The Baby Truce (17 page)

“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.”

 

R
EGGIE AND
P
ATTY 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 his 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.

Tom adjusted the shirt as he turned toward her. His bathroom was not small, but somehow the walls seemed to be closing in now that she could see his face. “I should be going.” Liar. She wasn't going anywhere.

Tom settled his hands on her waist and pulled her a few steps forward, until she was between his thighs as he leaned back against the bathroom vanity. Oh, those thighs. Long and muscular.

“Why are you here, Reggie? Was it really to change the bandage?”

She shook her head. “No…it was more along the lines of kissing you and making it better.” His eyes darkened and she brought her hand up to his face, running her forefinger over his lower lip. “And not because I have anything to prove.”

She leaned in to trace her lips over the trail her finger had made, and Tom wrapped his arms around her and
kissed her. But not gently or reverently. He pulled her to him and ravaged her mouth. Reggie, ever up for a challenge, gave back as good as she got.

When he finally raised his head, she could feel his erection pressing into her. It made her even more urgent as she started undoing his shirt buttons, but he put his hands over hers, stopping her.

Her gaze shot up and he planted a soft kiss on her lips, then took her arm and led her out of the bathroom and into his stark bedroom. Once there he put her hands back up onto his buttons, and her fingers went to work.

“What's wrong with the bathroom?” she whispered, finally breaking the silence. “It used to be one of our favorite rooms.” The bathtub. The shower. Any available surface.

He peeled her shirt up over her head. “The counter doesn't allow for a long…” he kissed the crook of her neck, making her shiver “…long…” he reached around to release her bra “…leisurely…” he sucked his breath in as her hand dipped down into the top of his pants “…exploration.”

“I see your point,” she murmured against his skin. She loved how he smelled. It made her want to eat him alive.

They undressed each other with the practiced moves of old lovers, but this didn't feel like old times to Reggie. Just as when they'd made love in San Francisco, she felt she was exploring uncharted territory—with a vengeance. She could not get enough of this man.

Once naked, Tom backed her up again, his thighs bumping hers, until her legs made contact with the
futon, and he slowly lowered her down. Then he lay beside her, pulling her against him and kissing her as her palms played over his skin, rediscovering all the places she'd once known.

“You're sure about this.” He rolled her onto her back, his lips tracing the sensitive skin at the side of her neck, then along her jawline. She shifted her head on the pillow to give him better access.

“I'm sure.”

“No regrets in the morning?” He placed the flat of his hand on her belly, frowning slightly as he caressed the swelling there, then met her eyes again. “You'll
be here
in the morning.”

“No regrets. I'll be here.”

“But you're not getting involved with me?”

“This is our involvement, Tom.” Her voice took on a softly pleading tone. “I can deal with this part of it. I need this part. Please?”

She slid her fingers into his hair and pulled his mouth to hers before he could answer. He gathered her to him, stretching her body against his before rolling onto his back, tugging her on top of him. His muscles were long and hard, his erection even harder as it pressed against her abdomen, making her ache with the need to feel him inside her. Somehow the world was right when he was there, joined with her.

But instead, his finger slipped inside and she gave an involuntary gasp at the delicious sensation.

“That's it,” he murmured as she moved against him, almost without conscious thought. One finger, then two.
He knew exactly what she liked, exactly how to drive her to the edge.

And she could return the favor. In a minute or two…

When she sighed against his chest, Tom laughed softly, the first sign that he'd let his guard totally drop. “Like that, do you?”

“You know I do.” She bit her lip, then put her hand down to stop him before it was too late.

“Are you sure?”

“I never eat dessert first,” she said, rising up slightly so that she could slide down his chest. He folded the pillow behind his head and watched through half-closed eyes as she took him in her mouth. It wasn't long before his hand fisted in her hair, and then he gently eased her back. She gave him a roguish smile and one last long lick.

He pulled her up his body once more and rolled over her, kissing her deeply as he nudged her thighs apart and moved in between them. When he pushed into her, she closed her eyes at the sensation, so glad, so very glad she'd come to his house this evening. He was heavy. Hot. She raised her hips to draw him in to the hilt.

“Oh, yeah,” he breathed into her ear.

And then they stopped talking, communicating instead through the response of their bodies as they moved against one another. Reggie had never made love to anyone else who could bring her to the brink and then back off, holding her there. It was maddening. It was delicious.

It was Tom.

But good things last for only so long, and even
though she fought it, she could finally hold off no longer. Tom had more self-control—about a minute more. When he finally emptied into her, Reggie cradled his head, brushing the dampness from his forehead.

“You okay?” she asked, and he laughed against her shoulder.

 

R
EGGIE WOKE UP WITH
T
OM HALF
sprawled over her, like old times. She lay there awake, secure in his embrace, feeling the even rise and fall of his chest as he slept. Her gaze fastened on the open suitcase, its top leaning against the wall opposite the bed. Reality. She felt him shift, and then his lips pressed into the crook of her neck.

“You're going, aren't you?”

He rolled off her and propped himself on one elbow. “I have to.”

She understood. Sadly. And she told him so.

“It's a site visit. I'll see the kitchen, meet the other guys he's hiring.”

Reggie curled into Tom instead of pushing him away, as instinct demanded. She closed her eyes for a moment.

His hand settled on the side of her head, holding it against his shoulder. Reggie sucked in a breath. Slowly exhaled.

“I'm using this as a stepping stone, Reggie. I'll put in time until I can get something back here in the States.”

She pulled away from him, brushing the hair from her face. There were many things she wanted to say, but settled on, “When?”

“Lowell is booking the ticket. Sometime soon. I'd
planned on telling you after we were done with this competition.”

“I knew this was coming,” she said simply, but there was nothing simple about her emotions. “That's why I told you I wouldn't get involved.”

“It's not forever,” Tom said.

She nodded, stunned at how, now that his leaving was official, it hurt. No, she'd never gotten over him.

And yes, she'd been wise to decide not to get involved.

If only she hadn't.

A
NXIETY
,
VAGUE BUT INSISTENT
, started gnawing at Tom as soon as Reggie pulled out of the driveway.

No…it had started before then. Around the time he'd woken up and felt so incredibly glad to have her there with him.

He went to the back door and called Brioche in from where she was happily digging at something in the grass, growling and pouncing.

“Come on in, tough girl.” He didn't particularly want to be alone while he did his small load of laundry and washed his three dishes. He spent the day on edge, and instead of phoning Reggie at the end of it, he phoned Lowell.

“Impatiently awaiting my call?” his friend asked when Tom got him on the line.

“Wondering when I'm leaving. I have to make plans.”

“Simone is finishing up the details. How does Wednesday sound?”

“Good.”

He needed to get this trip over with, settle his life so he could be fair to Reggie. Who he was just as much in love with as he'd been before going to Spain.

And he didn't know how to handle it.

 

R
EGGIE HAD JUST STARTED
stirring the paint when she heard someone at the front door. Not Eden; she would have called first. And Justin was actually out on a date on the first free evening he'd had in a long time.

Reggie walked down the hall to the living room, knowing it had to be Tom. But why?

Upon opening the door, she knew why. This was goodbye.

He attempted a smile as she stepped back to let him come inside. It wasn't very convincing, but she didn't feel like smiling, either. She didn't regret their night except in terms of wishing it could have been more permanent, but Tom wasn't wired that way and she wasn't going to try to make a life with a man who was the equivalent of a caged tiger. The tiger would eventually escape, and Reggie would be left with the cage.

“When do you leave?” she asked, closing the door behind him.

“Three days.”

“Well, then.” She couldn't think of anything else to say. In three days she could start putting her life together without him. It would be more restful. Easier. Emptier.

“Painting?”

“Yes,” she answered with a slight frown, glancing down at her clothing. Nothing to suggest painting.

He reached out to touch her cheek, then held up his thumb with a light smear of green paint over it. Reggie put her hand to her face.

“It's all gone,” he said, rubbing his thumb and fore
finger together. He hooked his thumbs in his pockets. “Want some help?”

“Sure,” she said without enthusiasm. There was something bittersweet about Tom helping her paint the nursery. No, make that really bittersweet. Now, instead of focusing on the one positive aspect of this situation, preparing for her baby's future, she was again dealing with unfinished business, unsettling emotion.

They walked together down the hall to the baby's room, where newspaper covered the hardwood floor and all the trim was taped off with blue painter's tape. Just having him here, in the room, was difficult.

This was not the same man who'd made love to her. Already he was withdrawing, as he had the last time he'd left. Only this time she knew the drill, and he was leaving her on better terms. Then he'd come back. She knew he would. And leave again. Her child would be raised that way, and would hopefully think it was normal—as long as Tom didn't make promises he had no intention of keeping. As Reggie's father had done.

“It's not the color you picked,” Reggie said. “But it's still green.” Crisp Granny Smith apple green.

“I like it,” Tom said, studying the open container. “Stimulating and soothing at the same time.”

“Yes.” She picked up her brush. “Maybe you could roll and I'll do trim?”

He began to pour paint into the tray, and Reggie had to stop him before he poured too much. When he slopped the roller in, she realized that Tom had never painted before. Biting her lip to keep from saying anything, she started carefully painting around a window
as he taught himself the ins and outs of rolling paint. She realized too late she should have offered him an old shirt, since he soon had a fine mist of apple-green over his white T-shirt. When she mentioned it, he looked down, shrugged, then started on the next wall.

Focus. Reggie ran the brush down the edge of the window. Carefully. Trying to avoid the odd swell of her heart as Tom ineptly slung paint.

It took less than an hour to paint the room despite Tom's lack of skill, and then he poured the extra paint back into the container and sealed it while Reggie disposed of the roller covers and washed the brushes. When she was done she came back to find Tom critically eyeing his work.

“I messed up along the ceiling,” he said, pointing out where the roller had left green marks on the white paint.

“I'll touch that up tomorrow.”

He put an arm around her shoulders and she leaned her head against him, squeezing her eyes shut. She wished they could be just a normal couple getting their baby's room ready. But no.

And she didn't know why. What was this thing that kept all the pieces from coming together smoothly? Why couldn't she figure it out?

“I'll come in to the kitchen tomorrow and Tuesday,” he said. “I don't have anything else to do, and the last time you kicked me out, I went nuts hanging out around my place all day.”

“I'd appreciate that. Eden just booked a last-minute cocktail party for Wednesday. Appetizers and desserts.” So civil.

Damn, but Reggie wanted to sleep with him. One more time before he left.

“I'll be there,” Tom said. He stepped back and when, throat dry from nerves, she was about to ask him if he wanted to stay with her, he said, “I need to go. Brioche is in the house and her bladder is only so big.”

“Where will she stay when you're gone?” Reggie asked, knowing the answer.

“The boys,” he said. “Frank and Bernie.”

“How long will you be away?”

“Two weeks maybe?”

“And then you'll know.”

“Then I'll know,” he echoed softly.

A moment later he left, kissing her at the front door. She could tell it was only supposed to be a quick goodbye kiss, but it got away from him, grew in heat and intensity, and for a brief moment, as he pressed her to him, Reggie thought she was going to get a proper goodbye. Instead Tom reluctantly pulled back and leaned his forehead against hers.

“I'll see you at the kitchen,” he said, his voice slightly husky.

He wanted to stay, but his instinct to leave was stronger.

Moments later, despite her intentions to remain logical, she felt a swell of frustration and anger as she watched him walk to his car.

She pressed her fingertips against her temples. Hard.

 

T
OM BOUGHT A COPY
of the
Reno Standard
on his way home from Reggie's, and there was no mention of him
being at the Reno Cuisine, no phone photo of the newly shorn Chef Gerard. Apparently he really was old news. It was a good feeling. But he'd buy another paper tomorrow, just to make sure they weren't saving him for a slower news day.

He spent the next day, as promised, in the Tremont kitchen, helping Reggie prep for a luncheon and a cocktail party, while Eden caught up on the office work. Reggie was making a chicken empanada and Tom showed her a filling using chorizo and freshly ground chicken.

“Love it,” she said when he offered her a taste, after turning the heat off under the pan. She met his eyes briefly, smiled a distant smile.

Everything between them was false right now. His actions, her reactions. No, not really so much false as forced. A front they were both using to protect themselves from reality.

“I'd like to use that for the appetizers.”

“I'll grind up a batch tomorrow.” On his last day at the kitchen before leaving the country.

But he'd be back to take care of Brioche and his belongings. And then he'd leave again, because if Lowell offered him this job on terms he could accept—which was just about any terms at this point—he had to take it. Remake himself. Tom hoped Reggie would understand that it was better for her and the baby if he shook this rogue reputation he had.

He left the kitchen early and went home, surfed the web and called Lowell to firm up plans. Then he kicked around his lonely house with Brioche, who must've
sensed something was up. She was shadowing his every move. Frank had finally agreed that he could live with the dog as long as Bernie vacuumed frequently and she slept in the utility room.

She was going to hate that, but Tom had a feeling she'd be warming Bernie's feet before too much time passed. Bernie was a soft touch.

Tom scooped the dog up and ruffled the hair on top of her head. As was he. That would have to change, pronto, if he was going to command one of Lowell's cutthroat crews.

The next morning, his last day working at Tremont, he got up early after a sleepless night.

He popped Brioche out the back door, started the coffee and sliced a piece of bread, which he covered with marmalade. He read the news as he ate, then turned on the shower. While the water warmed, he walked back into the kitchen and opened the back door to call Brioche.

But she wasn't waiting there, ready to shoot in.

Tom's stomach knotted as he stepped out into the very empty backyard and saw the fresh hole under the fence to Frank and Bernie's. Heart in his throat, he strode over and peered into his neighbors' territory. Their gate was open and the yard was empty.

Brioche was gone.

 

R
EGGIE PULLED BEHIND THE
kitchen on Tom's last day of work, but the spot where he usually parked was empty.

She poked her head into the office, where Eden was tying on an apron. “No Tom?”

Her sister shook her head. Patty was chopping away at vegetables, using the technique Tom had taught her, and Justin wasn't due in to make desserts until early afternoon.

Reggie put on an apron and went into the kitchen, where she started the preliminary work for hot appetizers, and wondered where he was. She'd counted on him this one last day.

The phone rang and Eden, being closer, headed for the office. A second later, she came back and handed Reggie the cordless phone. “Tom.”

“I'm going to be late,” he told her.

“Flat tire?”

“My dog is gone. I need to find her,” he said, as if he'd lost his socks and needed a few more minutes to get ready. “Can you do without me for a while?”

“Sure, Tom.” There was no other answer Reggie could give. Besides, after today, they'd be handling everything without him. All the time. It was just that she'd counted on him today. And now she needed to make a chicken empanada filling.

After she hung up, she called Patty over and had her go to work on the appetizers while she went into the cooler and came back with the chicken. She started to break it down.

“What's with Tom?” Eden asked.

“He lost his dog.”

“Oh, no.” Eden put a hand to her chest. “A little dog like that? Lots of things could happen to her.”

Actually, Reggie was more worried about Tom. He
hadn't sounded right. He'd been too matter-of-fact. No hint of emotion.

For a guy who blew up in the kitchen so often, there were times when he retreated.

Focus. You have a professional commitment here.

Reggie did focus—for almost half an hour. No call from Tom, which meant he hadn't found his dog.

She made it another half hour, putting together her own version of chicken filling, then she gave up. Yes, they were busy, but an emergency was an emergency.

“I have to help Tom look for Brioche,” she said, pulling off her apron. “I'll work late tonight. I just…have to go help Tom find his dog.”

“It's about time,” Eden replied, taking Reggie's apron from her. “Patty and I can finish most of the prep.”

Reggie hurried to her car and was inside before she realized she was still wearing kitchen clogs.

She drove slower once she got within a few blocks of his house, looking for Brioche. What she saw instead was Frank on one side of the street and Bernie on the other, peering into bushes and over fences, calling and whistling. Her heart sank.

So much for the hope that Tom was late because of a happy reunion with the dog he'd pretended he didn't care about.

Reggie pulled into Tom's driveway and parked. The house was empty, as she'd suspected, so she started down the driveway and turned in the opposite direction from Frank and Bernie, calling Brioche's name over and over again.

She'd made a circuit of the block, then started up the
next street when, in the distance, she saw Tom walking toward her cradling something to his chest.

Reggie hurried to meet him, jogging awkwardly in her clogs.

“I thought you were overloaded in the kitchen,” he said when she stopped in front of him, reaching out to pat the little dog, who was panting after her big adventure.

“I was worried about Bree.” Tom met her eyes briefly, then focused back on the animal.

Bernie rounded the corner, then broke into a smile and waved for his brother to join them.

“So there you are, you little escapee,” he said when he got close enough to pet her. He rubbed the dog's silky ears, oblivious to the fact that Tom wasn't smiling like the rest of them. “Where was she?”

“On a playground,” Tom said, his expression taut. He started walking and the others fell into step. Bernie and Frank began making plans for an escape-proof yard as they traveled the three blocks home.

“It's easy,” Frank said to Bernie. “I read it in the
Family Handyman.
You bury chain link along the edge of the fence.”

“Sorry about this,” Tom finally said to Reggie in a low voice as the men debated the best kind of chain link to use. “I overreacted. I'll just grab a shower and head down to the kitchen.”