Cinderella's Secret Agent. Ingrid Weaver

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СКАЧАТЬ hawklike nose and his striking amber eyes, he was a one of a kind. He wasn’t handsome in a classic movie star or magazine model sort of way, but he was…appealing. Yes, that was a good word for it. Yet unlike most attractive men, he seemed oblivious to his appearance. As a matter of fact, his short-clipped hair and casual, nondescript clothes weren’t meant to draw attention.

      But he drew hers. Oh, yes. No matter what shape the rest of her was in, her eyes were functioning just fine. She felt a blush rising in her cheeks and sighed. Was this what she had been reduced to? Lurking behind a door in order to ogle a customer?

      He was most likely married anyway. She seemed to have a knack for finding the ones who were married. But it didn’t make any difference. Considering her condition, ogling anyone was worse than ludicrous, it was downright gross.

      “Uh, Maggie?”

      “Mmm?”

      Joanne squeaked a fingertip across the round windowpane in the door. “You better get to work, girl. You’re fogging up the glass.”

      Maggie sputtered and turned to make a retort, but Joanne was quicker. Grabbing Maggie by the shoulders, she gave her a gentle shove. The door swung open and Maggie stumbled into the coffee shop with all the grace of an elephant in a tutu.

      Laszlo looked up from the grill, his broad forehead creasing in a frown. “Maggie, you okay?”

      “Sure. Thanks.” She made an exaggerated show of grabbing the edge of the lunch counter for balance, then grinned. “It’s no wonder I keep tripping over my feet. I haven’t seen them for months so sometimes I forget they’re there.”

      He shook his head as he gestured with his spatula. “You shouldn’t be working,” he growled in his thick Hungarian accent. “You should be home.”

      “What? And give up all this? I plan to put the baby through college on the tips I’ve been getting lately.”

      The ends of Laszlo’s drooping mustache dipped farther. “You’re the stubborn woman, Maggie Rice. Five days, that is all. Then I don’t want to see more of you until after the kid is born.”

      “More? Now there’s a scary thought. Any more of me and I won’t fit through the front door anyway.” Maggie gave him a cheeky wink and picked up her order pad.

      Five days, and then she would stay home. In spite of what she’d just told her boss, she was looking forward to the time off. As much as she needed the money this job brought, she had a million things still to do to get the apartment ready and less than a month to go.

      “Hello, Maggie. How are you and Junior today?”

      She pulled her pencil from behind her ear as she stopped in front of Del’s table. As always, his rich voice set off an odd reaction deep inside. It was his tone, so steady and calm and masculine—

      Get real, she admonished herself. Sure, he was a nice guy, and they had shared many casual conversations over the weeks since he’d started coming in. Yet she didn’t know all that much about him, other than he liked his eggs over easy and his coffee black and seemed to have a schedule that coincided with hers. There was no reason for her pulse to flutter whenever she saw him.

      Actually, it wasn’t only her pulse that felt fluttery now. Her entire body was…restless. Yes, that’s how she would describe it. She had been having tremors and tingles all day. She focused on her order pad, hoping the strange feeling in her lower stomach would pass. “We couldn’t be better. She had the hiccups this morning, but she settled down when I changed the radio station. She hates rap.”

      “She?” Del repeated. “So you think the baby’s a girl today?”

      “It’s just a feeling I have. It really doesn’t matter one way or the other.”

      “Have you settled on any names yet, Maggie?”

      “Not yet. I want to wait until I see my baby’s face before I decide.” She touched her fingertips to the bulge that pushed at the front of her dress. “Oh, it’s going to be so good to finally hold her in my arms.”

      A pair of customers squeezed past on their way out. Del shifted his chair. “Tan sandals.”

      Puzzled at the change in conversation, she glanced up. “Excuse me?”

      Tiny laugh lines crinkled the corners of his eyes. “On your feet. You claimed you haven’t seen them lately, so I thought I’d bring you up to date.”

      He had a wonderful smile, she thought. He didn’t flash it all that often, but when he did it added a hint of boyish charm to the cowboy toughness of his face. “Thanks,” she said.

      “How did you manage to paint your toenails pink?”

      “Would you believe a mirror and a brush with a very long handle?” She moved her hand from her stomach to the small of her back. The ache that had started building there this morning was getting worse—she must have strained a muscle somehow. “I could have skipped the polish, though. If the fashion police haven’t brought me in by now for this tent I’m wearing, I doubt if they’ll notice my toes. Heck, I can’t even see them.” She winced.

      His gaze sharpened. “What’s wrong?”

      “Nothing. I’m fine.”

      “Maggie…”

      “Really, Del. Aches and twinges are perfectly normal when a person’s carrying around this kind of weight. Want your usual?”

      “I’ll settle for a coffee.” He glanced around. “The place isn’t that busy yet. Why don’t you take a break?”

      “Can’t. Laszlo will fry me and put me in a burger.”

      “I heard that!” the cook called.

      She lowered her voice to a stage whisper. “He hates it when I give away his secret recipes.”

      “How bad is the twinge in your back?” Del persisted.

      “On a scale of pinprick to root canal, it’s a stubbed toe. Relax,” she said, lifting her arm to tuck her pencil behind her ear. “I’m healthy as a—” She sucked in her breath. The pencil dropped to the floor. “Oh!”

      “Maggie? What is it?”

      “My back,” she said through her teeth. The pain took her by surprise, clutching at her spine and radiating to her belly.

      Del surged to his feet and came around the table. “You’d better sit down,” he said, taking her arm.

      She ignored the suggestion but she did lean into his support as the wave of agony gradually ebbed. Shaken, she exhaled hard and gave him a wobbly smile. “No, I’m fine. It’s gone now.”

      Del looked carefully into her face. He didn’t release his hold on her arm. Instead he guided her to the nearest chair and gently helped her to sit. “What’s your doctor’s number, Maggie?”

      “Please don’t make a big deal out of this,” she said, attempting to get up. “I shouldn’t have painted my toenails, that’s all.”

      Del СКАЧАТЬ