She's Having a Baby

Feeling as if she were free-floating, she realized that her feet were off the ground. Quade had caught her so fast, so hard, he'd raised her off the ground.

Her face was inches from his.

His lips were inches from hers.

And something within her leaped out of nowhere, wanting to close the gap. Begging to close it.

Their eyes met and held as if some force was compelling them to look at one another, unable to look away, unable to look anywhere else.

She wanted him to kiss her.

He was no one to her and she no one to him, but she wanted him to kiss her. Right now, more than anything in the world, she wanted to feel desirable.

Wanted to feel something for someone…

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Epilogue

June 1, 1864

A
manda Deveaux closed her hand around the cameo. For three years now she'd worn it, never removing it from her neck. She'd promised to wear it until he returned to claim her for his wife. The cameo had become her own personal badge of courage. Embossed on the delicate Wedgwood blue oval was the profile of a young Greek woman, carved in ivory. Penelope, waiting for her Ulysses to come home to her.

Just as she was waiting for her Will to come home to her. Will, who had asked her to wait for him. Will, who had promised to return, no matter how low the fortunes of this miserable, misbegotten war between the states laid him.

He'd sworn it and she'd believed him. She
still
believed. Because Lieutenant William Slattery had never lied to her.

They had known each other from childhood. Loved one another since childhood. Will had withstood her mother's sly, cutting remarks and her father's sharp, delving scrutiny because Will's people were not as rich as hers. He'd put up with both parents because he'd loved her. He'd been her brother Jonathan's best friend. Jonathan, who was gone now, one of the brave who had fallen at Chancelorsville.

At least they knew Jonathan's fate. She didn't know Will's.

There'd been no word from Will since Gettysburg. Not since his name had been listed among those who were missing.

These days, her heart felt leaden within her breast. It was hard clinging to hope all this time, hard holding her breath as she looked down the long road leading back to her family's plantation, now all but in ruins, waiting for him to ride up. Just as he'd promised he would.

“It's a sin, wasting away like that over a man who was only two steps removed from white trash.”

Coming out onto the decaying porch, Belinda Deveaux looked accusingly at her older daughter. Her oldest child now that Jonathan was in his grave. She raised her head, anger and impatience permanently etched into a face that had once been regarded as the most beautiful in three counties.

Her small lips pursed. “Frasier O'Brien would marry you.”

Amanda's eyes widened in surprise. Frasier O'Brien had returned from the war—some said he had deserted—to take over his ailing father's emporium. Shrewd and always able to turn a situation to his advantage, Frasier had found a way to turn a healthy profit in the midst of a time beset with need and despair. He was easily now the richest man in the county. And her mother clearly favored him. Money had always drawn her mother's attention.

“Frasier is Savannah's intended. He's asked for her hand in marriage,” she reminded her mother, indignant for her younger sister.

“Yes, but he wants you,” her mother told her, a dark knowledge in her eyes. “This could be your last chance to marry, girl. Think. You're almost twenty-one. If you do not marry Frasier, what will become of you?”

“Don't worry about me, Mother. Worry about Savannah, who, according to you, is engaged to a man whose heart she doesn't possess.”

“I
do
worry about you,” her mother reiterated. “I worry about you because you, my empty-headed daughter, are in love with a dead man.”

Anger flared in Amanda's breast. “Will is not dead,” she cried. “If he were dead, I would know it, Mother. I would feel it inside. Here, where my heart is.” She struck her breast like an penitent sinner asking for forgiveness. “I would know. But he's coming back to me. He promised.”

Belinda drew herself up. Small, gaunt and draped in black since Jonathan's death, the woman resembled a wraith.

“William Slattery is dead,” she pronounced. “As dead as your brother and the sooner you realize that, the sooner you will come back to your senses.”

Amanda walked away from her mother. Away from the house that was so badly in the need of care. Away to wait by the side of the road the way she did every day.

“Wait for me,” Will had whispered before he'd released her from their last embrace. And she would, because she was his. Forever. And nothing would change that.

Present Day

“Y
ou're glowing! My God, you're really glowing. Do you realize you're glowing? I had no idea that was actually possible. Pablo, I don't want you to touch her with your makeup brush. Nothing you can do would improve on this look. Is our camera set for ‘glow'?”

The last question was fired over assistant producer MacKenzie Ryan's shoulder in the general direction of the set where their afternoon show
…And Now a Word from Dakota
was being shot. The rest of the words rushing out of MacKenzie's mouth as she quickly crossed the threshold into Dakota Delaney's dressing room were aimed directly at her best friend.

Offstage, the latter's name was now officially Dakota Delaney Russell due to her recent marriage to Ian Russell. The star of the popular daytime talk show had just returned from her two-week honeymoon and the only one who had missed Dakota more than her audience was MacKenzie.

To her left, MacKenzie was aware that the tall, gaunt makeup artist who insisted on being called Pablo was scowling at her for preventing him from doing his work. For the moment, she ignored him. It wasn't as if Dakota were one of those people who needed much makeup anyway. Fresh-faced, she was still drop-dead gorgeous.

Battling another annoying wave of queasiness, MacKenzie forced a grin to her face, aimed at the woman with whom she had once shared dreams and a dorm room. She pushed a strand of strawberry-blond hair out of her eyes. “It has been absolute hell without you, Dakota. I hate working with guest hosts. They're so not you.”

Dakota shifted around in her seat to face her best friend. “Nice to be missed.”

“Missed?” MacKenzie echoed with a hoot. “If you'd called to say you were extending your honeymoon with that hunk of a man you landed for another week, I would have put my head in the oven.”

Pablo shot her a look that swept over her five-foot-three body swiftly and critically. “You're small enough for all of you to fit in the oven.”

The comment was punctuated with a haughty snap of his wrists as he closed the lid down on his huge makeup case. Pablo had just taken over for the previ
ous head makeup artist, Albert Hamlin, who had been moved to a prime-time talk show. Today would have marked the first time he'd worked on Dakota, although he had the opportunity to apply makeup to the various guest stars who had temporarily helmed the show. It was evident that Pablo didn't like limits being imposed on his work.

Dakota offered the temperamental man a conciliatory smile. “Maybe just some lip liner,” she suggested.

Pablo sighed dramatically and opened the case again. “Whatever you wish, Ms. Delaney.” After finding the shade Dakota favored, he held the wand out to her.

Unable to hold back any longer, MacKenzie moved the man aside in order to hug not the star of the fan-favorite program, but her best friend. The woman she still turned to in the middle of her best moments, as well as her worst.

Right now, it was the latter, but this was no time to share.

The embrace was warm and enthusiastic.

“Was it wonderful?” she asked, releasing Dakota. “Tell me it was wonderful.” MacKenzie sighed, for one moment taking a mental journey back to their college days when they had sat up until the small hours of the morning, talking about their dates. Life was a great deal simpler back then. All you had to worry about were grades and trying not to break out before a date. “I need daydreams and I haven't any of my own.”

“That's because you don't have a life,” Pablo said under his breath but audibly enough for the man in the
hall changing the lightbulb in the ceiling to hear. The latter chuckled.

MacKenzie spared Pablo a dirty look, but made no protest. That was because what he said was true. She didn't have a life—at least, not a social one. Since her promotion to assistant producer, all of five days ago, she had decided to dedicate herself to the task of overseeing every aspect of the program. It was the kind of job that didn't end when she pulled out of the parking lot late at night.

But it wasn't just her newly attained position, that was responsible for her not having a life. She didn't have a social life by choice. Because the life she'd been leading up until a few weeks ago had blown up in her face. Her heart broken, she was not about to go back into the dating pool and lay herself open to endure another possible mishap.

It bothered MacKenzie no end to discover that she wasn't as resilient as she'd thought she was, but there you had it. She wasn't and she was just going to have to learn how to live with that instead of some kind, loving, mythical male who didn't exist except perhaps in the pages of a script.

Accepting the lipstick that Pablo held out to her, Dakota applied the soft pink shade to her lips herself. The natural energy that had been the hallmark of Dakota's life since she'd first met her seemed to be hyped up by several amps, MacKenzie noticed. Or maybe that was just because she felt pale in comparison to her friend. It seemed like she was tired all the time now, like an old-fashioned clock that couldn't be fully wound up anymore.

Of course, there was a reason for that, she thought darkly.

Dakota handed the lipstick back to Pablo and turned in her chair to face MacKenzie. She studied her friend's face for a moment. Concern nibbled at the outer edges of her consciousness. “Pablo, would you mind leaving us alone for a few minutes?”

The man's dark head popped up, his black eyes alert. “Girl talk?” Pablo pouted at the exclusion. “I have as much right to listen to girl talk as the nex— Oh, all right,” he huffed. He hefted his makeup case, a tiny muscle defining itself in his thin arm as it strained under the weight. “I know when I'm not wanted.”

MacKenzie closed her eyes and shook her head as Pablo exited the room. He closed the door behind him with an audible jolt that all but shook the door frame. She sighed. “He has gotten so temperamental since his promotion.”

Dakota had no desire to talk about the makeup artist. Her thoughts were all centered on her friend. She rose to her feet, taking MacKenzie's hands into hers. “Speaking of promotions, Zee, I heard that they made you assistant producer.”

MacKenzie shrugged off the honor disparagingly. “Yeah, they did.”

Dakota couldn't resist hugging the other woman. The top of MacKenzie's head came up to her chin. “God, I am so proud of you.”

MacKenzie struggled to block out another wave of queasiness that threatened to overwhelm her. Mind over
matter, Zee, mind over matter, she kept repeating fiercely.

“Forget me, look at you.” Stepping back, she looked at Dakota again. “Married. Glowing.”

Dakota laughed, sitting down in the chair again. Her eyes shone as she thought of Ian. “He does have that effect on me.” She wasn't aware of the sigh that escaped her lips, but MacKenzie was. “Love is really, really wonderful—” She stopped abruptly and looked at MacKenzie sharply, suspicion entering her eyes. “Speaking of which, how are you and Jeff—or shouldn't I ask?”

The shrug was evasive. Hapless. She knew she didn't have a prayer of fooling Dakota. Nor did she really want to. It was just that saying the words hurt. “I'm fine. Jeff's fine.”

Dakota's eyes narrowed. They'd been friends since college and no one could read the diminutive, bubbly woman like she could. The conclusion wasn't difficult to reach. “But you're not fine together.”

“No,” MacKenzie sighed. Two weeks and she still felt as if she were juggling hot coals bare-handed whenever she thought about the breakup. He'd been kind, trying so hard not to hurt her. As if that were possible, given how she'd initially felt.

She wanted to hate him, but she couldn't. She could only grieve. “We're not together. He's together with his wife.”

Dakota's mouth dropped open. This was new. “His wife?”

MacKenzie laughed dryly. The sound rang hollow in
the small dressing room. “Yeah, a little detail he forgot to mention.”

Dakota could only shake her head, clearly stunned. “He's married?”

“Separated at the time, so he said. But yes, married.” Afraid she would see pity in Dakota's eyes, she squared her shoulders the way she'd often seen her friend do and raised her chin. It was purely a defensive move. “And out of my life.”

For a moment, their eyes met and held. In short order, Dakota made up her mind. Leaning her head forward just slightly in order to get her hair off her neck, she located the small knot that held the two velvet ends of her necklace together and undid it.

Watching, MacKenzie frowned. “Dakota, what are you doing?”

Removing her necklace, Dakota held it up in front of her friend. On the end of the velvet ribbon was the cameo she had purchased at an antique shop in upstate New York. The cameo she firmly believed with all her heart had brought her and Ian Russell together in the first place. The cameo came along with a legend.

“I'm taking the cameo off so that I can give it to you.”

“Dakota—” MacKenzie began to protest, shaking her head.

She was about to step back, but Dakota was faster. The latter took her hand and turned it so that her palm was facing up. Dakota laid the cameo across it. She vividly remembered that the woman who had sold her the necklace had said that once she'd felt its magic, once true love had entered her life, she was charged with
passing the necklace on to someone else who was in need of its magic. Someone like her best friend.

“I've felt the effects of its magic. Now it's your turn.”

MacKenzie stared at her, dumbfounded. Dakota had been valedictorian in their graduating class. “You don't really believe—”

“Oh, yes, I do,” Dakota cut in adamantly. “I'm not much on legends and magic, but this worked just the way I was told it would.” Seeing the skepticism in MacKenzie's eyes, Dakota pressed on. She had once been a disbeliever herself. “The woman in the antique store told me that the legend went that whoever wore the cameo would have their true love enter their life.”

“Dakota, we're New Yorkers now. We're too sophisticated for that.” Although part of her wished she could believe in magic. In happily-ever-afters and men who loved to their last dying breath. But she was too old to hang onto illusions. There came a time to grow up. “That's hype and you know it.”

“No,” Dakota contradicted firmly, “I don't. What I know is that when I put it on, I met Ian that same afternoon. Maybe it's crazy,” she allowed, “but there is no other explanation for it than magic. When I went back to talk to that old woman in the antique shop, the owner said no one matching her description worked there. Except that I
did
talk to her. I
did
see her.

“And she looked exactly like the photograph he had hanging on his wall of his great-great-aunt—the same great-aunt whose funeral was taking place the day I bought the cameo from her.” It sounded fantastic and she would have been the first to doubt the story if she
hadn't lived through it herself. “Now, if that's not magic, I don't know what is.”

MacKenzie looked at the necklace. The cameo was a woman's profile, carved in ivory and delicately set against a Wedgwood blue background. It was a beautiful piece, but only jewelry, not a cure for a broken heart. “I don't believe in magic.”

Dakota placed her hand over MacKenzie's in mute comfort. “You did, once.”

MacKenzie drew her hand away, determined to brazen it out. “I also believed in Santa Claus, once. But I grew up.”

The woman in the shop hadn't said that belief was an integral part of the experience. “Okay, you don't have to believe, you just have to wear it.” She looked at MacKenzie, mutely supplicating. “What do you have to lose?”

MacKenzie laughed shortly. “The cameo, for one.” She looked down at the cameo and shook her head. “You know how bad I am about things like that. I'd feel awful if I lost it.” She attempted to push the piece back into Dakota's hand.

But Dakota merely pushed it back toward her instead. “Then don't lose it,” she advised. “Wear it. As a favor to me, Zee,” she added, her eyes locking with MacKenzie's again.

MacKenzie could feel herself wearing down. It wasn't that she didn't like the cameo. It was beautiful and she would have loved to wear it. But she also knew that there was no magic in it. Magic was for the very young and the very old to believe in. And the very superstitious. That wasn't her. “Waste of time.”

The argument was unacceptable. Dakota shrugged it off. “Time goes by anyway.”

Outflanked, MacKenzie surrendered. “God, but you are chipper, even for you.”

“I know.” Her smile fairly lit up the entire room, with light to spare. “I feel like I'm floating.”

It had to be wonderful to feel that way, MacKenzie thought. “Try not to levitate until after the show, okay?”

“Deal.” Dakota looked down at the cameo pointedly. “If you—”

“Wear the necklace—yes, I know. Way ahead of you on that one.” She sighed, capitulating. “Okay, I'll wear it.”

Dakota kept looking at her expectantly. Waiting. “Now.”

MacKenzie glanced at her watch. It was almost time to go on. “Dakota—”

Dakota rose from her seat, moving around to stand behind MacKenzie. She reached around her, her hand out for the cameo that was nestled in MacKenzie's hand. “Now,” she repeated.

With a sigh, MacKenzie relinquished the cameo she'd meant to stash in her tiny jewelry box, and placed the piece and its velvet ribbon in her friend's hand. “It's not going to do any good.”

“Humor me.”

MacKenzie suppressed another sigh. “Okay, you're the star.”

“No,” Dakota corrected, securing the ribbon and then coming around to take a look at her handiwork. “I'm the friend.”

 

MacKenzie knew that Dakota meant well. That the woman who had come up the ranks right along with her only had her best interests at heart. But at this point in the game, her own interests were going to have to take a time-out and slip into the back seat.