Читать книгу The Pregnancy Surprise - Kara Lennox - Страница 8

Sara knew she’d blown it. She’d finally engaged Reece in a conversation—a real conversation, not just Would you like more coffee? or Thanks for breakfast.

But she’d gotten her back up because he’d asked her about her future, and she had a reflexive defense mechanism built in about that. Every time she visited her parents, they hammered her about how she chose to live her life.

Reece obviously disapproved of her, too. When he’d said he worried about her she’d softened, but it was too late—her reaction had sent him right back into strong-and-silent mode.

She wondered what to do next. She’d never been timid where men were concerned, and if she saw one she liked, she let him know, and she persisted until she found out whether there was any interest in her.

The jury was still out with Reece. She hadn’t flirted openly with him, since Miss Greer would not have approved of her hitting on guests. Yet she felt a certain chemistry at work whenever they were in the same room.

Once they reached the hospital, Sara sat in Miss Greer’s treatment room while Reece took care of the paperwork. He stuck his head in the door once to see how their patient was doing, but then he disappeared again.

Maybe he didn’t like being around sick people. But when he returned a short time later with a doctor in tow, insisting that he take a look at Miss Greer now, she realized he was just doing his man thing—solving problems, making things happen. She had tried to snag a doctor in the hallway—twice—but they’d blown her off. She was doubly glad she’d insisted on Reece coming to the hospital, or Miss Greer might have waited in the treatment room being systematically ignored till the cows came home.

“We need to get some X-rays,” the young doctor declared. “You two can wait out front.”

Reece wasn’t good at waiting, she soon discovered. He spent a lot of time outside the hospital’s glass doors, pacing and talking on his cell phone. He looked at his watch a lot.

Sara didn’t even wear a watch. If she needed to know the time, she could look at her cell phone—if it was charged.

At one point Reece disappeared, but when he came back he brought her an apple and a cup of coffee from the cafeteria. A peace offering, perhaps? Or maybe he just didn’t want her passing out from hunger.

Finally a nurse called them back. Miss Greer had been returned to her treatment room, looking none too happy. A doctor was waiting for them—a different one.

“Your grandmother’s hip is broken,” he said matter-of-factly. “The joint was in bad shape to begin with. If she wants to walk again, we’ll have to replace the hip.”

“She’s not our—” Sara started to say, but Reece nudged her with his elbow. She cleared her throat. “Then of course she should have the surgery. Right, Grandma?”

“I told the doctor just to give me some crutches and let me go home,” Miss Greer grumbled, “but he doesn’t listen.”

“How long will she be in the hospital?” Reece asked.

“Given her age, at least a few days. But once she’s home, she’ll need a lot of help. We’ll assign a home-health aide and a physical therapist, but she still can’t stay alone—not for at least a month.”

“She has me,” Sara said. “I live with her.”

“I can help, too,” Reece said.

“Good. Then you want to proceed with the surgery?”

“Excuse me, Doctor,” Miss Greer said, “it’s my hip that’s broken, not my brain. Stop talking like I can’t hear you.”

Sara bit her lip. It was refreshing to hear her landlady giving someone besides her an earful, for a change. “Grandma, you want the surgery, right?”

“No, but if there’s no other way to get better, I guess I’ll have to do it.” She looked at her own watch. “Oh, Holy Ghost, the guests will be arriving any minute and no one is there to greet them.”

“They’ll let themselves in,” Sara said reassuringly.

An orderly came to transfer Miss Greer to a room, leaving Sara and Reece standing alone in the hallway. She looked at him, eyes full of worry. “Why don’t you go back to the Sunsetter? I want to stay for a while longer and make sure she’s taken care of.”

“How will you get home?”

She shrugged. “Oh, I’ll find a way, I always do.”

Reece could just imagine. Would she hitchhike? Take a bus? “What if I come back in a while to get you?”

“That’s a lot of driving.”

“It’s only forty minutes. I don’t mind.” He really didn’t mind. The woman was exciting to be around, even if she did keep him in a constant state of semi-arousal. Anyway, what else did he have to do?

He had already set up the bookkeeping for Remington Charters, the business he and his cousins had inherited from their uncle. He could have gone home a week ago, and really he should have. But he’d been dragging his feet, pretending there was more work to do, and not quite sure why. For the first time in his life he wasn’t eager to return to his office and the numbers he loved.

Numbers were reliable. He understood them. He could rely on them to behave. Beautiful, wild, chestnut-haired women, on the other hand, were a complete mystery to him.

But he now realized Sara was at least part of the reason he hadn’t rushed home to his job, although she clearly was a most unsuitable woman for him.

Relationships were all about compatibility. Having the same interests, the same values. The fact that she got his juices flowing simply wasn’t enough.

“Well, if you really don’t mind driving all that way,” Sara said, “I’d appreciate it. Miss Greer will rest easier knowing someone is looking after the guests.”

“What rooms should I put them in?” Reece asked.

“The Silversteins always like the Orchid Room…no, wait, maybe that’s the Canfields who like to stay there. They’re coming next week…or the week after. But for sure, put the Taylors in the Tea Rose…or maybe it’s the Lilac Room.” She waved a dismissive hand. “It’s in the calendar at the front desk.”

Miss Greer wasn’t kidding about Sara being bad with the details. She was intelligent and well-read. He’d often seen her tucked into the window seat in the side parlor, reading something really dense like Proust or Hemingway.

Yet she was a disaster when it came to numbers and details. Why was that?

“I should go,” Reece said. “I’ll come back around eight o’clock. We can grab a bite afterward, if you want to.” He held his breath. Had he actually just invited Sara Kaufman to have dinner with him?

She surprised him with a warm smile. “I’d like that. Ooh, I heard about this great restaurant not too far from here. I’ve been dying to try it.”

“Okay, sounds good.” And it saved him the agony of coming up with some place to take her that she would enjoy.

SARA WAS WAITING in front of the hospital when Reece pulled up precisely at eight o’clock. She waved and trotted toward the car, jumping into the passenger seat. The car suddenly seemed a more cheerful place, filled with her colors and the scents of vanilla and cinnamon that swirled around her wherever she went.

She looked a little tired, but as usual she was smiling. “Right on time.”

“I hate being late.” Besides, he was hungry. He usually ate dinner early, went to bed early, woke up early. He liked getting to the office before anyone else, when he could really concentrate in the quiet. Just him and the numbers.

“Did you get the guests checked in?” Sara asked.

He nodded. “When I got back I found the Silversteins roaming about the living room a little puzzled by the fact no one was there to greet them. But when I explained about Miss Greer’s accident, they were completely understanding. The other two couples arrived right after. I got them all settled into their rooms.”

Then, because he’d promised Miss Greer, he’d listened to messages, returned phone calls and taken three reservations. Business was certainly heating up as summer approached.

“How is Miss Greer?” he asked as he pulled away from the curb without any clue where they were going.

“Resting comfortably. She’s scheduled for surgery first thing in the morning. Meanwhile, they gave her some pain meds that worked pretty well, though they made her a little bit loopy.”

“Loopy?” That was hard to imagine.

“She thought she was a little girl, and she spoke in German. Did you know she came over from Germany right after the war?”

“I truthfully don’t know anything about Miss Greer. She’s not exactly chatty.”

“Sometimes when she’s baking, she’ll let things slip.”

“Speaking of baking…” Reece said, “I assume you’ll want to be at the hospital for Miss Greer’s surgery tomorrow.”

“Yes, of course,” Sara said passionately. “Someone has to be here for her. But what does that have to do with baking?”

“What about breakfast?”

“I can grab something here.” Then she gasped. “Oh, my gosh, who’s going to feed the guests?”

Exactly what Reece was wondering.

Sara looked at him, her eyes beseeching. “I don’t suppose you’d—”

“Oh, no. I don’t even know how the coffeemaker works. Where are we going, by the way?”

She looked around, orienting herself. “Turn right at the light. Reece, you have to do breakfast. It’s easy. I’ll get everything ready for you. All you have to do is pull things out of the oven. Then there’s just the easy stuff—orange juice, yogurt, toast—oh, shoot, I need to bake bread, too.” She looked at her watch. “Maybe we shouldn’t do dinner after all.”

Reece was surprised at how disappointed he felt. He wanted to take Sara to dinner. “I’ll help,” he said. “I guess if I don’t actually have to cook, I can handle it. As soon as we’re done with dinner, we’ll go back and I’ll help you all I can to get ready for tomorrow.”

Her smile lit up the whole car. “Great.”

Yeah, great. He wondered if he should refund the Silversteins and the others some of their money. Part of the appeal of a B and B was a fancy, fabulous breakfast. But with Reece in charge, he was afraid it would be distinctly non-fabulous. He would shoot for edible.

“Just so you know, cooking was the one Boy Scout badge I never got. And I made it to Eagle Scout.”

“You were a Boy Scout? That’s so cute.”

Cute? He didn’t want Sara to think of him as “cute.” But he supposed “hot and studly” was out of the question.

“Sara, where are we going again?”

She looked around. “Oh, shoot. I forgot to tell you to turn at the last light.”

“No problem.” Reece made a U-turn. “So where is it?”

“I’m not sure of the exact address, but I think I know how to get there.”

“And what’s this place called?”

“I don’t remember, exactly. But I think it’s an Indian place. Or maybe Pakistani. Maybe there’s an elephant on the sign.”

Pakistani food? No, thanks. Despite the fact New York had ethnic restaurants on every corner, he was a meat-and-potatoes man. Spicy, foreign food had never done anything but give him heartburn. He didn’t even like pepperoni on his pizza.

Well, maybe he could get a hamburger. Few restaurants would refuse to cook a hamburger.

“I think you turn left at this next light,” Sara said uncertainly.

“You think?”

“It’s around here somewhere, don’t worry.”

Easy for her to say, but he hated not knowing where he was. It would never occur to him to wander around until he found a restaurant that he sort of knew the location of. If he’d been the one planning dinner, he would have found the name and address of the restaurant, programmed the information into his satellite navigation system and followed the directions.

“Want to look at the map?” He pointed to his GPS, which showed their current location.

“Oh, I can’t make heads or tails of maps. It’s easier for me to find things by feel.”

They wandered around for another fifteen minutes, making what Reece knew were increasingly random turns, until it became clear they were hopelessly lost.

“I saw a steak house back that way,” Reece said. “We could try that.”

Sara wrinkled her nose. “Steak is so boring. I know I can find this place. Give me five more minutes.”

In five more minutes he was going to start eating the leather on the dashboard. But he obliged her and, miracle of miracles, after a couple more turns, they found themselves at a strip shopping center in the middle of which was a sign with a red goat on it. The restaurant was called Sofia, and it was neither Indian nor Pakistani, but Bulgarian.

“That’s it!” Sara cried triumphantly. “I told you I could find it.”

“If we drove every street in Corpus Christi, we’d find it by process of elimination,” he grumbled. “Anyway, I don’t see an elephant.”

She punched him lightly on the arm. “Don’t be a spoilsport. We’re here, aren’t we? And that goat looks like an elephant.”

They were somewhere. Which was not cause for celebration as far as Reece was concerned. He would’ve preferred the steak house. Yes, he was set in his ways. But he liked his ways.

“I’m not eating goat meat,” he said, though he did pull into a parking place. He could at least give the place a try, since Sara seemed to be so excited about it.

“You’ve never eaten goat?”

He pulled a face. “Have you?”

“Sure. In Mexico, cabrito is served everywhere. It’s good.”

“It’s goat meat.”

“Well, I’m sure this place serves something you’ll like.”

The restaurant was kind of interesting, he had to admit, reminding him of something you might find in the Village. The décor was dark and red and suitably exotic, and everyone who worked there appeared to be actually from Bulgaria. The mouthwatering smell of grilled meats made Reece’s stomach growl. Maybe this wouldn’t be so horrible after all.

The prices were certainly reasonable. Not that he minded paying premium prices for really good food.

Sara ordered Bulgarian red wine, cold cucumber-yogurt soup, and some kind of pepper stuffed with meat and rice.

“Do you have a hamburger?” Reece asked when the waiter turned to him. “Or a plain beef steak?”

Sara and the waiter wore twin expressions of horror.

“Reece,” Sara said, “you can’t come to a restaurant like this and order hamburger. I’m not sure they even serve beef here. Don’t you want to try something interesting?”

“I don’t really like spicy food,” he said, feeling boring all of a sudden.

“How about this?” Sara asked, pointing to an unpronounceable word on the menu. “It’s supposed to be like a shepherd’s pie.”

That didn’t sound so bad. “Okay.”

Sara smiled, pleased, and Reece suddenly realized he would eat just about anything—even goat—to get that smile.

“Spicy food is an acquired taste,” she said when the waiter had gone. “If you experiment, you’ll find things you like.”

“I might like it, but my ulcer wouldn’t.”

“Ulcer? You have an ulcer?”

“I did two years ago.” It was the most miserable experience of his entire life. “Don’t worry, it’s better now. But I try not to tempt fate by eating weird stuff.”

“Hmm. I’ll bet your ulcer had a lot more to do with your work than your diet.”

His doctor had shared that opinion, but he’d refused to believe it. “Not likely. I love my work.”

“You eat, drink and sleep your work,” she countered. “You always have your cell phone glued to your ear, or your nose against the screen of your laptop. You check your watch constantly.”

He shrugged. “Unfortunately, my department doesn’t run itself.”

Sara’s observations weren’t new to him. He knew he spent more time and energy on his work than was strictly healthy.

He’d thought everything was under control in his department when he’d left almost a month ago for what was supposed to be a two-week leave of absence.

But the job had escalated when ownership of the business came into dispute, and the eventual resolution involved a complex merger of interests among the Remington cousins and Cooper’s soon-to-be wife, Allie Bateman.

Problems had also cropped up at his regular job, problems only he could solve.

“Did I say something wrong?” Sara said. “You suddenly got this look on your face like you swallowed a bug.”

He shook off his dismal thoughts. Tonight, at least, he ought to be able to forget about his job. He forced a smile. “No, you didn’t say anything wrong. You’re right, I do work too hard. But that’s the nature of the beast.”

When their dinners arrived, Reece was pleasantly surprised. His shepherd’s pie was delicious, flavored with a delicate blend of seasonings that weren’t at all hot as he’d anticipated. He did pick out a few suspiciously unidentifiable purple things, but other than that it was fine.

He declined dessert, but Sara ordered a gooey pastry, and he thoroughly enjoyed watching her eat it. She did so with gusto, relishing every bite with her eyes closed.

After watching her lush lips close around the fork a few times, however, he started thinking about things he shouldn’t, and he had to force himself to look away.

“Let me pay it,” Sara said when the check arrived. “I’m the one who ate a lot.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” He snatched the bill from her hand. “Dinner was my idea.” And he knew she didn’t have a lot of disposable income. Although her room and board were taken care of, her various temporary and part-time jobs couldn’t net all that much extra cash.

“Let me at least leave the tip.” She reached into her big straw bag and pulled out what could only be described as a money ball. She peeled a few ones from it and set them on the table, then dropped the rest back into her bag.

“You don’t have to—”

“It’s done.”

He didn’t want to argue with her, but it seemed less like a date if he let her pay even a small amount. Maybe that was her true purpose. Maybe she wanted to subtly let him know that just because they’d shared dinner, he shouldn’t have any expectations.

Of course he didn’t. Sara was as friendly as a puppy, but that didn’t mean she had any designs on—or interest in—his person.

When they returned to the B and B, they went immediately to the kitchen, where Reece got a taste of just how much work a gourmet breakfast required. Sara had made it look easy—almost effortless—in the past as she’d delivered plate after plate to the dining room. But Reece had never ventured into the kitchen during the preparations.

First Sara made up the dough for two loaves of bread.

“It’s quick bread,” she explained, “so it doesn’t require a lot of rising time.” She popped it into the oven, then went to work making up the batter for blueberry and cranberry muffins.

He remembered when he was a kid his mom had occasionally made muffins from a box, but this was altogether more complex, with lots of chopping and folding.

Sara let Reece chop nuts—for a few minutes, anyway.

“Good Lord, you’re going to lop off a finger using a knife that way!” She took the knife away from him. “Here, why don’t you whip some eggs for the frittata.”

“The fri-what?”

It turned out “frittata” was just a fancy name for eggs and fresh vegetables, bacon, cheese and spices. When the eggs were whipped, Sara put Reece to work grating cheese, a job he couldn’t mess up too badly except when he grated his knuckles.

She sliced fresh strawberries and added sugar. By now she was out of jobs he could do, so he just watched. Her hands were small, quick and clever. The knife moved so fast it was a blur. Most interesting was her face. As she worked, she wore an expression of such contentment and serenity he thought she looked like an angel.

A mischievous angel, maybe, with that halo of brown curls around her face and the smudge of flour on her cheek.

“The fruit is in case anyone wants cereal or oatmeal, which they usually don’t.”

“Oatmeal?”

She laughed. “Oh, now surely you can make oatmeal. You eat it every morning.”

He shook his head. “Honestly, I don’t cook. Nothing.”

She sighed. “Don’t offer oatmeal, then.”

When they were finally finished, it was close to midnight. They tidied up the kitchen and turned out the light.

The bulb popped just as Sara switched it off, and they were plunged into darkness.

“Oh, hang it, that lightbulb burns out all the time,” Sara said, her voice coming to him soft and velvety in the dark, sending a pleasurable chill up his spine.

“I’ll change it tomorrow morning,” Reece said. “Let’s not worry about it now.”

“Yeah, but what happened to the lamp in the living room? It’s on a timer, and it always comes on at night.”

“I’ll check it tomorrow, too.” But for now he would enjoy the darkness. It seemed so…sexy.

“But I can’t see.”

“Hold on to me. I can see well enough.” As his eyes adjusted, he could make out the outlines of furniture and pictures on the wall.

She grabbed on to his arm. “What are you, a bat? It’s pitch-dark in here.”

“Men have better night vision than women. On average,” he added as they made their way slowly through the dining room to the living room. After hours of feeling like an idiot in the kitchen, Reece was pleased to be in charge of something, even if it was only navigating them through a dark house.

“Is that true?” she asked, sounding genuinely curious.

“I read it somewhere. It must be true.”

Halfway up the stairs, light from the upstairs landing illuminated the steps. But Sara didn’t let go of his arm. They’d created a bond, caring for Miss Greer, sharing the adventurous dinner, then working together in the kitchen. He felt close to her in a way he hadn’t felt close to a woman in a long time, and it was nice.

Very, very nice.

They paused in front of Reece’s bedroom door, and she still didn’t let him go. He grabbed the opportunity with both hands.

“Sara, I just want you to know that I admire the way you took care of Miss Greer and volunteered to handle things for her. Not everyone would be that generous.”

She smiled up at him. “Miss Greer has been kind to me. I know she’s a little bit gruff and abrupt, sometimes, but she really does love me like a granddaughter. The B and B is my home, and we take care of each other.”

“What about your family?”

“My parents aren’t exactly the nurturing kind. They’re both military—spit ’n’ polish, no crying allowed, pull yourself up by your bootstraps. I don’t ask them for help and they don’t offer.”

“Where do they live?”

“At MacShane—you know, the army base about fifty miles inland?”

Reece nodded. He’d seen it on a map, but that was about it.

“I’m not a military brat in the usual sense, though,” she said. “They didn’t move around. Both of them spent almost their entire careers at MacShane. Don’t get me wrong, they’re good people and they were good parents. But I’m so different from them. They don’t get me and I don’t get them, but we love each other in our own ways.”

Reece understood growing up with less-than-warm-and-fuzzy parents. His were rigid, also, especially with him. Whatever nurturing instincts they had got used up on his older brother, Bret.

“I don’t exactly get you, either,” he said. “But I think you’re…unique.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Unique? Is that the best you can do, Reece Remington?”

All right, so sweet-talking women had never been his strong suit. He possessed other good qualities. Like kissing. He’d been told he was a very good kisser.

Before he could chicken out, he pulled off his glasses, slipped his arms around her and brought his mouth to hers.