style="font-size:15px;"> He wanted to get this off his conscience and all he needed were ten minutes. But she wouldn’t even give him ten minutes. So he’d have to take them. He wasn’t sure how he’d explain his presence at her door, but he suddenly realized he had the perfect topic of conversation. He could calmly, kindly, ask her why she’d left their marriage without a word. Three years had gone by. The subject wasn’t touchy anymore. At least not for him. He knew why she’d left. He’d been a lousy husband. This should be something she’d want to discuss. To get off her chest.
He wouldn’t be mean. He’d say the words women loved to hear. That he wanted to talk. To clean their slate. For closure. So they could both move on completely. Actually, what he was doing was giving her a chance to vent. She’d probably be thrilled for it.
He grinned. He was a genius. Mostly because Liz was the kind of woman she was. She didn’t rant and rail. Or even get angry. She’d probably quietly tell him that she’d left him because he had been a nightmare to live with, and he would humbly agree, not argue, showing her he really did want closure. All the while he’d be processing her house, looking for clues of what mattered to her, what she needed. So he could get it for her and wipe this off his conscience.
He wove in and out of traffic two car lengths behind her, not surprised when she drove to one of Miami’s lower-middle-class neighborhoods. She identified with blue-collar people. Which was one of the reasons their marriage had been so stressful. She’d been afraid to come out of her shell. Afraid of saying or doing the wrong thing with his wealthy friends. Afraid, even, to plan their own parties.
She pulled her car onto the driveway of a modest home and jumped out. As she ducked into the one-car garage and disappeared, he drove in behind her.
He took a second to catch his breath and organize his thoughts. First he would apologize for being presumptuous when he made the waffles for her. Then he’d give her the spiel about wanting a clean slate—which, now that he thought about it, was true. He was here to help them move on. Then he’d do what he did best. He’d observe her surroundings, really listen to what she said and figure out what he could do for her.
Taking a few measured breaths, he got out of his car and started up the cracked cement sidewalk. He was amazingly calm by the time a little girl of about three answered the door after he rang the bell.
“Mom!” she screamed, turning and running back into the dark foyer. “It’s a stranger!”
Cain blinked. His mouth fell open. Then his entire body froze in fear. Liz had a child? A child old enough to be…well, his?
Oh, dear God. That would explain why she’d left without a word. Why she’d avoided him—
Liz and a red-haired woman Cain didn’t recognize raced into the hall leading to the foyer. The red-haired woman pushed the little girl behind her in a move that very obviously said this was her child, not Liz’s.
Chastising his overactive imagination, Cain forced his breathing back to normal but it wasn’t so easy to get his heart rate off red alert.
And Liz still barreled up the hall, looking ready for a fight. She was only a few feet in front of him before she recognized him.
“Oh. It’s you.” Sighing heavily, she turned to the redhead. “This is my ex-husband, Cain.”
Still coming down from the shock of thinking he was a dad, he quickly said, “I’m here to apologize about the waffles last week.”
“Apology accepted. Now leave.”
Wow. She was a lot quicker on her feet than he’d remembered. “No. I can’t. I mean, you didn’t have to send another employee to clean my house today.” Embarrassment twisted his tongue. He wasn’t saying any of this well. Where was the control that helped him schmooze bankers, sweet-talk union reps and haggle with suppliers?
Gone. That’s where. Because Liz wasn’t a banker, union rep or supplier. She was a normal person. His ex-wife. Now he understood Ava’s comments the day he’d discovered Liz was his temporary maid. He wasn’t good at ordinary conversation with ordinary people. Business was his element. That was why he didn’t have a personal life.
Still, he needed to talk to her.
He rubbed his hand across the back of his neck. “Could you give me ten minutes?”
“For what?”
He smiled as charmingly as he could, deciding to pretend this was a business conversation so he’d get some of his control back. “Ten minutes, Liz. That’s all I want.”
Liz sighed and glanced at the woman beside her.
She shrugged. “You could go outside to the patio.”
Cain blanched. “This isn’t your house?”
“No.”
He squeezed his eyes shut in embarrassment, then addressed the redhead. “I’m sorry. Ms.—”
“It’s Amanda.” She shrugged. “And don’t worry about it. It’s not really my house, either.”
“Then whose house is it?”
Liz motioned for him to follow her down the hall and into the kitchen. “I’ll explain on the patio.”
The little girl with the big blue eyes also followed them to the sliding glass door. Liz stopped short of exiting, stooping to the toddler’s level. “Joy, you stay with your mom, okay?”
Grinning shyly, Joy nodded.
Liz smiled and hugged her fiercely, before she rose. Something odd bubbled up inside Cain, something he’d never once considered while they were married. Liz would make a wonderful mom. He’d known she’d wanted children, but after his brother’s death, they’d never again discussed it. Was that why she’d left him without a word? And if it was—if what meant the most to her was having a child—how could he possibly make that up to her?
Without looking at him she said, “This way.”
She led him to a small stone patio with an inexpensive umbrella-covered table. There was no pool, no outdoor kitchen. Just a tiny gas grill.
She sat at the table and he did the same. “Whose house is this?”
“It’s owned by a charity.” Lowering her voice to a whisper, she leaned in closer so he could hear her. “Look, Cain, I really can’t tell you much, except this house belongs to a charity for women who need a second chance. They stay at houses like this until they can get on their feet.”
Cain didn’t have to work hard to read between the lines of what she’d said. He frowned. “She’s been abused?”
Liz shushed him with a wave of her hand and whispered, “Yes.” Lowering her voice even more she added, “Look, we don’t like talking about this when we’re with the clients. We’re trying to establish them as any other member of their community. Not someone being supported by a charity. We want them to think of us as friends, not benefactors.”
Following her direction to keep the conversation more private, Cain leaned closer to Liz. The light scent of her shampoo drifted over to him. The smoothness of her skin
