Something was happening to MacKenzie.

Feeling as if she were free-floating, she realized that her feet were off the ground. Quade had caught her so fast, so hard, he’d raised her off the ground.

Her face was inches from his.

His lips were inches from hers.

And something within her leaped out of nowhere, wanting to close the gap. Begging to close it.

Their eyes met and held as if some force was compelling them to look at one another, unable to look away, unable to look anywhere else.

She wanted him to kiss her.

He was no one to her and she no one to him, but she wanted him to kiss her. Right now, more than anything in the world, she wanted to feel desirable.

Wanted to feel something for someone…

She’s Having a Baby
Marie Ferrarella

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Charlie, because I still believe in magic, and you.

MARIE FERRARELLA

This RITA® Award-winning author has written over one hundred and forty books for Silhouette, some under the name Marie Nicole. Her romances are beloved by fans worldwide.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Epilogue

Prologue

June 1, 1864

Amanda Deveaux closed her hand around the cameo. For three years now she’d worn it, never removing it from her neck. She’d promised to wear it until he returned to claim her for his wife. The cameo had become her own personal badge of courage. Embossed on the delicate Wedgwood blue oval was the profile of a young Greek woman, carved in ivory. Penelope, waiting for her Ulysses to come home to her.

Just as she was waiting for her Will to come home to her. Will, who had asked her to wait for him. Will, who had promised to return, no matter how low the fortunes of this miserable, misbegotten war between the states laid him.

He’d sworn it and she’d believed him. She still believed. Because Lieutenant William Slattery had never lied to her.

They had known each other from childhood. Loved one another since childhood. Will had withstood her mother’s sly, cutting remarks and her father’s sharp, delving scrutiny because Will’s people were not as rich as hers. He’d put up with both parents because he’d loved her. He’d been her brother Jonathan’s best friend. Jonathan, who was gone now, one of the brave who had fallen at Chancelorsville.

At least they knew Jonathan’s fate. She didn’t know Will’s.

There’d been no word from Will since Gettysburg. Not since his name had been listed among those who were missing.

These days, her heart felt leaden within her breast. It was hard clinging to hope all this time, hard holding her breath as she looked down the long road leading back to her family’s plantation, now all but in ruins, waiting for him to ride up. Just as he’d promised he would.

“It’s a sin, wasting away like that over a man who was only two steps removed from white trash.”

Coming out onto the decaying porch, Belinda Deveaux looked accusingly at her older daughter. Her oldest child now that Jonathan was in his grave. She raised her head, anger and impatience permanently etched into a face that had once been regarded as the most beautiful in three counties.

Her small lips pursed. “Frasier O’Brien would marry you.”

Amanda’s eyes widened in surprise. Frasier O’Brien had returned from the war—some said he had deserted—to take over his ailing father’s emporium. Shrewd and always able to turn a situation to his advantage, Frasier had found a way to turn a healthy profit in the midst of a time beset with need and despair. He was easily now the richest man in the county. And her mother clearly favored him. Money had always drawn her mother’s attention.

“Frasier is Savannah’s intended. He’s asked for her hand in marriage,” she reminded her mother, indignant for her younger sister.

“Yes, but he wants you,” her mother told her, a dark knowledge in her eyes. “This could be your last chance to marry, girl. Think. You’re almost twenty-one. If you do not marry Frasier, what will become of you?”

“Don’t worry about me, Mother. Worry about Savannah, who, according to you, is engaged to a man whose heart she doesn’t possess.”

“I do worry about you,” her mother reiterated. “I worry about you because you, my empty-headed daughter, are in love with a dead man.”

Anger flared in Amanda’s breast. “Will is not dead,” she cried. “If he were dead, I would know it, Mother. I would feel it inside. Here, where my heart is.” She struck her breast like an penitent sinner asking for forgiveness. “I would know. But he’s coming back to me. He promised.”

Belinda drew herself up. Small, gaunt and draped in black since Jonathan’s death, the woman resembled a wraith.

“William Slattery is dead,” she pronounced. “As dead as your brother and the sooner you realize that, the sooner you will come back to your senses.”

Amanda walked away from her mother. Away from the house that was so badly in the need of care. Away to wait by the side of the road the way she did every day.

“Wait for me,” Will had whispered before he’d released her from their last embrace. And she would, because she was his. Forever. And nothing would change that.

Chapter One

Present Day

“You’re glowing! My God, you’re really glowing. Do you realize you’re glowing? I had no idea that was actually possible. Pablo, I don’t want you to touch her with your makeup brush. Nothing you can do would improve on this look. Is our camera set for ‘glow’?”

The last question was fired over assistant producer MacKenzie Ryan’s shoulder in the general direction of the set where their afternoon show …And Now a Word from Dakota was being shot. The rest of the words rushing out of MacKenzie’s mouth as she quickly crossed the threshold into Dakota Delaney’s dressing room were aimed directly at her best friend.

Offstage, the latter’s name was now officially Dakota Delaney Russell due to her recent marriage to Ian Russell. The star of the popular daytime talk show had just returned from her two-week honeymoon and the only one who had missed Dakota more than her audience was MacKenzie.

To her left, MacKenzie was aware that the tall, gaunt makeup artist who insisted on being called Pablo was scowling at her for preventing him from doing his work. For the moment, she ignored him. It wasn’t as if Dakota were one of those people who needed much makeup anyway. Fresh-faced, she was still drop-dead gorgeous.

Battling another annoying wave of queasiness, MacKenzie forced a grin to her face, aimed at the woman with whom she had once shared dreams and a dorm room. She pushed a strand of strawberry-blond hair out of her eyes. “It has been absolute hell without you, Dakota. I hate working with guest hosts. They’re so not you.”

Dakota shifted around in her seat to face her best friend. “Nice to be missed.”

“Missed?” MacKenzie echoed with a hoot. “If you’d called to say you were extending your honeymoon with that hunk of a man you landed for another week, I would have put my head in the oven.”

Pablo shot her a look that swept over her five-foot-three body swiftly and critically. “You’re small enough for all of you to fit in the oven.”

The comment was punctuated with a haughty snap of his wrists as he closed the lid down on his huge makeup case. Pablo had just taken over for the previous head makeup artist, Albert Hamlin, who had been moved to a prime-time talk show. Today would have marked the first time he’d worked on Dakota, although he had the opportunity to apply makeup to the various guest stars who had temporarily helmed the show. It was evident that Pablo didn’t like limits being imposed on his work.

Dakota offered the temperamental man a conciliatory smile. “Maybe just some lip liner,” she suggested.

Pablo sighed dramatically and opened the case again. “Whatever you wish, Ms. Delaney.” After finding the shade Dakota favored, he held the wand out to her.

Unable to hold back any longer, MacKenzie moved the man aside in order to hug not the star of the fan-favorite program, but her best friend. The woman she still turned to in the middle of her best moments, as well as her worst.

Right now, it was the latter, but this was no time to share.

The embrace was warm and enthusiastic.

“Was it wonderful?” she asked, releasing Dakota. “Tell me it was wonderful.” MacKenzie sighed, for one moment taking a mental journey back to their college days when they had sat up until the small hours of the morning, talking about their dates. Life was a great deal simpler back then. All you had to worry about were grades and trying not to break out before a date. “I need daydreams and I haven’t any of my own.”

“That’s because you don’t have a life,” Pablo said under his breath but audibly enough for the man in the hall changing the lightbulb in the ceiling to hear. The latter chuckled.

MacKenzie spared Pablo a dirty look, but made no protest. That was because what he said was true. She didn’t have a life—at least, not a social one. Since her promotion to assistant producer, all of five days ago, she had decided to dedicate herself to the task of overseeing every aspect of the program. It was the kind of job that didn’t end when she pulled out of the parking lot late at night.

But it wasn’t just her newly attained position, that was responsible for her not having a life. She didn’t have a social life by choice. Because the life she’d been leading up until a few weeks ago had blown up in her face. Her heart broken, she was not about to go back into the dating pool and lay herself open to endure another possible mishap.

It bothered MacKenzie no end to discover that she wasn’t as resilient as she’d thought she was, but there you had it. She wasn’t and she was just going to have to learn how to live with that instead of some kind, loving, mythical male who didn’t exist except perhaps in the pages of a script.

Accepting the lipstick that Pablo held out to her, Dakota applied the soft pink shade to her lips herself. The natural energy that had been the hallmark of Dakota’s life since she’d first met her seemed to be hyped up by several amps, MacKenzie noticed. Or maybe that was just because she felt pale in comparison to her friend. It seemed like she was tired all the time now, like an old-fashioned clock that couldn’t be fully wound up anymore.

Of course, there was a reason for that, she thought darkly.

Dakota handed the lipstick back to Pablo and turned in her chair to face MacKenzie. She studied her friend’s face for a moment. Concern nibbled at the outer edges of her consciousness. “Pablo, would you mind leaving us alone for a few minutes?”

The man’s dark head popped up, his black eyes alert. “Girl talk?” Pablo pouted at the exclusion. “I have as much right to listen to girl talk as the nex— Oh, all right,” he huffed. He hefted his makeup case, a tiny muscle defining itself in his thin arm as it strained under the weight. “I know when I’m not wanted.”

MacKenzie closed her eyes and shook her head as Pablo exited the room. He closed the door behind him with an audible jolt that all but shook the door frame. She sighed. “He has gotten so temperamental since his promotion.”

Dakota had no desire to talk about the makeup artist. Her thoughts were all centered on her friend. She rose to her feet, taking MacKenzie’s hands into hers. “Speaking of promotions, Zee, I heard that they made you assistant producer.”

MacKenzie shrugged off the honor disparagingly. “Yeah, they did.”

Dakota couldn’t resist hugging the other woman. The top of MacKenzie’s head came up to her chin. “God, I am so proud of you.”

MacKenzie struggled to block out another wave of queasiness that threatened to overwhelm her. Mind over matter, Zee, mind over matter, she kept repeating fiercely.

“Forget me, look at you.” Stepping back, she looked at Dakota again. “Married. Glowing.”

Dakota laughed, sitting down in the chair again. Her eyes shone as she thought of Ian. “He does have that effect on me.” She wasn’t aware of the sigh that escaped her lips, but MacKenzie was. “Love is really, really wonderful—” She stopped abruptly and looked at MacKenzie sharply, suspicion entering her eyes. “Speaking of which, how are you and Jeff—or shouldn’t I ask?”

The shrug was evasive. Hapless. She knew she didn’t have a prayer of fooling Dakota. Nor did she really want to. It was just that saying the words hurt. “I’m fine. Jeff’s fine.”

Dakota’s eyes narrowed. They’d been friends since college and no one could read the diminutive, bubbly woman like she could. The conclusion wasn’t difficult to reach. “But you’re not fine together.”

“No,” MacKenzie sighed. Two weeks and she still felt as if she were juggling hot coals bare-handed whenever she thought about the breakup. He’d been kind, trying so hard not to hurt her. As if that were possible, given how she’d initially felt.

She wanted to hate him, but she couldn’t. She could only grieve. “We’re not together. He’s together with his wife.”

Dakota’s mouth dropped open. This was new. “His wife?”

MacKenzie laughed dryly. The sound rang hollow in the small dressing room. “Yeah, a little detail he forgot to mention.”

Dakota could only shake her head, clearly stunned. “He’s married?”

“Separated at the time, so he said. But yes, married.” Afraid she would see pity in Dakota’s eyes, she squared her shoulders the way she’d often seen her friend do and raised her chin. It was purely a defensive move. “And out of my life.”

For a moment, their eyes met and held. In short order, Dakota made up her mind. Leaning her head forward just slightly in order to get her hair off her neck, she located the small knot that held the two velvet ends of her necklace together and undid it.

Watching, MacKenzie frowned. “Dakota, what are you doing?”

Removing her necklace, Dakota held it up in front of her friend. On the end of the velvet ribbon was the cameo she had purchased at an antique shop in upstate New York. The cameo she firmly believed with all her heart had brought her and Ian Russell together in the first place. The cameo came along with a legend.

“I’m taking the cameo off so that I can give it to you.”

“Dakota—” MacKenzie began to protest, shaking her head.

She was about to step back, but Dakota was faster. The latter took her hand and turned it so that her palm was facing up. Dakota laid the cameo across it. She vividly remembered that the woman who had sold her the necklace had said that once she’d felt its magic, once true love had entered her life, she was charged with passing the necklace on to someone else who was in need of its magic. Someone like her best friend.

“I’ve felt the effects of its magic. Now it’s your turn.”

MacKenzie stared at her, dumbfounded. Dakota had been valedictorian in their graduating class. “You don’t really believe—”

“Oh, yes, I do,” Dakota cut in adamantly. “I’m not much on legends and magic, but this worked just the way I was told it would.” Seeing the skepticism in MacKenzie’s eyes, Dakota pressed on. She had once been a disbeliever herself. “The woman in the antique store told me that the legend went that whoever wore the cameo would have their true love enter their life.”

“Dakota, we’re New Yorkers now. We’re too sophisticated for that.” Although part of her wished she could believe in magic. In happily-ever-afters and men who loved to their last dying breath. But she was too old to hang onto illusions. There came a time to grow up. “That’s hype and you know it.”

“No,” Dakota contradicted firmly, “I don’t. What I know is that when I put it on, I met Ian that same afternoon. Maybe it’s crazy,” she allowed, “but there is no other explanation for it than magic. When I went back to talk to that old woman in the antique shop, the owner said no one matching her description worked there. Except that I did talk to her. I did see her.

“And she looked exactly like the photograph he had hanging on his wall of his great-great-aunt—the same great-aunt whose funeral was taking place the day I bought the cameo from her.” It sounded fantastic and she would have been the first to doubt the story if she hadn’t lived through it herself. “Now, if that’s not magic, I don’t know what is.”

MacKenzie looked at the necklace. The cameo was a woman’s profile, carved in ivory and delicately set against a Wedgwood blue background. It was a beautiful piece, but only jewelry, not a cure for a broken heart. “I don’t believe in magic.”

Dakota placed her hand over MacKenzie’s in mute comfort. “You did, once.”

MacKenzie drew her hand away, determined to brazen it out. “I also believed in Santa Claus, once. But I grew up.”

The woman in the shop hadn’t said that belief was an integral part of the experience. “Okay, you don’t have to believe, you just have to wear it.” She looked at MacKenzie, mutely supplicating. “What do you have to lose?”

MacKenzie laughed shortly. “The cameo, for one.” She looked down at the cameo and shook her head. “You know how bad I am about things like that. I’d feel awful if I lost it.” She attempted to push the piece back into Dakota’s hand.

But Dakota merely pushed it back toward her instead. “Then don’t lose it,” she advised. “Wear it. As a favor to me, Zee,” she added, her eyes locking with MacKenzie’s again.

MacKenzie could feel herself wearing down. It wasn’t that she didn’t like the cameo. It was beautiful and she would have loved to wear it. But she also knew that there was no magic in it. Magic was for the very young and the very old to believe in. And the very superstitious. That wasn’t her. “Waste of time.”

The argument was unacceptable. Dakota shrugged it off. “Time goes by anyway.”

Outflanked, MacKenzie surrendered. “God, but you are chipper, even for you.”

“I know.” Her smile fairly lit up the entire room, with light to spare. “I feel like I’m floating.”

It had to be wonderful to feel that way, MacKenzie thought. “Try not to levitate until after the show, okay?”

“Deal.” Dakota looked down at the cameo pointedly. “If you—”

“Wear the necklace—yes, I know. Way ahead of you on that one.” She sighed, capitulating. “Okay, I’ll wear it.”

Dakota kept looking at her expectantly. Waiting. “Now.”

MacKenzie glanced at her watch. It was almost time to go on. “Dakota—”

Dakota rose from her seat, moving around to stand behind MacKenzie. She reached around her, her hand out for the cameo that was nestled in MacKenzie’s hand. “Now,” she repeated.

With a sigh, MacKenzie relinquished the cameo she’d meant to stash in her tiny jewelry box, and placed the piece and its velvet ribbon in her friend’s hand. “It’s not going to do any good.”

“Humor me.”

MacKenzie suppressed another sigh. “Okay, you’re the star.”

“No,” Dakota corrected, securing the ribbon and then coming around to take a look at her handiwork. “I’m the friend.”

MacKenzie knew that Dakota meant well. That the woman who had come up the ranks right along with her only had her best interests at heart. But at this point in the game, her own interests were going to have to take a time-out and slip into the back seat.

At least her romantic interests.

She had a career to worry about, granted, but more important than that, she had a brand new life to worry about. The brand new life she’d just discovered yesterday morning existed within her.

Apparently, Jeff was never going to be permanently out of her life.

Or at least a part of him wasn’t going to be.

She was pregnant. Probably not more than a few weeks because that was the last time she and Jeff had made love. Three and a half weeks. Just before Dakota’s autumn wedding.

Damn it, how could this have happened? Science had advanced so far, you’d think there could be a hundred-percent guarantee for things like birth control pills. But there wasn’t because she had used birth-control and still she found herself unexpectedly carrying a new life within her. A baby who by all rights shouldn’t have been there.

But it was, she thought, placing her hand over what was an absolutely flat stomach.

It was there. Six stupid sticks, all pointing to the same thing, couldn’t be wrong no matter how much she wanted them to be.

Six, that was how many kits she’d brought home, buying each one at a different drugstore so that if for some reason one batch had emerged from the manufacturer with some kind of malfunction, she could turn to another for the true results.

She’d turned six times.

Not a single one of them had given her a smattering of hope. Each one had pointed to the same results: She was pregnant.

Dragging herself out of her shower this morning after allowing the hot water to wash over her for longer than usual, MacKenzie knew she was going to have to make an appointment with her gynecologist for a true confirmation. Not that she held any real hope that the six sticks had lied to her.

Friday, she thought, drying herself off and then discarding the towel. She’d make the appointment for Friday. Or maybe even sometime next week. Right now, she was too busy with the show.

The show. Oh God, she was going to have to hustle, she thought without glancing at either one of the clocks in her bedroom. She could feel the minutes slipping away.

MacKenzie hurried into her clothes, putting on a straight forest-green skirt and a pale green sweater. Both felt loose. How much longer was that going to last, she wondered. Indefinitely, if the first ten minutes of her day were any indication. She’d spent them throwing up, entering that state while she was still half-asleep. She’d spent the next ten trying to get her bearings, succeeding only marginally.

About to dash out of her apartment, MacKenzie realized that she’d left the cameo behind. She was tempted to keep walking, but she knew that would hurt Dakota’s feelings and she didn’t want to do that. Besides, she certainly didn’t believe in the legend, but the small oval piece of jewelry really was lovely.

Securing the ends together at the nape of her neck, she stood for a moment looking at it.

Nothing.

“Magic, huh?” she scoffed. Lightning certainly wasn’t striking. It wasn’t even tingling. Still, the cameo did look as if it belonged exactly where it was.

Patting it, she left the room, muttering under her breath about superstitions. Sure, she’d been all for it when Dakota had first appeared on the set wearing it. And, admittedly, she’d been charmed by the idea that a Southern belle had once worn it. But that had been when it had hung around Dakota’s neck.

Having it now around her own made her uneasy. Uneasy because she was afraid that despite everything she said to the contrary, she might allow herself to buy into the story. To hope when every logical fiber in her body told her that there was nothing to hope on. That hope itself was only a fabrication.

She wasn’t the type that had legends come true.

Crossing the kitchen, MacKenzie glanced at her watch and then bit back an exasperated oath.

How had the time managed to melt away like that? She had less than half an hour to get to the studio and traffic was a bear. It was one of the givens living in New York City. Night or day, traffic was always a force to be reckoned with. A force that usually won.

Why was it that time only seem to lengthen itself when she was alone in bed at night, wondering about the direction of her life? Acutely aware of the fact that the place next to her was empty and would undoubtedly remain that way?

Philosophy later. Hurry now, she counseled herself as she headed for the door. There was no time for breakfast. Just as well. She wasn’t sure if her stomach could hold it down. Putting on her shoes and grabbing her oversize purse that held half her life in it, MacKenzie flew out of her Queens garden apartment and to her carport.

Where she came to an abrupt, grinding halt. She wasn’t going anywhere.

There was one of those self-rental moving trucks blocking her car, its nose protruding so that it was in the way of the car next to hers, as well. The truck’s back doors were both hanging open, displaying its contents for any passersby to see. Normally a curious person, MacKenzie had no interest in the truck’s contents. What interested her was the person who belonged to said possessions and said truck.

And he or she was nowhere in sight.

Exasperated, feeling the minutes physically ticking by, MacKenzie fisted her hands on her hips, the loop of her purse slung over her wrist.

She looked back and forth down the length of the carports. “Damn it,” she exclaimed audibly.

“Something wrong?”

The deep voice behind her sounded like something that had to be raised by bucket out of the depths of a fifty-foot well. Startled, MacKenzie jumped and swung around, her wide purse swinging an eighth of a beat behind her. Coming around like an afterthought, it hit the person belonging to the baritone voice squarely in the groin.

MacKenzie managed to turn in time to see a giant of a man—he was at least a foot taller than her five-foot-three stature—doubling over, his handsome, rugged face turning from tan to something akin to ash-gray. His deep green eyes were watering.

The horror of what she’d just done and the way he had to be feeling slammed into her. “Oh, my God, I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do?” MacKenzie cried.

“You can back off,” Quade Preston ground out the words as he tried to regain both his breath and his composure. Both seemed to be just a step out of reach at the moment. He struggled to overtake them.

“Oh, right, sure.” MacKenzie moved back, her eyes wide as she stared at him.

She felt like David the moment after he had brought Goliath down to his knees, except that in this case it had been purely unintentional. If there was anyone she would have wanted to take aim at in this fashion, it was Jeff, even though she knew that wasn’t exactly fair. Jeff had never promised her the moon—or tomorrow. She had just assumed…

Lately, her emotions felt as if they were strapped to a roller-coaster ride. This tiny seed inside of her had had terrible repercussions on her emotional state. Right now, she felt like laughing and crying, knowing that neither was acceptable.

Especially laughing.

“I can get ice,” she offered, thinking back to when she’d been a kid and her brother Donald had had something similar happen to him. Her father had immediately applied ice to the injured area.

“Back away,” he told her again, this time with a shade less agony throbbing around the order.

Chapter Two

Okay, if he didn’t want her to help him, then she was absolved of her guilt and free to go, MacKenzie thought. As soon as he did one little thing.

“Okay, I’ll back away,” MacKenzie said gamely to the man who was trying very hard not to double over, “as soon as you move your truck.” She indicated the slightly dusty cherry-red car in the carport. She’d had it washed just last weekend, but New York dust was a tenacious thing to reckon with. “You’re blocking my Mustang.”

It took all of Quade’s self-control not to growl at the woman. Pain was still shooting out to all parts of him, making him feel as vulnerable as a day-old kitten. He didn’t particularly like that self-image. The little redhead had really swung that case of hers and hit him smack where he lived.

It took effort just to draw a breath. Quade bit down hard on the inside of his lower lip to keep from making any sounds that would give away the level of pain he was enduring. He had his hand clamped down onto the side of the truck to keep from falling to his knees, which were still trying to buckle.

“Right” was all he managed to get out.

Swallowing, he dug deep into his pocket for the keys. Somehow, he managed to get himself behind the wheel of the truck even though every movement brought its own penalty. Throwing the gearshift into Drive, he pulled the truck up several car lengths, allowing the woman to have access to her vehicle.

When he got out, his knees were only marginally in working order.

“Thank you,” the redhead said over her shoulder as she bounced into her car.

He remained standing by the truck, waiting out the pain that was driving sharp carpenter’s nails into his entire body.

As she pulled out, the woman offered him what he surmised was an apologetic smile. It didn’t begin to cover her transgression. Because he didn’t want to move just yet if he didn’t have to, Quade followed with his eyes the red Mustang’s progress as the woman drove out of the complex.

A plume of smoke was coming out of the vehicle’s tailpipe. She was burning oil. It figured.

Quade sighed, straightening slowly. He had to get back to work. He had exactly one day—today—to settle in before he had to report for his new position at the Wiley Memorial Research Labs. And begin his new life.

And hopefully find a way to move on.

It had not been a good day.

Twice, during the course of her workday, MacKenzie had found herself on the verge of breaking down. Both times Dakota had been near her. She’d almost told her best friend that she was pregnant.

But each time she’d begun, the words had stuck to the roof of her mouth, refusing to be dislodged. She’d shared absolutely everything with Dakota in the years that she’d known her and thought of the woman as almost a twin sister. But her pregnancy was something she needed to get used to herself before she could bring herself to talk to anyone else about it.

Hoping against irrational hope that this was all some rebellious act by her body, she’d decided to reschedule her exam with her doctor. She’d asked the nurse to try to squeeze her in somehow.

MacKenzie got lucky. There’d been a cancellation just called in. Consequently, Lisa, Dr. Neubert’s nurse, put her down for one o’clock. With butterflies strapping themselves onto Boeing jets inside her stomach, she told Dakota that she was grabbing a late lunch and would be back in time for the show, then bolted.

Less than twenty minutes later, she found herself draped in tissue paper and lying on the examination table, counting holes in the ceiling tiles while Dr. Ann Neubert, her doctor for the last five years, performed an internal exam.

The second Dr. Neubert withdrew, MacKenzie propped herself up on her elbows and tried vainly to read the blond woman’s expression.

“I’m wrong, right?” MacKenzie asked eagerly, praying for confirmation.

Ann had stripped off her gloves, throwing them into the small trash basket.

“No, you’re right.” The woman’s expression was soft, encouraging, as if second-guessing her patient’s anguish. “Babies bring rainbows into your life—a new way of seeing things.”

Oh God, it’s true. I’m really pregnant. Now what am I going to do?

She wasn’t ready for this, not by a long shot. “Easy for you to say,” MacKenzie had muttered audibly. “You have a husband.”

Her doctor had surprised her then by putting down her chart and sitting down on the table beside her.

There was an earnest, faraway look in her eyes as she said, “I didn’t when I first found out that I was pregnant.” And then she laughed. “My first daughter was the result of an all-but-out-of-body, wild, impetuous experience one star-filled night on the beach with a handsome journalist who was going overseas to cover war stories the very next day.”

MacKenzie vaguely remembered the woman had two beautiful little girls and an even more beautiful husband who earned his living writing for one of the larger newspapers. “Isn’t your husband a journalist?”

Ann winked at her. “Turned out to be one and the same.” The doctor took hold of her hands, which made her feel just for a moment a sense of calm, that things would work out. “What I’m saying is that perhaps you and the baby’s father—”

And the calm vanished. She shook her head. “Not going to happen. He went back to a wife I didn’t know he had.”

MacKenzie sighed deeply. Everything always happened for a reason, her grandmother had been fond of saying. Maybe there was a reason behind this, too, although for the life of her, she didn’t see one.

“Besides, looking back, maybe I didn’t really love him in quite that ‘forever’ kind of way.” Helpless to continue, she shrugged.

Ann laid a hand on her shoulder. “Things have a way of working out. You’ll see. If not one way, then another.” And then she paused just before leaving. Her eyes were drawn to the small oval at the hollow of MacKenzie’s throat. “Nice cameo. New?”

MacKenzie fingered it. So far, it was turning out to be a dud. “Yes, it is. Thanks.”

Ann nodded, then dug into one of the pockets of her lab coat. “If you need to talk, this is my private number.” Ann pressed a card into her hand before leaving the room.

MacKenzie was off the table in a blink of an eye. There was a show to oversee.

She didn’t remember the trip back. It was one huge blur, hidden behind the recurring mantra: You’re pregnant, you’re pregnant. Her head throbbed.

The call to Jeff was made the first chance she got, right after the program had wrapped for the day. Even as she tapped out the old, familiar number, she could feel the butterflies in her stomach going into high gear again. But it had to be done. There was no way around it. Jeff had a right to know. And she wanted to get this over with as fast as possible.

Jeff listened in silence as she choked out the words. When she finished, he was sympathetic and supportive, all the things that had attracted her to him in the first place.

And then he said, “Listen, Mac, if you need money to get this taken care of—”

“I don’t,” she said, cutting him off before he could say anything further.

“Then you’re keeping it?” There was a clear note of surprise in his voice.

Of course she was keeping the baby, she thought indignantly. How could she not? She’d always had a fondness for all creatures smaller than she was. She just wasn’t relishing the notion that her whole life would be replumbed and restructured.

Hormones mounting another rebellion in her system, MacKenzie didn’t like the way he dehumanized what was happening. “It’s a baby, Jeff, not an ‘it.’”

There was another long pause, as if he were choosing his words carefully. “I’m not interested in being a father, Mac.”

Something shut down in her. It wasn’t that she was expecting him suddenly to declare that he’d been blind and could now see and from here on in everything was going to be coming up roses for them, but she didn’t like the guarded way he was approaching this. As if she wanted something from him. As if he were bracing himself for some kind of shakedown.

Her voice grew more formal. “I know that. I just thought you had a right to know that there would be someone walking around with half your gene pool.”

She swore she heard a sigh of relief. When Jeff uttered the next words, he sounded more like his old self. “I’ll have my lawyer draw up papers making arrangements for child-support payments.”

For some reason, that just made her angrier. “I didn’t call you for that.”

“I know. But I want to do this. I’ll be in touch.” He hung up as if afraid that she might still hit him up for something.

She let the receiver drop back into the cradle within the small cubbyhole that was her office. And then left it at that. Left it with a hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach right beside the seedling that was her baby.

Her baby, not his, not anyone else’s. Hers, she thought with a sudden cloud of tears welling up within her eyes.

Grabbing a tissue, she blocked a wave of exasperation. There they went again, her emotions climbing onto the same roller coaster they’d been riding for the last week. Damn but she was going to have to get a handle on all this emotional stuff before she found herself being utterly derailed.

Somehow, she made it through the remainder of the day, avoiding Dakota’s probing questions and getting everything prepared for the next day’s taping. Instead of staying beyond six, the way she normally did, she made it out the first second she could.

Pausing only long enough to pick up the take-out food she’d ordered earlier, MacKenzie had every intention of going home and locking herself up in her apartment. She wanted to keep the world at bay for as long as she could. Heaven knew, this wasn’t something that she could keep a secret indefinitely, although there had been women who had managed just that because of minimal weight gain and a bevy of very wide, very loose clothing.

She doubted she’d be that lucky.

The same truck was still there when she pulled into the parking lot behind her complex. But this time it wasn’t blocking her space. The vehicle was stretched out over three empty spaces in guest parking. Some of the tenants with visitors weren’t going to be happy tonight.

Not her concern, she thought, guiding her Mustang into her spot.

The take-out bag still felt mildly warm, which meant that the food within the cartons was at least equally so, if not more. The thought of warm food was oddly comforting.

Until it hit her mouth, she thought wryly. After that, all bets were off.

She picked up her purse and shifted the bag to her other side. Approaching her apartment, she saw that the door to the apartment beside hers was wide open. She recognized a piece of furniture from the truck and tensed.

This meant that the guy she’d all but robbed of his manhood was going to be her new neighbor. MacKenzie caught her lower lip between her teeth. Talk about making a bad first impression….

Pausing, she peered inside the apartment but didn’t see him anywhere. She squelched the desire to go inside, not wanting him to add the word trespasser to his list of grievances against her. The living room was in a state of upheaval. There were boxes clustered everywhere. Had he been moving in all day? Of course he had. Most men were domestically challenged. Moving was a major event to them, right up there with wars and famine and flash floods.

MacKenzie knew she should be moving on before her mildly warm dinner became stone cold. But she’d been diagnosed as terminally curious as a child and couldn’t quite get her feet to move away from the doorway.

Was there a Mrs. New Neighbor somewhere? The signs she saw said otherwise. The furniture seemed definitely masculine, but then some women favored clean, unobstructed lines and minimal furnishings.

He was nowhere in sight.

“Hello?” she called out. When there was no answer, she raised her voice and repeated the greeting.

This time, she got a response.

Quade came walking out from the rear of the apartment. The moment he saw her, a note of tension invaded his otherwise impassive expression. She was carrying something in a brown paper bag and her offending purse/weapon was suspended from her wrist. Quade watched it warily, then raised his eyes to her face.

“Should I be grabbing a tray or something to deflect any more blows?”

MacKenzie laughed and flashed him what she felt was her best smile, the one she knew took in her eyes, as well as her lips. “Sorry about this morning.”

“Okay.” He said the word as if it were meant to terminate any further conversation.

By all rights, this was her cue to withdraw. But she didn’t like the idea of having someone living next door who bore a grudge against her. It didn’t take much imagination to see that was what was in the works here. What was needed right now was a little damage control.

MacKenzie thought of the take-out bag tucked against her side.

Because he’d turned his back on her and had begun tearing the tape off a box that was almost as tall as she was, she took a step inside the apartment.

“Hungry?”

He didn’t even spare her a look. “Why, you have some rat poison you want to unload?”

She could feel her back going up, but she forced her voice not to sound hostile as she asked, “Not very friendly, are you?”

This time, he did spare her a look. It was the kind of look that made men with black belts in karate take two giant steps backward. “In general I try to avoid people who try to castrate me.”

She didn’t own a black belt in karate, or any other color belt for that matter, but she had been raised with three brothers and had adopted feistiness as her middle name. “That was an accident.”

“And you apologized.” His tone was cold and gave no indication of what he was thinking, other than the fact that he didn’t want to be bothered right now and was dismissing her.

She dug in. “Yes, I did.”

“Apology accepted.” What did it take to get this woman out of his living room and his apartment? Did he have to physically carry her out? He went back to removing the tape from the box he had no intentions of unpacking today. “Mission accomplished.”

Suppressing a sigh, MacKenzie began to leave, then abruptly stopped.

No, damn it, she wasn’t going to add this to the list of things that bothered her. She was going to prove she was a friendly neighbor if she had to nail his hide to the closet door.

“After work I stopped at Sam Wong’s.”

He frowned as he looked at the contents within the box. It had been mislabeled. These things belonged in the kitchen. Okay, so maybe he would unpack a few things, he decided. “Good for you.”

Since he’d left himself open for a moment, she jumped right in. “They have the best Chinese takeout in the city.”

He began to drag the box into the kitchen, doing his best to ignore this woman who was bent on invading his apartment. It was akin to trying to ignore a jack-in-the-box that kept popping up at inopportune times. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

She followed him into the small kitchen. The management had just had it painted a stark white that was all but blinding. She squinted slightly to compensate. “I bought more than I could eat for dinner.”

Digging into the box, Quade hauled out a stack of carefully wrapped dishes. His sister had packed them while trying to talk him out of moving. But it was something he had to do, at least for now. At least until the hole in his gut got smaller.

“Wasteful,” he commented.

She was barely two steps away from exploding. Why was he treating her as if she were some kind of leper when all she was doing was trying to be neighborly? “Would you like to share some?”

Putting the wrapped dishes on the counter, he finally looked at her. “Why would you share it with me?”

“Maybe it’s your sparkling personality I can’t resist.”

For a second, he looked as if he would chew her up and spit her out whole. But then he surprised her. He laughed. Just before he dug into the box again for a second stack of dishes. “Then I’d say you had a serious problem.”

“I don’t, but you might.” The bag was beginning to get heavy. MacKenzie leaned it against the counter. “Are you always like this?”

He hadn’t the vaguest idea what she was talking about. All he knew was that Carla had packed too many things. All he really needed was a single setting, not eight. That had been Ellen’s domain. She was the one who’d liked company. All he’d ever liked was Ellen.

“Like what?” he bit off.

“Like you’re Mr. Wilson and everyone else is Dennis the Menace.”

He stopped unpacking and gave her a long, penetrating look that ended with a glance toward her purse. “Only when confronted with Dennis.”

“Meaning me.”

Polite lies had never been part of his makeup. “See anyone else around?”

The way she saw it, she could either turn on her heel, tell him to go to hell and retreat into her apartment, or start over. Because she was an optimist at heart and hated the thought of anyone disliking her, she opted to start over.

Leaving her purse on the counter, she put out her hand. “I think we got off to a wrong start. My name is MacKenzie Ryan.”

He stood contemplating the extended hand for a moment, as if shaking it were a step he wasn’t prepared to take, then shrugged before slipping his strong, bronzed fingers around hers.

“Quade Preston.” He didn’t bother giving her his job title. The less he shared, the better. Dropping her hand, he turned away. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

Oh well, she’d tried.

“On that sparkling personality, no doubt.” Turning on her heel, MacKenzie, her purse and her belated peace offering began to walk away.

She was almost at his door when she heard him say, “You need an oil change.”

MacKenzie stopped and turned around. Part of her thought that she’d imagined hearing his voice. “Excuse me?”

“An oil change,” Quade repeated. “Your car’s burning oil.” He shoved the half-emptied box aside. “Saw it as you pulled away this morning.”

MacKenzie ventured back into the room. “You’re a mechanic?”

He shook his head, walking out of the kitchen and past her. God, he was tall, she thought.

“Just observant. When was the last time you changed your oil?” His deep voice floated back to her out of the bedroom.

MacKenzie attempted to think. Car maintenance was one of those things that was strictly an afterthought with her. She knew that her father and brothers would have hooted about her negligence, but with everything she did, something had to go to the bottom of the list. In this case, it was the car.

“I remember that it was snowing.”

“Might be easier if you went by the odometer instead,” he told her, reemerging into the room. “Every three thousand miles is a good rule of thumb.”

She pretended to examine her digit. “My thumb doesn’t have any rules.”

And neither, most likely, did she, he thought. No surprise there. “I had a feeling.”

She decided to make another effort. “So, could I interest you in some Chinese?”

He’d grabbed a hamburger and fries at a fast-food restaurant when he’d gone to get gas for the truck, so hunger was not a problem at the moment. But the meal had come with a soft drink whose container could have been used to replenish a small lake. “I’d be more interested in your bathroom.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?” she said again.

He jerked his thumb toward the back, where his own bathroom was. “Super shut down the water coming into the apartment. Something about having to refit the pipe leading into the shower.”

She drew the logical conclusion, picking up on the last thing he said. “So you can’t take a shower.”

“Or anything else.”

She was very aware of the need for a bathroom. MacKenzie beckoned for him to follow her. “Sure. Come on in.”

Walking out, she began to search through her purse for her keys. As she approached her own door, the take-out bag she was holding against herself was in danger of spilling its contents at her feet.

Seeing it tilt, Quade took the bag from her. She flashed him a smile as she dug farther into her purse.

He eyed the potential weapon with respect and disdain. “Just what do you keep in that thing?”

“My life,” she replied.

He looked at the shape of the purse, which could have doubled as a portfolio case, something it once had been in her early days.

“Your life is large and flat?”

“Some days,” she told him as she finally located her keys. Drawing them out, she hunted through the cluster for the right one.

He noted that there were at least fifteen keys on the ring. “Just how many doors do you need to unlock?”

“You’d be surprised.” There was one for her apartment and one for her car. The other keys had to do with her place of work. “I’m an assistant producer.” She gave him a sidelong glance as she zeroed in on the right key.

MacKenzie saw that he did not look impressed. But then, she was beginning to doubt that there was anything on the face of the earth that might actually impress the tall, dark, sexy and solemn male standing behind her.

Chapter Three

Finally finding the key for the front door, MacKenzie waited for Quade to politely ask exactly what she was the assistant producer of. But there was only silence at her back as she unlocked the door.

So she took the initiative. It wasn’t exactly a stretch for her, given her natural exuberance and impatience. “It’s for …And Now a Word from Dakota.”

Quade looked surprised by the piece of information she offered, as if it were a Frisbee that had come out of the blue and landed on his lap. “What is?”

Pulling her key out again, she opened the door. “The show where I’m the assistant producer.”

He shook his head. “Sorry, never heard of it.” And then, because he realized that probably sounded too abrupt, he added, “I’m not from around here.”

Interest sparked her eyes as she dropped the key back into the cavernous regions of her purse. “Oh, where are you from?”

Quade looked around. Her apartment was a theme and variation of his, only in reverse. And with a smattering of feminine touches to it. “You ask a lot of questions.”

“I don’t when information’s volunteered.” She cocked her head, studying him. His expression was utterly impassive. What did he look like when he smiled? When he relaxed? Could he relax? He’d laughed earlier, but it had been too fleeting. By the time she’d looked at him, his smile—if it had ever appeared—had evaporated. “You’re not the curious type, are you?”

“I’d say you’ve got enough for both of us in that category.” Since MacKenzie looked as if she were waiting for some kind of a definite answer, he added, “But no, I’m not.” No, he thought, that wasn’t entirely accurate. “Not about people.”

Her eyes narrowed as she tried to follow his thoughts. “What are you curious about?”

Quade generalized, not wanting to open the door to any specifics. He found it easier that way. “Diseases.”

When he said that, she could envision him sitting in an easy chair, poring over textbooks with graphic photos. “That’s a little morbid.”

He’d never looked at it that way. To him it was his life’s work. Therein lay the irony. “Not when it comes to saving lives.”

Was he a doctor? Now that, she’d have less trouble believing. “Do you save lives?” she prodded when he said nothing.

He figured he’d been neighborly enough for one encounter. Hell, for all encounters until the end of the year. Maybe even beyond.

“Your bathroom?” he prompted, reminding her why he’d followed her into her apartment in the first place.

“Right through there.” She pointed off to the rear of the nine-hundred-square-foot apartment. “Right by the master bedroom.”

MacKenzie knew the term was a whimsical one inasmuch as it was the larger of the two bedrooms by perhaps a couple of square feet.

“Thanks,” Quade murmured, quickly making his exit before she went off on another tangent that required some acknowledgment from him.

MacKenzie stood where she was for a moment. If her new neighbor wasn’t so good-looking, he would have been a perfect blueprint for some kind of mad scientist. Withdrawn, uncommunicative. But he was good-looking and the sight of him brought posters for volleyball on the beach to mind. It wasn’t a large stretch of the imagination for her to see lean muscles beneath his T-shirt. He probably had one of those abdomens where you could count the number of ridges that went into making up what someone had told her was called a washboard stomach.

The man would be like catnip to the women in the area, she thought.

You’re swearing off everything male, from hamsters on up, remember? she reminded herself.

MacKenzie walked into her kitchen. With a shake of her head, she set down the take-out bag on the small table that was framed with four short, squat chairs.

There was no point in even thinking about him. Someone like the man presently using her bathroom undoubtedly had to be spoken for. Which was fine, because she wasn’t in the market. And even if she were in the market, she was pregnant, so that pretty much put the lid on all things social.

Still, it didn’t mean that she couldn’t be friendly. She could always be friendly. MacKenzie sighed, unconsciously running her hand through her hair. She was counting on friends to take her mind off the chaotic turn of events in her life right now.

Feeling her appetite waning even though she still hadn’t taken a bite of anything, MacKenzie took out a plate and utensils. Her hand hovered over the drawer as she wondered whether or not she should take out a setting for Quade, too.

He hadn’t said anything about staying. But feeding him his first night here would be the neighborly thing to do. On a whim, she took out an extra fork and plate.

MacKenzie heard the bathroom door open just as she finished taking the cartons out of the now-damp paper bag. Bunching the bag up, she tossed it into the garbage pail and turned in time to see Quade walk by on his way toward the front door.

He wasn’t staying, she thought and wondered where the wave of sadness came from. Was there something she could take to get her emotions to level off again?

Abandoning the kitchen, she crossed to the door. “You still didn’t say where you were from.”

He slid her a side glance. “No, I didn’t.”

“Why?” she prodded, “Is it a secret?”

Quade paused, thinking that perhaps he should have done a little research on his own rather than leaving the matter of finding him a place to live in the hands of a real-estate agency. Granted, this place was convenient, close to the laboratory and from the looks of it, rather a nice place to reside, as well.

But in truth, he didn’t require very much anymore and this apartment definitely did have its detractions, he thought, looking at the exuberant redhead with the ever-moving mouth.

“Are all the neighbors like you?”

She wasn’t sure exactly what he meant or how he meant it. “You mean inquisitive?”

Quade laughed shortly, although his lips never curved. “I was thinking of ‘nosy,’ but all right, we’ll go with your word.”

“Can’t speak for everyone,” MacKenzie allowed, “but the woman who lived here before you liked to take a healthy interest in what was going on and the people who came and went around here.”

He read between the lines. “By ‘healthy interest’ you mean everything short of strapping someone to a lie-detector machine and assaulting him or her with a barrage of questions?”

She grinned at that image and he thought to himself that the expression added extra wattage to the room. “Something like that.”

He supposed it wouldn’t harm anything if he told her where he’d lived before everything inside of him had died. “I’m from Chicago.”

She nodded, pleased by the step he’d taken. “I’m from Boston originally.”

But he wasn’t here to exchange information. He had no desire to get to know anything about any one of his neighbors, or the people he was going to be working with, for that matter. All he wanted to do was his work and wait for eventual oblivion, because that was what Ellen had left in her wake. A deep, vast hole that he found himself walking around in in slow motion.

The look in his eyes was meant to put the woman in her place. “I don’t remember asking.”

“No, I’m just volunteering.” Her smiling eyes met his. “Anything else you want to know?”

Quade frowned. He was wasting time here. “I didn’t even want to know that.”

Her smile didn’t wane. The man was clearly in need of someone to talk to before he became some kind of weird hermit. “Is that what’s called being brutally frank?”

“That’s what’s called minding my own business.” About to leave, he paused just for a moment. He had to ask. “I thought New Yorkers kept to themselves.”

“That’s just bad publicity by someone who never took the trouble to really get to know his neighbors.” Delivering the salvo, she looked up at him and smiled brightly.

Ellen used to smile like that, Quade realized suddenly. Realized, too, that it had warmed him just to see it.

Abruptly, he straightened, as if being rigid could somehow keep the memories at bay. “I’ve got to get back to unpacking.” He nodded toward the rear of the apartment. “Thanks for the use of the bathroom.”

“Any time.” She moved a little closer, matching him step for step. “Sure I can’t interest you in an egg roll or something? They’re small.”

“No, thanks. I already ate,” he told her. “I grabbed a burger and fries earlier.”

“Then you didn’t have dessert,” she said suddenly. She switched positions quickly, swinging around to look at the contents she’d just removed from the bag. She scooped up the first fortune cookie she came to and offered it to him. “Here.”

He was about to refuse, decided that it would just be wasting his breath, that he’d wind up with the cookie in some form or other no matter what he said. So he nodded instead and was immediately rewarded by having a fortune cookie thrust into his hand.

“Thanks.”

He looked as if he were going to shove the cookie straight into his pocket without looking at it. Where it was probably going to stay until he sent the pants to the cleaners. If he bothered taking it out then, MacKenzie thought.

She caught his wrist before he could get his hand into his pocket. He looked at her in surprise. “Aren’t you going to open it? I know you’ve got this ‘no curiosity’ thing going, but me, I’ve always love reading fortune cookies.”

He was all set to give it back to her. “Then you keep it.”

But she held up her hands, warding off the exchange. “No, bad luck to take a used fortune cookie. It’s yours now.”

He sighed, debating just leaving but he had a feeling she would pop up like toast in his place the next morning, asking what the fortune cookie had to “say.” Since she wouldn’t take it back, he was stuck.

Quade cracked open the cookie and pulled out the small white paper. “Destiny has entered your life,” he read, then crumpled the paper.

No, it hadn’t, he thought. Destiny had left his life. With the last breath that Ellen had taken. “Happy?” he asked.

“For now,” she answered truthfully.

Well, at least she didn’t try to lie. Quade nodded curtly at her as he walked out her door.

MacKenzie hurried after him, crossing the threshold. The sky looked as if it was going to rain at any moment. The air smelled pregnant with moisture. MacKenzie shook her head. She had pregnancy on the brain.

“Let me know if you need anything else,” she called after him.

The only acknowledgment she received was another quick, dismissive nod before he closed the door behind himself. She heard the lock click into place.

“Good-looking fella.”

Startled, MacKenzie bit back a squeal of surprise. She turned and saw that there was a short, slightly rounded older woman standing in the doorway of the apartment that was two doors away.

The woman had frosted hair cut short and looked to be somewhere in her late fifties, possibly early sixties. Her blue eyes were sparkling as they took in Quade. It seemed to MacKenzie that the woman was stroking the dog she was holding a tad too hard. The dog, a Jack Russell terrier, softly growled his displeasure until she finally stopped petting him.

Careful what you wish for, Dog, MacKenzie cautioned silently.

“New neighbor,” MacKenzie volunteered out loud, nodding toward Quade’s apartment.

Finding herself no longer hungry for food and in no mood for the solitude she’d told herself she’d been craving all afternoon, MacKenzie crossed to the older woman. The woman didn’t look the slightest bit familiar. MacKenzie would have remembered someone who could have easily been cast in the role of Mrs. Claus.

“I’m sorry, did you just move in, too?”

“Me?” One hand went to her ample bosom as the woman laughed at the idea. The sound was rich, bawdy and not entirely in keeping with the angelic-looking rest of her. “No, Cyrus and I have been here for ages.”

“Cyrus?”

“My dog.”

“Oh.” MacKenzie looked at the woman more closely. Nope, not familiar at all. “I’m sorry, I’ve got a very hectic, erratic schedule. I guess I just never bumped into you.”

The woman’s smile was almost cherubic. “No, you haven’t. Can’t say I wouldn’t mind ‘bumping’ into that young man, though.” The woman peered around MacKenzie, as if hoping to get another glimpse of Quade. But the door at his apartment remained closed. If he was going to be bringing up any more furniture or boxes, it wasn’t now. “He’s been moving in all day.”

MacKenzie nodded. “Yes, I know.”

Interest etched itself into the older woman’s soft features. “Do you also know his name?”

“Quade Preston.” MacKenzie liked the way that sounded. Strong.

The other woman seemed to be trying it out in her head, as well. She nodded at MacKenzie. “Very masculine sounding. Doesn’t look very friendly, but maybe that’s because he’s new,” she theorized. “Shy so often can come off as standoffish, don’t you think?”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

MacKenzie considered herself shy, but she took just the opposite tack, trying to force herself to be as friendly as possible. Obviously it wasn’t working with her new neighbor.

As if someone had just snapped their fingers, the other woman seemed to come out of a self-imposed trance. She stopped looking toward the other apartment with a bemused expression on her face and faced MacKenzie instead.

“Oh, where are my manners?” The woman shifted the dog she was still holding to her other arm, putting out her hand toward MacKenzie. A thin layer of downy dog fur clung to her sleeve. “I’m Agnes Bankhead. Aggie to my friends.” Her eyes brightened as MacKenzie took her hand. “And I think we’re going to be friends—as long as you tell me your name.”

MacKenzie took an instant liking to the older woman. There was something about Aggie that reminded her of an aunt she’d had. Actually, Sara had been her father’s aunt, but so young at heart, she’d seemed years younger than her dad.

“MacKenzie.”

Aggie cocked her head, the ends of her short silver-gray hair swinging about her face. “Is that first or last?”

“My mother’s last, my first.” She’d been named after her mother’s people. She was also supposed to have been a boy. The name would have fit better. But when she was born, her mother had been adamant that the name be used. She hadn’t intended on having any more children. Ethan, the brother who’d arrived eleven months after MacKenzie, had had other ideas. “It’s MacKenzie Ryan.”

Aggie firmly shook her hand before releasing it. “Well, MacKenzie Ryan, it’s nice to finally meet you.”

MacKenzie was still amazed that this was their first encounter. You would have thought, living so close together in the same small complex, that their paths would have crossed at least once before. “How long did you say you lived here?”

“You’re wondering that because you never saw me before, right?” Aggie guessed knowingly. “There’s a reason for that. I worked at home.” She waved at hand toward her front door. “Glued to my computer, going blind. Until last week, my last job was freelance graphic artist.” She leaned her head in closer, as if sharing a secret. “Freelance is shorthand for fighting to keep the wolf away from the door. Most of the time, the wolf won.”

She stopped abruptly, looking up. The sky was a deep shade of gray layered over black. “Looks like more rain’s about to find us. Why don’t you come inside and I’ll finish this conversation?”

MacKenzie was more than happy to take her up on the invitation.

“I’d love to.” She followed Aggie and her dog into the cozy apartment. “So, what happened last week?”

Aggie closed the door and released the dog, who immediately trotted off to his favorite chair. A large dark blue recliner with an crocheted afghan spread over it.

“Last week I took a long, hard look at my life and realized that I was tired of hustling for clients. I decided that if I was going to hustle, I might as well do it for the kind of self-satisfaction that would make me feel loved.”

MacKenzie caught her lower lip between her teeth, afraid to venture a guess about the new career the other woman had chosen for herself. For one thing, Aggie’s choice of words sounded way too much like a description a former high-profile madam had given Dakota on one of the shows they’d done earlier this year.

Bright and vivacious, Aggie still looked a little old to be getting her feet wet in the game, although who knew? MacKenzie decided to play it safe and just ask.

“Such as?”

Aggie grinned from ear to ear, her expression catapulting her into her thirties, or thereabouts. “Stand-up comedy.”

MacKenzie stared at her. It took years to become a successful comedian. Years of one-night stands and playing in clubs that had more roaches than customers seated at the tables. She couldn’t have heard Aggie correctly. “Excuse me?”

The look in the sparkling blue eyes was knowing. And there was laughter in them, as well. “You think I’m out of my mind, don’t you?”

The last thing MacKenzie wanted was to offend the woman. Besides, who was she to judge anything? She’d judged that Jeff was the perfect man and look how wrong that turned out to be?

“No, absolutely not. I think everyone should try to make their dreams come true.”

“Just not at seventy-two.”

“Seventy-two?” MacKenzie echoed incredulously. “You’re seventy-two?” How could she have been that far off? Maybe being pregnant affected your vision, she thought.

“Uh-huh.” With one hand at her back, Aggie gently guided her into her cheery kitchen. Daffodils bloomed on the wallpaper, adding to the feeling of warmth in the room. “I know, I know, I don’t look a day over seventy-one. It’s all those genes I inherited from my mother.” Switching on the coffeemaker on the counter, Aggie poured in water and placed the pot under the spout. Hot water emerged almost immediately, making noise as it ran its course. “Of course, they’re a little old themselves, having been used by her, not to mention all those women who came before her.”

After turning around, she paused to lean against the counter. “They tell me that my great-great-great-grandmother looked like she was fifteen when she was my age, but what can you do?” Crossing to the small pantry, she opened the door and reached inside. “Tea?” she asked, firing the question over her shoulder.

Maybe Aggie had something there, MacKenzie thought. The woman was certainly entertaining and amusing. Maybe she was unique enough to make it in this unsteady field she was thinking of entering.

“Um, yes, please.”

Taking out a small box of tea bags, Aggie placed the box on the counter in front of MacKenzie. The coffeemaker had finished turning cold water into hot. “Earl Grey, right?” Aggie took down a cup and saucer. “No milk.”

It was exactly the way she took her tea. And she was a tea drinker in a land of coffee consumers. It wasn’t often that she was offered her first choice right out of the box.

She looked at Aggie with no small amount of wonder. “How did you…?”

The water steamed as it descended over the tea bag. Aggie set down the pot and waited a moment, then raised and lowered the tea bag a total of five times before setting it before her guest.

“I’m just a wee bit psychic at times. That, too, came from my mother’s side,” she confided with pride. “She came to this country from Scotland as a young girl. A lot of people had the sight—that’s what they called it back then.”

“Of course they had no cable television, so I suppose they had to do something to entertain themselves,” she added. MacKenzie hadn’t begun to drink, so Aggie gestured toward the tea. “Drink it while it’s hot, dear. The nice tea will help to soothe your stomach.”

MacKenzie looked at her sharply. “What makes you say that?”

Aggie’s expression was the personification of innocence. “The baby’s been giving you trouble, hasn’t it, dear?”

MacKenzie’s mouth dropped open.

Chapter Four

“How did you—” Realizing that her question was an admission, MacKenzie gathered her wits about her and started over again. “I mean, why would you think I was pregnant?”

When she made no move to pick it up, Aggie urged the warm teacup into her hands. “You have that look about you. I can more or less look into a woman’s eyes and know if she’s in the family way or not. Saw more than my share when I was midwifing.” She smiled in response to the uncertain expression on MacKenzie’s face. “I wasn’t always a graphic artist. That’s coming back in style, you know, being a midwife.” And then she added with a measure of certainty, “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. Not their business.

“Mine, neither,” Aggie continued, “except that I’ve always been the type who liked to know things about pretty much everyone I come in contact with.” Aggie lowered herself into the chair on the opposite side of the oval kitchen table. Shifting, she made herself comfortable. “Guess you could call me a people junkie.” Her smile widened. “Pick up a lot of things that way, too.” Leaning forward, Aggie looked at her pointedly. “Like did you know that a little bit of ginger in your food helps with morning sickness?”

This was news to her. But then, so was the pregnancy. “Ginger? Like in ginger ale?” She’d heard that seltzer water and crackers helped some women. All it did for her was make matters that much worse.

“No, like in the spice.” Aggie got up and went to the pantry, retrieving a small metal container. She placed it on the table beside the teacup. “Sprinkle it on things. It’ll help settle your stomach.” The smile on Aggie’s lips was motherly as her eyes swept over her guest. “This’ll all be behind you soon enough.”

“Or in front,” MacKenzie quipped, looking down at her very flat belly and picturing it distended and rounded out with a baby. She’d never thought much about having a family, but now the matter had been decided for her.

Aggie nodded at her with approval. “Sense of humor even under the gun. I like that.” Reaching over the table, she patted MacKenzie’s hand. “You’ll survive well, MacKenzie. A sense of humor is what sees us through the worst of times.”

MacKenzie didn’t feel all that humorous right now. Thinking about the future made her feel as if she were staring into a deep, dark abyss. “Is that why you want to become a stand-up comedian?”

Aggie’s eyes sparkled again, as if they were hiding a joke all their own. “That, and because I’m funny. Or so people have told me. And it’s something new,” she philosophized, “I like trying new things and new jobs. Keeps you young.”

MacKenzie liked having things certain, liked knowing what tomorrow was going to bring. The unknown obviously didn’t bother Aggie. Part of MacKenzie wished she could be that adventurous. “Well, something must be working because you really don’t look your age. I thought you were in your fifties.”

The compliment brought a genial smile to Aggie’s lips. “I’ve got a feeling we’re going to be very close friends, girl.” Aggie nodded at the cup that was still sitting in its saucer. “Now drink your tea while it’s hot.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Picking up her cup, MacKenzie brought it to her lips and drank.

MacKenzie stayed at Aggie’s a great deal longer than she’d thought she would when she’d first crossed the threshold. By the time MacKenzie returned to her apartment, the dinner she’d brought home with her had become stone cold. What there’d been of her appetite had gotten appeased at the other woman’s table. Aggie had given her a small portion of chicken à la king served over steaming rice. Oddly enough, it had been MacKenzie’s favorite thing to eat as a child and she’d said as much to Aggie, who merely smiled at the information.

The older woman had sprinkled some ginger over the serving, mixing it in before placing the plate before her. Aggie had winked and promised that MacKenzie would be a new woman by morning.

MacKenzie had had her doubts, but had eaten the meal with surprising relish.

Finally home in her own apartment, she gathered up the containers of Chinese food and stored them in her refrigerator. After wiping off the tabletop, she went to bed.

Accustomed to tossing and turning, she dropped off immediately.

It was the doorbell that woke MacKenzie, slicing through dreams until it took on shape and form.

Reluctantly opening her eyes, MacKenzie automatically turned toward the clock on the nightstand. As she did, the thought hit her that she’d forgotten to set her alarm. The doorbell had woken her half an hour before she was due to get up.

She wasn’t sure if that was fortunate or not.

She struggled to rouse herself. Who could be at her door at this hour?

Jeff with a change of heart?

MacKenzie bolted upright, throwing the twisted covers off and hurrying into the matching half robe that had been haphazardly thrown on the edge of the covers. Abandoning the slippers that stood waiting for her feet at the foot of the bed, she groggily stumbled her way to the front door.

“You came,” she cried even before she’d finished swinging it open.

The next second, disappointment drenched her.

Waking from a deep sleep had left the remnants of a dream still hovering in her brain. On the other side of her threshold stood a half-naked Quade. Swallowing, she glued her tongue to the roof of her mouth.

She’d been right about his abdomen. He did have a washboard stomach. As a matter of fact, he had the kind of stomach that caused washboard manufacturers—if there was such a thing anymore—to flock to his doorstep just for a knee-disintegrating look. A pair of frayed, cutoff jeans were hanging on for dear life along hips that were taut and slim. The very sight of which would have sent scores of men rushing to their local gyms, entertaining wild delusions of imitation.

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