She's Having a Baby

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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.

Chapter Four

“How 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.