The Baby Truce. Jeannie Watt

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СКАЧАТЬ slowly around the granite-topped fixture, not quite ready to take the plunge, mainly because she couldn’t be pregnant.

      No. Way.

      She and Tom had used condoms. Both times.

      So why didn’t she just pee on the stick and get it over with?

      Because the possibility of being tied to Tom for the next eighteen years was simply too much for her to handle. Yeah, she’d once loved him. But that wasn’t why she’d slept with him.

      Never sleep with someone you don’t want to raise a kid with—no matter how hot they are. Her ninth-grade health teacher’s words, which had been repeated at least fifty times during the semester.

      No question about Tom being hot. And if Reggie pushed aside her resentment about how he’d walked out on her, how he’d chosen a high-risk job on the other side of the ocean over staying with her and starting the catering business that had become Tremont, she could concede that he had good points besides hotness. But he wasn’t father material. Fathers needed to be steady. And there.

      Reggie grabbed the box and opened the top. Enough. She was settling this once and for all.

      IT TOOK TOM A LONG TIME TO wake up enough to realize that the constant ringing was not in his head. He pushed himself upright on the sofa, stared at the cell phone he held in his hand, then answered.

      “Are you crazy?” Pete barked into his ear, making him wince.

      “According to you, I am,” Tom said, his voice thick. He cleared his throat twice, trying to ease the cotton mouth. “Why?”

      “Do you recall talking to any reporters lately?”

      Tom planted a palm on his forehead, trying to hold in the pressure. “Why in the hell are you calling me about reporters?”

      “Because of what greeted me in the paper this morning!” Pete, normally the most patient of men, even when Tom was on a rampage, sounded utterly pissed. “I sent you the link. Take a look once your vision clears enough to read it.” The phone went dead.

      Tom let his head fall back against the sofa cushions. Closed his eyes. His head was throbbing. Mescal? Was that what he’d drunk? He remembered demanding something strong to kill the disappointment of having everyone he’d called for a job lead give him a helpful suggestion as to somewhere else he might want to call.

      Whatever he’d drunk, it’d been a killer night. But he hadn’t talked to any reporters. He was certain of that.

      The room spun as he got to his feet and trudged naked to the bathroom. A woman’s red sequined top hung on the doorknob by one strap. He stared at it for a moment, then continued into the john, closing the door just in case. When he came back out, he looked around the apartment, which didn’t take long since it was only four small yet highly expensive rooms. No woman.

      He sat in front of the computer, brought up his email and clicked on the link Pete had sent. Obviously some tabloid had manufactured a few lies, twisted a few truths.

      And that tabloid was called the New York Times.

      Oh, shit.

      In a small but clear photo he had one arm draped over a woman wearing a sequined top very similar to the one on his bathroom doorknob. With the other hand he pointed directly at the camera, his mouth open as he obviously expounded.

      And how he’d expounded, according to the article beneath the photo. The text wasn’t long, but it was colorful and explained exactly what he thought of Jervase Montrose and his restaurants, plus his feelings on all corporately managed eating establishments. The reporter had also helpfully included Tom’s insights into the personal habits of several food critics. There were many, many quotation marks.

      Tom slammed the laptop shut and jumped to his feet, needing to move.

      He sensed the need for some damage control.

      He punched Pete’s number into his phone. The business manager answered on the first ring. “You read it?”

      “Yeah.”

      “Then you’ll understand what I’m about to say next.”

      “Which is?”

      “I quit. Please seek other management.”

      REGGIE HAD HEARD OF WOMEN IN denial buying three and four different pregnancy tests, just to make certain the first two or three were correct. She was about to join their ranks. The only thing that stopped her was the landline ringing as she went for her purse and keys. Ignore her sister or get it over with?

      If she ignored her, Eden would show up at her door.

      “Well?” Eden said when she answered.

      “I don’t want to talk about it.”

      “No!”

      “I said I don’t want to talk about it.” Reggie planted the palm of her free hand on her throbbing forehead, trying to ease the tension there. “I’m going to buy another test. This one may have been old.”

      “Old?”

      “Or compromised in some way.”

      “Or the reason you’re throwing up is because you’re pregnant.” Reggie dropped her hand. She couldn’t bring herself to respond. “I’ll be right over,” Eden added.

      “Don’t tell Justin,” Reggie said through gritted teeth. Her brother did his best to appear as if nothing bothered him, but it was a front. Justin was the most protective male of her acquaintance, and right now she didn’t need protection. She didn’t need to hash this through with Eden, either, but better to get it over with now, while she was still numb.

      “Wouldn’t think of it,” Eden said. “See you in twenty. Just…stay calm.”

      Reggie rolled her eyes and hung up. Stay calm. Oh, yeah. She headed for the door. She had just enough time to get to the nearest drugstore and back again.

      No. She’d wait for Eden and then go to the drugstore. They could go together. Reggie stopped in the middle of the room and pressed her palms against her abdomen. How? How could there possibly be a baby growing inside her?

      When Eden showed up twenty minutes later, Reggie was sitting on the sofa, holding Mims on her lap and staring at the opposite wall. This was real. She had accidentally become pregnant at the age of thirty.

      Unless, of course, the test was wrong. It happened.

      Reggie stood as Eden let herself in with her own key. They were dressed almost identically in white T-shirts and jeans…and Eden’s jeans were going to fit her in six months. For a moment the two sisters simply stared at each other, then Eden crossed the room to wrap her arms around Reggie and hug her tightly. “You’re not alone in this. All right?”

      “I know.”

      Eden released her and stood back. “It’s none of my business—”

      “Tom.” No sense being coy.

      “Gerard?” СКАЧАТЬ