She's Having a Baby (11 page)

Aggie was the fourth on the bill. By the time the
older woman came out, MacKenzie had felt mortified twice and laughed three times at the second performer. The man had walked off, beaming as if he felt he owned the evening.

A slight murmur rippled through the crowd. It was obvious that no one had expected anyone over the age of thirty to be starting out on a career as a stand-up comedian.

Aggie came out wearing a flattering navy-blue tunic and matching pants. Taking the microphone in hand, she looked as comfortable with it as she had handling a spatula over the stove in her apartment the other night.

Quade thought of the speech he was going to have to deliver and envied the woman her apparent ease.

For a moment, after the welcoming applause had died down, coming most zealously from MacKenzie, there was nothing but silence.

MacKenzie held her breath. She was afraid that Aggie had forgotten the beginning of her act or, worse, had become frozen with stage fright.

The next minute, she realized that she could have saved herself the agony by proxy. Aggie was just searching the crowd for a target to focus on in order to begin her act.

Finally, she zeroed in on a bald man sitting beside a petite woman. “You there. The man with the pretty lady sitting at his side. Yes, you,” she affirmed when the bald man pointed to himself. “You have a mother-in-law? Of course you do,” she said quickly before he could respond. “Your face looks as if you've been drinking persimmon juice for an hour. Always a sure sign.” Moving
away from the man, she focused on the rest of the audience, treating them as if they had all melded into one person, a confidante she was about to unload on. “Everyone who's married has a mother-in-law, unless they're lucky enough to have married an orphan.” She smiled broadly, wistfully. “That's what I told my kids—marry an orphan. Or I'm not coming to the wedding. Think I'm not serious? I'm deadly serious. I didn't want them to go through what I did.”

She paused, waiting for the words to sink in. Aggie made MacKenzie think of a mischievous pixie.

“Oh, I know what you're thinking. She's older than dirt. Did they even
have
mothers-in-law when she got married? Let me tell you, they did and the one I got moonlights as a stand-in for Satan.”

She rolled her eyes, sighing dramatically as she worked the stage from one end to the other. “Just about drove me crazy. My mother-in-law, or, Stupid Woman—as she was known by her Native American name—was so dumb—” another dramatic pause before she went on to elaborate “—I've known buttons to have higher IQs. But that didn't stop her from knowing how to manipulate.”

Aggie continued in the same vein for the ten minutes that had been allotted to her, gathering momentum and laughter as she went.

When she finished her set, the applause was full-bodied and enthusiastic. And no one clapped harder or more enthusiastically than MacKenzie. She clapped so hard, their small table actually shook from the vibrations.

She kept on applauding even after Aggie had left the stage. Finally, Quade placed his hand between hers, abruptly stopping her.

MacKenzie looked at him questioningly.

He nodded at her hands, withdrawing his slowly. “You might find you want to save them for something else,” he advised.

Smiling sheepishly at him, she dropped her hands to her lap.

But she felt exhilarated for the older woman. She'd been so afraid that Aggie was going to fall flat on her face. MacKenzie had seen what disappointment did to people. No matter what a performer said about being tough and being able to handle criticism, they were all just children at heart. Children who craved acceptance, validation and praise. Thank God, that was what Aggie had received.

MacKenzie beamed at Quade. “She was good, wasn't she?”

“Yes,” he replied patiently, “she was good.” He would have thought that was self-evident and didn't need to be pointed out.

MacKenzie exhaled. It seemed to him as if she'd been holding her breath the entire time Aggie had been on. “Can't tell you how relieved I am,” she said.

But then, the last contestant came out and she had to leave anything else she was going to add unsaid until later.

After fifteen minutes, Ames returned with all five of that evening's participants.

“And now it's time for what we've all been waiting for. The money.” He waited for a polite laugh to clear the air, then continued.

He held his hand over the head of each contestant, urging the audience to chose their favorite for the night.

It wasn't even close.

While each contestant had at least one table applauding for him or her, the applause went from forced to spirited when it came to Aggie.

“Well, looks like we have ourselves a winner.” Ames handed Aggie the money. “And a repeat performer?” he asked.

Aggie beamed, placing the single bill into her pocket. “Just try and stop me.”

“Such zest, such enthusiasm.” He winked broadly at the audience. “If I were just fifteen years older—”

“You'd be dead,” Aggie quipped.

Stunned, the man laughed and, for once, the sound didn't seem forced. “Give it up for Aggie. You saw her first here at the Laugh-Inn.”

“You were wonderful,” MacKenzie declared as the woman came to join them several minutes later. She threw her arms around Aggie in a quick embrace before allowing her to join them at the table.

Aggie's expression was fond as the she looked at MacKenzie. “You would have said that if I was struck dumb and fell on my face.” She turned her attention to Quade. “How about you, handsome? Did I make you laugh out loud or does the act need work?”

Quade inclined his head. “It was very good,” he told her in all honesty.

“I know what that means.” Aggie took her pad out of her pants pocket. “Act needs work,” she said aloud and wrote down. She then tucked the pad away again
with a broad wink toward MacKenzie and rose to her feet. “C'mon, let's blow this Popsicle stand. I've got fifty dollars burning a hole in my pocket and I want to feed my support group.”

Quade glanced at his watch and then at MacKenzie. The younger woman looked rather tired in his opinion. “It's kind of late, Aggie.”

“Only in England,” she declared, slipping her arm through his and urging him toward the door. She beckoned for MacKenzie to keep up.

There was no arguing with her.

T
here was a tiny Chinese restaurant just two blocks from the club. Located between a florist and a shoe-repair shop, it was often overlooked. Which made it, according to Aggie, a secret piece of heaven.

The food certainly was worth the extra effort in finding it. The ambiance was more on a par with eating in someone's kitchen than a restaurant. But that gave Mandarin Rose the extra attraction of treating its patrons like family.

Distant family, MacKenzie noted, because there was somewhat of a language barrier. But that was overcome with gestures and pointing to things on the red-rimmed, worn, gold-lettered menu.

By the time the fortune cookies arrived, MacKenzie felt as if she were going to explode. She dubiously eyed
the small plate with its three fortune cookies. She sincerely doubted that there was enough room inside of her to consume even that tiny amount of sugar and dough.

“Ever notice that when the three of us get together, we wind up eating?” she commented as Aggie placed her newly acquired fifty on top of the bill.

The older woman's hand went up like a police-woman stopping traffic. “Wait, there's a joke in there somewhere.” As the lone waitress withdrew with the tray, Aggie whipped out her pad and began to scribble the words down.

“No,” MacKenzie countered, “there are calories in there everywhere and I need to watch what I eat. I'm just five foot three and I can balloon up in the blink of an eye.” She glanced down at her waist. While she still could, she thought ruefully. “I can't afford to gain any more weight.”

With a laugh, Aggie tucked her pad back in her purse. Her brilliant blue eyes slid to the side, taking in the all-but-silent member of their party. “What do you think, Quade? Think she's in danger of being too heavy?”

Quade shrugged as if he hadn't been giving the matter any thought. As if he hadn't been subconsciously studying MacKenzie's trim, athletic body every time she approached or was near him. “She's fine just as she is.”

The simple, offhanded comment surprised MacKenzie. More than that, it warmed her. She came from a world where compliments were as common as leaves on a tree. They were far too plentiful and usually far too empty. But Quade was incredibly sparing in his comments and a kind observation, well, that was just about worth its weight in gold.

MacKenzie hugged the words to her, even as she silently upbraided herself for being so adolescent.

But she did it anyway.

“Go on, choose your fortune,” Aggie urged, gesturing to the plate that still remained on the table.

After a beat, MacKenzie selected one. She cracked it open and extracted the small rectangular wisp of paper.

“Well, what does it say?” Aggie urged.

“Love will find you.” She crumpled it up and tossed it back onto the plate. She wondered if Dakota was back in the small kitchen, stuffing fortune cookies. “Very original.”

“Doesn't have to be original,” Aggie pointed out, opening her own. “It just has to be.”

MacKenzie had given up on that concept. If love existed, it was entirely out of her realm. “What's yours say?”

“Success is within your reach.” Aggie's eyes gleamed. “I like the sound of that.” And then she looked at Quade. “Your turn, Quade.”

He picked up the remaining one and broke it open with his thumb and forefinger. And then he laughed shortly, dropping it back onto the plate.

“Doesn't look as if there's much originality in the fortune cookie business.”

Curious, MacKenzie picked up the fortune he'd discarded and read, “Love will find you.” Same as hers. Now she really was tempted to see if Dakota had sneaked into the back. She placed his fortune beside her own. “You're right. They need a new writer.”

A smug smile curved the edges of Aggie's mouth as she looked from one dinner companion to the next. She said nothing.

 

MacKenzie felt the nesting instinct taking hold of her a good six months earlier than it should have. From what she'd heard, women in their ninth month were suddenly seized with the desire to straighten, to clean. To put rooms, if not life itself, in order.

It didn't usually hit a woman in the beginning of her third month. But then, women didn't usually get pregnant when they were on birth-control pills. She figured that put her in a class all by herself.

Any spare moment she had that didn't directly involve her job was spent being incredibly domestic. Her own apartment was quickly rendered spotless, as was her office. Needing to find an outlet for the charged energy she suddenly possessed now that her fatigue had mysteriously evaporated, MacKenzie had moved on to taming the chaotic state of Dakota's dressing room. She would have gone on to tidy up the station's program director's suite had she been allowed inside.

With nothing left for her to organize, catalog or clean, MacKenzie turned her attention toward things culinary.

As with everything else she did, she went a little overboard.

Her latest attack had struck after she'd come home from work Friday afternoon with bulging grocery bags. The ingredients for oatmeal cookies were on the bottom. She threw herself into the venture and wound up baking enough cookies to satisfy a murder of scavenging crows.

And if she didn't get rid of at least some of them, she thought, looking critically at the grand outcome, odds were she was going to turn into the Goodyear blimp by Monday morning.

Aggie wasn't in when MacKenzie knocked on the woman's door. With a sigh, she took her offering to Quade's apartment. A glance toward his parking space told her that he was in. Or at least, that his car had been left in its place. She knew that some mornings he opted to catch the bus rather than fight traffic.

She rang his bell, thinking she'd probably get the same response she'd gotten at Aggie's. Loneliness sprang up out of nowhere even before her hand left the doorbell.

When the door opened, MacKenzie was more surprised to see him than he was to see her.

Quade eyed the enormous pile of oatmeal cookies. It was precariously held in place with clear plastic wrap. One wrong move, he judged, and it was all going to land on the floor.

“Knock over a group of Girl Scouts?”

Quade opened his door wider. At this point, he knew better than to expect her to leave if he just held the door ajar long enough. He'd come to learn MacKenzie Ryan was like smoke. She always found a way to infiltrate his space. He figured there was no point in fighting the matter. He might as well save his energy and use it where it counted.

He found the rueful flush that raced across her cheeks captivating. “No, I just got carried away baking.”

Closing the door behind her, he shook his head. “You do that a lot, don't you?”

She turned, looking at him over her shoulder. “Bake? No, I just—”

His laugh cut her short. “No, I meant get carried away.”

She lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. “Sometimes,” she allowed.

Most times, she added silently. She set down the teeming plate on the coffee table and then looked around for the first time since she'd walked in. Not a single box had been cleared away or even opened since she'd last been there.

She turned to glance at him. Her palms began to itch. “You haven't unpacked yet.”

He looked at the tall, sealed cartons as if they comprised the enemy. And, in a way, they did. They held his past in them. A past in which he'd been happy, but that hurt too much to revisit. He was working on constructing barriers strong enough to withstand the assault.

“I'll get to it.”

“Thinking of leaving?” she guessed.

MacKenzie realized that she didn't like the taste of the words she uttered. It force her to admit that she liked having Quade next door, liked looking to see if his car was parked in his spot when she arrived home each day.

Liked anticipating the possibility of running into him.

His tone was dismissive, meant to call an end to any further discussion of the subject. “No, I just don't like to unpack, that's all.”

She turned toward the closest box, taking hold of the
edge of the masking tape. Her nesting instinct had gone into high gear at the sight of the boxes. There was no reason not to help him unpack. It would be doing them both a favor.

“Well, if that's all—” she gave the tape a tug and it began to come loose “—I'm pretty good at—”

“No.” It was an order, not a request, sharply given. He crossed to her and put his hand on top of hers, stopping her from ripping the tape completely off. “Leave that alone.”

She looked at him, uncertain at what had set him off like that. She certainly hadn't intended on sounding as if she were being disrespectful. Still, she thought he'd just gone off the deep end there.

“I wasn't going to sell it on eBay. I was just trying to help,” she told him. “My mother used to hate to unpack groceries when she came home from the store, so I always did it.”

The woman really did have an answer for everything, he thought darkly. “These aren't groceries.”

“No, they're not.” She stood by the box, waiting him out. No man liked to unpack. “I could still figure out where the contents went if you gave me a general hint.”

He blew out a breath, dragging his hand through his hair. Damn, he'd overreacted. But it was hard not to. Every time he thought the wound was healing, the scab felt as if it were being pulled off again and he went back to square one.

He pressed his lips together. “Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you like that.”

MacKenzie's hand flew up to her chest as she looked
at him in mock, wide-eyed wonder. “Wow, first a compliment the other night, now an apology, I should circle this week on my calendar.”

He scowled at her. “I'm not exactly good with people.”

“All the more reason to circle the week,” she told him cheerfully. “You're a lot more communicative now than when I first met you. You're making progress, Quade.” She patted his cheek. There was just the barest hint of a five o'clock shadow moving across it. Something warm and excited rippled through her before she could prevent it. “Baby steps.”

He didn't want to be making any progress, baby steps or otherwise.

What he wanted was to be left alone, but no one was listening.

Still, he supposed it wasn't MacKenzie's fault. In that scrambled head of hers, she was trying to do what she thought was right.

“Whatever,” he murmured.

She unwrapped the plate she'd brought, picked up the top cookie and held it out to him. “Here, have a cookie.” When he took it almost grudgingly, she added, “And let me help.”

He could only shake his head. “You don't give up, do you?”

The expression in her eyes was earnest, despite the smile on her lips. “Never get anywhere by giving up.”

It sounded like a slogan someone should have sewn on some kind of a banner. Absently, he took a bite out of the cookie she'd given him and felt an explosion of taste on his tongue. Sweet, tantalizing.

Like she had been when he'd kissed her.

Needs moved forward within him like an army making its way toward the line of battle.

He frowned as he looked from the cartons back to her. She seemed so damn eager, you'd think she was a child, looking for a prize inside of a Cracker Jack box. “If I let you do one box, will that satisfy you?”

She began to protest that she wasn't doing it out of some need that had to be satisfied, but then realized that, in a way, she was. His boxes had become her challenge. She meant either to unpack them or have him do it himself. Either way, the cardboard had to go.

“It would be a start,” she allowed slowly.

He should have found that suspect, but he didn't. Muttering something unintelligible under his breath, he gestured toward the collection of boxes with barely suppressed exasperation.

“All right, pick one.”

With a small laugh of triumph, MacKenzie chose the one she'd already begun. When she ripped off the tape, she parted the flaps and took out the first thing that had been packed on top. A framed photograph from the feel of it.

Taking off the tissue paper that had been wrapped tightly around it, she paused to look at the smiling blonde in the photograph. Sister? Girlfriend? More?

“Quade?”

His mouth full of his second cookie, he could only emit a sound. “Mmm?”

Holding the photograph up, she turned it so that he could see. “Who is this?”

She saw the tint of Quade's skin fade into shades of gray.

It felt as if there were lead inside of his chest instead of a heart that was supposed to keep him functioning. He put down the box he'd just picked up and strode across the room.

“My wife,” he told her, taking the frame out of her hands.

MacKenzie felt as if someone had punched her. The intensity she experienced was a rude awakening to just how much she'd allowed herself to be drawn to him in an incredibly short period of time.

His answer was her cue to go. To quietly bow out, leave him to his boxes, his memories and his thoughts and look to her own survival. She was pregnant, about to begin one hell of a new adventure in her life. This was
not
a time to fall for another man.

Especially not a married one.

Been there, done that.

But for some unfathomable reason, she couldn't make herself leave. “Are you separated?” she heard herself asking, damning the hope inside of her. That was what Jeff had told her he was before he'd gone back to his wife. He was separated. Not separated enough.

“Yes,” Quade replied, his voice hollow and echoing in his head. “Permanently.”

The solemnity of his tone threw her. Was he still carrying a torch for the woman? Was that why there was such sorrow in his eyes? “You're divorced?”

Funny, it took courage to say it, even after all this time. Courage because the word sliced him into a hun
dred pieces. “No, widowed, actually. She died eighteen months ago.”