The Baby Truce (7 page)

“Let the dough rest before you work it,” he said when she punched it down and then turned it out of the bowl.

“I have my instructions.”

Yeah, yeah, yeah.
“It'll be better if you rest it before you work it. Portion it, then cover it with a towel and let it rest for an hour.”

“It doesn't say anything about resting it,” Patty said primly.

“Did it ever occur to you that I might know what I'm talking about?”

She turned in a huff. “And did it occur to you that I don't care what you know? I work for Reggie. Just like you.”

I don't work for her. I'm here for free.

“Fine. Do whatever you want.” Damn. He felt as if he were on a playground.

Patty didn't answer and immediately started working the dough, which tore instead of stretching.

Because it wasn't rested…
?.

Tom moved to the other side of his counter station, so that his back was to her and he didn't have to watch her mutilate the dough.

But Patty couldn't leave it at torturing the pizza crusts. No. She apparently complained to Reggie when the boss returned late that afternoon. Tattled on him.

Patty was gone and Tom was changing out of his jacket when Reggie came up to him, the gleam of battle in her eyes.

“Stop trying to direct Patty. It upsets her. As far as she knows you two are on a level playing field.”

Oh, yeah. Well, apparently Patty wasn't all that observant. “I'm trying to teach her something.”

“That's not your job, Tom.”

“All right, all right,” he said, putting his hands up. “I'll keep my mouth shut.” Reggie started for the door without a word. “You don't believe me.”

“I'm trying to,” she said with a sigh.

“What do you think I'm going to do?”

She turned and walked back toward him, her heels clicking on the tile. “I think you're going to do as you please.” One corner of her mouth tightened. “I think you can't help trying to take control of the kitchen. All kitchens.”

“I'm working on that.” He couldn't help trying to set matters right when they were obviously wrong, but on
the other hand, he was at the kitchen every day, chopping and doing prep he hadn't done in years. For Reggie. But she didn't seem to see that.

“You're saying you can change?”

He closed the locker and turned, to find her staring at him in disbelief. “I'm saying I
have
to change.” It wasn't easy to let those words out.

“Tom…you've built a career and destroyed it…because you refuse to change.”

“It's not destroyed,” he snapped.

“Well, it's pretty damned close, if you have to hide out for six months.”

He made a touché mark in the air with his index finger.

“We are what we are.” Reggie folded her arms. It looked as if she was about to start tapping her foot. “I'm not going to pretend to be something else to get what I want. And neither should you, because that's what got us in trouble the last time.”

He rubbed his forehead as if trying to massage away a headache before saying with exaggerated patience, “I was not pretending to be something I wasn't. I was figuring out who I was. I was twenty-three years old.”

“Did you want to cater?”

“I had my doubts,” he admitted.

“Did you talk to me about them?”

“I was working through them.”

“Then had a chance to escape, and took it.”

“It was an opportunity. And yeah. I took it. Did I miss you? Yes.”

“Did you come back? No.”

“Well, I'm back now, Reggie. And I'm staying for a while.” He could see from her expression that she either didn't believe him or she didn't
want
to believe him. “You honestly have no faith in me at all, do you?”

“You haven't inspired a lot of faith lately. In anyone.”

“Why in the hell did you sleep with me all these years later, if I'm such a loser?”

She lifted her eyes and met his gaze. “To prove to myself I was over you. To see if I could walk away with no regrets. Just like you did.”

It took him a few seconds to find his voice. “That was the only reason?”

She didn't even flinch. “Yes.”

“Did it work?” he growled.

She put a hand to her belly. “Next time I'm coming up with a better plan.”

She was a liar. Such a bald-faced liar.

Reggie stopped her car at the intersection of the alley and the street and made a conscious effort to look both ways. Twice.

Yes, she'd slept with Tom to prove a point. No, that wasn't the only reason. Her reasoning had been complicated and flawed, and had involved telling herself a couple big lies. Like that she was over him. She might no longer be in love with him as she'd once been, but it seemed as though she'd never really be free of feeling things for him. Even if she wasn't pregnant.

Now he was here in her kitchen—thanks to those lies she'd told herself—and she was going to have to do something other than make him chop vegetables and do grunt work.

She was losing hope that, after they spent some time together, the tension between them would ease and they would fall into a working relationship. She was wielding control with an iron fist and was afraid to stop, and he was doing as told and resenting every second. She was just as uncomfortable and defensive now as she had been the very first morning he'd showed up for work.

Something had to give, and she was afraid that if she wasn't careful, it would be her.

 

T
OM DROVE HIS RENTAL CAR TO
the hotel and searched for the closest parking space. The lot was jammed, being a Saturday night, and he knew from the previous night that it was probably going to be another loud one. Lots of parties and noise in the halls, but he wasn't in a party mood right now.

Running into Reggie in San Francisco had been unexpected and interesting. She'd changed, become more confident, more assertive—although she hadn't been a slouch when they'd been together. She'd invited him for drinks the first night; he'd asked her to dinner the second. And then he'd made the mistake of thinking, when she came on to him that last night, that she'd gotten over their breakup, regretted it as much as he did.

He'd thought when they'd made love that it was an acknowledgment of all the good things they'd once shared. A celebration, if you will. A hot, hot celebration. Instead it had been a vendetta on her part. A screw-you in more ways than one.

Tom yanked the keys out of the ignition.

Cool. Very cool. She'd wanted to stick it to him, and now they were stuck together because of the kid.

Tom got out of the car and walked the half mile to the hotel entrance, keys gripped tightly in one hand. She'd slept with him to prove a bloody point, and he'd been feeling all soft and squishy about it—except for the part where she'd disappeared without a goodbye.

That should have been a hint, but he'd been too thick-headed to read it for what it was.

He bypassed the revolving door for the regular door, which he yanked open. The crowd in the lobby parted
as he strode through to the banks of elevators, where about twenty or thirty people were waiting for a ride up. There was some kind of convention in the hotel that involved legions of women. Tom stood and stared at the elevator light.

“Hey,” one of the women, dressed in a pink suit, said loudly. “Are you Tom Gerard?
Chef
Tom Gerard?”

He looked into her overly made up eyes and said, “No” in his best conversation-killing voice.

“Are you sure?” Unfazed, she smiled up at him flirtatiously. “Although—” she elbowed her chubby friend “—I could make do with a look-alike.”

Everyone was staring at him now. He forced the corners of his mouth into a smilelike grimace and went back to staring at the light.

“Don't be shy,” the woman cooed.

I'm not shy, lady. I'm about to destroy you.

Tom pulled a long breath in through his nose, still clutching the keys tightly, willing the elevator to come. Now.

“Here.” The woman poked something at him and he automatically took it with his free hand. A business card with a cell-phone number. She smiled, playing to the crowd. “Maybe you could call if you get…
lonely
…tonight?”

Her friend giggled.

Tom folded the card in half with a quick move of his fingers. “Not…” he reached out to tuck the card into the woman's décolletage just above the top button of her pink suit jacket “…interested. Now, bug off.” The bell rang and the doors opened.

The woman went even pinker than her suit as Tom pushed by her onto the elevator. A few people got on with him, but not as many as could have fit. Those who did cut him sidelong looks on the ride up.

Great. Just great.

He didn't want word to get out to the general public that he was working for a catering kitchen. He didn't care if Pete knew, but general rumors were not going to do his career any favors. More importantly, though, given a slow news day, the gossip-teers might dig into why he was in such a lowly job…and find out about Reggie's pregnancy. That simply wasn't acceptable. Not yet, anyway.

But he wasn't blowing out of town, as Reggie undoubtedly wanted him to do—not before the issues were settled. He was nothing if not tenacious, and he'd meant it when he'd told her he was in this for the long haul.

For both of those reasons, he needed to get the hell out of this hotel.

 

T
OM HAD INTENDED TO SPEND
afternoons after his shifts at Tremont looking at apartments. He ended up looking at houses.

Apartments had parking lots and hallways, and places where he might bump into people who might figure out who he was. Butt into his business. With a house he would have more privacy, and right now, while he sorted through all the unfinished business in his life, privacy was a must. So a house it was.

As he'd suspected, he couldn't find a month-to-month rental, or even a six-month one. It was a year or nothing.
But the half year sublease on his New York apartment paid the entire year's lease on the average Reno house. With change.

Pete would have had a cow at his poor business sense, but Tom had no problem signing a lease on a house he was going to abandon once he and Reggie were on terms he could accept. Civil terms conducive to raising a child together. Although right now, he couldn't say that he and Reggie were doing the civil thing well.

He was pissed over the reason she'd slept with him. He felt used. Definitely a first for him.

Trees hung low over the street as Tom cruised toward the address of the third rental on his list. He'd visited two the day before and was squeezing this one in before heading to work.

The neighborhood seemed nice enough—one he wouldn't expect to be robbed in. If he had something worth stealing. A couple houses had toys in the yards and the lawns were all well kept.

He parked in the double drive, and before he could get out of the car, the real estate agent pulled in next to him.

“I see you found the place all right,” she chirped.

“I used to live in Reno.”

“Are you sure this is the neighborhood you're most interested in? I mean, we do have other options in areas more conducive to say, entertaining.”

“I'm not planning on entertaining,” he said. The woman's smile ebbed slightly. “I want a quiet area with a small house.”

Because he wasn't used to living in many more than
four rooms. Five at the most. All he really required was a decent kitchen and a bathroom.

“Well, this is quiet,” the woman conceded. She pulled a key out of her blazer pocket. “Shall we take a look?”

“Yes. Let's.”

The house was a house. The kitchen was adequate, as he'd suspected from the photos on the real estate website, and the rest of the house livable. It had a small backyard that Tom stood in for a moment, looking up at the leaves of the one giant tree. Shade. Cool.

The house was on a corner lot with a cinder block wall separating it from the street and a cedar board fence too tall to see over dividing the property from the house next door.

The real estate lady—Sharon somebody—hovered on the steps. He hadn't responded as she'd pointed out various features, and finally she'd quit talking.

“I'll take it,” Tom said.

“Wonderful,” she gushed. “If you wouldn't mind following me to the office, we can fill out the lease there and…no?” she asked when Tom shook his head.

“I've got to get to work. I'll stop by this afternoon.”

“Very well.”

Sharon had the look of someone who'd almost made a sale, but hadn't, which prompted Tom to say, “Honest.”

She smiled. “I believe you.” She went to her car, then before she got inside, she said, “What made you decide to settle in Reno, Chef Gerard?” She'd been studying him as he'd looked at the house, and he'd wondered if she'd recognized him. If she hadn't, then the name
he signed on the lease later would have been a dead giveaway.

“I'm taking time out from the rat race. No restaurant. I'll only be in town for a few months.” He approached her car, gave her one of his best smiles. “I'd appreciate it if word didn't get out that I'm here.”

“Not a problem. And maybe if you decide you like living in Reno and want to trade up, you'll remember me?”

He smiled for real. “It's a deal.”

 

“T
OM'S NOT HERE
?” R
EGGIE ASKED
as she walked through the kitchen. In the two days since the showdown in the alley, he had been there exactly on time, not more than a minute or two early. He smoldered during the day as he did his prep work, radiating waves of barely contained raw energy, but kept his eyes on the work. And he hadn't spoken, unless checking to see how she wanted something done.

She truly wished she could take back about half of what she'd said. There'd been no need to set the record straight, nothing gained by it.

And while Patty was happier now that Tom left her alone, this new side of him made
her
nervous, too. Reggie could tell from the way Patty jumped at every unexpected sound, as if Tom were going to attack from over a counter.

“I'd say that's obvious,” Eden replied. “Doesn't the kitchen seem kind of empty without him? You know…kind of like an empty tiger cage?”

“He didn't call?”

“Maybe he's had enough. Maybe you won.”

“I doubt that. And I haven't even started.”

The back door opened then and Tom came in. He went straight to his locker, pulled out his jacket and shrugged into it.

“Sorry I'm late,” he said as he walked into the kitchen fastening buttons. “I was looking at a house.”

Reggie shot a quick look at her sister, whose mouth had dropped open. “What kind of house?” Reggie asked.

“Walls, roof, doors,” Tom said with no trace of humor. “That kind of house.”

“A rental?” she pressed.

Tom stopped on the other side of the work counter as he did the last button. “Yes. A rental. Hotels are expensive.”

This was no big deal, then. He needed a cheaper place to stay.

Reggie cleared her throat as she reached into her jacket pocket for the folded paper there.

“Next time you're going to be late, call. Here's your prep list.”

When he took it from her, their fingers brushed, and she pulled back a little too quickly, then met Tom's eyes, daring him to make something of it. After deciding that his expression was suitably blank, she turned and caught both Eden and Patty watching her. “You guys have stuff to do, right?”

“Oh, yeah. Right,” Eden said. Patty's cheeks grew a little pinker and she went back to her cutting board.

Reggie went to her own station, where she was preparing chili to be served in bread bowls for a search and
rescue awards banquet. Rustic food for a local crowd. She concentrated on chopping onions, well aware that her technique, while more than adequate, was nothing like Tom's mastery of the knife.

She didn't give two hoots about knives right now.

A house. He'd rented a house. Not an apartment. Did this house have a yard? A swing set? Room to run and play?

No. He couldn't be setting up for fatherhood. It was a matter of economics.

And why did it bother her so damned much to think of him setting up for fatherhood? He was the father.

Because she didn't trust him to stay. Break her heart, fine. But break the kid's heart? Not an option.

Or maybe she didn't want to share her kid. Be tied to Tom.

She went through the motion of making the chili—browning the meat with a small amount of chili powder, since the order had specifically stated mild chili—then adding the onions, and when that was almost done, the garlic. She measured ingredients into prep bowls, not really thinking about what she was doing, her mind flitting back and forth between Tom's house and having to work out a custody deal.

“Taste,” she said to Eden a half hour later when her sister squeezed by behind her.

Eden took the spoon, tasted, then frowned. “A touch more heat. It tastes like bean soup.”

“That's what I thought.” Eden grabbed the chili container and tapped the side on the edge of the kettle, to coax a small amount out, but the lid fell off and disap
peared into the simmering pot, followed by a tumbling cascade.

“Damn it!” Reggie jerked the container upright, spreading chili powder across the counter in a slashing arc of red.

Tom's head came up. “What happened?”

She didn't want to answer, didn't want to admit to such stupidity, so instead she held up the nearly empty chili bottle. Then she set it on the counter and fished the lid out of the chili with the spoon, dumping it on the counter.

Tom took the spoon from her without asking, stirred the mixture, then tasted it.

“Leave it,” she snapped.

He gave his head a shake as he lowered the wooden spoon, then set it aside and grabbed a clean spoon. “It's got heat,” he said, as if she hadn't spoken. “But I'm pretty sure I can fix it.”

“I don't
want
you to fix it,” she said through gritted teeth, her voice low and dangerous.