The Baby Truce

by Jeannie Watt

  “I don’t need technical advice.” Reggie started for the car. “I’ve done this a time or two.” She waved her sister out as they approached.

  Eden rolled down the window. “What?”

  Tom settled a hand on Reggie’s shoulder. “Reggie’s cutting my hair if you don’t mind waiting.”

  Eden’s jaw dropped. “Why?”

  “Tom wants to help out at the competition.”

  Eden petted Brioche, shaking her head and obviously not saying whatever it was she was thinking. “Fine by me as long as it’s fine by you.”

  Reggie had no idea what was and wasn’t fine anymore, but she was glad Eden was there when Tom sat in the kitchen chair and she stood behind him, scissors in hand. And they weren’t kitchen shears. They were the same scissors she’d used back when they’d been together, and still very, very sharp. Chefs had a thing for sharp cutting utensils, which made this job all the more easy.

  She pulled the band out of his thick locks and combed through them with her fingers. His hair was wavy when it was shorter, which it soon would be. She held out her hand for the comb. Eden slapped it into her palm like a surgical nurse.

  “Make it into a mullet,” she whispered before Reggie took the first big snip. Tom winced.

  She held out the hank of black hair before opening her fingers and dropping it on the floor. “Chef Gerard no more.”

  Tom tilted his head back to look at her. “Maybe we could change that to the new Chef Gerard?”

  “One can only hope,” Reggie muttered, pressing her belly into the back of the chair as she pulled sections of hair up and started snipping.

  And as she worked she kept thanking her lucky stars that her sister was here, because standing behind Tom, letting his hair slide through her fingers, was damned heady stuff. Throw elevated hormones into the mix and…oh, yeah. She was surprised her hands weren’t shaking.

  When she was done, she stepped back and cocked her head. “What do you think?” she asked Eden.

  “He still looks like a rogue chef to me. You should have gone with the mullet. And you need to take a little more off on the left side. See?”

  “You’re right.” Reggie did some touch-up snipping, then the sisters stood side by side regarding the results.

  “How do I look?” Tom asked drily.

  Like the guy she’d been in love with.

  EVERY YEAR THAT REGGIE HAD made an application to the Reno Cuisine, she’d assumed eventually Tremont would get in—but she’d never dreamed she’d be pregnant and have a vanquished celebrity chef with a new haircut working behind the scenes at her booth.

  Their designated area was three spaces down from Candy’s Catering Classique, which had a display that had made Reggie stop and stare.

  A papier-mâché tree trunk, wonderfully gnarled, with a squirrel hole in the center, stood at one side of her booth space, its branches somehow supporting the canopy. Jeweled fruit hung amid the paper leaves and were also scattered over the display tables as if they’d fallen there from the branches.

  The risers were sheets of jewel-tone glass, supported on mosaic cylinders. Candy herself was dressed in a lovely gold dress with a simple white organza apron tied over the front. When she saw Reggie staring, she gave her a smug look that clearly said, “I have this all sewed up.”

  Meanwhile, Justin, Tom, Frank and Bernie were struggling to put together the bistro display on the Tremont site. They had the front and supporting side wings in place when Reggie and Eden arrived.

  “It looks great,” Reggie said as she pulled open the van doors.

  “Thanks.” Justin continued fastening screws, while Patty stood at a distance, eyeing the structure critically.

  “It looks a little crooked to me,” she called.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Justin said.

  “No, really.” Patty walked closer to inspect the supporting wing on the side closest to the van.

  “It’s fine,” Tom said.

  “No,” Patty said adamantly. “The serving counter is at an angle. This side needs to be lowered.” She attempted to nudge the supporting wedge farther out from under the side wing. Instead of shifting, though, the support shot out from under the unsecured wall, which instantly dropped two inches.

  Patty shrieked, trying desperately to hold the wing in place, but the entire structure leaned heavily toward her, twisting under its own weight.

  Tom rushed to help her hold it up, putting his shoulder to the structure as a wooden support piece broke free and raked up his side. He gritted his teeth and held up the heavy pressboard, with Bernie’s and Frank’s belated assistance, while Justin shoved wedging under it.

  “Don’t let go,” Justin said, grabbing for his drill and sinking several screws, then reattaching the 2x2 that had ripped up Tom’s side. Finally, Justin decreed the piece sturdy, and Frank, Bernie and Tom all carefully released their grips. Justin turned to a red-faced Patty. “I think we’ll let it be a little bit uneven. All right?”

  Patty turned even redder. “I’m sorry…I—I…” She swallowed convulsively, then turned and walked quickly toward the van.

  “Damn it, she’d better not quit,” Justin muttered. “Frank, Bernie…can you help me get the other side of this thing screwed together so we don’t crush any bystanders—shit, Tom. You’re bleeding.”

  “It’s not that big a deal,” he said. “I’ll go clean up.”

  “Let me see it,” Reggie said. Tom obediently hoisted his jacket and she grimaced. The wound didn’t need stitches, but was slowly oozing blood. Not a good look for a food server.

  “I’ll take care of it,” he assured her. “You should be setting up.”

  “I have to wash my hands, anyway,” Reggie said, “and I don’t know how you’re going to reach your back.” The deep scratch started on his side and twisted around almost to his shoulder blade.

  Please do not let this be a harbinger of the day to come. One prep cook bleeding, the other probably crying.

  Reggie got a small first aid kit from under the seat of the van, then gestured with her head to the office building that served as headquarters for the event.

  “Your jacket is ruined,” she said as they walked the short distance. “I have another in the car.”

  They went into the family rest facilities and Reggie put the first aid kit on the sink and raised his jacket again. Tom stood as if at attention as she turned on the water and let it run until it was warm. Then she took a gauze pad and dampened it. His muscles contracted as she started wiping the blood away.

  “I’m sorry if it stings,” she said without looking up at him. She took gauze and adhesive tape out of the kit.

  “I’ll tear tape,” Tom said, taking the roll from her. She stretched gauze over the wound while he tore off a chunk of tape with his teeth. “This is the first time I’ve gotten a back wound while cooking.”

  “Considering your temper in the kitchen, that’s surprising.” The muscles of his back contracted again as he laughed.

  “A sous-chef did chase me with a knife once. Around and around the counter.”

  Reggie looked up to see if he was kidding. He wasn’t, and there was something in the way he looked at her that made her mouth go dry. She quickly went back to taping the gauze in place.

  Had he made a decision about France?

  Just ask him. Get it over with.

  No. She wanted him to tell her.

  “Well,” she said after patting the last piece of tape over the dressing, “it’s a bit primitive, but you won’t be bleeding through your jacket.”

  “The booth looks good when it’s not attacking me,” Tom said as they crossed the grass toward it. Indeed, the bistro front, with the elegantly lettered Tremont sign, looked authentic and thankfully sturdy, the awning a clever touch. Lace-edged linens covered the tables in front of the windows, and Eden was starting to arrange plates. The vendors to the left of them had just finished setting up a saloon front and the people on the other side were struggling to get a
n inflated palm tree for their luau themed display to stay put.

  “I can’t find Patty,” Eden said as soon as Reggie got into earshot.

  “Great. Do you think she quit?” Reggie asked.

  “I’ll go find her,” Tom said.

  “No. Start finishing the hors d’oeuvres. I’ll—”

  “I’ll find her,” Bernie interrupted as he walked by with his portable drill and toolbox. “I saw her head toward her car.”

  “I hope she’s still here,” Reggie muttered. “I don’t want to find another prep cook after you’re…” Her voice trailed off.

  “Gone?”

  “Exactly.”

  Tom made a gesture with his chin and Reggie turned to follow his gaze. Patty was on the opposite side of Bernie and Frank’s truck, and Bernie was talking to her, his hands on her shoulders. Her eyes were down, but she nodded as he spoke.

  “Bernie saves the day,” Tom muttered.

  At ten o’clock the general public was allowed into the cordoned off area of the park, and from that point on it was a steady stream of work. Tom stayed in the background, out of sight, replenishing trays of food, stacking napoleons, piping fillings into various hors d’oeuvres. He worked on a long portable table hidden behind the display, made level on the grass by a wooden wedge jammed under one leg. Justin worked the hot station in the wide lace-edged storefront window to the left of the false bistro door. Eden served the cold food out of the window to the right. Reggie circulated, lending a hand where needed, greeting people and explaining dishes whenever she had a free moment.

  Patty, also in black pants and a white shirt, her curls pulled away from her face with a black fabric headband, worked the back with Tom. She took care not to make eye contact, focusing on the food with a laserlike intensity.

  “Damn it, Patty,” he finally growled.

  “What?” she asked, snapping to attention at his tone.

  “I’m not going to eat you.”

  She swallowed, raising her chin. “I’ve never injured anyone before.”

  “You barely scratched me. You made a mistake. We all make mistakes. Wallowing in guilt doesn’t help.” He narrowed his eyes. “Haven’t we had this conversation before?”

  “Yes,” she allowed. Her mouth puckered tighter for a moment, then she said, “Sometimes I wonder why they keep me when they have you.”

  Tom stared at her, frowning deeply. “Because I’m not staying.”

  “Really?”

  “Reggie did me a favor. I needed some time to reevaluate some aspects of my life. I asked for a job and she gave me one. Temporarily.” Pouring his guts out to Patty. Had hell frozen over? “We’d better get back to work.”

  Tom loaded a plate of napoleons out of the cooler, then came around the counter to set them on a marble board. When a young redheaded woman dressed in jeans and a khaki blazer touched his arm, he glanced at her, impatient to get back to his work area.

  “I have some questions if you have a minute, Chef Gerard.”

  Well, shit. He frowned at her and shouldered his way back behind the set.

  “I don’t think the general public is allowed in here,” he said when she followed him.

  “Just a couple questions. I was surprised to see you, of all people here, with a catering company. This is a bit of a step down from your usual gig.”

  “Who are you?” Tom demanded, as Reggie came around the other side of the booth. “Christine Miles. Reno Standard.” She handed him a card, which Tom looked at, then dropped on the ground. He felt Reggie’s hand on his back and resisted the urge to grind the card into the grass with his shoe.

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Miles. I’m busy.”

  “But a catering competition…for someone with your background—”

  “How do you know my background?”

  “I read the tabloids.”

  “And how do you know I’m Tom Gerard?” So much for the fricking haircut and people forgetting.

  She lifted her phone and snapped a picture. “Well. If I’m not certain now, I will be shortly.”

  “Look. I’m busy and you need to—”

  “Tom.” He felt Reggie’s hand tense on his back.

  “I’m fine,” he said over his shoulder. “And busy. If you’ll excuse me?”

  He moved past the reporter and started working, head down, seething. He wasn’t so much worried about his career as privacy, which was a first for him. He didn’t want anyone bugging Reggie.

  “No spectators back here,” Reggie told the woman.

  “It really is him, isn’t it?” the reporter answered. “My aunt’s friend told me she had an encounter with him in your office, but I thought she was confused. Apparently not.”

  Mrs. Bremerton, no doubt. Bitch.

  The reporter cocked her head at Reggie. “How on earth did he end up here?”

  “He’s not who you think he is,” Reggie said evenly, “and if you don’t leave this area, I will call security.”

  REGGIE AND PATTY SPENT THE remainder of the competition transporting food Tom prepared behind the booth. They didn’t talk, but their fingers touched as he handed her dishes and trays, and she liked the casual contact. She wanted to thank him for not telling the reporter to go to hell, as he’d no doubt wanted to. He’d done well. For Tremont. For her.

  Tremont didn’t win the Reno Cuisine, but they placed first in People’s Choice, right after Candy won the big trophy for the fourth time in a row.

  “We’ve won the congeniality award,” Justin said with an air of satisfaction when he returned with their plaque.

  Tom leaned close to Reggie. “How in the hell did we lose?” Smoke was practically rolling out his ears.

  Reggie put her palm on his chest. “It’s about more than the food. The display is a big part of the scoring.”

  “Our display is great.”

  Reggie motioned toward the bejeweled fruit tree, where Candy stood beaming in her fairy-godmother dress. “But not a Hollywood set.”

  “This bites,” Tom said in disgust.

  “Hey. We handed out tons of business cards and brochures.”

  Reggie had to hand it to the reporter, though—she hadn’t started any rumors. People had not flocked to their site to see if they had a master chef on the premises.

  “I don’t trust her,” Tom said when Reggie mentioned that to him later as they packed up the food. Justin, Bernie and Frank were breaking down the display—which they did with no injuries, although Reggie had had her heart in her throat as she’d watched the heavy front get lowered to the ground.

  “You don’t trust any reporters,” she replied.

  “With good cause.”

  The breeze ruffled the hair that had escaped her French twist as she gazed up at him, and she pushed it out of her face with one hand. He reached out to get a few strands she’d missed, tucking them behind her ear. “Well, it wasn’t like I was going to punch her or anything,” he said with a half smile.

  “Are you worried that she’ll write something that’ll hurt your career?”

  “You mean how the mighty have fallen?” He shook his dark head, a protective expression in his eyes that she hadn’t seen in a long time. “No,” he said quietly. “I just don’t want anyone bothering you to find out about me.”

  Reggie’s lips parted as she digested what he’d said. Good point. “Well, I’ll try to work a publicity angle if that happens.”

  “The reporters I attract won’t give you the kind of publicity you want.” He reached out and put a hand on the curve of her waist. She didn’t move any closer, but the connection between them was palpable.

  “Are you coming over to Frank and Bernie’s for a celebratory drink?”

  “Hard not to when they’re storing the set for us until next year.”

  “Yeah.” Tom pulled her a step closer, still looking down at her, his head dipping lower until he lightly touched her lips. “You let me know if anyone harasses you. Right?”

  Reggie felt an electric jolt when hi
s lips made contact. “Yeah,” she said on a husky note. “I’ll do that.”

  Reggie, Eden and Patty drove to the kitchen to store the food and clean out the van, while Tom and Justin helped Bernie and Frank haul the set. By the time the sisters and a hesitant Patty arrived at the house, the four guys were sitting in lawn chairs around the cold barrel cooker, holding beers.

  Reggie popped the top of an orange soda and sat in a chair across the circle from Tom. Eden settled on the grass and held Brioche. Patty sat next to Bernie, who smiled warmly at her. She smiled back, albeit stiffly. Frank pushed a beer into her hand without asking, and after a moment’s hesitation, she opened it and poured it into the plastic glass Bernie offered her.

  “If you think this year was good,” Frank told Reggie, “just wait until next. Justin thinks we should turn the set into a Western saloon and perhaps offer some barbecue…?.”

  Reggie smiled, sipped her orange soda and listened to Frank expound on what a team they made.

  Patty loosened up after finishing her beer, giggling at Bernie’s jokes and going so far as to accept another. Justin told story after story about working in the hotel kitchen, until he had the brothers choking with laughter. As the celebration flowed on Reggie caught Tom studying her. He was going to France soon. And he was concerned about her.

  When she and Eden said goodbye to the group, Tom went with them. Eden didn’t slow down on her way to her car. “I’ll see you guys later,” she said.

  She knew, too.

  Reggie looked up at Tom. “Do you want me to change the bandage on your back before I go? You’re soaking through.”

  He pulled the shirt around to the side to see the dots of blood. The cut had to hurt like crazy, especially earlier today, when he was hot and sweat had probably been seeping into it.

  “I don’t have first aid supplies except for Band-aids.”

  “I do,” Reggie said. She never went anywhere without a way to deal with a knife slice.

  Tom relented without further argument, wincing when she pulled the gauze free several minutes later in his bathroom, which didn’t even have towels on the racks. “Sorry,” she said. “I should have soaked it longer.” She cleaned the long cut, then applied another dressing. When she was done, she pulled down his T-shirt to cover his back.