His Best Friend's Baby (14 page)

“I was going to say, if anything I was suspicious when someone wanted to give me something. It felt like a bribe. I always assumed strings were attached.”

Disturbed by the sad picture of a boy who didn’t believe in pure goodwill, she asked, “Why?”

“Why?” He turned off the water, not looking at her. “I don’t know. No, that’s not true. My mother always had a man. When they gave me presents, they were trying to buy something from
her.
I knew that, even when I was really young. And when she gave me a special treat, I knew to brace myself. She did it when she felt guilty. Usually it meant she was going to take off for a few days, or she’d spent her welfare check on heroin without going to the grocery store first.” He shrugged, his appalling story matter-of-fact.

“How awful,” Mindy whispered. On automatic, she accepted the pan from him that he’d just rinsed and began to dry it.

“I survived.”

“Has anyone ever given you a present you really loved and kept?”

He looked surprised. “I don’t know. Yeah, probably. I guess some of the CDs in my collection were given to me.” He turned off the running water and looked directly at her. “The Camaro.”

“It wasn’t a gift. You insisted on paying for it.”

“I think of it as one. As something of Dean’s you wanted me to have.”

“I did want you to have it. But I wanted to
give
it to you.” It still frustrated her, remembering his stubborn refusal to accept anything from her. “You know, I think that’s when I lost hope that we could stay friends. When you wouldn’t even let me do that.”

“I couldn’t let you give me something that expensive.”

“But you meant so much to Dean, and so did the car. It just seemed important that you had the best piece of him I could give. Don’t you understand?” She felt as if she were begging. “It wasn’t really from me. It was from Dean.”

Hands in the soapy water, Quinn said, “I didn’t take presents from him, either. Nothing big.”

“A CD was okay, but not a car.”

His mouth twisted. “Something like that.”

“Did you really believe
Dean
would want something in return?” She studied Quinn’s hard, unreadable profile.

The breath he drew was ragged. “No. My reaction was...instinctive. He got that.”

“And I didn’t.” Mindy tried to smile, but felt her lips tremble. “You and I didn’t even know each other that well, and I expected you to take this huge gift from me because we’d both loved this guy.” The realization stung. “That was...really self-centered of me.”

“You didn’t know.”

“But I did. Kind of. Dean tried to tell me about you. I knew that when you left the Howies, you took only the things you’d actually bought with your own money from your job. Dean was laughing when he told me, like, see, Quinn has this weird quirk. He might have respected your wishes, but he
didn’t
get it. Not really. He just thought it was funny.”

Quinn made a rough sound in his throat. “He was humoring me.”

Belatedly, she understood she might be hurting him by telling him this. “Maybe I’m wrong...”

“No. You’re not. I knew he didn’t really understand. ‘Why not take everything you could get?’ was his attitude. I don’t mean that in a bad way,” he added quickly. “Just...we were opposite sides of the coin.”

“Do you suppose...” Mindy gazed out the kitchen window. “Do you suppose his mother wanted nice things desperately? Or that she always promised him that someday they’d have all the things they wanted? Or the last thing she said was that when she came back for him, she’d buy him some toy?”

“I don’t know.” Quinn rotated his head, as if to loosen tight neck muscles. “What I do know is that he was hardwired to be the way he was.”

“And you to be the way you are.”

“Maybe. Aren’t we all?”

She frowned. “I’m not sure I believe that. I think we have some choice. We may be pulled one way or another, but we can dig in our heels and say, ‘I’m not going to be like my mother.’”

Where had
that
come from? Was that how she saw her quest as a human being? To
not
be like her mother?

Quinn gave her an odd, thoughtful look. “You’re not, you know.”

“I didn’t mean that. It was just an example. Pulled out of a hat.”

“Uh-huh.”

She swatted him with the dish towel. “Mr. I-Will-Never-Trust-Another-Human-Being.”

The mask slid over his face again. “Is that how you see me?”

Feeling bold, she stuck to her guns. “I think that’s how you see yourself.”

“I trusted Dean.”

“But not so far as to accept something from him that might have strings attached.”

He pulled the plug from the drain and faced her, voice flat. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Maybe I don’t.” Her boldness was swirling away with the dishwater. “But I want to.”

“What difference is it to you what makes me tick?”

Her breath caught in her throat. At something he saw on her face, he went still. They stared at each other.

“I...” Her words squeaked to a stop.

The muscles in Quinn’s jaw flexed. Then his lashes shielded his eyes and he said, with seeming indifference, “Jessie’s crying.”

“Oh!” She pressed her fingers to her mouth. She hadn’t even heard her own baby crying! “Oh, dear. I’d better...” She backed from the kitchen. “She must be hungry....”

He was putting away the pans she’d dried and didn’t even seem to notice when she fled.

T
HAT
ONE
CONVERSATION
in the kitchen seemed to change everything. Until then, it had never once occurred to Quinn that Mindy might see him as anything but Dean’s friend. She was so determined to believe that everything Quinn did for her was really for Dean, how was he supposed to think differently?

But the way she’d poked and prodded, as if it
did
matter who he was, and then the startled knowledge and guilt on her face when he’d confronted her... The way color had run up her neck and blossomed on her cheeks as she’d sucked in air. For a minute there, as they’d stared at each other, he was afraid he’d given away more than he’d ever meant to, as well.

It was the next day that Quinn let himself put into words the truth that had been eating at his gut.

He wanted her.

Worse, he couldn’t remember when he hadn’t. Maybe from the beginning, although he hadn’t known why he always felt uncomfortable in her presence, why he didn’t like to watch Dean nuzzle her neck or wrap a possessive hand around her hip or pull her onto his lap. Guilt tasted like bile in his mouth, corroded his stomach, but even he knew it made no sense. If he’d come on to Dean’s wife when his buddy wasn’t around, he’d deserve to burn in hell. As it was, he’d done the best he could: buried even the knowledge that she attracted him, stayed away from her, frozen out her attempts to draw him into a warm family circle, as if they could be sister-and brother-in-law.

He’d just been too stupid to know why he was doing it.

When he’d first met her, Quinn remembered thinking that she wasn’t Dean’s type. Dean liked women that were more like his Camaro: sexy, well-endowed, just a little obvious. Mindy wasn’t exactly Quinn’s type, either. He’d tended to go for women whom Dean called “high society,” ones who were subtle, smart, sleek.

Mindy was like a bunch of daisies picked in the field. Effortlessly pretty, sweet, cheerful.

So why was it, Quinn wondered, that she’d somehow drawn both men?

He grunted in amusement. Maybe the qualities that had irritated him the most had also first attracted him. That infectious giggle. Her bare feet. Her short tousled hair that always made him think of the head of a dandelion. Her childlike pleasure in simple delights.

Perhaps it had been much the same for Dean. She’d been fresh, charming, without artifice, fun. Dean had clearly basked in the way she glowed with admiration for him.

Quinn hadn’t let himself get to know her well enough to discover that she was also smart, well read and, in her own way, as lonely as he was.

He muttered aloud, something that caused no heads to turn at the station. You’d have to shout out loud if you didn’t want to be background music here.

Carter was still booking Marvin’s shooter, while Quinn was writing up a report. His mind kept wandering, because the truth was that they’d got lucky. A drug bust and the resultant charges had apparently scared a barely eighteen-year-old member of the gang, who offered to testify about the murders he’d witnessed to get out of jail time. The arresting officer had called Quinn.

Quinn hoped the kid was planning to move after the trial, because if he stayed in Seattle he was dead.

Carter wandered in, a pint of milk in his hand. He peered over Quinn’s shoulder. “You haven’t finished yet?”

“There’s no challenge,” Quinn complained. Then, “You’re drinking
milk?
”

Carter patted his stomach. “I didn’t get a chance to tell you today. I have an ulcer. Can you believe it? The doctor recommends I give up coffee among other things.”

“An ulcer, huh.” Quinn couldn’t help laughing. “I’m the one who should have the ulcer. You’re too good-humored to have earned one.”

“I suppress the angst,” his partner said with dignity. Then he grinned, too. “Doctor said it may have nothing to do with stress. He’s got me on some kind of antibiotic. Go figure.”

Quinn clapped him on the back. “That’s good news. I was expecting a five-way bypass.”

“You were expecting to bury me.” Carter took a swallow of the milk. “Unlike you, I’m done for the day. Don’t stay too late.”

Quinn tossed a wadded up piece of paper after him. Carter danced to the side and, laughing, walked away.

The bare-bones report written at last, Quinn escaped in turn. He arrived home to find the Howies’ car in the driveway. He opened the door to the smell of dinner cooking, the murmur of voices and the sound of Nancy’s laugh. His stride checked and he paused, still unnoticed. Quinn hadn’t heard her laugh like that in years.

He walked in unnoticed. George and Nancy sat close together on the couch in the living room, heads bent over the baby. Wearing sweats and a pair of fuzzy slippers, Mindy was in the kitchen, stirring something on the stove, humming tunelessly and swaying in time to her own music. To his biased eye, she looked cute.

What was wrong with him?

“Hey,” Quinn said.

She turned from the stove, spoon suspended above the pan, face brightening. “Quinn! Look who’s here!”

“I saw.” Ridiculously warmed because she seemed so glad to see him, he strolled into the living room. “Nancy and George. What do you think? Isn’t Jessamine the most beautiful baby ever?”

“Oh, Quinn.” Nancy accepted his kiss on the cheek. “She is darling!”

Jessie lay on Nancy’s lap, limbs flailing, her mouth pursed and her vague gaze wandering from face to face. Quinn reached down and lifted her to his shoulder.

“Hey, little one,” he murmured.

Her head wobbled as she tried to see his face. He liked holding her, now that he was getting the hang of it. The other night, he’d spent a couple of hours with her snoozing on his chest, him reading police reports. He’d ignored every itch and muscle twitch for the pleasure of having the feather-light weight over his heart, her baby smell in his nostrils.

In the past, he’d been disbelieving when tough cops he knew had wandered in to offer It’s a Boy cigars, their faces invariably wearing dopey, happy grins. Now, he understood. And Jessie wasn’t even his child.

So far, he was trying real hard not to think about what that meant. So he didn’t appreciate it when, over dinner, George said, “Well, Quinn, are you going to miss that little doll when Mindy gets her own place?”

Mindy laughed at him. “You mean, is he looking forward to getting a good night’s sleep?”

He couldn’t summon a joke. “I’ll miss her.” Even to his own ears he sounded curt.

There was an awkward little silence before Mindy started telling about how Quinn had gotten shanghaied into attending her Lamaze class. “But he turned out to be a great labor coach,” she concluded, beaming at him. “I don’t know what I’d have done without him.”

The Howies gazed at him with identical expressions of shock. Did they disapprove because he’d been present at the birth and Mindy wasn’t his own wife?

But then George nodded with seeming respect and approbation, while Nancy smiled with delight. “Quinn! I didn’t know you were actually in there with Mindy! How wonderful that she had your support. Of course you and Dean always were willing to do anything for each other. I should have known you’d step in for him.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Quinn saw Mindy’s smile dim a little. Or maybe he was imagining it. His flare of anger took him by surprise. Why did everyone assume that every decent thing he did was either a tribute to his dead friend or a duty imposed by their friendship? Was it impossible to imagine that he’d
wanted
to be with Mindy when she’d needed him, that he could love someone besides Dean?

In shock of his own, he thought,
Love?

They were all staring at him, so he buttered a roll and said, “I can’t believe Dean would have expected me to hold his wife’s hand during labor.
He’d
have probably fainted.”

They all laughed.

“Mindy and I have gotten to be friends.” He made it sound matter-of-fact and casual at the same time. “I wanted to do this with her.”

“You know Quinn’s delivered a baby before, don’t you?” Mindy jumped in.

“No!” Nancy exclaimed.

He had to tell the story again, distracting them from the idea of him sitting at Mindy’s side during labor as a sort of embodiment of a dead man. The idea repulsed him.

After the Howies left, Jessamine began to cry and Mindy went to get her. He stayed in the kitchen when she sat on the couch to feed her, uncomfortable as always with the idea of watching, of seeing their intimacy.

Quinn froze in the act of opening a kitchen cupboard. He was just full of revelations tonight, wasn’t he? But why would the tenderness between mother and child bother him?

Because he felt excluded.