The Baby Truce (3 page)

It was hard to believe, but Montrose appeared to have him by the short hairs. As near as he could tell, he
was
blacklisted.

But for how fricking long?

Tom left the window and stepped over the clothes he
hadn't bothered to pick up during the past few days. It was time to call Lowell, admit that he needed his help.

“You're totally screwed,” Lowell said shortly, after hello. “I've been keeping tabs.”

“I don't buy ‘totally screwed.'” Maybe he was temporarily screwed, and for the zillionth time Tom wondered how getting fired for stuff that had nothing to do with his cooking ability could interfere with his ability to get a job cooking. “What do you suggest I do about that?” he asked with more patience than he was feeling.

“Keep out of trouble for, say, a day or two and let this blow over.”

“It's
been
a goddamn
day or two.
”

“Calm. Down.”

“This is your advice? Calm down and what? Helpful, Lowell. Really helpful. At least tell me if you hear of anything…”

“Yeah…but like I said. Right now? Screwed. Hope you have some savings.”

Tom hung up so he didn't have to tell Lowell what he could do with his bloody useless advice. One thing about Lowell—you might not know what he was going to do next, but you knew where you stood with him.

Staring at the phone, Tom became increasingly aware of an unfamiliar feeling unfurling inside him. Desperation. Coupled with fear.

He grabbed the phone and threw it across the room, where it smashed into the wall. That felt satisfying. He refused to give in to fear.

He had to plan for this baby.

Tom had no idea how to handle fatherhood, but re
gardless of Reggie's glib assurance that she would handle everything by herself—or maybe because of it—he'd have some say in his kid's life. Even if that kid didn't seem real. Yet. Seven more months and he'd be real. A new Gerard in the world.

Tom went into his kitchen, bypassed the bottle of bourbon for a glass of tap water, which tasted of metal, then went back to his phone and called Pete at home. He was getting his business manager back and his life on track. All he wanted to do was cook and cook well—for someone other than himself. And get himself into a position where he could at the very least support his kid.

T
HE 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.

 

P
ATTY 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 appoint
ment, 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 nota
rization.” 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.”

 

T
OM 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.

 

R
EGGIE 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 compe
tition—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.”

 

R
EGGIE TOLD
E
DEN AND
J
USTIN
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.