t know anything about her personal wealth, but—”

“We don’t talk about money.”

“Probably a mistake.”

“Hey, I’m telling you, there’s no marriage in my immediate future. But if I tie the knot, I promise I’ll throw the divorce work your way.”

Wayne went on as if Mitch hadn’t spoken. “There are also the children. In the event you do get serious, you want to be very clear with Gina that if the marriage goes south, Emilie, Case, and Grant are still yours.”

Now Mitch’s entire body was engaged in the conversation. He pushed himself completely upright, legs squarely under him, forearms stiffly set on the wide arms of the chair. His fingers pressed the arc of brass upholstery tacks until the tips were white. He had an urge to stand up, walk out, and keep walking. He wondered if the odd fluttering in his stomach was an uncomfortable prelude to an ulcer or because he hadn’t bothered eating lunch. “I thought we were here today to discuss that the children will be going with Thea.”

“Well, yes. We’re here to discuss it.”

“But you don’t think she’ll agree.” Mitch had never had a panic attack. Maybe that’s what was happening in his stomach. His head was a little muzzy as well.

“There are no guarantees.”

“Jesus, you sound like a lawyer.”

“I am a lawyer. Your lawyer. Don’t ask me to be your friend right now. You have enough of those. Me included on my off time. Right now you need a lawyer.”

“Right now I need Tums.”

Wayne didn’t smile. “In my briefcase.”

Mitch shot Wayne a skeptical look, realized he was serious, and reached for the briefcase. He let it go with a light thud when the door to the conference room opened. Keeping his eyes straight ahead, he let Wayne turn to see who was coming in. That’s what he was paying Wayne for, wasn’t it? Someone to watch his back.

Wayne got to his feet as Thea Wyndham stepped into the room, Avery Childers immediately behind her. He nodded once to Avery, a cordial lawyerly greeting that established the rules of engagement. For Thea he had an openly warm smile, accepting her hand when she extended it in his direction.

“Wayne,” she said softly. “It’s been a long time.”

“What? Four. Five years?”

“Five. The last time I saw you was at the twins’ christening.”

He’d forgotten about that. Was that the last time she had seen Mitch as well? He noticed that Mitch was still sitting in his chair and had made no attempt to get up or even look in Thea’s direction. “How about that,” he murmured. “Rather prophetic.” Thea couldn’t remove her hand from his light grasp fast enough. Wayne had felt her stiffen at his words. It did not make him hopeful that Mitch’s concerns were going to be resolved in a way that was mutually satisfying. He watched Thea skirt past Mitch without acknowledging him and take the chair Avery held out for her.

Mitch waited until she was sitting before he speared her with a glance. She held it steadily, he’d give her that, just as if she hadn’t been trying to avoid a confrontation all along. Without preamble, without any attempt to soften his tone, he asked bluntly, “Where’ve you been?”

Her lips parted fractionally. God, Mitch thought, if she wet her lips with that little pink tongue of hers, he was going to cry foul. She had a great mouth. Always had. Wide and lush but not with that bee-stung look that screamed collagen injections. What she did was take a short, indrawn breath and catch her bottom lip between her teeth. It was not precisely a foul, Mitch decided, but she was playing fast and loose with the rules.

She let her lip go when his eyes strayed purposely to her mouth. He noticed that she wasn’t wearing any lipstick. To get that particular shade of rose she must have been worrying her lip the entire way to this meeting. Good. He hoped her nerves were as taut as his own.

“Well?” he asked again.

Avery broke in. “Mr. Baker. You should address your questions to me.”

“Why?” he asked insolently before Wayne could stop him. “Has she lost her voice since she sat down?” Under the table Wayne kicked him. Mitch slumped in his chair, stretched his legs out and away from further abuse. “Go on. You two talk to each other. Thea and I will await your verdict.”

Avery had mastered the cold smile. He gave it to Mitch now. “We’re not making a judgment, Mr. Baker.”

Before Mitch could respond to the other lawyer’s patronizing tone, Wayne opened the folder in front of him. “I have copies of the agreement.” He passed one to everyone. “This was drawn up shortly after the twins were christened. The same language was used in the will. I know, because I was the attorney for the deceased.” He slid a copy of the will across the table to Avery. “Duly witnessed. You can see, Mr. Childers, that both our clients agreed to the terms of legal guardianship in the event of the deaths of Gabriel and Kathryn Reasoner.”

Mitch kept his eyes on Thea. He thought she winced but he couldn’t be sure. Except for that brief thing with her lips she hadn’t given him another sign that she was moved in any way by these proceedings. If he was giving her the benefit of the doubt, he’d say she was still in shock. He’d had a month to get used to the idea that Gabe and Kathy were dead. He’d had to arrange the funeral, attend the viewings, speak at the memorial service, and go to the grave site for the burial. He’d had a month with Gabe and Kathy’s children to know how devastatingly final it all was.

Thea? She couldn’t be bothered.

Literally.

She’d gone to ground. It was hard to believe that in this day of electronic accessibility, Thea Wyndham had effectively disappeared. No cell phone. No e-mail. No voice mail or answering machine. Until four days ago no one knew where she was, or at least no one would give her up. She reappeared on Monday morning in her offices at Foster and Wyndham, the advertising firm her grandfather had founded, just as her weekly planner suggested she would, vacation over. It was then that she was informed of the deaths of her friends.

Mitch wondered what had gone through her mind. Had she regretted for even a moment that she had been so completely out of touch? Mitch didn’t know the answer. The truth was he didn’t know Thea Wyndham well at all. There were times he had wished that were different, but not just now. Right now he didn’t give a damn.

Something Wayne was saying drew his attention away from Thea. He still watched her, watched her tuck a strand of red-tinted hair behind her left ear, watched her finger the onyx pendant around her neck, watched her keep her expression perfectly still while he studied her, but he finally was listening to Wayne again.

“It’s clear Gabe and Kathy’s intent was to have Ms. Wyndham and Mr. Baker jointly raise the children. The language reflects that decision. I drew up the will and the agreement to their exact wishes.”

Avery’s eyes fell as he peered at the documents through the lower third of his progressive lenses. He grunted softly, a sound that committed him to neither agreement nor disapproval.

“It’s unusual,” Wayne went on. “As you know, in most cases the parents assign guardianship to one person. If there are two, typically they’re a married couple, more often parents themselves.”

Mitch did not miss the faint widening of Thea’s almond-shaped eyes. If she’d been a deer he would have already made her a hood ornament. His lip curled at one corner in a smile that was clearly not meant to be one. Thea Wyndham actually flinched.

Refusing to acknowledge the undercurrents between Mitch and Thea, Wayne continued addressing opposing counsel. “You will notice it was duly signed and witnessed. Ms. Wyndham—”

Avery Childers looked up over the top of the glasses. “Didn’t you try to talk Mr. and Mrs. Reasoner out of this course of action?”

“I wouldn’t characterize it as trying to talk them out of it. I counseled them regarding the potential difficulties. They were convincing in their own arguments, Mr. Childers. They believed that their children needed the guidance of two adults whose values and backgrounds were similar to their own. Mr. Baker and Ms. Wyndham were the two people they trusted with the lives of their children.”

“Relatives?”

“Mrs. Reasoner had a maternal great-aunt.” Wayne thumbed through some notes he had scrawled on a legal pad. “Mrs. Edna Archer. They were not close. Her age, I believe, is seventy-six. Mrs. Archer has three children and there are assorted cousins in Mrs. Reasoner’s generation, none of whom she knew as well as she knew Mr. Baker.”

Avery’s brows knit. He glanced at his client. Thea nodded slightly, confirming that it was Kathryn Reasoner who had selected Mitch Baker as one of the children’s guardians. She had been Gabe’s choice.

Wayne continued. “Mr. Reasoner had no one that he knew of. He was adopted by the Reasoners when he was four. He was their only child, and they passed away when Emilie was an infant, a few months apart. He also had no biological siblings, at least at the time of the adoption. Unlike many adoptees, Mr. Reasoner never expressed any interest in searching out his birth parents.”

Mitch saw Thea stir. For a moment her mouth had become tight, her eyes distant. Impatience? Discomfort? He didn’t know but he found himself irritated rather than sympathetic. Hadn’t she taken the time to explain any of this to her lawyer? As far as he was concerned, Wayne was going over information everyone in the room should have known.

Thea stood abruptly. “Excuse me,” she said quietly. “I need—” She didn’t finish. Rounding the table quickly, she let herself out of the windowless conference room and into the hallway.

The silence didn’t last past the door being closed behind her. “What the hell?” Mitch asked, looking at Childers. “That question is for you, by the way.”

Wayne’s attempt to nudge Mitch under the table fell short of the mark. Leaning back in his chair, Wayne surreptitiously looked to see where Mitch had moved his feet. The next time he wouldn’t miss his target.

Avery Childers neatly squared off the documents in front of him, running his index finger along the side and bottom to even the stack. “Ms. Wyndham is not the enemy,” he said finally, looking up at Mitch. “Neither am I, for that matter, but if you’re going to try to intimidate one of us, save it for me. I’m paid handsomely to be impervious.”

“My client is not trying to intimidate anyone. For God’s sake, he’s a cartoonist.”

Mitch smiled blandly and fought the urge to cup his balls to make sure they were still there. “Think Charles Schulz,” Wayne went on. Inspired, he added, “Or Cathy Guisewite.”

Avery wasn’t having any of it. “He’s a political cartoonist,” he said to Wayne. His tone made Mitch out to be the Antichrist, but it also gave him his balls back. “I’ve seen your work, Mr. Baker. In fact, I saw it in this morning’s Chronicle. If I were the speaker of the house, I’d want to sue your ass.”

“Careful, you’ll turn my head with compliments like that. Anyway, it was a good likeness. Flattering, I thought.”

“I was referring to the subject matter.”

“Aaah. The pissing contest.” Mitch’s rendering of the speaker pushing the minority whip out of the way to be first to register for a pissing contest was front and center on the editorial page. “You realize, of course, that in the tradition of the great Thomas Nast, it is symbolic of the struggle for power and suggests a manner in which the struggle could be ended, in what I like to think is a rather whimsical fashion.”

“I understood the symbolism,” Avery said dryly. “I missed the whimsy.”

Mitch sighed, feigning disappointment. “I can only hope that Newsweek doesn’t. I’m hoping they’ll pick it up for their Perspectives section.”

Avery pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and gave Mitch a level look. “Stop trying to intimidate my client, Mr. Baker. Wayne, if you can’t get him to stop staring at Ms. Wyndham like he’s measuring her for a noose, this meeting is going to be over when she steps back in here.”

“Look here, Avery,” Wayne began, gloves off. “My client—” He stopped because out of the corner of his eye he saw Mitch’s small negative shake. He wasn’t entirely certain what Mitch was trying to communicate until he heard the door handle turn. Thea was just on the other side of the door. If Mitch had really been trying to intimidate Thea before, he was now trying to protect her. Wayne shot Avery a look that said, See?

Avery Childers rose slightly as Thea entered. She waved him back. “I apologize,” she said. “What have I missed?”

Mitch didn’t hear what was said in response, or who said it. His attention was riveted on Thea’s left hand, most particularly on the oval-cut diamond that had almost blinded him when she waved her attorney back in his chair. It took a measure of self-control not to blink. How had he missed it the first time? The diamond was the size of an ice cube. He wasn’t certain he could have looked away if Thea had not finally sat down and folded her hands primly in her lap. Mitch half expected to see a band of white light rimming the horizon of the table, rising from her lap like a winter sunrise. He glanced at Thea, but if she was aware of it, she gave no indication. Her head was turned from him in three-quarter profile and she appeared to be listening intently to Wayne. Mitch couldn’t imagine that Wayne was all that interesting.

“Both of our clients agreed to this shared guardianship arrangement,” Wayne was saying. “It is for us to determine the actual physical custody. Mr. Baker has been taking care of the Reasoner children since the death of their parents. As Ms. Wyndham could not be reached, this only made sense. Now that she is available, Mr. Baker is requesting that a shared custody arrangement be drawn up and presented to the family court judge for approval. I have several proposals for you to discuss with your client. Each of them has their own advantages and drawbacks. I’m afraid there is no perfect solution. Judge Carmody is no Solomon, either. I don’t expect that we’ll be saved by a particularly thoughtful or wise decision if we approach her without a solution ourselves. She’ll appoint a guardian ad litem and order a home study. She may still do that, in any event. I’m sure your client does not want to make the children the subject of a custody battle or pin our hopes for a reasonable outcome on being able to get another judge to review the matter.”

Avery let silence settle as if giving careful consideration to this last statement. Then he pounced. Timing was everything. “Then you’ll be pleased to hear that Ms. Wyndham is willing to give full custody to Mr. Baker.”

Mitch’s head snapped up and his internal threat level went from blue to orange, skipping yellow entirely.

“Moreover,” Avery went on, “my client does not want to disrupt the children’s lives further by devising a visitation schedule in which no one is served. Rather, she is proposing that while the children remain with Mr. Baker, she will visit them as she has always done when the children were with their parents.”

Mitch felt Wayne’s restraining hand on his forearm. Did Wayne really think he was going to jump up and slug somebody? Wayne’s hand should have clapped itself over his mouth. “This is a joke, right? Thea? What the hell is he talking about?”

“Address me,” Childers reminded Mitch. “Or better yet, leave it to your attorney.”

Mitch’s nostril flared slightly and a succinct profanity hovered on the tip of his tongue. He held it back, but he saw Thea Wyndham flinch as if he had shouted it at her.

Wayne removed his hand from Mitch. He took a gold Mont Blanc from his jacket and made a few notations on his pad. The scrawl was perfectly illegible to everyone but him. After a moment he looked up at Avery. “This is Ms. Wyndham’s idea?”

“Whose else would it be?”

“Her fiancé’s.”

Mitch had a vision of his head doing a three-sixty. “You knew?” he asked accusingly.

Wayne shrugged. “If you had gotten my message . . .”

“Is Wayne right?” Mitch asked Thea. “Is this your fiancé’s idea?”

Avery said, “You don’t have to answer that.”

“For God’s sake,” Mitch said. “It’s a simple enough question.”

“You wouldn’t think that if you were sitting in her chair. For the full effect you need only add a naked white bulb over her head.”

Mitch had the grace to look abashed. His voice gentled. “Thea?”

She answered before her lawyer could cut her off again. “Joel and I discussed it, Mitch. It was a mutual decision.”

“Joel?”

“Strahern.”

“Strahern Investments? That Strahern?”

“Yes.”

As a financial force to be courted and respected, the Strahern banking family was second only to Mellon. “I see,” Mitch said softly. He turned back to Wayne. “I suppose there is no sense in not sharing my own news.”

Wayne was surprised and wary but neither of these expressions showed on his face. “Perhaps now is not the time,” he ventured, feeling his way in the dark.

“I don’t see why not. If Ms. Wyndham hadn’t been incommunicado this last month, she would know by now.”

Avery broke in. “What is he talking about, Wayne? Someone just say it.”

“I’m engaged myself,” Mitch said. He gave Wayne full marks for the poker face he maintained. It would be difficult facing him in five-card stud again. Mitch had no idea how very good he could be. “To Regina Sommers.”

“Congratulations.”

“Sommers Real Estate?”

Thea and her attorney spoke simultaneously. There was no mistaking her sincerity or his curiosity.

Mitch nodded, accepting Thea’s best wishes and answering Avery’s question. Under the table, Wayne had found his foot again and was grinding it with the heel of his shoe. “Yes, well, perhaps I should let Wayne conclude this.”

Wayne took the opening given to him but he did not remove his foot. “You’ll understand that our proposals were based on the fact that Mr. Baker is also marrying and has raised concerns about whether he can take full custody of the children at this time. It would unduly strain the marriage.”

Mitch felt the full impact of Thea’s darkening eyes on him. She was searching his face, her own a shade paler than it had been moments earlier. The color left in her cheeks owed everything to Clinique. “You don’t want the children?”

It was Wayne who responded. “Mr. Baker is quite willing to share custody. If you will review the proposals, you’ll see that they call for him to be a partner in raising Emilie, Case, and Grant.”

Avery was scanning the documents. “An unequal partner. He wants to be the part-time custodian. Second and fourth weekends. Every other Wednesday. Here’s a proposal that gives you each two weeks with the children.”

Thea’s eyes widened. “Mitch? You’re not serious about that one, are you? We don’t even live in the same school district. Their education would be completely disrupted.”

Mitch said nothing, finally willing to let Wayne speak for him. Easy to let the lawyer take over when what you felt like yourself was way down on the food chain.

“It’s merely one idea, Ms. Wyndham,” Wayne said. “The matter of school attendance does present some thorny problems.”

“Thorny problems?” Thea said, squaring off her shoulders. “It’s lunacy. Gabe and Kathy would never agree to something like that.”

It pained Wayne, but he took the hard line. “Gabe and Kathy don’t have to agree to it. They put it in your hands. Yours and Mitch’s. I don’t think it ever occurred to them that you would not want the children.”

Thea actually shrank back in her chair and Wayne almost felt sorry for her.

“Let’s not throw stones, shall we?” Avery said. He looked pointedly at Mitch. “People in glass houses, after all. Your client is not clamoring to take on the responsibilities of surrogate parenthood himself.”

Wayne opened his mouth to respond but Mitch cut him off. “Leave us,” he said without inflection. “You too, Mr. Childers. I want to talk to Ms. Wyndham alone.”

“I don’t think that’s—” Avery stopped when he saw Wayne getting to his feet. He looked at his client. “This isn’t a good idea, Ms. Wyndham. Mr. Strahern wouldn’t like—” He didn’t finish this time because he saw Thea’s resolve had been strengthened by the mention of her fiancé. Too late, Avery realized he had blundered by assuming she was in some way subservient to Joel Strahern. “Very well,” he said with an obvious show of reluctance. “But I insist that you do not come to any agreements without reviewing them with me.”

Thea offered no comment and Avery had to be satisfied with her silence, choosing to accept it as consent. He stood, gathering the papers in front of him, and followed Wayne out of the room.

“He hated that,” Mitch said after the door closed.

“Wayne is not entirely happy with you right now.”

Mitch shrugged. “He’ll give me hell and then we’ll go play some hoops. I’ll let him win and we’ll be back on an even keel.”

“No pissing contest, then.”

He gave a bark of laughter. “You saw today’s paper.”

“I saw it. I always look for your work. Your liberal bias is showing.”

Mitch looked down at himself. “Where?” He patted his chest with both hands searching for the offending bias.

“There,” she said dryly. “Your bleeding heart.”

His grin was brief and quirky. By the time Mitch dropped his hands to the arms of the chair it was gone. He studied her for a moment, taking in the things he hadn’t wanted to see earlier: the faintly swollen eyelids; the bleak expression; the skin that was stretched tautly over a beautifully sculpted face. “What are we going to do, Thea?”

“I don’t know.” There was hardly any sound in this admission, as if she could not bear to hear her own helplessness.

He saw her chin wobble. She looked away quickly as tears welled in her eyes, and Mitch was selfishly glad when she managed to blink them back. He remained quiet, suspecting that anything he might say right now would open the floodgates. Comforting Thea was not the reason he’d asked to be alone with her.

Her smile was both regretful and watery as her eyes darted around the room. “You’d think a lawyer’s office would have some tissues. They must get lots of hysterical clients.”

“Hmmm.”

She touched an index finger to the corner of each eye and quickly erased the last vestige of tears. Taking a short, steadying breath, she said, “I had no idea you were getting married. Gabe and Kathy never mentioned you were serious about someone.” When she saw his discomfort, she hastened to add, “Not that we talked about you. I mean, things just came up from time to time. Sometimes Emilie would . . .” Thea just let her thought drift awa