She's Having a Baby (3 page)

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, penetrat
ing 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 burn
ing 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.

F
inally 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 ex
change. “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.”