Linda Goodnight - Her Pregnant Agenda

He tilted away, and she breathed a sigh, whether of relief or pleasure, she didn’t know. Catlike, she arched her shoulders and stretched, refreshed from the brief nap.

Grant opened her door and she stepped out of the car. A gentle breeze tugged at her hair and rattled the tree leaves overhead.

Inside the first floor of the brownstone, as they started up the stairs, a door to the right opened. A curly gray head popped out.

“Is that you, Ariana?”

“Hello, Mrs. Porter. Yes, it’s me.”

Her landlady bustled out into the entryway. “That Benjy fellow came by today.”

Ariana’s stomach lurched. What she didn’t need right now was a confrontation with Benjy. “What did he want?”

“How should I know? I never liked that man.” Mrs. Porter fluttered her hands. “I told him you moved.”

With a laugh, Ariana wrapped the older woman in a hug. “You are my guardian angel.”

“You need one.” Mrs. Porter patted Ariana’s belly. “And so do these babies.” She caught sight of Grant then, standing quietly behind Ariana. Pointing one birdlike finger she asked, “And who is this?”

“This is my attorney. Grant Lawson meet Mrs. Pearl Porter, my landlady and unofficial watchdog.”

Mrs. Porter pshawed as Grant took her tiny spotted hand in his long, lean one. “It’s a pleasure meeting you, Mrs. Porter.”

“High time this girl had someone to stand up for her.” Her gray curls bobbed. “Always doing for everyone else, but never a thought for herself.”

“Oh, Mrs. Porter.” Once her landlady began extolling her virtues, the situation could get downright embarrassing.

“Don’t ‘oh’ me. I’m telling the truth, and you know it.” Her black eyes focused on Grant. “Last spring a bunch of hoodlums started hanging out at our neighborhood park. And what did Ariana do? She went down there every evening to watch the children, sat on the bench until dark, and every time one of those thugs showed up, she’d call the police. Pretty soon they decided our park wasn’t worth the effort and went somewhere else. Can you imagine? A little thing like Ariana taking on a gang of hoodlums?”

Heat crept up Ariana’s neck. “Really, Mrs. Porter. Anyone would have done the same.”

“But ‘anyone’ didn’t. You did. And what about that halfway house?” Mrs. Porter slowed long enough to shudder, and Ariana jumped at the opportunity to make an escape before she bored Grant to death. The halfway house was not a good subject right now.

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