She's Having a Baby. Marie Ferrarella

is a good rule of thumb.”

      She pretended to examine her digit. “My thumb doesn’t have any rules.”

      And neither, most likely, did she, he thought. No surprise there. “I had a feeling.”

      She decided to make another effort. “So, could I interest you in some Chinese?”

      He’d grabbed a hamburger and fries at a fast-food restaurant when he’d gone to get gas for the truck, so hunger was not a problem at the moment. But the meal had come with a soft drink whose container could have been used to replenish a small lake. “I’d be more interested in your bathroom.”

      Her eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?” she said again.

      He jerked his thumb toward the back, where his own bathroom was. “Super shut down the water coming into the apartment. Something about having to refit the pipe leading into the shower.”

      She drew the logical conclusion, picking up on the last thing he said. “So you can’t take a shower.”

      “Or anything else.”

      She was very aware of the need for a bathroom. MacKenzie beckoned for him to follow her. “Sure. Come on in.”

      Walking out, she began to search through her purse for her keys. As she approached her own door, the take-out bag she was holding against herself was in danger of spilling its contents at her feet.

      Seeing it tilt, Quade took the bag from her. She flashed him a smile as she dug farther into her purse.

      He eyed the potential weapon with respect and disdain. “Just what do you keep in that thing?”

      “My life,” she replied.

      He looked at the shape of the purse, which could have doubled as a portfolio case, something it once had been in her early days.

      “Your life is large and flat?”

      “Some days,” she told him as she finally located her keys. Drawing them out, she hunted through the cluster for the right one.

      He noted that there were at least fifteen keys on the ring. “Just how many doors do you need to unlock?”

      “You’d be surprised.” There was one for her apartment and one for her car. The other keys had to do with her place of work. “I’m an assistant producer.” She gave him a sidelong glance as she zeroed in on the right key.

      MacKenzie saw that he did not look impressed. But then, she was beginning to doubt that there was anything on the face of the earth that might actually impress the tall, dark, sexy and solemn male standing behind her.

      Chapter Three

      Finally finding the key for the front door, MacKenzie waited for Quade to politely ask exactly what she was the assistant producer of. But there was only silence at her back as she unlocked the door.

      So she took the initiative. It wasn’t exactly a stretch for her, given her natural exuberance and impatience. “It’s for …And Now a Word from Dakota.”

      Quade looked surprised by the piece of information she offered, as if it were a Frisbee that had come out of the blue and landed on his lap. “What is?”

      Pulling her key out again, she opened the door. “The show where I’m the assistant producer.”

      He shook his head. “Sorry, never heard of it.” And then, because he realized that probably sounded too abrupt, he added, “I’m not from around here.”

      Interest sparked her eyes as she dropped the key back into the cavernous regions of her purse. “Oh, where are you from?”

      Quade looked around. Her apartment was a theme and variation of his, only in reverse. And with a smattering of feminine touches to it. “You ask a lot of questions.”

      “I don’t when information’s volunteered.” She cocked her head, studying him. His expression was utterly impassive. What did he look like when he smiled? When he relaxed? Could he relax? He’d laughed earlier, but it had been too fleeting. By the time she’d looked at him, his smile—if it had ever appeared—had evaporated. “You’re not the curious type, are you?”

      “I’d say you’ve got enough for both of us in that category.” Since MacKenzie looked as if she were waiting for some kind of a definite answer, he added, “But no, I’m not.” No, he thought, that wasn’t entirely accurate. “Not about people.”

      Her eyes narrowed as she tried to follow his thoughts. “What are you curious about?”

      Quade generalized, not wanting to open the door to any specifics. He found it easier that way. “Diseases.”

      When he said that, she could envision him sitting in an easy chair, poring over textbooks with graphic photos. “That’s a little morbid.”

      He’d never looked at it that way. To him it was his life’s work. Therein lay the irony. “Not when it comes to saving lives.”

      Was he a doctor? Now that, she’d have less trouble believing. “Do you save lives?” she prodded when he said nothing.

      He figured he’d been neighborly enough for one encounter. Hell, for all encounters until the end of the year. Maybe even beyond.

      “Your bathroom?” he prompted, reminding her why he’d followed her into her apartment in the first place.

      “Right through there.” She pointed off to the rear of the nine-hundred-square-foot apartment. “Right by the master bedroom.”

      MacKenzie knew the term was a whimsical one inasmuch as it was the larger of the two bedrooms by perhaps a couple of square feet.

      “Thanks,” Quade murmured, quickly making his exit before she went off on another tangent that required some acknowledgment from him.

      MacKenzie stood where she was for a moment. If her new neighbor wasn’t so good-looking, he would have been a perfect blueprint for some kind of mad scientist. Withdrawn, uncommunicative. But he was good-looking and the sight of him brought posters for volleyball on the beach to mind. It wasn’t a large stretch of the imagination for her to see lean muscles beneath his T-shirt. He probably had one of those abdomens where you could count the number of ridges that went into making up what someone had told her was called a washboard stomach.

      The man would be like catnip to the women in the area, she thought.

      You’re swearing off everything male, from hamsters on up, remember? she reminded herself.

      MacKenzie walked into her kitchen. With a shake of her head, she set down the take-out bag on the small table that was framed with four short, squat chairs.

      There was no point in even thinking about him. Someone like the man presently using her bathroom undoubtedly had to be spoken for. Which was fine, because she wasn’t in the market. And even if she were in the market, she was pregnant, so that pretty much put the lid on all things social.

      Still, it didn’t mean that she couldn’t be friendly. She could always be friendly. MacKenzie sighed, unconsciously running her hand through her hair. She was counting on friends to take her mind off the chaotic turn of events in her life right now.

      Feeling her appetite waning even though she still hadn’t taken a bite of anything, MacKenzie took out a plate and utensils. Her hand hovered over the drawer as she wondered whether or not she should take out a setting for Quade, too.

      He hadn’t said anything about staying. But feeding him his first night here would be the neighborly thing to do. On a whim, she took out an extra fork and plate.

      MacKenzie heard the bathroom door open just as she finished taking the cartons out of the now-damp paper bag. Bunching the bag up, she tossed it into the garbage pail and turned in time to see Quade walk by on his way toward the front door.

      He wasn’t staying, she thought and wondered where the