His Best Friend's Baby (10 page)

“Why?” He frowned at her. “Did you think I’d try to snatch the baby?”

“No, I thought you’d undermine my confidence in being a mother. I was afraid you’d disapprove of everything I did.”

Voice gravel that was painful on the thin skin of her guilt, Quinn asked, “Were you ever going to tell me?”

“Of course I was!” She paused. “After he was born and I knew what I was doing.”

Quinn’s gaze lowered to her belly. “Is the baby a he?”

“No. I mean, I don’t know. It’s just awkward to always say ‘he or she.’”

“Do you have a preference?” he asked with seeming interest.

Mindy shook her head. “I like babies. And kids.”

His expression was brooding. “I’ve never been around either.”

“They’re not some weird, exotic species, you know. Kids
want
to like you.” She shrugged. “Mostly, they give you the benefit of the doubt.”

His eyes met hers again, and she was surprised to see humor in them again. “Unlike me?”

“Um...I didn’t say that.”

His grin stole her breath. “You didn’t have to.” He nodded at her plate. “Are you done?”

“I’m stuffed,” she admitted.

Quinn pushed back his chair. “Maybe you’d better go back to bed. Or I can pull out the sofa bed if you’d prefer.”

“I can’t let you clean up, too.” She stood and reached for her plate. “At least let me...”

He circled the table and took the plate out of her hand, then firmly turned her and gave her a nudge. “No. Bed rest. Remember?”

“But you’ll be waiting on me hand and foot,” she protested.

He shook his head. “Am I going to have to cuff you to the bed?”

Once more, her mouth ran away with her. She teased, “That sounds kinky,” before her brain could put the brakes on.

Quinn only laughed. “So it does,” he agreed, sounding lighthearted.

As she fled, Mindy realized that she’d heard his laugh before—floating up the stairs after she’d gone to bed, leaving him and Dean alone. Feeling oddly gratified to have succeeded in making him laugh herself, she went to get her toothbrush and toothpaste.

* * *

F
UNNY
HOW
DIFFERENT
LIFE
was when you had someone waiting for you at home.

Mindy had eaten breakfast with him that morning, refusing his offer to scramble eggs or make pancakes.

“I always have cereal anyway. Maybe this weekend, when you don’t have to go to work.”

She took a section of the morning newspaper and read with concentration that furrowed her brow while she ate her cold cereal with a banana sliced on top. Pretending to read the front page of the
Times,
Quinn watched her.

She hadn’t bothered to get dressed—and why would she? Instead, she had thrown her terry-cloth robe over her pajamas. The pajamas had probably come from a maternity store; the robe hadn’t. It refused to meet over her belly, leaving a three-inch gap through which he could see a powder-pink knit top. It occurred to him that he’d never seen her in pink before.

She looked up. “What?”

“Did I say something?”

“You’re staring.”

He came close to blushing. “I just had the thought that I’ve never seen you in pink.” He nodded at her front.

Mindy glanced down, then made a face at him. “It’s the maternity clothes! Most of them are
cute
.” She said the word with loathing. “You know. Baby on Board with an arrow pointing at the stomach. I mean, you can find more elegant stuff, but it’s expensive. Mostly I got my maternity clothes at the thrift store. It’s not like I’ll be wearing it for long.”

“
You’re
cute.” Okay. Where had that come from?

“Me?” She blinked at him.

“Yeah. I mean, you’re little and blond and...” He shrugged helplessly. “You can do cute.”

“But I don’t want to.” She frowned severely at him. “I’d rather be...quirky.”

He thought of some of the getups he’d seen her in and said, “I guess you’d qualify.”

“My mother is big on pink,” Mindy admitted. “She dressed me like a doll. She didn’t take it well when I started wearing T-shirts with skulls on them and torn jeans.”

He grinned. “Did you really?”

Clearly offended, she scowled at him. “That’s funny?”

“Only if you dyed your hair black and wore a dog collar with spikes.”

“I put a temporary dye on my hair once.” Her face relaxed at a memory she obviously relished. “Freaked Mom out.”

“You never mention your father.”

“He died when I was fourteen.” Subject closed. She bent her head again and immediately became engrossed in the newspaper—or pretended to become engrossed.

Interesting.

Quinn swallowed the last of his coffee and said, “I’m off. You have my cell-phone number. Call if you need me. Okay?”

She sketched a mock salute. “Yes, sir.”

He raised a brow.

This smile dripped with sweetness. “Have a good day. Think of li’l old me waiting at home.”

He was laughing when he went out the front door.

And he had been thinking of her ever since.

Over lunch Carter said, “What are you smiling about?”

Wiping the smile from his face, he snapped, “Nothing.”

He called her twice to be sure she was okay. The first time she didn’t answer, and he assumed she was sleeping. Nonetheless, worry edged his mood until she answered in the early afternoon.

“Fine. And, yes, I’ve been good,” she assured him without being asked. “I’m watching TV right now. I’ve never watched afternoon television.”

Once upon a time, he’d doubted she had the smarts to be interested in much but silly TV shows. Now he said, “So what do you usually watch?”

“Oh...movies.” Her voice became more animated. “I loved ones that made me cry.”

He had the impression she cried a lot. Although in fairness, this last six months hadn’t been her best.

“Some of the BBC programs on PBS,” she continued. “I like British accents.”

What a reason to watch.

“Mostly, I’d rather read.”

“Explore my bookshelves,” he told her.

“Thanks,” she said. “Now go back to work. Catch some bad guys.”

“Can’t find this bad guy.” Marvin was still eluding them.

“Really?” Her voice softened. “You found me.”

“By chance,” he reminded her.

“If you’re looking for something, sometimes you stumble right over it.” Her laugh rippled out. “Maybe I should go into the guru business.”

“Maybe. Listen, I’ll rent some DVDs on my way home.”

“Would you?” She sounded hopeful. “Thank you, Quinn.”

Carter settled heavily into the chair across from Quinn’s desk. “Who was that?”

He guessed he couldn’t avoid telling a few people. He just didn’t want anyone to read the wrong idea into the fact that Mindy was living with him.

“Mindy Fenton. She’s hit a bad patch and is staying with me.”

“Bad patch?” Carter rubbed his chest absentmindedly in a way that was making Quinn nervous. He’d been nagging his partner to get a checkup. His retirement was going to be a short one if he ignored angina pains. Carter kept insisting he had heartburn. Too much coffee, he always insisted. Ate a hole in the esophagus.

“She’s pregnant. With Dean,” Quinn added hastily. “She’s due next month. But she’s got preeclampsia, which is some kind of hypertension thing that happens to pregnant women. The doctor wants her doing nothing but resting. That’s tough to do when you’re living on your own. I offered my spare bedroom.”

“Dean’s kid, huh?” Carter gave his chest a final pat. “He’d have really liked having a baby, wouldn’t he?”

“Yeah. He would have.”

They were silent for a moment, remembering a man who was still half kid himself.

Carter heaved a sigh. “What’s the plan for this afternoon?”

“No idea.”

“Maybe we should put some more pressure on Abdul. I think he knows where his good friend Marvin is.”

“Yeah, why not?” Quinn shrugged and rose.

Marvin was their primary suspect in a drive-by shooting. A few other names had come up, but Marvin’s disappearance from his usual social scene didn’t proclaim his innocence.

They revisited several people, making them nervous per intention, but learned nothing new. Quinn watched his partner press his hand to his chest several times and surreptitiously pop antacid tablets. At five o’clock, he said, “Let’s hang it up. That’s it, Carter, make a doctor appointment!”

“Mind your own business,” Ellis Carter said without heat.

“If you have heartburn you need something stronger than Tums!” Quinn glowered at Carter. “If you’ve got something else going on, you need to know it. I’m not in the mood for another funeral.”

Face flushed with rare anger, Carter said, “You never let up, do you?” and stalked out.

Quinn didn’t move. He sure knew how to make friends and keep ’em.

Thirty seconds after Carter had left, he reappeared in the doorway. Scowling, he said, “All right! I’ll make the appointment! Are you satisfied?”

Quinn smiled. “Yes.”

“Don’t smirk,” his partner snarled, before vanishing again.

Quinn walked out to his car feeling good. His step seemed lighter than usual. Pulling into the parking lot of the video store, he caught himself whistling.

He grabbed a few new releases almost at random, since he had no idea what she enjoyed. He skipped the horror and the blood-and-guts action stuff, choosing a British import, a romantic comedy, a weird-sounding independent film and Tom Hanks’s latest, which he’d been meaning to watch himself.

The house was quiet when he let himself in. He carried the cartons of MSG-free Chinese takeout he’d stopped for into the kitchen, then turned to see her standing in the door in her pajamas.

“You’re home!” Mindy’s nostrils flared. “And you brought dinner.”

“Bored?”

“Not too bad yet. But getting there. And hungry.”

“Here, take some of these and go sit down.” He nodded toward the dining area. “I’ll get plates and we can serve ourselves.”

“Cool.”

She was happily peeking to see what he’d bought when he laid out plates and forks.

“Spring rolls. Heaven.”

“You’re easily pleased,” he said with amusement.

“Now that I’m not nauseated all the time, I’m hungry instead.” She took the glass of milk he’d poured from him. “Thanks.” When he pulled up his chair, Mindy asked, “Did you find your guy?”

“Guy?” For a moment he was blank. “Oh. Marvin. Nah.” For no particular reason, he added, “His mother doesn’t believe he’d have shot anybody. She doesn’t like guns and is convinced he feels the same, even though he’s gotten into things she doesn’t like.”

“Drugs?”

“Definitely drugs.”

She paused after a swallow of milk. “Is it possible he didn’t shoot anybody?”

Riveted by the sight of her tongue sweeping her upper lip, he had trouble making sense of what she’d said. “I guess anything’s possible.”

“Well, you’ll find him.” She gazed expectantly at Quinn. “Is that what you did all day? Look for Marvin?”

“Pretty much,” he admitted. “Nagged Carter into seeing a doctor.”

“Doctor?”

He found himself telling her about his partner’s “heartburn” and stubborn refusal to get it checked out. That got them off on health care, the costs for someone like her who wasn’t insured, then on to politics. Quinn surfaced to realize over an hour had passed.

“Hey, you need to lie down.”

She made a face. “I suppose.”

“I rented some DVDs.”

“Really?” She brightened. “What did you get?”

Mindy claimed to be delighted with his choices, and the next thing he knew the Tom Hanks movie was in the DVD player, Mindy was lounging on the couch and he was slouching in an easy chair.

It wasn’t bad, but he found himself enjoying watching her face as much as he did the movie. Her expressiveness was part of why he’d always seen her as young, he realized; she had childlike wonder in her eyes when she saw something that delighted her, some of a kid’s inability to hide her surprise and worry and unhappiness. Now, he hoped she never acquired a more sophisticated veneer. What kid wouldn’t like to grow up with a mom with a giggle like that?

After she’d gone to bed, he washed their few dishes, giving her time to use the bathroom first.

Turning out lights, Quinn realized he hadn’t enjoyed an evening this much in a long time. He didn’t even mind that his bathroom had been taken over by a woman, and an untidy one at that. His mood was too good.

This was going to work out, he thought. For both of them.

CHAPTER NINE

“W
HAT
DO
YOU
think you’re doing?” Quinn couldn’t believe his eyes. His day had gone south with a frantic call from a mother who’d found her kid beaten to death. Fortunately—or unfortunately, depending on your point of view—finding and arresting a suspect hadn’t taken as long as booking him. Still, he was two hours late home. He’d stopped to pick up a pizza the restaurant manager had assured him was made with only low-sodium ingredients, and was just walking in the door.

Mindy was apparently just on her way
out
the door. Clutching a pillow.

“Pizza.” She looked at the box with longing. “I can warm some up when I get back.”

He ground his teeth. Did the words
bed
rest
mean nothing to her? “Back from where?”

“My Lamaze class is tonight.”

“Lamaze.” He had the vague impression that Lamaze had something to do with puffing and panting. The purpose escaped him.

“Yes. You know.” One of Mindy’s hands fluttered. “Getting ready for childbirth?”

“Won’t your doctor be doing a C-section?” He’d done some research.

Mindy shook her head. “She’ll induce labor as soon as she thinks it’s safe. But she’d rather the baby be born naturally.”

Quinn didn’t move from his position blocking the door. “You can’t go out.”

“Yes. I can.” She looked steamed. “Quinn, I’m a big girl. You’ve been wonderful, but I don’t need a daddy to tell me what to do.”

His jaw tightened. “Expressing a little common sense makes me overbearing?”

She let out an exasperated puff of air. “I’ve been in bed all day. I even ate lunch in bed! I won’t be gone an hour and a half. I’ll be fine. I promise.”

“I’ll drive you,” he heard himself say.

Her expression softened. “You don’t need to. Really.”

Had she looked at herself in the mirror lately? Her stomach was so enormous, she waddled. He’d seen her struggle just to get out of a chair.

“I don’t know how you’d reach the gas pedal by the time you put your seat back enough to get that belly behind the steering wheel.” He was wary enough to recognize the mutinous flare on her face. Quinn cleared his throat and moderated his tone. “I’ll feel better if you let me drive.”

“
I
feel like a teenager who’s been grounded.” Her lower lip looked as sulky as a teenager’s, too. She sighed again. “Fine. But we have to go now.”

“I’ll stick the pizza in the fridge.” He hoped she didn’t hear his stomach rumble.

He half expected her to bolt, but she was waiting when he hurried back to the front door. He gestured her out onto the porch and locked the door behind them. For a minute, he thought she was going to protest when he opened the passenger door for her, but all she did was mumble, “I feel like a beached whale,” as she set the pillow on the floor, gripped the door frame and lowered herself to the seat.

He followed her directions to a community center housed in a retired school building on Beacon Hill. The parking lot for El Centro de la Raza, surrounded by a ramshackle chain-link fence, was full of shadows behind Dumpsters and in stairwells. He parked by a cluster of other cars at one dimly lit end of the old school.

“I should have suggested you bring something to read.” Looking contrite, Mindy opened her door. “I’ll be about an hour.”

“I’ll walk you up.” Quinn didn’t give her a chance to argue. The place was almost deserted and the neighborhood not the best. Anybody could be wandering the halls in that place.

She was still trying to heave herself out when he arrived at her side of the car. He gripped her arm and pulled. She came faster than he’d expected and bumped right against him. Her stomach did a lurch and roll as if the kid inside was protesting—or trying to cut and run. It was the weirdest sensation, feeling that against his stomach.

“Thanks,” she said, straightening away from him. “Wow. I have a couple more classes, but I don’t know if I’m going to be able to make them.”

He restrained himself from saying,
You shouldn’t be at this one.
Instead, he took her elbow in a firm hand and gave her his support as she laboriously climbed the steps to the first floor.

Most of the hand-lettered signs on the doors and on the walls of the wide halls were in Spanish. Quinn seemed to remember that this school had essentially been seized by the community back in the radical sixties or seventies. Now, several of these old school buildings in Seattle housed community centers.

Mindy turned into an open classroom. Voices and light spilled out. Quinn started in behind her.

Chairs had been pushed against the walls. Eight—no, nine—couples stood around the room. The women ranged from maybe no more than six months along to one that—oh, boy—had to have twins in there. Triplets, maybe. Or else she was eleven months pregnant. Quinn could barely tear his incredulous gaze from that grotesquely enormous belly. And he’d thought Mindy was huge.

He came to himself when someone closed the door behind him and then clapped to get attention. He turned to see a dark-haired woman who had the body of a thirty-year-old, streaks of gray in her hair and a wide, beaming smile.

With apparent delight, she said, “We’re all here, so let’s get started. Mindy! You brought a partner. Wonderful!”

Alarmed, Quinn backed toward the door. “I’m, uh, just here to observe. Or... I’ll wait in the hall.” He had his hand on the knob when hers closed on his forearm.

“Nonsense! You
did
come with Mindy?”

“I drove her,” he admitted.

“And did you have plans for the next hour?”

He hesitated.

She beamed. “Well, then, why not give her a hand?” She chuckled. “Literally. Gentlemen, flex your fingers! You’re going to give our mothers-to-be back rubs. Ladies, lie down.”

Looking like a suspect caught in a high-intensity beam, Mindy stood stock-still. “Lorraine, Quinn is just a friend. He’s not, um... I mean, he was a friend of my husband’s.”

“Don’t be shy,” the Lamaze instructor told her with a gentle hug. “He doesn’t mind.” She turned a piercing gaze on him. “Do you?”

He could see the whites of Mindy’s eyes. Did she
want
him to bow out? But he could also see that every other woman in this room had a man kneeling beside her. He hated knowing that Mindy had been coming by herself from the beginning.

“No,” he said. “I don’t mind.”

“Splendid!” Lorraine went to the front of the room. “Now, a relaxed woman stays in control. Your job,” she told the husbands, “is to help her relax between contractions.”

“Quinn,” Mindy said in a low voice, “you don’t have to do this.”

“I really don’t mind.” He smiled, a little ruefully. “Besides, I’m scared of her.”

He was rewarded with a tiny chuckle.

“Come on. Lie down.”

As she set down her pillow and lowered herself to a mat on the floor, Quinn thought about stripping off his jacket but remembered that he still wore his holster and weapon. Wouldn’t want to send those mothers-to-be screaming into the hall.

As the instructor talked about finding the tension in his partner’s back and rubbing
gently, he knelt, took a deep breath and laid his hands on Mindy.

Her shoulders felt incredibly fragile, the bones so fine he was afraid to squeeze too hard. There was definitely tension there—her body was so rigid, he guessed he could lift her above his head with one hand and she’d stay stiff.

He kept kneading as the instructor circulated, giving encouragement and chiding a few guys who were apparently ham-handed. Neck, shoulders, down her spine and finally to the small of her back. Mindy made a tiny sound when he put the heel of his hand against her lower back and pressed.

Quinn yanked his hand back. “Did I hurt you?”

“No.” She gave him a brief, shy smile over her shoulder. “It felt good. You found the spot that’s been aching.”

“Oh.” Okay. He went back to work, rubbing, kneading, loosening.

She made a throaty sound and he leaned closer, inhaling her soft scent.

He gave his head a hard shake. She was Dean’s wife. Right now, she needed a friend. And what was wrong with him anyway? The woman was eight months pregnant!

He was half relieved, half reluctant when the instructor suggested moving on to breathing exercises.

“Ladies, lie on your side or back, however you’re most comfortable.”

While the others ran through familiar exercises, she gave Quinn the five-minute lesson. Four shallow pants, one exhale.

“Count for her. Be firm. Look into her eyes. During labor, you need to compel her attention. You can’t let her focus slip.”

Feeling like an idiot, he counted and Mindy panted. Finally, Lorraine called a halt to the exercise and had the women sit up. Everyone pulled chairs out and listened as she talked about breast-feeding. Quinn was almost as unnerved by the discussion as he’d been by stroking his hands from Mindy’s neck to her tailbone.

The class over, they walked out to the car in silence. For the first time, he was thinking about her alone in labor, trying without any help to maintain her focus on the pattern of breathing rather than the pain. Why hadn’t she asked a friend to do this with her?

During the equally silent drive, he also started to think about
after
the baby was born. She wasn’t intending to go back to that dank apartment, was she? He’d have to make it clear that he wanted her to stay at his place for a few weeks. Or longer. Having her there wasn’t the hardship he might have expected it to be.

“You think that stuff works?” he asked.

The car was dark, but he knew her head turned. “The breathing, you mean?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t know.” She was quiet for a minute. “I hope it does. I’m actually a little scared.” Her voice hurried. “I mean, of labor. I think it must hurt a whole lot.”

He’d been a young patrolman when he’d had the memorable experience of helping a woman give birth. The young husband leaned over the front seat of the car holding her hand and giving encouragement as she screamed and pushed. He remembered crouching between her legs and watching in horror and fascination as a head crowned and then popped out. The baby, slick with mucus and blood, had slid right out into his hands. He’d just about quit the job after that one.

“Women survive it all the time. And then they do it again.”

“I know.” She was gazing straight ahead, her profile lit in flashes as they passed under streetlights. “It’s just, the first time... And having something already wrong.”

He took her hand, which went still in his for an instant before she gripped hard. “You’re a lot stronger than I ever gave you credit for,” he said. His voice sounded hoarse. “You’ll do fine, and I know you’ll be smiling when they hand you the baby.”

She sniffed. “Thank you, Quinn.”

He didn’t let go of her hand, and she didn’t let go of his. Not until he pulled into the garage and had to set the emergency brake. Then he went around and helped her out. She seemed to be moving slower, more heavily, tonight than even two days ago. He waited until they were in the house before he said, “You seeing the doctor again soon?”

“Wednesday. Visits are weekly this last month.”

“Good,” Quinn said with relief. “Are you hungry?”

“Starved!”

“Listen, you go lie down and I’ll warm up the pizza.”

She disappeared into the bedroom, but reappeared a couple of minutes later in pajamas and lay down on the couch with a sigh. She kept a pillow and throw there now.

Quinn brought her two slices of pizza and a glass of cranberry-apple juice.

As usual, Mindy started strong but couldn’t even finish the second slice. Quinn supposed the baby was crowding her stomach as well as her bladder. She hadn’t been kidding about the regular visits to the bathroom during the night. The first couple of nights, he’d come wide awake every time he heard the bathroom door close, however softly. Now her quiet footsteps, the bathroom door opening and closing, the toilet flushing, were part of the night sounds he hardly heard. They were almost...comforting.

“The Howies invited us to Thanksgiving.” Disconcerted by how that “us” sounded, Quinn set down his empty soda can. “I suggested they come here instead. Either you’ll have a newborn, or you’ll want to be close to the hospital just in case. And still on bed rest.”

Mindy bunched her pillow and rolled to her back. “Have you ever cooked a turkey?”

That part was worrying him a little, but, “How hard can it be?” he said with a shrug.

“The first time I cooked one, it was awful. It was still too frozen when I started, so it wasn’t done when dinnertime came. I swear that thing cooked for eight hours. And then it was so dry it was inedible.”

He laughed. “Thanks for the pep talk.”

“Fortunately, I now make fabulous stuffing and have mastered the turkey thing.” She smiled back. “So, whaddaya say, Quinn? Can you take orders?”

“Absolutely.”

She made a contented sound. “That was nice of you tonight. Staying at the class, I mean.”

“I meant it when I said I didn’t mind.” Well, okay, he’d been lying at the time, but now he was glad he had stayed. “You shouldn’t have to go alone.”

“I should have asked Selene. She’s just...we’re good friends, but she’s not that reliable.” The pinch of worry made Mindy look pale and tired. She stayed quiet for a minute. “Have you ever delivered a baby?”

His expression gave away something, because she started to sit up. “You have! Was it horrible?”

“Lie down,” he ordered. “Yeah, it was horrible, but mainly because I was twenty-three and completely unprepared. The couple wasn’t much older or any more ready. The woman woke in the middle of the night thinking she was having a few twinges of false labor, or maybe just gas.” He gave a rough laugh. “The husband got nervous, insisted they go to the hospital. They didn’t make it. They pulled over, he flagged me down in the rain.” The guy had looked like a maniac, soaking wet and waving his arms frantically, his eyes wide and staring. “I knelt on the street and, uh, caught the baby when it popped out. Easiest labor in the world. Me, this was more than I wanted to see.”