MacKenzie Fire(6)

Andie’s laughing so hard she can barely get the words out. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re the one who brought up hamsters. What are you talking about?” I’m missing out on the joke once again. I hate when that happens.

“I said I can see your hamster. The one running on the treadmill in your head powering your brain. He’s about to pass out from asphyxiation brought on by acute overstimulation, Candice. Stop scheming and planning.”

How dare she figure out what I’m thinking! So rude! My most innocent expression comes in to save the day. Up go the eyebrows and eyelids, making my eyeballs as wide as possible. “What on earth are you talking about? I’m not scheming. I never scheme.”

“What am I missing?” Maeve asks, looking first at Andie and then me.

Andie points at me. “Look at that expression on her face. Memorize it. Whenever you see it, run. Grab the fire extinguisher. That’s her scheming look. Bad things happen when the hamster runs out of breath.”

I frown, playing it off. I cannot believe she’s reading me like that. And there ain’t no hamster running this super computer, either. More like a panther or a leopard. I’m going to have to Google spying techniques so I can hide my intentions better. At this rate, they’ll know my deepest secrets by Tuesday.

“She’s crazy,” I say, my tone casual. She’s the nutty one, not me. “I never scheme. I’m a rational, adult woman, who just lives her life and lets other people live theirs.” I snort for emphasis. “As if.”

“So now we know she was planning on interfering in someone’s life.” Andie nods knowingly at Maeve. “I can read her like a book.”

“That’s impressive,” Maeve says, still smiling. “Who’s life will it be, I wonder?”

I put my mug down and hold up my hand. “Okay, okay, joke’s over. Ha, ha, very funny.” I place my palm flat on the table and lean in a little. I look like an anchorwoman getting ready to report the most amazing, juiciest news of the year. “Can we please get back to the subject of this baby thing? Because I’m a little stressed if you must know the truth.”

There. That’ll do it. Andie has baby fever, and I know once I get her tractor beam locked on this subject it’ll take nothing short of C-4 plastic explosives to get her off. Talk about scheming. She has no idea. I can control her mind without her even realizing it. I’m dangerous like that. She should fear me more than she does.

Andie leans over her mug with both hands wrapped around it. She grins like a fool. “Yes, let’s do that. Let’s talk about babies.”

See? Told ya.

Maeve stands. “I’d love to, but I have some warm chicken buns that need to be relieved of their offerings. I’ll catch up on the baby talk later.” She walks out onto the back porch pulling the door closed behind her before I can respond.

I look over at Andie. “Please don’t tell me she’s going to touch chicken poop.”

Andie’s face is totally impassive. “Nope.”

“Phew. That’s a relief.” I lift my mug to my lips. The coffee is awful but at least it’s warm, and Maeve just let in a big woof of cold air. The goosebumps on my legs are making stubble grow out instantaneously.

“She is going to touch their eggs, though.”

I pause before drinking, slowly lowering my mug to the table. Suddenly backwoods cappuccino doesn’t sound as appetizing as it once did. “Then she is going to touch their poop.”

She laughs, sounding confused. “How so?” She takes a sip of her drink as she waits to be educated by me.

I cringe. “Ew, Andie. Because the eggs come from their butts, of course.”

Andie laughs so hard she spits coffee out at me. Then she bends over, riding the chair side-saddle since her belly is so big she can’t fit going forward. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” She wipes tears away. “Oh, man, Candice, I sure have missed you.”

I frown at her obvious ignorance of all things chicken. “I missed you too. But why are you laughing over simple scientific facts? Google is your friend, you know, Andie. You really shouldn’t neglect your Googling.”





Chapter Three





MACK’S ROOM IS SPARSE, WHICH doesn’t surprise me one bit. He’s a no nonsense kind of guy. Putting my clothes away only takes a short time, and twenty minutes in the bathroom puts my hair and face to rights. Now I can present myself to the rest of Baker City and not look like a granola hippy fresh off a cow pie commune. A spritz of my favorite perfume makes me feel almost human again.

“Phew. Easy does it,” says Ian as he walks past the bathroom, waving his hand in front of his nose. I can see his stupid face reflected in the mirror.

“I’ll have you know that this perfume costs over a hundred dollars an ounce, and it’s from France.” I put the silver cap back on it and look at the small, round bottle, wondering if I should doubt myself. Pfft. Right. What does he know? He’s a total bumpkin. His idea of a delicious scent is probably fermented pig turds.

His voice fades as he moves down the hall. “I’ll have you know that you’d’ve been better off spending your money on plain old soap.”

My jaw drops open as he disappears into his room. How dare he insult my signature scent! I spent years waiting for the perfect one to come my way, and I happen to know for a fact that men love it. I have them following me around like puppies back home with just one whiff. This stuff is pure sex appeal captured in a tiny bottle.