His Best Friend's Baby (17 page)

* * *

T
HE
NEXT
TWO
WEEKS
reminded her of the final weeks of pregnancy. The days had seemed to go on forever, and yet she’d dreaded them ending.

Quinn was unfailingly polite and distant with her while remaining affectionate with Jessie. He reiterated several times that Mindy was welcome to continue to use the garage. She thanked him repeatedly. She hated every minute with this pleasant stranger, and then knew in the same minute that she’d miss him more than she had Dean.

Guilt sliced her at that thought, causing her to miss something Quinn had said and earn a slightly lifted brow.

“Is something wrong?”

“No! No. I’m sorry, I just...my mind was wandering.”

“I was saying that Benson in fraud says he and his wife want to get rid of some baby stuff. He mentioned a crib and a playpen and some kind of swing that hangs in a doorway.”

“Oh.” She recalled herself to the moment, tucking the guilt away to be examined another time. “That would be great.”

“Benson said his wife is home days if you’d like to go pick out anything you want before they have a garage sale.”

Mindy took the name and number of the fraud detective’s wife and thanked Quinn. He assured her she was welcome. She could almost see him mentally x-ing off another day on the calendar when he said good-night. Five days to go.

Then four. And three.

They got even more polite, more
careful
with every word spoken. A growing sense of loss made her chest feel as if it were encased in lead. Drawing a deep breath became hard. She woke every morning aware of the heaviness.

With only two days to go, her mother dropped by. No surprise there—she’d visited at least weekly since Jessie had been born.

Mindy knew better than to think her mother was there to see her. Maybe, she thought unkindly, Jessie was appealing because she could still be dressed up like a doll. In pink.

It was all Mindy could do not to roll her eyes at the sight of her mother, of all people, cooing and babbling nonsense at Jessie, who lay on the middle cushion of the sofa, kicking and flapping her arms in delight at the lady bending over her making silly faces.

“Can I get you a cup of coffee? Tea?”

“Goochy goochy goo!” Her mom tickled Jessie, who grinned.

More loudly, Mindy said, “Looks like you’re enjoying being a grandmother.”

Her mother glanced at her. “You don’t have to sound surprised.”

It had to be her mood, because Mindy was shocked to hear herself say, “Well, you never seemed too thrilled with motherhood.”

That did it. Her mother straightened. “Exactly what is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” she muttered, like a sulky teenager.

“You know, our relationship is a two-way street.”

Anger flared in her. “Was it a two-way street when I was five? Six? Ten? I never remember you tickling me and laughing! Are you saying I didn’t give enough back to keep you interested?”

Her mother actually jerked, as if Mindy had hit her. But then she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “I suppose being a mother didn’t come to me naturally. As it turned out, my...abilities or lack of them didn’t much matter. You were Daddy’s girl from the beginning.”

“What?” Mindy whispered.

“He adored you, you adored him.” Cheri Walker gave a brittle smile. “I was the outsider in our family. The guest who smiled and pretended she felt perfectly at home.”

“Are you serious?”

“It hardly matters anymore.” She picked up Jessie and bounced her against her shoulder, as if the subject were over and done with.

“It matters.” Mindy was still reeling from her mother’s revelations. “We both loved you.”

Patting Jessie’s back, her mom said, “I know your father loved me. I...miss that.”

“So much that you dated another man before Daddy was even cold?” Mindy was horrified at how caustic she sounded, how cruel.

Spots of color touched her mother’s cheeks. “So you did see him.”

“How could you?” she asked, with all the heartbreak and shock of her fourteen-year-old self.

Her mother very carefully laid Jessie down. Head still bent, she said, “Do you remember the funeral? When I tried to hold you and you tore yourself away from me and cried, ‘I want Daddy!’?”

Mindy shook her head, then said, “No. I...really don’t remember much about it.”

“If I’d died instead, you’d have been sad but not distraught.”

“That’s not true!”

Her mother gave a sad laugh. “Let’s not kid ourselves. But it doesn’t really matter whether it’s true or not. It’s what I felt. That you didn’t really love me, and the one person who had was gone.”

“So you went looking for a quick substitute?” More cruelty, but she’d needed so desperately to say this.

Her mother flinched again. “I’m afraid so.” She was quiet for a moment, her eyes unfocused. Very softly, she said, “I’ve been looking ever since.”

“You always have a man madly in love with you!”

“Love? You’re an adult now, Mindy. You know better than that. What the men in my life do give me is an illusion of love. Most of the time, that’s enough.”

Past a knot in her throat, Mindy managed to say, “I did love you.” She drew a breath. “I do.”

Her mother’s composure seemed to crack. “Thank you for saying so.”

“You don’t believe me.” What mother didn’t believe her own daughter loved her, even if their relationship wasn’t perfect?

“I suppose...” Her mother faltered. “I always believed I forfeited your love when I had such a hard time, oh, knowing how to
be
a parent. I can tell it comes easily to you, but I felt so awkward from the beginning. Just holding you felt...strange.”

Perhaps her primary emotion should be hurt, but instead it was pity. Mindy tried to imagine not knowing how to hold Jessie, not having the instincts she’d discovered had lain dormant just waiting for that moment when the nurse had handed the bundled, red-faced baby to her.

Trying to understand, she asked, “Do you know why that was?”

“You never met your grandparents.” Her mother gave another of her brittle laughs that Mindy had always taken as uncaring. “You didn’t miss a thing. My father wasn’t physically abusive, but he was so critical I never felt as if I’d done anything right. I never had the chance to think, Dad is proud of me. And my mother was always in her bedroom weeping. I realize now that she was suffering from clinical depression, but then...then it felt as if she couldn’t be bothered to tear herself from her own unhappiness enough to care about my report card or to shop for a prom dress for me or...” She stopped, gave a funny little shrug. “Well, I suppose it’s easy to psychoanalyze myself now. But I always thought, I won’t be like her. And then I was.”

“No.” Face wet with tears, Mindy scooted from the easy chair to the coffee table. “You weren’t. I did know you loved me. I just... wanted to be closer to you. Especially after... after Dad died. I needed you so badly.”

Her mother sniffed and dabbed at her eyes. “You’re ruining my makeup.”

Mindy gave a watery laugh. “Maybe you should quit wearing it, like me.”

Her mother shuddered. “I look
old
without it!”

“You know perfectly well that you’re beautiful.”

Sounding much as usual, she retorted, “I know no such thing.”

But Mindy only laughed and used her shirtsleeve to mop her own tears. “Okay, so tell me. This Mark guy. You don’t think he’s really in love with you?”

“Actually...” Was she blushing? Was such a thing possible? “I think he might be. He’s a very nice man, Mindy. I know you don’t want to meet him, but...”

“What on earth would make you think I don’t want to meet him? Of course I do!”

“Oh.” For a moment, she appeared flustered. “He’s not anything special to look at.”

“Do I care?”

“You have that lovely Quinn.”

“Mom, I’m moving out the day after tomorrow.” The reminder was a stab of pain. “Quinn isn’t mine. He felt obligated, because of Dean. That’s all.”

“You’re sure?”

Her throat felt thick. “I’m sure.”

“What a shame. Such a nice house, and he seems to have plenty of money, and so handsome...” She sighed with seeming regret.

Mindy couldn’t summon her usual irritation. So, okay, her mother was being her usual shallow self. But then, she didn’t know Quinn. Not really. And that was Mindy’s fault, because she never invited her mother over when Quinn was home. She was ashamed to realize it hadn’t even occurred to her that Mom might want to be included at Thanksgiving or Christmas.

“I love you,” she said again, impulsively.

Her mother didn’t seem to hear her. “Dear, I’m afraid Jessie has done something nasty. Did I mention that diapers were my least favorite part of being a mother?”

Mindy only laughed again, surprised them both by hugging her mother, and lifted her baby girl from the couch.

“Yup. She does stink. Can you wait while I change her? I could make sandwiches.”

“Certainly.” Her mother smiled at her, sniffed, then said, “Oh, dear. I must have a lash in my eye.”

* * *

F
RIDAY
NIGHT
, her last in this house, full-fledged panic set in. Mindy wanted Quinn to say, “Don’t go. Stay with me,” but she knew he wouldn’t. He could be madly in love with her, and he wouldn’t say it. His pride would never let him.

And who was she kidding? He’d probably close his bedroom door tonight and do a little tap dance, because he’d have his house and his life to himself again.

He’d brought home Chinese takeout. She had made an effort to look more presentable. Instead of sweats, she had on jeans, a long-sleeved, form-fitting turtleneck and real shoes.

Peeling off his leather jacket and unbuckling his shoulder holster, Quinn nodded toward her feet. “I didn’t know you owned any shoes.”

“I actually have several.” She scrunched up her nose. “I just tend to trip when I wear them.”

A shadow crossed his face. Guessing that he was recalling the funeral, she felt tactless.

“I remember.” Holster and gun in hand, he said, “I’ll be right back.”

He always took the gun into the bedroom. She didn’t know whether he locked it up, or just dropped it with the holster onto his bedside table. She was just as glad he didn’t make a habit of tossing it onto the counter. Guns made her nervous.

The evening was colored by the excruciating knowledge—to her—that tomorrow night she’d be in her own apartment and Quinn’s house would be his again, as devoid of her presence as if she’d never been here at all. He was quiet tonight, but more relaxed, as if he didn’t feel he had to be as careful since she’d be gone so soon.

They talked about baby milestones and how soon Jessie would be rolling over, then sitting.

“She changes every day. I go to work and come home to find she’s grown up a little more while I was gone.” Quinn was silent for a moment, head bent as he gazed at the cup of coffee he cradled in his hands. “I’ll miss seeing her as often.”

What about me!
Mindy wanted to cry.
Will you miss seeing
me?

“She’ll miss you, too.”

His mouth twisted into a semblance of a smile. “Thanks for saying so.”

“You don’t think she will?”

“Yeah.” He sounded both sad and resigned. “I think she might.”

Don’t let us go,
she begged silently.
Ask me to stay forever.

But she didn’t want him to ask when it was Jessie he loved, Jessie he’d miss. Not her. So, after a minute, she said with difficulty, “You can visit whenever you want, you know.”

He gave her a distracted glance. “Thanks.”

With coffee for him and herbal tea for her, they moved out to the living room. Quinn sat at one end of the couch, Mindy at the other, the distance between them feeling symbolic to her. If they’d been the friends they pretended to be, she’d have sat next to him, perhaps rested her head on his shoulder. She had always liked to touch. Only with Quinn did she feel so...restrained.

And contrarily, so hungry for contact.

She kept stealing glances as if she would never see him again, studying his mouth and wondering what it would feel like on hers. And his hands—large and strong, they were always gentle with Jessie, and yet so
safe
.

Mindy desperately fixed her gaze on the coffee table, trying to keep her breathing shallow. What was she
doing?
He’d be horrified if he even guessed what she was thinking!

Or...would he? She lifted her mug to her mouth and glanced at him over it.

His knuckles showed white where he gripped the mug. Despite his easy posture, she would swear he was sitting as stiffly as she was. The creases in his cheeks were deeper than usual, and as she looked he rotated his head just the smallest amount, as if he didn’t want her to know his neck was tight.

He might just be bored. Tired. Unhappy about something that had nothing to do with her. She was dreaming to think otherwise.

But...what if?

Then he could
do
something. Say something, she thought. But he hadn’t, and he wouldn’t. Close to tears, she closed her eyes and struggled for composure. It was a very, very good thing that she wouldn’t be living with him anymore. This was too hard.

She groped with her feet for the shoes she’d slipped off. “I think I’d better go to bed. Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”

“Right.” He set down his coffee mug, swore. “Mindy...”

Those tears were starting to make her vision blurry. She swiped at her eyes. “I know you hate being thanked, but I have to do it one more time.”

He stood. She did, too. The couple of feet between them didn’t feel like so much now. She must have taken a step. Or maybe he had. Because all of a sudden, his arms were closing around her and she was hugging him fiercely.

“Mindy,” he said, in a ragged voice she’d never heard, and she tilted her head back to see his face.

Something unfamiliar came over her then. Ignoring every warning she’d given herself, every deep-rooted inhibition, Mindy rose to tiptoe and pressed her mouth to Quinn’s.

For a moment he was completely still. She might as well have been kissing a statue. A sob escaped her and she was starting to pull back when a sound seemed to be wrenched from Quinn and one of his hands came up to cup the back of her head. The next instant, he kissed her, or accepted her kiss, she didn’t know. It didn’t matter. She was too utterly lost in sensation, in intense gratitude because now she knew what being in his arms felt like, and it was magic.