The Baby Truce. Jeannie Watt

position.

      The questions about her future, the sobering reality of being responsible for a child. The fear that Tom’s gypsy lifestyle would forever warp her kid, coupled with the lingering sense of unreality about the entire situation. She wanted nothing more than to slip into denial, pretend none of this was happening—at least until she vomited again.

      Mims was having none of being shooed away. She threw her body hard against Reggie’s legs and then, when she had her weary owner’s attention, raced for the pantry. Reggie got to her feet and followed, wishing she’d thought of picking up the old brand of cat food when she’d gone to the store for more pregnancy tests.

      A few minutes later, she took a deep breath, held it as best she could as she opened the can and dished out the food. She tossed the can in the trash on top of the pregnancy tests, then fled the kitchen for the relatively fresh air of the living room.

      When she arrived at work twenty minutes later, Justin was there alone, leaning against the counter at the opposite end of the room, not moving at high speed for once in his life…almost as if he was waiting for her.

      “Justin.”

      “Reggie.”

      Oh, yeah. He knew. She didn’t know whether to be angry at Eden for spilling the beans, or grateful that she herself didn’t have to. The three siblings hadn’t kept many secrets from one another while growing up. They’d been in the odd position of practically raising each other while their long-haul trucker father had been on the road, after their mother’s death. Oh, Justin had tried to hold secrets, but the neighborhood grapevine was quite effective at keeping Reggie and Eden up to date on his activities.

      But this time it wasn’t Justin who was in hot water. Nope. Tables turned.

      Reggie walked the short distance from the back door into the office as if nothing was wrong, put away her purse, smoothed her hair, tied on an apron. When she left the office, Justin was right where he’d been when she’d entered the building, leaning against the stainless steel counter, gripping the metal on either side of him. His usually warm expression was cold. Was he ticked because this had happened to her after all the lectures she’d given him?

      “Been talking to Eden?” Reggie asked, giving him an opening so they could get this discussion over with fast.

      “Yeah.” Still cold. Still closed off.

      “Well.” Reggie shrugged, less than comfortable discussing this matter with her younger brother. The one she’d threatened with annihilation as a teen if he wasn’t sexually responsible. “I don’t know what to say.”

      He nodded as he regarded her. “Have you…made any plans?”

      “Like…?”

      “Keeping the baby?”

      Reggie raised her eyebrows. “I’m keeping the baby.” Of course she was keeping the baby. She wasn’t a pregnant teen. The thought of giving it up hadn’t even crossed her mind.

      Her brother’s face relaxed an iota, but his voice was still stern when he asked, “Told Tom yet?”

      “No.”

      “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