She's Having a Baby (4 page)

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.

“H
ow 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.

He looked a little taken aback by her greeting. “Yeah, I did,” he acknowledged, his expression all but saying that he wondered why she sounded so excited by his appearance on her doorstep. “There's still no running water,” he told her in a tone that seemed the closest thing to an apology he'd ever get.

Blinking, she realized that Quade was carrying a large towel besides the small toiletry kit that undoubtedly housed soap and shaving paraphernalia. There was the makings of a seven o'clock shadow on his face, and he was a man in search of a bathroom to make his own.

Quade nodded toward the rear of the apartment. “I was wondering…”

He looked really uncomfortable, she realized. MacKenzie had a feeling that it had taken a great deal for him to approach her. It took no great student of human nature to guess that he wasn't the kind who
liked asking for favors. Probably because he didn't like being in anyone's debt, no matter how trivial it was.

MacKenzie stepped back, opening the door wider. “Sure. Come on in.”

He crossed the threshold, then looked back at her. She was trying to hide the disappointment skewering through her. “You weren't expecting me, were you?”

She pressed her lips together, debating lying, then shook her head. “No.”

“Then that greeting—”

She cut him off before he could ask any questions. She wanted the matter closed. “Was for someone else.” To her surprise, she saw what looked like a smattering of a smile curving his mouth. She was tempted to touch it, just to see if she wasn't hallucinating and that he was actually standing there. She kept her hands at her sides. “What?”

His smile was soft, sexy. “Looks like I'm not the only one who can be closemouthed if the situation calls for it.”

Quade watched her pull together the ends of her robe. Not that the movement did anything to hide the body beneath. The material was close to translucent, covering a sexy, abbreviated nightgown made of material that almost matched the outer cover. Both stopped tantalizingly across her upper thighs.

For a short woman, she gave the illusion of having long legs. Long, shapely legs that invited the eye to travel farther and the mind to fantasize.

Neither of which he had time for, Quade reminded himself. There was a new frontier to cross and the threads, such as they were, of a life to finally begin to pick up. “I'm not stopping you from taking your shower, am I?”

She glanced at the clock in the kitchen. “I'm not due to get up for about another fifteen minutes,” she assured him.

He received the message loud and clear. “Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you.”

She was finally coming around. It was hard standing so close to him and his naked chest and not being acutely aware of all her senses, even the ones that had been dormant. “You didn't. I had to get up to answer the door anyway.”

Quade paused, frowning, playing the line over in his mind. “That makes no sense.”

She shrugged and the robe slipped off her shoulder, along with the strap of the nightgown. She tugged both up again.

“Sounded better in my head,” she confessed. “You take your shower. I'll make coffee for you.”

As he began to leave again, her phrasing caught his attention. “You don't drink coffee?”

“Tea,” she told him.

He didn't want her putting herself out for him. Didn't want that kind of give-and-take relationship between them. It was bad enough that he was forced to use her bathroom.

“Then don't bother yourself with the coffee. I'm in a hurry anyway. I like giving myself a lot of time when I'm heading somewhere new.”

“Starting a new job?” she guessed.

He had no time to withstand the onslaught of questions he knew was coming, even if he had no one to blame but himself for opening up the floodgates.

Quade tossed a “Yes” in his wake as he hurried off to make use of her bathroom.

She tried not to notice just how low slung the waist-band of his cutoffs actually was and that it threatened to slip down even farther with each movement.

She was so busy trying not to notice, it took her a few minutes to realize that her first stop this morning hadn't been to commune with the porcelain bowl and that her stomach was not lodged in her throat first thing, the way it had been for the last couple of weeks.

The lack of nausea hadn't registered itself with her brain until after she'd taken out the box of tea bags for herself.

She stopped, stunned. Waiting for a delayed wave. It didn't come.

“Son of a gun, it really does work,” she muttered, pleased. The ginger actually worked. Aggie had been right, bless her.

MacKenzie smiled as she took in a deep breath and held it for a moment before releasing it again. It was nice to be able to greet the morning feeling like a human being again instead of something even the cat wouldn't drag in.

 

“Thanks again.”

The deep baritone voice seeped into her consciousness a beat after the words were uttered. MacKenzie turned around from the stove where she was preparing breakfast, a real breakfast for a change. French toast with a dusting of confectioners' sugar.

Quade was standing a few feet away from her, poised to leave. Droplets of water were still evident in his hair
and a few were on his chest, bearing silent testimony to the shower he'd just taken. She noted with just the smallest pang that the sexy stubble was gone, but he still wore the cutoffs. The damp towel was slung over his bare shoulder and he had something bunched up in his hand.

Underwear?

Did that mean he was going commando beneath those threadbare shorts of his? Her breath abruptly halted its journey through her lungs.

MacKenzie struggled to keep her mind from going there, but it was too late. She was experiencing a definite reaction around her stomach akin to a cross between an earthquake and a tidal wave.

Delayed morning sickness?

No, this felt more like something was flip-flopping at the pit of her stomach. Probably terrifying the baby, she thought.

It took her a second, maybe two, but she finally found her tongue. MacKenzie did her best to force an easy smile to her lips. “Look, why don't you stay for breakfast?” She saw the protest rising to his lips and beat him to it using logic. She figured he might like that. “Anything you use to cook your own, you won't be able to wash and there's no water to use for your coffee.”

Quade quietly and neatly shot her reasons down one by one, telling himself it had been a mistake to come here. He had done it with great reluctance, but he couldn't very well show up his first day on the job looking like a hermit who had come out of hiding, even if that was the way he felt inside. And if he was going to
use her water to shave, he might as well use it to shower, as well, and try to feel a little more human about the experience that lay ahead of him.

But he drew the line at anything more. “I don't really eat breakfast and from what I can see, there's a Star-bucks or something similar located practically every twenty feet in this city.”

MacKenzie looked at him, unfazed. She was not one to give up easily. Living with three brothers had taught her that.

“Difference is, I won't charge you three dollars and change for a cup,” she told him, already filling the one she'd taken out for him. She pushed the cup and saucer along the counter, moving it right in front of him. “You take it black, don't you?”

Well, since it was there, staring him in the face, he might as well drink it. He didn't believe in wasting things. “How did you know?”

She smiled, putting a tea bag into the cup of hot water she'd already poured. “You look like the black-coffee type.”

“Black like my soul?”

Quade had no idea where the words had come from, only that, once spoken, they mirrored what he was feeling. Like his soul was this deep, black hole. Just as it had been before his late wife, Ellen, had come into it.

“I wasn't going to go that far,” she told him.

Taking the French toast out of the pan and sliding it onto a plate, she sprinkled a tablespoon of confectioners' sugar over the thick slice. She placed the plate next to his coffee, along with a container of maple syrup with
a dancing bee on the label. “So, where's this new job you're starting today?”