MacKenzie said gamely to the man who was trying very hard not to double over, “as soon as you move your truck.” She indicated the slightly dusty cherry-red car in the carport. She’d had it washed just last weekend, but New York dust was a tenacious thing to reckon with. “You’re blocking my Mustang.”
It took all of Quade’s self-control not to growl at the woman. Pain was still shooting out to all parts of him, making him feel as vulnerable as a day-old kitten. He didn’t particularly like that self-image. The little redhead had really swung that case of hers and hit him smack where he lived.
It took effort just to draw a breath. Quade bit down hard on the inside of his lower lip to keep from making any sounds that would give away the level of pain he was enduring. He had his hand clamped down onto the side of the truck to keep from falling to his knees, which were still trying to buckle.
“Right” was all he managed to get out.
Swallowing, he dug deep into his pocket for the keys. Somehow, he managed to get himself behind the wheel of the truck even though every movement brought its own penalty. Throwing the gearshift into Drive, he pulled the truck up several car lengths, allowing the woman to have access to her vehicle.
When he got out, his knees were only marginally in working order.
“Thank you,” the redhead said over her shoulder as she bounced into her car.
He remained standing by the truck, waiting out the pain that was driving sharp carpenter’s nails into his entire body.
As she pulled out, the woman offered him what he surmised was an apologetic smile. It didn’t begin to cover her transgression. Because he didn’t want to move just yet if he didn’t have to, Quade followed with his eyes the red Mustang’s progress as the woman drove out of the complex.
A plume of smoke was coming out of the vehicle’s tailpipe. She was burning oil. It figured.
Quade sighed, straightening slowly. He had to get back to work. He had exactly one day—today—to settle in before he had to report for his new position at the Wiley Memorial Research Labs. And begin his new life.
And hopefully find a way to move on.
It had not been a good day.
Twice, during the course of her workday, MacKenzie had found herself on the verge of breaking down. Both times Dakota had been near her. She’d almost told her best friend that she was pregnant.
But each time she’d begun, the words had stuck to the roof of her mouth, refusing to be dislodged. She’d shared absolutely everything with Dakota in the years that she’d known her and thought of the woman as almost a twin sister. But her pregnancy was something she needed to get used to herself before she could bring herself to talk to anyone else about it.
Hoping against irrational hope that this was all some rebellious act by her body, she’d decided to reschedule her exam with her doctor. She’d asked the nurse to try to squeeze her in somehow.
MacKenzie got lucky. There’d been a cancellation just called in. Consequently, Lisa, Dr. Neubert’s nurse, put her down for one o’clock. With butterflies strapping themselves onto Boeing jets inside her stomach, she told Dakota that she was grabbing a late lunch and would be back in time for the show, then bolted.
Less than twenty minutes later, she found herself draped in tissue paper and lying on the examination table, counting holes in the ceiling tiles while Dr. Ann Neubert, her doctor for the last five years, performed an internal exam.
The second Dr. Neubert withdrew, MacKenzie propped herself up on her elbows and tried vainly to read the blond woman’s expression.
“I’m wrong, right?” MacKenzie asked eagerly, praying for confirmation.
Ann had stripped off her gloves, throwing them into the small trash basket.
“No, you’re right.” The woman’s expression was soft, encouraging, as if second-guessing her patient’s anguish. “Babies bring rainbows into your life—a new way of seeing things.”
Oh God, it’s true. I’m really pregnant. Now what am I going to do?
She wasn’t ready for this, not by a long shot. “Easy for you to say,” MacKenzie had muttered audibly. “You have a husband.”
Her doctor had surprised her then by putting down her chart and sitting down on the table beside her.
There was an earnest, faraway look in her eyes as she said, “I didn’t when I first found out that I was pregnant.” And then she laughed. “My first daughter was the result of an all-but-out-of-body, wild, impetuous experience one star-filled night on the beach with a handsome journalist who was going overseas to cover war stories the very next day.”
MacKenzie vaguely remembered the woman had two beautiful little girls and an even more beautiful husband who earned his living writing for one of the larger newspapers. “Isn’t your husband a journalist?”
Ann winked at her. “Turned out to be one and the same.” The doctor took hold of her hands, which made her feel just for a moment a sense of calm, that things would work out. “What I’m saying is that perhaps you and the baby’s father—”
And the calm vanished. She shook her head. “Not going to happen. He went back to a wife I didn’t know he had.”
MacKenzie sighed deeply. Everything always happened for a reason, her grandmother had been fond of saying. Maybe there was a reason behind this, too, although for the life of her, she didn’t see one.
“Besides, looking back, maybe I didn’t really love him in quite that ‘forever’ kind of way.” Helpless to continue, she shrugged.
Ann laid a hand on her shoulder. “Things have a way of working out. You’ll see. If not one way, then another.” And then she paused just before leaving. Her eyes were drawn to the small oval at the hollow of MacKenzie’s throat. “Nice cameo. New?”
MacKenzie fingered it. So far, it was turning out to be a dud. “Yes, it is. Thanks.”
Ann nodded, then dug into one of the pockets of her lab coat. “If you need to talk, this is my private number.” Ann pressed a card into her hand before leaving the room.
MacKenzie was off the table in a blink of an eye. There was a show to oversee.
She didn’t remember the trip back. It was one huge blur, hidden behind the recurring mantra: You’re pregnant, you’re pregnant. Her head throbbed.
The call to Jeff was made the first chance she got, right after the program had wrapped for the day. Even as she tapped out the old, familiar number, she could feel the butterflies in her stomach going into high gear again. But it had to be done. There was no way around it. Jeff had a right to know. And she wanted to get this over with as fast as possible.
Jeff listened in silence as she choked out the words. When she finished, he was sympathetic and supportive, all the things that had attracted her to him in the first place.
And then he said, “Listen, Mac, if you need money to get this taken care of—”
“I don’t,” she said, cutting him off before he could say anything further.
