Patting it, she left the room, muttering under her breath about superstitions. Sure, she’d been all for it when Dakota had first appeared on the set wearing it. And, admittedly, she’d been charmed by the idea that a Southern belle had once worn it. But that had been when it had hung around Dakota’s neck.
Having it now around her own made her uneasy. Uneasy because she was afraid that despite everything she said to the contrary, she might allow herself to buy into the story. To hope when every logical fiber in her body told her that there was nothing to hope on. That hope itself was only a fabrication.
She wasn’t the type that had legends come true.
Crossing the kitchen, MacKenzie glanced at her watch and then bit back an exasperated oath.
How had the time managed to melt away like that? She had less than half an hour to get to the studio and traffic was a bear. It was one of the givens living in New York City. Night or day, traffic was always a force to be reckoned with. A force that usually won.
Why was it that time only seem to lengthen itself when she was alone in bed at night, wondering about the direction of her life? Acutely aware of the fact that the place next to her was empty and would undoubtedly remain that way?
Philosophy later. Hurry now, she counseled herself as she headed for the door. There was no time for breakfast. Just as well. She wasn’t sure if her stomach could hold it down. Putting on her shoes and grabbing her oversize purse that held half her life in it, MacKenzie flew out of her Queens garden apartment and to her carport.
Where she came to an abrupt, grinding halt. She wasn’t going anywhere.
There was one of those self-rental moving trucks blocking her car, its nose protruding so that it was in the way of the car next to hers, as well. The truck’s back doors were both hanging open, displaying its contents for any passersby to see. Normally a curious person, MacKenzie had no interest in the truck’s contents. What interested her was the person who belonged to said possessions and said truck.
And he or she was nowhere in sight.
Exasperated, feeling the minutes physically ticking by, MacKenzie fisted her hands on her hips, the loop of her purse slung over her wrist.
She looked back and forth down the length of the carports. “Damn it,” she exclaimed audibly.
“Something wrong?”
The deep voice behind her sounded like something that had to be raised by bucket out of the depths of a fifty-foot well. Startled, MacKenzie jumped and swung around, her wide purse swinging an eighth of a beat behind her. Coming around like an afterthought, it hit the person belonging to the baritone voice squarely in the groin.
MacKenzie managed to turn in time to see a giant of a man—he was at least a foot taller than her five-foot-three stature—doubling over, his handsome, rugged face turning from tan to something akin to ash-gray. His deep green eyes were watering.
The horror of what she’d just done and the way he had to be feeling slammed into her. “Oh, my God, I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do?” MacKenzie cried.
“You can back off,” Quade Preston ground out the words as he tried to regain both his breath and his composure. Both seemed to be just a step out of reach at the moment. He struggled to overtake them.
“Oh, right, sure.” MacKenzie moved back, her eyes wide as she stared at him.
She felt like David the moment after he had brought Goliath down to his knees, except that in this case it had been purely unintentional. If there was anyone she would have wanted to take aim at in this fashion, it was Jeff, even though she knew that wasn’t exactly fair. Jeff had never promised her the moon—or tomorrow. She had just assumed…
Lately, her emotions felt as if they were strapped to a roller-coaster ride. This tiny seed inside of her had had terrible repercussions on her emotional state. Right now, she felt like laughing and crying, knowing that neither was acceptable.
Especially laughing.
“I can get ice,” she offered, thinking back to when she’d been a kid and her brother Donald had had something similar happen to him. Her father had immediately applied ice to the injured area.
“Back away,” he told her again, this time with a shade less agony throbbing around the order.
Chapter Two
Okay, if he didn’t want her to help him, then she was absolved of her guilt and free to go, MacKenzie thought. As soon as he did one little thing.
“Okay, I’ll back away,” 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.