Читать книгу The Baby Truce - Jeannie Watt - Страница 11

THE DOCTOR WAS RUNNING LATE BY almost an hour, and if he didn’t hurry, Reggie was going to have to abandon ship in order to make a meeting with a prospective client. A bride.

Several other women sat in the waiting room with her, most very pregnant, and she studied them out the corner of her eye while pretending to read. What did it feel like to no longer have a waist? Or in some cases ankles? Oh, she hoped she got to keep her ankles.

How did seat belts work when one didn’t have a lap?

Was she going to have to get a special order chef’s jacket? Hers was roomy, but judging by the slender-except-for-her-belly woman who was just called from the waiting area by a nurse with a chart in her hand, not roomy enough. Maybe Reggie could wear Justin’s jacket? Not working wasn’t an option. Working kept her sane. It also kept the business afloat and money in the bank.

Her heart gave a mighty thud when her name was called and she followed the nurse to the room where she was weighed and her blood pressure taken.

“First pregnancy?” the nurse asked.

“Yes.” Reggie stared at the opposite wall, at the collage of happy babies.

“We’ll have to run a blood panel,” she said briskly.

Reggie automatically pushed up her sleeve to expose the veins in her arm. “How often will I have appointments?”

“First we have to make certain you’re really pregnant.”

Her heart skipped a beat. “I took three pregnancy tests.”

“We’ll just run a blood test anyway,” the nurse said.

What if she wasn’t pregnant? What if she’d been so afraid of becoming pregnant, of tying herself to Tom, that she just showed the symptoms?

“Do you get many false positives?”

“Not with three positive home tests, but we have to follow procedure.” The woman slipped the needle into Reggie’s vein, filled first one vial, then another. “Was this an unplanned pregnancy?” she asked as she labeled the small containers.

“You could say that.”

“Do you want to make an appointment to speak with our wellness counselor?” Reggie frowned.

“About the pregnancy.” The nurse popped the needle into the sharps container. “Unplanned pregnancies cause stress. Especially if the mother is going through it alone.”

Did she have the look of someone going through her pregnancy alone?

“I want the baby,” Reggie said coolly, not taking a particular shine to this nurse. “I just hadn’t planned to become pregnant. It happens.”

“Boy, does it,” the nurse muttered. She smiled at Reggie, though. “I didn’t mean to offend. If a woman isn’t comfortable with her pregnancy, she needs to confront the issues both for her health and the health of the child. I offer the service to all mothers-to-be.”

Reggie didn’t believe her. Or maybe she was just nervous and cranky.

The doctor was a very likable, if somewhat harried man. He did a quick exam, pronounced Reggie fit to have children without a C-section, and prescribed vitamins. “Now, do you have any questions?”

“About five hundred,” Reggie said.

He laughed. “I’ll answer what I can and point you to some excellent online sources for the questions that pop into your head as soon as you leave.”

Reggie left the office with a handful of literature and web addresses, a prescription for vitamins and a November due date.

“Well?” Eden said, looking up from the manicotti she was filling when Reggie walked into the kitchen.

“Everything’s good.”

“No pictures? No boy or girl?”

“Not yet. Several more weeks before they can tell.”

“Hope it’s a girl,” Eden said.

Obviously the aunt was settling into this pregnancy better than the mother.

PATTY PASSED HER SECOND interview with flying colors, because Justin was more than happy to rein in the irreverence if they could get some additional help. She started work the day after Reggie’s doctor’s appointment, bustling in fifteen minutes early and then carefully stowing her purse in the locker assigned her. She’d brought a chef’s jacket that was so stiff it seemed to creak when she put it on. Once it was buttoned to the top, she rolled her shoulders and asked, “Where do I begin?”

“Inventory,” Reggie said, leading the way to the dry storage area.

Patty pulled a small spiral book and pencil out of her pocket. “Do you mind if I take notes?”

“Not at all,” Reggie said. “Although honestly, the procedure isn’t that complex.”

“Everyone has their own way of doing things.”

Indeed. Counting could be tricky. But Reggie reminded herself that the woman had primarily worked in hospital and care facility kitchens. There were probably set procedures for everything.

Once she and Patty were in front of the open stainless steel shelving, she said, “It’s important that we have emergency stock and an adequate supply of basic ingredients, but having too much of anything is a waste of money that could be earning interest.”

Patty nodded sagely and made a notation in her book.

“I have a master list here…” She went through her procedure, letting Patty do the actual inventory. “Justin’s cake supplies are on a different sheet, and vary according to what he needs for the week. I take care of the orders, but he fills out this list.” Reggie was just flipping to it on the clipboard when the phone rang.

“When you’re done here, move on to the cooler. The sheet is on the very bottom of the stack.”

“Will do.” Patty didn’t salute, but Reggie had the feeling she wanted to. Please relax, she wanted to say.

The call was from Eden. She was leaving the site for the Italian dinner party they were giving that evening and heading for the linen supplier. She’d discovered that the order was short. “Be sure you make a notation on the invoice,” she said. “How’re you feeling?”

“Like I’m tired of you asking that every morning.”

“Better?”

“Good enough.”

It had been only two weeks since Reggie had found out she was pregnant, but her body had definitely become different. Not her own. It was acting on autopilot, responding to ancient signals from deep within her DNA. She only wished those signals would stop making her feel queasy because she wanted the Italian dinner, not to mention the bridal shower the day after tomorrow, to be perfect. Or if not perfect, to at least give that impression.

Funny how the success or failure of Tremont Catering had taken on a whole new significance since discovering she was pregnant. Yes, she’d been driven to make the business a success, but it had been because she loved to cook and cater. Because she enjoyed the challenge and thrill of running her own company and enjoyed working with her brother and sister.

Now success was a matter of necessity, because she was going to have a child to support.

As soon as Patty finished the inventory, Reggie put her to work chopping veg for the salad and vegetarian courses for that evening’s dinner. Reggie waved at the mail lady from the kitchen, as the woman came and went, and minutes later Justin walked through the front door. Reggie kept her eyes on her knife as she sliced mushrooms, but she heard her brother sorting through the mail, envelopes hitting the bottom of the metal trash can every few seconds, then silence.

He was yawning as he walked in, and Reggie was about to say something along the lines of how much sleep did you get last night, despite her intentions not to, when he held up an envelope with a distinct blue-and-green design.

Reggie almost dropped her rolling pin. “Is that…”

“I hope it’s not bad news,” Patty said.

“Bad news doesn’t come in a blue-and-green envelope, Patty.” The prep cook turned a little pink at Justin’s tone.

“Are we in?” Reggie asked, stunned. The deadline for acceptance into Reno Cuisine had passed two weeks ago—just about the time she’d discovered she was pregnant, and hadn’t given two hoots about a catering competition. Not even a big one.

Justin pulled the contract and a letter out of the envelope and handed them to her. “We’re in. Sutter’s Catering had to drop out and we’re first on the waiting list.”

“I’ll write the check and get it in the mail today,” Reggie said, skimming the letter. This was good. Really good. Now to make a decent showing. Thank heavens for Patty. “How much time do I have? Do we have to notarize the contract?”

“They need word by the end of the week. No notarization.” Justin had obviously read every word before coming in.

“Maybe I’ll drop it by their office on the way home.” Reggie looked up at him.

“Good plan.”

“The Reno Cuisine?” Patty beamed. “How exciting.”

“You have no idea,” Reggie said. Tremont was doing well, but competition was tough in Reno, and they needed every edge they could get. This would help establish them.

“Exciting and hopefully lucrative.” Justin smiled at the prep cook and again she went pink, even though she was old enough to be his mother.

“Patty,” he added, “you might just be our good luck charm.”

TOM HAD FINISHED FUNNELING HIS frustrations into a massive apartment sterilization project and was packing laundry into bags for his weekly trip to the cleaners when the phone rang.

“Tom Gerard,” he answered as he cinched a bag shut.

“Mr. Gerard? This is Debra Banks from the Letterbridge Hotel Corporation.”

Tom dropped the laundry bag on the sofa and stood up straighter. Finally. He’d turned down an offer from them two years ago, but now he wasn’t turning down anything. Maybe they knew that.

“Would you be interested in flying to our corporate office in Seattle for a meeting and interview with our culinary vision team?”

“Yes, I would,” Tom replied without hesitation. “When?”

Many fine chefs worked for hotels. It was exactly the kind of corporate, don’t-color-outside-the-lines environment that had gotten Tom in trouble in the past, but things had changed since he’d found out Reggie was pregnant. He was going to have to learn how to survive in a corporate environment. There weren’t many other options. He could give them a year or two, then try to move into a more creative kitchen.

“I know it’s short notice, but next week, if you can work it into your schedule.”

“I, uh, think I can do that.”

Ms. Banks went on to describe exactly what they were looking for—three chefs to head operations in three different areas of the country. They had a short list of four chefs for each region. “Does that sound like something that would interest you?”

It sounded like an answer to a prayer.

“I’ll email you the meeting, flight and hotel information. Please call if you have any questions or conflicts at all with the time.”

“Sure thing. Thanks.”

“No. Thank you. I certainly hope you become part of the Letterbridge Hotel team.”

So did Tom.

REGGIE GOT IN TO BED AT NINE, still making plans for Reno Cuisine. She and Eden had made some preliminary decisions that afternoon, decided on a French bistro theme, since it hadn’t been well represented in the last competition—unlike luau and garden party. They had a ton of work ahead of them and Reggie was supremely grateful. She wanted her plate full. Loaded to the brim. Anything to keep her from obsessing full time over how to handle the baby situation. So far, she’d had no word back from Tom.

But she’d hung up on him. Maybe that was that.

She knew it wasn’t.

Mims was curled up on her chest and she was just nodding off—finally—when her cell phone rang, startling her awake. “Great,” she muttered, automatically snapping on the beside lamp before she answered.

“Reggie.” Speak of the devil… There was no mistaking Tom’s voice. “I’m flying to Seattle and routed the flight through Reno. I’d like to see you.”

“When?” Realizing she was holding the phone in a death grip, she forced herself to relax her fingers.

“Day after tomorrow.”

Damn. Kitchen prep and nothing else. She was so tempted to lie and say she was booked, just to buy some time, but it would only put off the inevitable. Better to man up, get this first difficult meeting over with.

“Yes. I can see you then,” she grumbled.

“You don’t need to sound so thrilled about it.”

Reggie ignored her irritation. Anger would get her exactly nowhere with Tom. He dealt with high emotions every day in the kitchen. A master. “Will you have enough time between flights to go in and out of security?” she asked politely.

“I’ll take a later flight if I have to.”

Oh, joy. “All right. Any idea what time?”

“Around noon as things stand now.”

“I’ll meet you at the airport. McDonalds. It’s on the lower level.”

There was a moment of silence, then Tom said, “McDonalds it is.”

REGGIE TOLD EDEN AND JUSTIN about her imminent meeting with Tom the next morning in the kitchen as they drank the lattes Justin had bought.

“Maybe I should go with you,” Eden suggested.

Reggie appreciated what her sister was trying to do, but she’d gotten herself into the situation and she’d take care of it on her own.

“No need,” she said. “We’re going to start a dialogue. Nothing more.” Because she wasn’t ready for anything more. Just a civil meeting with the father of her child. In a public place.

Damn, but she was nervous.

Justin said nothing as he drank his coffee. Which wasn’t like him. And he wasn’t meeting Reggie’s eyes, which in the old days meant he either had or was planning to pull a fast one. Nowadays it meant he had something to say and was biding his time.

Reggie finished her drink and tossed the paper cup into the trash. “Are you meeting with the birthday people this morning?” she asked Eden.

“They’re coming here to sign the contract and finalize the menu. Which means I’d better get it printed out.”

She headed to the office and Reggie turned to face her brother. “What?” she said softly, perplexed by his attitude.

“I’m concerned,” he said flatly. “About you. And the kid.” He crumpled his cup in one hand. “You’ve spent so much of your life raising us, and now you’re going to be raising a kid you didn’t expect to have. Probably without a father around.”

Without a father around.

They’d basically grown up without one around and it had left a mark. Especially on Justin, who’d idolized their dad until he’d let him down one time too many. Hero worship had turned to bitterness.

And now Reggie was about to reenact the crime.

She wanted to say, “The kid will have a great uncle, though,” but she didn’t wish to put that burden on Justin.

“We’ll do all right,” she stated.

He had more to say. She could see it, but he was holding back. “If you change your mind about having one of us come with you, pick me. Okay?”

Reggie reached up and patted her brother’s cheek, then smiled. “First on the list.”

REGGIE ARRIVED AT THE AIRPORT McDonalds early because she wanted to make sure the smell of food wasn’t going to trigger any bouts of nausea. So far, so good.

She chose a table close to the edge of the seating area, where she could watch the escalator, see Tom before he saw her.

She didn’t have long to wait. Less than fifteen minutes after she sat down, he came down the escalator. Tall, dark, striking. Two women traveling up on the opposite side gave him second glances, but he had zeroed in on her.

Reggie swallowed.

This is Tom. Just…Tom.

But they had so much to hash out, and were undoubtedly coming at it from two different angles. Tom was probably wondering what this would do to his career, and Reggie was wondering what his career would do to the kid.

“No bag?” Reggie said before he could speak. She wanted to take control. Now. Always.

Good luck to her.

“I checked it.”

“So if you take a later flight—”

“It’ll be waiting for me. Do you want something?” he asked, gesturing at the counter.

“I already had orange juice.”

“Been here long?” he asked, looking at the table, empty except for her napkin. The napkin was to give her something to do with her hands.

“Not really.”

Tom sat opposite her and for a moment they regarded each other coolly. Warily.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

Distraught. Confused. Nervous.

“A little sick in the morning, but not as bad as last week.” There was no way she was going to pour her soul out to him, count on him to make things better, help her through this.

“Me, too,” Tom said. Reggie smiled. Or tried to. “We have some stuff to work out,” he added softly. But Reggie heard that underlying steel she remembered so well.

“Yes.”

“I have no idea where or how to begin.”

Reggie reached for the napkin. “You don’t have to do anything.”

“I remember that part from our phone conversation.”

She didn’t answer immediately, not wanting to make any more errors at this point in the game. “What exactly do you see as your role here?”

“Father?”

Reggie briefly twisted the napkin between her fingers, then realized what she was doing and made herself stop. “How much contact do you want with the baby?”

“Jumping right into it, aren’t you?”

“Isn’t that why you’re here?”

Tom put both his palms on the table in front of him and Reggie focused on his long, strong fingers, with the small nicks and scars from past culinary adventures. He had wonderful hands. There was a lot about him she’d found wonderful…and yet something had prevented him from fully giving himself to her. And that had made it possible for him to walk away from her—from their plans—pretty much devastating her.

“I’m here as a first step only.”

“Agreed,” Reggie said. “We can’t arrange custody until the baby is born, but I’d like to understand our roles beforehand.”

Tom nodded, lightly moving the tips of his fingers over the tabletop.

“Do you want custody?”

He looked up at her point-blank question, his dark eyes unreadable. “That’s what I’m here to figure out.”

“If you have any doubts about it…err on the side of caution,” Reggie said.

He cocked his head, his eyebrows moving together. “Meaning?”

“A kid needs a steady father, Tom. I know that because I didn’t have a steady father.”

“What makes you think I wouldn’t be steady?”

Reggie gave a short laugh, crumpling the napkin. “What makes me think you would be?” She hadn’t meant to be cruel, but it was oh so true. He had no record of steadiness, and she was justified in pointing that out.

His expression darkened, the first sign that his temper was taking over. Reggie had never been intimidated by his moods, and when they had argued in the past, she’d merely stuck to her guns and eventually the storm would peter out. But sticking to her guns took time, and today she didn’t have time.

“I’m sorry, Tom. That was uncalled for.”

“But somehow it seemed to come from the gut,” he said.

Reggie leaned back in her chair and studied his face. With the exception of the longer hair and the beard, which was little more than a neatly trimmed five o’clock shadow, he looked almost the same as he had seven years ago. But he wasn’t. Her Tom was there—she’d seen glimpses of him the night they’d slept together—but he was buried under a heavy layer of Chef Tom Gerard. The dog-eat-dog world he had embraced had changed him.

But why had he chosen it over her? Why couldn’t he have stayed with her?

“Maybe it did,” she allowed. She put a hand against her flat abdomen. “I’m concerned about the baby.”

“And I’m your biggest concern.”

“In a way, yes.”

“Why? This has got to be as life altering for you as it is for me.”

She had a feeling he knew exactly what she was going to say. That he wanted her to say it so he could contradict it. Fine.

She leaned forward again. “I’ll spell it out, Tom. Once upon a time I loved you. We were supposed to start a catering business. Papers were signed. We had a plan.”

His eyes flashed with sudden temper. “It wasn’t carved in stone.”

“Obviously,” Reggie replied, unfazed. “Since you took off for the north of Spain for a job that had no future.”

“It made one hell of a future for me.”

“Yes, it did,” she conceded. He’d taken a gamble and it had paid off. And, since he had such a valid point, she took the low road. “But which of us is still employed?”

“I will be employed,” he said coldly. “I don’t think Letterbridge is flying me across the country on a whim.”

“Okay…and forgive me for being blunt,” Reggie said, tossing the crumpled napkin past him into the trash, “which one of us will stay employed?”

He smiled. “Which one of us has had the more successful career?” he asked with exaggerated politeness.

“I rather like mine. At least I know I’ll be bringing home a paycheck. It may not be as big as yours, but it’s steady.”

Tom hooked an elbow over his chair back. “You’re still angry about me leaving,” he said as if making a major deduction.

Brilliant, Tom. “Believe it or not, it stung when you chose a shot in the dark over me and a fairly sure thing.”

“You could have come with me. Instead you gave me that fricking ultimatum.”

“Which you took.”

“It didn’t have to be all or nothing. We could have worked something out.”

“Look who’s talking, Mr. Compromise. I don’t think so. It’s all or nothing for you. If everything isn’t just so in your kitchen, you throw a fit. And now you’ve gone public with those fits.”

“I don’t throw fits!” Tom’s voice rose and then he clamped his mouth shut as several people at nearby tables looked his way.

“Tizzies?” Reggie asked innocently, not above driving a point home.

His neck corded as he fought to bring his temper under control. Finally he said in a low voice, “My tizzies aside, here’s what it comes down to.” He stabbed the table with his finger. “You could have come with me to Spain. The catering business had barely started. You wouldn’t because I had deviated from The Plan.”

“I didn’t come because you didn’t ask me.”

“Yes, I did.”

Reggie jutted her chin out. “No, you didn’t.”

Sweat broke out on her forehead, always a precursor to a surge of nausea, but she was not going to give in to it. Not in front of Tom.

Unfortunately, as totally pissed as he was, he noticed. “Are you all right?”

“Just a little queasy.”

“Are you taking care of yourself?” he demanded.

“Yes.” She got to her feet, gathered her purse, holding the oversize bag in front of her stomach like a shield. “I want to come to an understanding about the baby, Tom, but obviously this is not the time or place.”

“I agree,” he said with an obvious effort to control himself. “It seems as though we have some other issues to sift through first.”

Issues Reggie hadn’t expected to come screaming out of her so rapidly. But she should have known better.

She just hoped he hadn’t gotten his back up. The old Tom would have cooled off fast, seen the argument for what it was—a release of pent-up frustrations and unresolved anger. This new Tom…she wasn’t so sure what he was going to do.

“Yes. Maybe we can meet again—” she glanced around “—in a different environment.”

He gave her a you-picked-it-I-didn’t raise of an eyebrow, but simply nodded.

“Good luck on the interview.”

He stood. “I don’t need luck. I’m getting this job, and when I do, we’ll discuss our baby.”

“Call me when you get that job, Tom.” Reggie started across the lobby without a backward glance, thankful that the nausea was rapidly abating so she wouldn’t embarrass herself in the terminal.

She didn’t realize how rigidly she’d been holding herself until she reached the automatic doors. Her shoulders were aching. She rolled them as she started across the street for the parking garage, willing her muscles to relax.

Not the meeting she’d imagined.

She hoped she could repair the damage before it was too late.

THE AUTOMATIC DOORS CLOSED behind Reggie before Tom started back to the escalator. So much for catching a later flight. Going after Reggie would do no good. He’d have to nail this job and show her that, regardless of what he might have done seven years ago, he was more than capable of being “steady.” He had no idea exactly what his role would be, but his father had always been there for him, even if it had been on the other end of a phone line, and Tom would be there for his kid.

And suddenly it was important to him to prove that he wasn’t some maniac who threw fits in public—although every time he’d had a blowup, he’d been more than justified.

He got back into the security line, which was ridiculously short compared to the one in LaGuardia on the first leg of his flight. He pulled his crumpled boarding pass for the next leg out of his jacket pocket.

And what the hell was that about not asking her to go to Spain? Of course he’d wanted her to go. But she’d stuck with The Plan.

At the time he’d been stunned by her choice…?.

In a matter of fifteen minutes he and his belongings had been inspected, prodded and okayed, and Tom was seated alone in the one bar in the concourse, going over his interview notes. This deal with Reggie, the depth of her anger at him, was upsetting, but he would figure out how to handle it after he got this job. One challenge at a time. Surmount one, move on to the next.

Despite all the shit that had come his way, he’d never interviewed for a job and not gotten an offer. The only thing that had tripped him up over the past several weeks had been in not landing the interview. Well, he had one now and he was going to ace this sucker.

He was back.