She's Having a Baby (5 page)

Normally, he didn't eat breakfast, just as he'd told her. But the French toast did look good. More than that, it smelled good. Almost as good as she did. Picking up a fork, he sank it into the toast, preferring not to drench the offering in syrup but to enjoy the light sugar taste unobstructed.

“Is that the rate of exchange?” he asked.

She had no idea what he was talking about. “Excuse me?”

“You said you wouldn't charge me three dollars for coffee,” he reminded her. “I just want to know if questions are what you settled on in exchange for breakfast.”

Taking his first bite, he found that the offering nearly melted on his tongue. And that he was hungry despite what he'd thought.

“Not questions,” MacKenzie corrected smoothly with a soft smile as she made eye contact with him. “Answers.”

He raised one muscular shoulder and let it drop again. She watched in rapt fascination. Up to this point, she'd thought that men who had builds like that were digitally enhanced as they made their way across the entertainment screen.

“My mistake.”

“You haven't answered me.”

Quade raised his eyes, if not his head. “No, I haven't.”

After bringing over her tea, MacKenzie sat down on the stool beside his. The breakfast bar was what had
been the deciding factor when she'd rented the apartment. She'd fallen in love with it. The bar and the fact that the apartments in the complex all formed an oval, overlooking a very small, very Spanish-looking courtyard. It gave the complex a communal feeling while existing in the middle of a bustling city that reportedly never slept and wasn't always known as the friendliest of places to an outsider.

The man was nothing if not evasive, she thought. Despite her leading questions, she hadn't gotten much information out of him. Normally by now, people had given her their life stories. She drew the only conclusion she could from the facts before her.

“Are you a spy?”

Quade nearly choked on his coffee, managing to swallow at the last minute and not embarrass himself. Her query brought to mind tall, darkly handsome men who were deadly with their hands and attracted impossibly gorgeous women. The image was so far from who and what he was.

“What?”

“A spy,” she repeated. “One of those people sworn to chew a cyanide tablet rather than divulge what they were working on.”

She looked normal enough, he thought, but then she'd said that she was an assistant producer and these entertainment types were usually two or three sandwiches shy of a picnic basket.

He wiped his lips with a napkin. “And, if I'm to follow this analogy, you're trying to get me to chew on a tablet?”

How had he leaped from point A to point B? “I'm
not asking you what you're working on, Quade.” Even his name had spy possibilities, she thought. “Just a general ‘where.'”

Eyeing her, he took a quick sip of coffee, then set down the cup before returning to the disappearing French toast. “In general, I'm working in New York.”

She laughed, shaking her head. Maybe she
had
been right about him. He was certainly slippery enough to be a spy. “A little less general than that.”

He'd made use of her shower and she was feeding him, not that he'd asked for the latter. But he supposed he owed her something. Besides, it was no secret what he was doing. It was just that he was an exceptionally private man. More so now that Ellen was gone. “I'm a research physician at Wiley Memorial Research Laboratories.”

She stared at him in disbelief. “You're a doctor?” She'd never seen a doctor who looked like that. Her guess would have been physical-fitness trainer. Or spy, she thought with a grin.

“Research physician,” Quade repeated. “I never practiced.”

“You wouldn't have to.” She set down her empty cup. “You look like the type who'd get it right the first time.”

God, she was flirting, she realized suddenly. In her nightgown. Never mind that it was covered with an apron, she was still wearing a nightgown. What was wrong with her?

Abruptly, MacKenzie slid off the stool, making sure to hang onto the hem of her robe as she disembarked.
“Um, I've got to go get ready before I'm late for the studio,” she murmured, avoiding his eyes. “Let yourself out when you're finished.”

“Don't forget that oil change,” he reminded her.

“Oil change?” she repeated the words dumbly. Her mind kicked in a beat later, remembering what he'd said about her car burning oil. “Oh, yeah, right. Will do.”

With that, MacKenzie hurried back to her bedroom.

Shutting the door, she flipped the lock as an afterthought. She forced herself to focus on getting through her daily morning routine and not on the fact that there was a bare-chested, gorgeous, if uncommunicative, man sitting at her kitchen counter. Chewing.

It wasn't easy.

O
rganized chaos, that was the only way she could view it. Her workday was complete organized chaos.

Which was all right with MacKenzie because at least it managed temporarily to get her mind off both her newfound delicate condition and the bare-chested man next door who had been gone by the time she'd gotten out of her shower. Gone from view, but not from mind. The traffic-filled trip to the studio had been filled with thoughts of him.

That had ended the moment she'd walked onto the set where the show was filmed each day. Nora Nigel was always early on the days she was featured on the show. Nora was an extremely personable animal trainer who always brought in strange, exotic animals to the show. A great crowd pleaser. Dakota had the woman and
her ever-changing menagerie on every three to four months.

This time, among three other animals, Nora had brought a Peruvian snake with her. The snake, it seemed, had decided that today might be a perfect time to make a break for it and go exploring. Somehow, it had gotten out of its cage and was on the loose.

The members of the crew who had not been reduced to a quaking mass of panic were busy trying to locate the renegade reptile.

“Did I ever tell you I hated snakes?” MacKenzie asked Dakota as she walked into the latter's dressing room. After crossing the threshold, she carefully closed the door behind her, sealing them in. Hopefully sealing out the snake.

Having been part of the search for an hour, Dakota had finally retreated to her dressing room to go over her notes for the show.

She looked up from her pad. “I think you mentioned that very fact once or twice.” Her expression was guardedly hopeful. “No news yet?”

MacKenzie's eyes swept around the room slowly. Part of her was waiting for the snake to come slithering out from some corner, ready to slide up to her neck and give new meaning to the word
choker.

“From the snake, no. From the crew, the ones who haven't suffered a nervous breakdown are planning to conduct a mutiny if that thing isn't found quickly and caged.” Fairly satisfied that the room was snake-free, she pulled up a chair and sat down beside Dakota. “I don't have to tell you that if that wretched snake isn't found by showtime, there isn't going to be a show. We'll
have to put a rerun on in its place.” She saw the protest rising to Dakota's lips and headed it off at the pass. “We can't have an audience in here with that snake running around loose—”

Humor played along Dakota's mouth. “Snakes can't run. They don't have feet.”

“But they can make people sue the pants off us for gross mental anguish or whatever the popular term is for the current get-rich scenarios.” She shook her head. “A snake, Dakota. Damn it, I should have said no.”

“It's harmless,” Dakota told her not for the first time.

MacKenzie shivered. To her, the only harmless snake was one that had been pronounced dead. Preferably a decade or more ago.

“It's really very tame,” Dakota insisted. “Nora brought it in to show me earlier. I held it and it feels silky. You should try holding it when we get it back.”

MacKenzie frowned. “I don't want to build a relationship with it. I just want it back where it belongs, in its cage.”

Hearing the rise in her voice, Dakota held up her hand. “I know, I know. We'll find it before the show. Nora's very good about things like that.”

MacKenzie thought she felt something against her leg and almost jumped six inches off her chair. But it was just her imagination. Slowly, she reseated herself. “What, finding snakes before people have heart attacks? She'd better hurry up.”

Dakota laughed. It was obvious that MacKenzie was not about to be convinced. As a peace offering for whatever slight she might have given her assistant producer,
Dakota picked up the untouched half of her pastrami sandwich. “Want some?”

The moment she looked at it, MacKenzie felt her stomach come up into her throat like some animal that had crawled into a small space to die. Obviously ginger had a limited life expectancy, at least when it came to deactivating her nausea gland.

She tried to keep her stomach and its morning contents of French toast down. “No, thanks.”

Dakota frowned, taking a closer look at her. “I've never known you to turn down pastrami, Zee. It's your favorite.” She tried again. “C'mon, you can't be that nervous about the snake.”

“I'm not,” she told her flatly, avoiding Dakota's eyes. “I just don't want pastrami right now.” Which was true. She didn't want anything right now, not after the deli meat's strong aroma was causing turmoil in her less-than-tranquil stomach.

“Zee, you're turning green.” Dakota quickly placed the sandwich half back down on the waxed paper, concerned. “MacKenzie?”

MacKenzie wished Dakota would just drop it. “I said I'll be all right.”

“Are you coming down with something?” Before MacKenzie could wave her away, Dakota leaned over and was feeling her forehead for signs of a fever.

She felt feverish, all right, but as for coming down with something, the only thing she seemed to be coming down with was terminal deception by continuing to be evasive with her best friend.

“Yes.” And then she relented. She'd always hated
lies. “No.” But she knew that opened her up to a world of questions. Frowning, she changed her story again to “Maybe.”

“Well, that certainly explains everything.” Dakota's eyes narrowed. And then she smiled broadly as a thought dawned on her. “You met someone, didn't you? See, I told you that the cameo—”

MacKenzie was quick to cut in before Dakota could get carried away. “Is a very nice, inanimate object that has absolutely no magical powers, Dakota. Which is just as well. Because the last thing I want to do is meet someone right now.”

Dakota took a deep breath. “I know you're hurting over Jeff—”

“I am
not
hurting over Jeff.” She turned away. “As it turns out, I think I really am better off without him.”

Dakota's eyes kept widening, as if she were a volcano about to burst. Her fingers beneath MacKenzie's chin, she turned the woman's face toward her. And froze.

“Omigod. You're pregnant.” The thought hit Dakota like a huge pile of bricks.

More than anything, MacKenzie wanted to deny it, to tell Dakota that she was being absurd. But avoiding the truth was one thing; lying was another. She'd never lied to Dakota.

Never lied very much, period. And besides, the evidence backing up her best friend's guess would be forthcoming soon enough. How would she feel about facing Dakota then?

Like an unexpected explosion that came without warning, exasperation filled her. MacKenzie slid off
the chair and began pacing about the room. Warily, because she was still on the lookout for the wayward snake. “What, is it written on my forehead?”

“No, but sweat is,” Dakota said softly, her heart going out to MacKenzie. “And green's a good color for you, unless it involves your skin.” Dakota sighed, shaking her head, a million questions forming in her brain. “How? Who?”

What was the use in talking about it? It wouldn't change the end result. “I think you know the answer to both those questions, especially the first one.” This sigh was deeper than the last. “Unless you skipped basic biology in middle school.” She paused, then finally added, “Did you know that birth control is not a hundred percent guaranteed?”

Dakota reined in her pity, knowing that MacKenzie would only balk at it. As would she if the tables were turned. “Jeff?”

“Jeff,” MacKenzie echoed.

Dakota pressed her lips together, knowing she had to tread lightly. “Have you told him?”

Unwilling to see anything remotely resembling pity in her best friend's eyes, MacKenzie deliberately looked away. “Yes.”

“And?”

She barely raised a shoulder in a halfhearted shrug. “And he's offered to be financially responsible for the baby.”

“How romantic.” The sarcastic words burned on Dakota's tongue. She had never really cared for the man, but had done her best to be nice to him for
MacKenzie's sake. Now she would have liked to see him on the end of a barbecue skewer. “What a guy.” She raised her eyes to MacKenzie's face. “I could ask Ian if he knows a hit man.”

MacKenzie waved away the suggestion. When it came to Jeff, she'd already moved on.

Or so she had told herself.

“The man's gone back to his wife. And it wouldn't have worked out between us.” She looked up to keep the tears from spilling out. Damn, but she hated being this emotional. “Besides, his ears were too big,” she deadpanned.

“Definitely reasons for disqualification.” Rising out of her chair, Dakota put her arm around MacKenzie's shoulders in a show of union and empathy. “Is there anything I can do?”

“You're doing it,” MacKenzie told her quietly.

Dakota hugged her harder, wishing she could make everything right. “Anything. Anything at all. You name it.”

MacKenzie nodded. Taking a deep breath, she got herself under control. “I guess you'll want the cameo back.” She began to undo the ribbon, but Dakota stopped her.

“I've got my man. I can't use it. The rules say so.” Dakota smiled brightly at her. “You hang on to it. You never know.” A thought came to her. “Maybe the doctor who delivers your baby—”

MacKenzie knew exactly where Dakota was going with this. “It's a woman. And she's married,” she added for good measure. She sighed haplessly. “Doesn't your plane ever land?”

Dakota slipped her arm from MacKenzie's shoulders. “I could remember a time when yours didn't.”

“That was before I took on extra luggage.”

Dakota kissed the top of her head, giving her a quick, warm squeeze. “We'll get through this,” she promised softly.

MacKenzie was grateful for the unquestioning show of support. It helped her rally. Wiping away one stubborn, wayward tear with the back of her hand, she straightened and began to cross to the door.

“I'd better get back to the reptile search before the show's called off on account of snake.”

With that, she left the room before Dakota had a chance to say anything else to her. Right now, MacKenzie was feeling very, very fragile. Damn those stupid hormones anyway.

She was going to get through this, MacKenzie told herself, just as Dakota had said.

She had no choice.

 

They finally found the snake. The reptile was curled up in Dakota's chair on the set. Nora quickly returned the offending snake to its cage just in time for the show. Things went more smoothly after that, but there were still a thousand details to see to before the tape was wound up and then another thousand details to address regarding the next day's show.

It felt like forever before MacKenzie could finally go home.

She was definitely dragging by the time she got into her Mustang. The only bright spot was that one of the
staff gofers had gotten her car an oil change. At least she didn't have to worry about suddenly breaking down before she got to her complex the way Quade's expression seemed to prophesy that she would.

As she pulled into her parking spot that evening, MacKenzie felt as if all the energy had been siphoned out of her body. She'd turned down Dakota's invitation to join her and her brand-new husband for dinner. She didn't much feel like company.

Until she saw the car parked next to hers.

She didn't recognize the vehicle, but it was in the space assigned to the apartment next to hers.

Which meant it belonged to Bare-chested Man, she thought.

MacKenzie glanced at her watch. It was just before seven. Her new neighbor had reminded her of the type who left early for work and stayed late.

Wrong again.

“Batting zero, aren't you, Zee?” she murmured to herself as she got out of her car. She certainly hadn't been able to read Jeff well, had she?

With a sigh, feeling as if she weighed a thousand pounds instead of someone who had actually lost three pounds since the onset of her pregnancy, MacKenzie shrugged to herself. These things happened. If she were being utterly honest, things between her and Jeff probably wouldn't have worked out. She'd sensed that even before he'd sprung the news about his reconciliation with his wife on her.

There'd just been something missing in their relationship, that x factor she knew was necessary. The one
that kept turning your knees into Jell-O even beyond the first few dates. The kind of feeling that Dakota had confided to her she had whenever she saw Ian.

That
was what she wanted.

“Good luck,” MacKenzie muttered under her breath. Oh, she fell “in love” fast enough, but she never stayed there emotionally after the initial shine began to wear off.

Which meant that she was probably going to die alone.

No,
a small voice inside of her contradicted.
Not alone. You have a baby
.

Oh God, how was she ever going to be a mother?

As she approached her apartment, she saw that there was something taped to the door. To make the day perfect, that would have to be an eviction notice. Or a raise in rent.

God, when had she become this pessimistic?

Coming closer, MacKenzie found that it wasn't a notice from the housing development taped to her door—it was an invitation for dinner. From Aggie and Cyrus.

She removed the invitation from her door and smiled to herself. Maybe that was exactly what she needed, not solitude but a friendly stranger. She'd come close to breaking down twice at the studio today. Each time had had something to do with what Dakota had said. The woman's kindness undid her.

She needed to spend an hour or two in the company of a woman who was trying to perfect her comedy routine, MacKenzie thought. It was as good a diversion as any.

Slipping into her apartment, MacKenzie remained only long enough to freshen up.