Pretense (43 page)

Thinking back on it, the food had been good, but Mackenzie had never been into the bar scene and felt terribly out of place. Janelle and Beth had been asked to dance, and Aimee had gone to the ladies' room. Mackenzie sat alone, a ginger ale in front of her, and felt more 8 then 18. So deep in thought was she that it took a moment for her to realize someone was standing next to the half-circle bench that enclosed the booth.

"Do you have the time?"

A man, probably in his thirties, was standing at her table. He looked tall from where she was sitting, and his hair was very blond.

"Sure." Mackenzie was on the verge of raising her arm when she spotted his wrist. She stared at him for a moment. "You're wearing a watch," she said softly.

He grinned charmingly, revealing a surprising pair of dimples that made him look younger. "You're right, I am, but I was hoping to talk with you."

Mackenzie laughed and automatically shook the hand that was held out to her.

"Paxton Hancock," the man stated.

"Mackenzie Bishop," she filled in.

"Any chance I might join you?"

Mackenzie gestured across the table. "Suit yourself. Some of my friends will probably be back soon," she explained.

"Will they mind?" Paxton asked from the seat across from Mackenzie.

"I don't think so." Mackenzie took a sip of her drink, appearing more relaxed than she felt. She wasn't worried about her personal safety, the Army had seen to that, but she wasn't sure she wanted to talk to a strange man in a bar.

"You look intent," Paxton cut into her thoughts. "Are you figuring out how to give me the brush-off?"

Mackenzie studied him. He was too good-looking to have experienced the "brush-off very often. And the sparkle in his blue eyes told her he knew it.

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"What if I was?" she chanced a flirtation.

"I'd have to do something fast. I can't let you get away."

"Why? There must be dozens of women here with whom you could talk."

"I'm sure you're right, but they don't all look like you."

Mackenzie's look was nothing short of skeptical. She decided to ignore his flattery.

"Where are you from, Paxton?"

"Pax, by the way," he said easily. "My friends call me Pax, and I'm originally from New York, but I've lived here for almost ten years. How about yourself?"

"San Francisco, and I've only been here a few months."

"What's your line of work?"

"I'm at Arlington Hall Station."

"The Army?" He looked stunned.

"Yes," Mackenzie returned, very amused.

"I'm being laughed at," Paxton guessed correctly. But he didn't seem too offended.

Mackenzie could have said many things to that but didn't. Aimee chose that moment to come back.

"Oh, Micki, I-"

Ignoring her coworker's embarrassment, Mackenzie moved over in the booth and introduced her as she was sitting down.

"Aimee, this is Paxton Hancock. Paxton, this is Aimee Langford, also one of Uncle Sam's finest."

Paxton stared at them in amazement.

"You're in the Army too?"

Aimee nodded shyly.

"Well, Uncle Sam sure knows how to pick 'em."

Aimee smiled in pleasure, but Mackenzie, thinking it was a line, looked bored, unknowingly making her all the more fascinating to the man at their table.

"Oh," Aimee said suddenly. Mackenzie followed her gaze.

"It looks as if Beth is trying to get your attention," Mackenzie noted.

"Should I go?" Aimee asked, looking uncertain.

"Sure." Mackenzie smiled at her. "Maybe she wants to introduce you to someone."

Aimee looked more than a little apprehensive but still rose and left the table.

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Paxton was more than happy with this turn of events, but something told him he was going to have to move slowly.

"Can I you buy a drink?" he offered.

"Sure," she said, trying to sound casual. She watched him stand.

"What'll it be?"

"Ginger ale."

Paxton blinked and waited for her to laugh. She didn't.

"Ginger ale?"

"Yes, I'm not much of a drinker, and beyond that, I'm only 18."

For a full five seconds Paxton only stared at her. "Ginger ale it is," he said softly and moved off toward the bar.

Mackenzie had no idea what to think, but she felt better. She had the impression that he had been under the
wrong
impression since he sat down. It was good to have the air cleared. If he did have ideas, he now had the facts. Not that Mackenzie would be interested. Even if he was younger, the last thing she wanted in her life at this time was a man.

Paxton was back surprisingly fast. He set Mackenzie's drink in front of her and took his same place at the table. Mackenzie was relieved that he didn't try to sit closer. It would have forced her to cut the evening short.

"So tell me, what do you do for Uncle Sam?"

Mackenzie was sure he was at his most charming. She smiled. "A lot of filing and paperwork. I haven't been at it for very long, so I'm not a lot of use to anyone yet."

"And you would eventually like to do what?"

"I like what I'm doing, but I hope to get a little more hands- on with the material-see the reports before they come for filing, have a chance to think, analyze, and search out possible problems; that kind of thing. What do you do for a living?" she asked abruptly, hoping the conversation would move away from her.

"I'm an editor at IronHorse." Paxton named one of the largest publishers in the world.

Mackenzie immediately thought of Delancey.

"Children's books or adult?"

"Adult." His head dipped to one side. "What made you ask that?"

Mackenzie opened her mouth but shut it again.

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"Not going to tell me?" He watched her closely.

"It just occurred to me that your job must be a little like being a doctor: You go to a party and everyone expects free medical advice."

"Are you really only 18?" he asked, looking stunned.

Mackenzie laughed. "Yes."

Paxton shook his head in wonder. "Go ahead and ask me."

"It's just that my sister draws beautifully, and I was curious as to how an illustrator gets started."

"How old is she?"

"Seventeen."

"Her best bet is to contact some children's magazines. If she met someone who was writing a book and could collaborate on that, that would also help. But if she just wants to get started, she should be sending her work to children's magazines. And if she's already doing that, she should keep trying."

"No, she isn't. In fact, she'll probably be surprised that I even asked you. I don't know if she's ever considered doing anything with her work." Mackenzie shrugged. "I didn't think about it until you said you worked with IronHorse. What exactly do you do?"

"I have certain authors with whom I work. Editing their books is part of the job."

"How many authors?"

"I have about 10 whose books I do every year, and then another 10 to 15 first-timers. The market is always changing, but that's about right."

"Anyone whose name I would know?"

He proceeded to list three authors whose names made Mackenzie's mouth fall open. They were some of the biggest names on the New York Times Bestseller List.

"There are people who would go to great lengths to meet some of my authors, which, if they make the connection to me, only makes my job miserable. So if you could keep that to yourself, I would be pleased."

"I will, certainly," Mackenzie said, wondering why he had confided in her. Maybe it was all a big line. Maybe he would say anything for a date.

"You know," Paxton said suddenly, "I haven't met a woman who's as hard to read as you are in a long time."

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Mackenzie took a moment to reply. Delancey was always telling her that she didn't wear her emotions on her sleeve, but she had never paid much attention to her.

"Why would you want to read me?" Mackenzie asked. It was the first question that came to mind and reminded Paxton just how young she was.

"Just to get to know you."

Mackenzie barely held herself from asking why again. She glanced out over the crowd and had the firm impression that her friends were deliberately leaving her alone. She had to get out of there.

"I hate to be rude," Mackenzie said softly, checking her watch, "but I think I'm going to call it a night."

"Any chance I can see you again?"

"There might be if I could figure out why you want to, but since I can't, no."

Paxton laughed. She had a remarkable way of fielding everything he said.

"Are you heading home, Paxton?" she now asked congenially, her purse in hand.

"I'm planning on it, yes, but I'm open to a better offer."

Mackenzie only smiled and stood. "Well, I hope you get one. Goodnight, and thank you for the drink."

Paxton watched her walk away with his mouth slightly agape. He stared after her until she disappeared into the crowd. He wasn't a stalker; neither was he a man who pursued a woman who wasn't interested in him. But even though 19 years separated them, he thought that if they could get to know each other, Mackenzie might like him. His ex-wife would disagree, but then she disagreed about everything. Paxton sat back and signaled the waiter for another drink. "Ginger ale," he heard himself say, even as he tried to figure out a way to stop thinking about Mackenzie Bishop.

Mackenzie's ponytail bounced against her neck as she went from a jog to a walk on the indoor track. She'd just put in 11 miles and needed to cool down a bit. She was not particularly winded and realized she had the Army to thank. Actually, she had the Army to thank for several things-the least of which was

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being in good shape; the most of which was that it was causing her to grow up a little.

She hadn't planned to come to the gym tonight, but a letter waiting for her when she arrived home had forced her to get out of the apartment and find some think-time. Delancey was joining the Army. Mackenzie had only just teased her about that very thing, but until she'd had a chance to ponder her sister's decision, she hadn't known how to react.

I'm selfish,
Mackenzie concluded.I
want to go off and live my own life, but I want to know that my family is safely home in San Francisco, waiting for me whenever I decide to visit. Sorry, Deej. I've been unfair.

With this little pep talk, Mackenzie knew it was time to go home and call her sister. For the first time she had an inkling of what her mother had felt when she left, but that wasn't what was important. There was no reason not to support Delancey's choice, and Mackenzie would go home, call her, and do just that.

"Good evening, Miss Bishop."

Mackenzie's head came up, and she found herself looking into Paxton Hancock's light blue eyes. He was leaning against the wall outside the men's locker room. Mackenzie had been headed to the women's showers.

"Hello, Paxton."

"How are you?"

"I'm fine."

"Just finishing?"

"Yes. You look like you've had a workout."

"A long one. I'm getting flabby in my old age."

Mackenzie smiled but thought he might be serious.

"There's a great coffee shop around the corner," Paxton volunteered. "Can I buy you a cappuccino?"

For some reason Mackenzie could not say no. She wanted to call her sister, and she did not want to encourage this man, but she still said, "All right. Will it work for me to meet you there in about 30 minutes?"

"That's fine. Do you know the place?"

"Yes."

"Good. I'll get a table and wait for you."

"All right. I'll see you there."

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For a moment Paxton stayed where he was. He thought his heart would stop when he had come from the weight room and seen her on the track. He knew he was foolish. Asking her to coffee was no way to get her from his mind, and if he thought her desirable in slacks and a blouse, she was downright distracting in a tank top and shorts, and her face flushed and moist. Paxton finally walked into the showers, thinking he'd better make it a cold one.

"I just got a letter from my sister," Mackenzie found herself confiding when Paxton asked her about her day. "She's joining the Army."

"Is that good or bad?"

"I don't know. I'm still a little off-balance. I'm going to call her and congratulate her, but inside I'm still trying to deal with it."

"Do you regret your own decision?"

"No, but there's something secure about knowing that my sister is home safe with Jack and my mother."

"Jack?"