Cover

The Pregnancy Test

The Pregnancy Test

Erin McCarthy

KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

For Meaghan and Connor,

my pride and my joy

The Pregnancy Test

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Prologue

“Oh, honey, su-gah, I see sweet things ahead for you.” “Really?” Mandy Keeling found there was something really fascinating about listening to the predictions of a cross-dressing psychic wearing designer shoes.

Especially since Beckwith Tripp had so far predicted a long life, an increase in personal assets, and sweet things for her. Of course, that could mean anything from receiving a cute greeting card to inheriting a candy shop from a previously unknown ancient aunt.

“But what do you mean?” Mandy knew it was blather, hogwash, coddle, but that didn’t stop her from leaning across the coffee table as Beckwith stroked her palm between his huge hands. There were worse ways to spend an utterly miserable February day in Greenwich Village with her three roommates.

In fact, it was highly entertaining.

“That’s not very specific,” Allison Parker said, skepticism dripping in her voice. “I could tell your fortune, Mandy, if all you’re looking for is vague assurances. Or better yet, I’ll run down to Hunan’s and buy you a bunch of fortune cookies.”

Beckwith, built like a professional wrestler, and wearing a vintage Chanel suit, shrugged a broad shoulder. “I’m like Ripley, honey. Believe it or not. Doesn’t matter to me.”

What was unbelievable was that he wore that outfit better than Mandy ever could. She always had something of an absentminded, windblown look and was a far cry from elegant, as her mother had told her often enough. Yet Beckwith looked like Jackie O on hormone therapy. “Can you give me more details, Beckwith?”

“I can be as specific as you want. You’re British, born and raised.”

Allison snorted. “Gee, what gave it away? Not the accent or anything.”

Jamie Peters, who believed in anything involving crystals, karma, or the supernatural, and who had brought Beckwith to their apartment, shushed Allison.

Mandy shifted on the floor, the seam of her jeans digging into her calf, and decided it didn’t really matter if Beckwith was a few billiard balls shy of a game. There was something exciting and amusing and hopeful in hearing about her future, however vague. At twenty-six, she had been confronted lately with the rather alarming feeling that she had frittered away her twenties, living off her parents’ money and coasting breezily through each day.

It was time for a change, she knew that, but up to this point she had been avoiding giving it any serious thought. Beckwith’s appearance was fortuitous, in that maybe his predictions could give her a push in the right direction.