The Baby Truce. Jeannie Watt

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      “You gotta do that.”

      Reggie frowned. “I will.” Justin appeared as if he was on a mission. But what mission? She hadn’t a clue. “I’m going to phone him.”

      Her brother glanced down at his feet. He was wearing flat skateboard shoes. He hadn’t changed yet, which meant talking to her had been his first order of business. “I can be there when you make the call.”

      Justin was returning to protective form—a good sign.

      “I’ll handle it.” It wasn’t a conversation she wanted anyone to hear. She met her brother’s blue eyes. “If I need propping up afterwards, I’ll hunt you down.”

      He smiled slightly. “Just…don’t put it off too long. All right?”

      “All right.” Reggie smoothed her hands down the sides of her apron. “Well, I guess I’d better get going on the chops for the dinner tonight.” She started for the cooler, then glanced back over her shoulder. “Will you be here for the interviews this afternoon?”

      “I got called in to the lake early.” His mouth tightened. “Sorry about that.”

      “No, I understand.” Justin’s job at Lake Tahoe brought in a lot of contacts and potential business. “Eden and I will be fine.”

      “Don’t settle,” he said. “Because, well, there’s a chance whoever we hire might end up full time for a while. You know?”

      Reggie knew.

      TOM GAVE PETE A WEEK TO COOL off, then phoned. Pete was out of the office. The next time he called, a day later, Pete was once again unavailable. By the third call Tom understood that he was never going to be available. Tom was on his own.

      And that sucked, because while he could cook, he knew squat about business.

      He’d already called everyone he knew in the city, tried to pull in a few favors, but so far no luck. Even people who said they wanted to help indicated they couldn’t. Not right now. Lower-end restaurants were more than willing to take a chance on him, hoping his notoriety would bring in business, but that wasn’t a career move Tom was ready to take. He wasn’t into notoriety. Not on purpose, anyway. He was into making good food the only way he knew how. His way. The Times article had done him some serious damage. He spent an evening writing a blistering rebuttal, but realized after an hour of slamming thoughts onto paper that he wasn’t in the most defensible position. In fact, he was pretty much in the juice.

      Memories were short, though. Given a month or two, a new scandal, people would forget. He’d be back at the helm of a new restaurant, and this time he’d choose more wisely—choose a place where he approved of the management style, rather than the name. He had savings and investments. Although he knew very little about them, since he’d trusted Pete implicitly.

      But what to do now? Continue pounding the pavement, trying to get an interview? Call Lowell and hear the guy rant about how Tom had screwed himself?

      Not yet. Lowell Hislop, who’d gotten Tom the job in Spain that had ultimately jump-started his career, was the closest thing to a mentor he had. He was also unpredictable and hard to deal with. A veritable force unto himself, and at the moment as unemployed as Tom was. But in Lowell’s case it was by choice, while he hammered out a divorce agreement with his French wife, Simone. They’d split innumerable times in the past, but this once it appeared to be for real. Lowell had sold his restaurant, dumped his investment properties and quite likely stashed a bunch of cash in odd places. He was nothing if not savvy, but the last Tom had heard he was up to his ass in his wife’s lawyers.

      Yeah, Tom would call him, but first he’d see what he could do on his own. There were still a couple avenues left to him.

      He hoped.

      He was halfway up the stairs to his apartment when his phone rang. It wasn’t Pete, as he’d hoped, but it wasn’t Jervase telling him the town wasn’t big enough for the both of them, either. It was a Nevada number.

      “Reggie?”

      “Hi, Tom.” There was an awkward silence, then she said, “I, uh, have some news for you.”

      “All right.” A lead on a job, maybe? The Associated Press had picked up his “interview” with the Times and it was all over the country. No doubt she knew he was out of work. He didn’t really want a job in Reno, but he’d consider it. For a while.

      “Before I start, I just want to tell you that you don’t have to be involved in any way. I plan to handle everything myself.”

      “Handle what?” He balanced the phone on his shoulder while he dug his keys out of his pocket.

      After another short silence, she said, “I’m pregnant.”

      He almost said congratulations. Then her meaning struck him. “How pregnant?”

      “Almost two months.”

      He dropped the keys on the carpet between his feet. “We…used protection.”

      “I haven’t slept with anyone but you.”

      “We…used protection,” Tom repeated. He pressed the heel of his palm into the solid wood door. Blood hammered in his temples, making it damned hard to think.

      “Like I said…” She hesitated. “I thought you should know, but…I don’t need anything from you.”

      “Well, aren’t you brave?” he snapped.

      “Yes. I am. I lived with you for a year.” The phone went dead.

      Tom stood for a moment without moving, then reached down and picked up his keys. It took him two tries to get the right one into the lock, mainly because his hands were shaking.

      Pregnant?

      Call her back, you jerk.

      Not yet. Soon, but not yet.

      He needed time in the worst way.

      Once inside, he dropped the keys on the table, set the bag of produce beside them.

      He was going to be a father.

      Out of a job. Living on savings. About to be a dad. This was not the way his life was supposed to work out.

      Tom rubbed his temples with his fingertips. Then he went to the cupboard and pulled out a bottle, the first one he touched. He didn’t even look to see what it was. He poured a healthy amount into a glass and downed it in one swallow.

      Bourbon.

      He poured another, then went to the window and stared out at the building behind his, swirling the amber liquid in the glass. This time he sipped, allowing the alcohol to warm his throat slowly. The tension started to ease out of the muscles of his neck and shoulders, but his mind was still whirling.

      If Reggie was two months pregnant, then he had seven months to figure this all out. He’d be employed by then. Have a new business manager, be able to set up a college fund, or do whatever СКАЧАТЬ