by Jeannie Watt
Was he ready to cut it? It was so handy.
“Let me show you the place,” he said. The tour took almost thirty seconds as he gestured and said, “One bedroom, one bath, one office, one living room and—” he led the way into the last room, where there was a frantic scratching at the back door “—one kitchen.”
Tom opened the door and the dog shot out.
“What is that?” Startled, Reggie looked from the dog to Tom.
“Rat dog. Came with the house.”
“And you’re keeping it?”
“As opposed to turning her over to the pound to get—” He made a slicing motion across his throat.
“I see.” But from the way she was staring at him, Tom didn’t think she did.
“I’m going to find it a home.” He went to the counter, leaving Reggie staring at the dog with a dubious expression.
“You wanted to talk,” he said as he took a can of dog food out of the bag, only then realizing that he’d forgotten to buy a can opener. The dog danced in circles and Tom had a feeling if he didn’t get this can open, there’d be hell to pay. Why hadn’t he bought the pop-tops?
“Having you in the kitchen isn’t working.”
He’d expected her to say something along those lines, but his stomach still tightened in response. He really didn’t want her to fire him, or dismiss him or whatever one did to volunteer staff, but he looked up at her from where he was rummaging through his shopping bags. “Maybe because you’re more intent on punishing me than taking full advantage of me?”
“I’m not punishing you.”
“Yes. You are.” He came out with a new screwdriver and tore it out of the packaging, dropping the garbage into one of his two new waste cans without bothering to open the box of garbage bags.
Reggie watched him with a slight frown. “I’m not letting you steamroll over me. There’s a difference between that and punishing you.”
“When…” Tom asked in a reasonable tone, as he set the can squarely on the counter, took aim and stabbed the screwdriver into the top, making Reggie wince “…have I ever managed to steamroll over you? I’m not saying I didn’t try, but when did I succeed?” He wrestled the screwdriver out and stabbed again.
“When you left.”
“That wasn’t steamrolling. That was making a pretty damned hard choice that I had to make because someone backed me into a corner.”
“You pretended you wanted to start the catering business with me.”
“Unless something else came along more suited to my abilities.”
“You didn’t say that part.”
Tom aimed and stabbed again. “I did, but you weren’t hearing me.”
Reggie pushed a hand into the front of her hair, pressed on her forehead. “Regardless of what happened then, it’s different now, Tom. Before it was just me. I could afford to make mistakes. Now we have a kid to think about.”
“Do you think I’m going to be a bad father?” Another stab. Then another. He was doing a pretty good job of circumnavigating the can with holes.
“I think you’ll put your career ahead of the kid.”
“For real? Or is that a handy excuse? Because you slip it in every chance you get.”
“I’m judging by your track record.”
He pushed the screwdriver into one of the holes and started prying upward. “So Uncle Justin should be his only father figure?” Tom could see from her expression that had been exactly what she’d hoped. “Do you want to work this out with lawyers?”
The can lid bent up and, with a satisfied exhalation, he used the screwdriver to dish food into a cheap bowl he’d bought in the cereal aisle. The dog turned a quick circle then dove into the food as soon as the bowl was on the floor.
“I’d hoped to avoid that,” Reggie said. He cocked an eyebrow. “All right, I planned on having a signed custody agreement after the baby is born, but I hoped we could work it out ahead of time. Amicably.”
“With you having the lion’s share of the custody? If not all of it?” He shook his head. “Talk about steamrolling, Reggie. I’d say you’re guilty, too.”
He put the screwdriver on the counter, then closed the distance between them and settled his hands on her slender shoulders. Her muscles instantly tensed.
“How do you feel about me, Reggie?” he asked softly. “Other than angry?”
“Angry.” She stepped back and he dropped his hands. “We’ll work out the baby truce, but it won’t be in the kitchen. Not the way things now stand.”
“I think you need me there.”
“I know you do,” she said. “It’s one of the symptoms of your megalomania.”
“You’re short-handed,” he said, refusing to rise to such obvious bait. She didn’t answer and he said, “I tried my damnedest to do as you said. I peeled, chopped, counted. I didn’t use my brain. I made your prep cook cry only once and I apologized.”
“But I’m not loving coming to work, Tom,” she said tightly. “And I used to.”
“But it’s not all about you anymore, is it? Or me?”
Where had those words come from? He had no idea, but the instant he said them, he knew they were true. “Believe it or not,” he confirmed, “I wasn’t trying to take over when I offered to help with the chili.”
“And believe it or not, I’m not used to having to fight my prep cooks to handle matters my way.”
“I am who I am, Reg. But I wasn’t taking over.” She didn’t answer, so he asked the big question. “Do you want me to come back?”
“The way things are right now…no. I don’t.”
“Ever?”
She pulled in a breath. “I don’t know.”
“I’m not leaving town. Not until we settle a deal, or we have a kid, whichever comes first.”
“Is that a threat?” Reggie asked quietly.
“Just a fact, Reggie. You know where to find me when you want to work something out.”
REGGIE’S DOCTOR STARTED SEEING patients at seven-thirty each morning, which was one reason she’d chosen his clinic. She could work early morning appointments into her schedule and had actually booked tentative visits for the duration of her pregnancy. Which was one strange feeling—having a fully booked pregnancy.
There were only two other women in the waiting room, unlike the first visit, when the place had been packed. And both were deep into baby magazines.
Reggie was alone with her dark thoughts.
She’d fired Tom.
Now the stress she felt in her kitchen would be the good kind, the beat-the-clock kind, not the why-can’t-I-stop-thinking-about-that-guy-and-what-is-he-goingto-do-next kind.
If only it was that easy to fire him from her life.
But regardless of what happened, her life had changed forever. It would have been great to blame Tom, but she couldn’t.
She might, however, consider filing suit against the condom company.
Yes, she resented the pregnancy, resented what it represented and how her life was entangled with Tom’s. But on the other hand, since she’d heard the heartbeat, she wasn’t unhappy to be having a baby.
Which made no sense at all, but that was the way of it. “Ms. Tremont?” Reggie looked up at the nurse. “Time for your weigh-in…?.”
IN AWAY, TOM WAS SURPRISED he’d lasted as long as he had in Reggie’s kitchen. She might not want him back, but that didn’t mean he was leaving town. And if he was staying, he needed something to sit on. His first idea was renting furniture, but one brief phone call had immediately nixed that idea. Oddly, it was cheaper to buy. One futon, recliner and kitchen table later, he realized he was in need of a truck, since he’d saved a boatload of money by purchasing at a warehouse store. No delivery.
So what now? Rent a truck? Borrow a truck? Any chance that Patty might have a truck? Surely she’d be willing to help out a fellow prep cook.
Justin.
During the short amount of time he’d been at the kitchen, Justin remained cold, standoffish. Protectiv
e of Reggie. They’d once gotten along quite well. Now he looked as if he wanted to beat the crap out of Tom.
But maybe, since he was no longer invading Justin’s turf, they might be able to at least work out a civil relationship. Which might be helpful in the future. And what better way for two guys to bond than over a truck?
That evening, Tom drove by the kitchen. Justin’s car was in the lot, so he pulled in. He didn’t have a key to the building, so he rang the buzzer. Several times. Finally Justin pulled the back door open, a scowl on his face. “Did you forget something?”
“I wanted to talk to you and I don’t have your phone number.”
“You could have called the kitchen.”
“I did. Maybe you couldn’t hear it over the music?” Green Day’s “American Idiot” was blaring from the pastry room.
“That’s possible,” Justin conceded. “What do you want?”
“To ask you if you had a truck I could borrow to move some new furniture to my house.”
“The place doesn’t deliver?”
“I found what I wanted in WareCo, but they don’t deliver.” Justin didn’t reply immediately and Tom added, “I can rent a truck. I just thought—”
“I can get a truck.” Justin pulled his head back inside. “I’m on a tight deadline. Come on in.”
Tom followed him to the pastry room and stood staring at the three-layer cake on the table in front of him.
“How did you ever get involved with specialty cakes?” he asked.
“Totally by accident,” Justin said, taking up his spatula and carefully moving a perfect confectionary orchid to a butter-cream–covered layer. “I did one in a wedding emergency after a bakery had an electrical fire and got closed down. Word spread.”
He bit his lip as he placed the flower and then stood back to make an assessment. Putting down the spatula, he picked up his piping bag.
“So, what’s the deal with you and my sister?”
“I thought you knew the deal.”
“Not the part where she’s pregnant.” Justin removed the ring and then the tip of the pastry bag. “The part where she said you wouldn’t be returning and I should cut back on the cake orders until we hire someone to take up the slack. Now you’re buying furniture.”
“Why do you have to cut back on cake orders?” Tom asked.
“Because with you here, Patty has time to do more for me, so I took more orders.”
“Sorry to screw things up for you.”
“Yeah. So what’s the deal with you and Reg?” Justin asked, refusing to be sidetracked.
Tom rubbed his cheekbone with a knuckle. “We’re having trouble communicating, I guess.”
“Do you want to communicate?”
“In the worst way.”
“Good answer,” Justin muttered as he choked up the bag and finessed an intricate swirl of pale gold icing next to an orchid. Tom found himself holding his breath as Justin leaned in for a tricky bit of piping. “Do you really mean it?”
“You ever have anything like this happen to you?” Tom asked when Justin straightened to reassess. He cut Tom a sidelong look. Apparently not. “Well, I can tell you this…it’s unreal. I have no other experience I can use to judge how to handle this, so I’ve been hanging around a kitchen peeling carrots and counting inventory while I try to figure it out.”
“And here I thought you were proving to the cooking world you can stay out of trouble.” Justin adjusted the pastry tip.
“I’m here because I want to do what’s right. For her. And the kid. Which means we’ve got to communicate at some point.” He hooked a thumb in the front pocket of his cargos. “I kind of thought being in the kitchen would help.” He shifted his weight as he shook his head. “It hasn’t.”
“No kidding.” Justin gave him a second long look, then lowered the pastry bag. “So what now?”
“I wait, I guess.”
“In your new house.”
“I need something to sit on while I wait.”
Justin set his jaw. “This situation sucks, Tom. And now you guys are bringing a baby into it.”
“Not on purpose.” Which was no excuse.
“But you are.” Justin paused for a moment, then continued in a lower voice. “If you hurt my sister again…”
How in the hell could her hurt her? She’d made it clear she no longer cared about him, that she’d slept with him for closure. To prove something to herself.
Tom drew in a breath, told himself to hold it together. “Reggie has all the power, Justin. I’m just trying to figure out what my role is. I’m not going to try to steal the kid away from her. I just want what’s fair.” He reached up to rub his temple as he rapidly approached his frustration max-out point. “If you’d ever been in this situation, then you’d understand. I’m doing the best I can. Hell, I feel like I’m juggling chainsaws.”
Justin still said nothing.
“Do you know what?” Tom finally said. “I’m so far out of the loop, I don’t know the kid’s due date.” Because he hadn’t asked. He’d been waiting for the “right time.”
Well, the right time was never coming. He had to man up and ask those questions he’d been avoiding because it made the situation too real.
“I guess there’s stuff you guys need to talk about,” Justin agreed. He squeezed a small amount of icing onto his finger, testing to see if it had dried inside the tip. Then he looked up at Tom, his voice flat as he said, “Let me know when you need the truck and I’ll see what I can work out.”
CHAPTER NINE
REGGIE ARRIVED AT WORK A HALF hour late because of another traffic snarl. She’d gained a couple more pounds and was looking forward to sharing the news, but she was so late that Eden had already left to do last-minute shopping for her family meals.
They were all rushing around like crazy people, since the kitchen had been swamped with business after she’d told Tom not to come back almost a week ago.
Fate’s way of spanking her?
And then she found out that Justin had actually taken time away from a cake to help Tom haul furniture. Next, Eden would be doing his laundry. But Reggie didn’t say a word. Justin could do as he pleased.
Patty met her at the door with a notepad. She was so happy in the kitchen now that she was an only child, and the frantic pace didn’t seem to faze her. She still worked slowly and meticulously.
“Eden left a sketch for the Reno Cuisine event,” she announced, pulling a paper off the top of the notepad and handing it to Reggie. “Mrs. Maddox called about the possibility of having extra guests.”
“I’m so glad she called,” Reggie said. It was next to impossible to stretch a lamb chop dinner. “Anything else?” The words were barely out of her mouth when the phone rang.
“Probably Mrs. Maddox,” the prep cook said. “Would you like me to get it?”
“Thank you.” Patty would undoubtedly have been the kid in class who always raised her hand first.
Reggie held up Eden’s sketch and studied it as Patty hurried to the office. A French bistro was a little pedestrian, but it was doable in the amount of time they had to throw it together—if they could find a carpenter. She’d discovered through the professional grapevine that Tremont had gotten into the event late because Sutter’s Catering had failed to pay the entry fee on time. But in was in and she was happy.
“Tremont Catering. How may I assist you?” There was a brief silence and then Patty gasped, “Oh my goodness! Is she all right?”
Reggie set the sketch on the counter and hurried to the office. There was only one other “she” involved with Tremont Catering.
“Yes, let me get her sister.” Patty held the phone toward Reggie, who snatched it up.
“Hello?” The word stuck in her throat.
“This is Mike Maynard. Reno Fire Department Paramedic. Are you Eden Tremont’s sister?”
“Yes.” Reggie swallowed drily.
“She’s been in a pedestrian-automobile accident.”
&nbs
p; “A what?” Reggie struggled to get her frozen brain to translate. “She got hit by a car?”
“Yes. In the Super Saver parking lot. The only apparent injury is a broken or badly sprained ankle. However, she did hit her head on the pavement and we’ll be transporting her to Washoe Med for further evaluation.”
“Reggie!” An angry female voice cut in as soon as the paramedic stopped talking.
“Uh, is that my sister yelling in the background?” Reggie asked.
“Yeah. That would be your sister.”
Reggie felt a huge rush of relief at the sound of Eden’s very irritated voice. “Can I talk to her?”
“We really need to transport her. We’re blocking traffic.”
“I don’t want to pay for an ambulance!” Eden shouted.
“Is this life threatening?” Reggie asked the paramedic. Because if it was, then Eden was getting in that ambulance.
“Whenever a head hits pavement—”
“Reggie! Get over here. Take me to Urgent Care!”
“I’ll be right over,” she told the paramedic. “Do not transport her.”
“I’ll drive,” Patty said as soon as Reggie hung up. “You are in no condition.”
Startled, Reggie looked at her, then realized Patty was talking about the shock of the accident. “I’m fine. I can’t tell you how many times I went through this with Justin.” Which was why Eden knew enough not to get into the ambulance and pay for one hell of an expensive short ride.
“If you’re certain…”
Reggie set a firm hand on Patty’s round shoulder. “I need you here to hold down the fort. My cell number is on the business cards there.” She pointed to the holder next to the computer. “Call if you have any difficulties at all.”
“What shall I do while you’re gone?”
“Mini quiches,” Reggie said as she snatched up her keys and purse.
“Mushroom or broccoli?” Patty called as Reggie maneuvered around the counter and opened the door.