The Baby Truce. Jeannie Watt

burden on Justin.

      “We’ll do all right,” she stated.

      He had more to say. She could see it, but he was holding back. “If you change your mind about having one of us come with you, pick me. Okay?”

      Reggie reached up and patted her brother’s cheek, then smiled. “First on the list.”

      REGGIE ARRIVED AT THE AIRPORT McDonalds early because she wanted to make sure the smell of food wasn’t going to trigger any bouts of nausea. So far, so good.

      She chose a table close to the edge of the seating area, where she could watch the escalator, see Tom before he saw her.

      She didn’t have long to wait. Less than fifteen minutes after she sat down, he came down the escalator. Tall, dark, striking. Two women traveling up on the opposite side gave him second glances, but he had zeroed in on her.

      Reggie swallowed.

      This is Tom. Just…Tom.

      But they had so much to hash out, and were undoubtedly coming at it from two different angles. Tom was probably wondering what this would do to his career, and Reggie was wondering what his career would do to the kid.

      “No bag?” Reggie said before he could speak. She wanted to take control. Now. Always.

      Good luck to her.

      “I checked it.”

      “So if you take a later flight—”

      “It’ll be waiting for me. Do you want something?” he asked, gesturing at the counter.

      “I already had orange juice.”

      “Been here long?” he asked, looking at the table, empty except for her napkin. The napkin was to give her something to do with her hands.

      “Not really.”

      Tom sat opposite her and for a moment they regarded each other coolly. Warily.

      “How are you feeling?” he asked.

      Distraught. Confused. Nervous.

      “A little sick in the morning, but not as bad as last week.” There was no way she was going to pour her soul out to him, count on him to make things better, help her through this.

      “Me, too,” Tom said. Reggie smiled. Or tried to. “We have some stuff to work out,” he added softly. But Reggie heard that underlying steel she remembered so well.

      “Yes.”

      “I have no idea where or how to begin.”

      Reggie reached for the napkin. “You don’t have to do anything.”

      “I remember that part from our phone conversation.”

      She didn’t answer immediately, not wanting to make any more errors at this point in the game. “What exactly do you see as your role here?”

      “Father?”

      Reggie briefly twisted the napkin between her fingers, then realized what she was doing and made herself stop. “How much contact do you want with the baby?”

      “Jumping right into it, aren’t you?”

      “Isn’t that why you’re here?”

      Tom put both his palms on the table in front of him and Reggie focused on his long, strong fingers, with the small nicks and scars from past culinary adventures. He had wonderful hands. There was a lot about him she’d found wonderful…and yet something had prevented him from fully giving himself to her. And that had made it possible for him to walk away from her—from their plans—pretty much devastating her.

      “I’m here as a first step only.”

      “Agreed,” Reggie said. “We can’t arrange custody until the baby is born, but I’d like to understand our roles beforehand.”

      Tom nodded, lightly moving the tips of his fingers over the tabletop.

      “Do you want custody?”

      He looked up at her point-blank question, his dark eyes unreadable. “That’s what I’m here to figure out.”

      “If you have any doubts about it…err on the side of caution,” Reggie said.

      He cocked his head, his eyebrows moving together. “Meaning?”

      “A kid needs a steady father, Tom. I know that because I didn’t have a steady father.”

      “What makes you think I wouldn’t be steady?”

      Reggie gave a short laugh, crumpling the napkin. “What makes me think you would be?” She hadn’t meant to be cruel, but it was oh so true. He had no record of steadiness, and she was justified in pointing that out.

      His expression darkened, the first sign that his temper was taking over. Reggie had never been intimidated by his moods, and when they had argued in the past, she’d merely stuck to her guns and eventually the storm would peter out. But sticking to her guns took time, and today she didn’t have time.

      “I’m sorry, Tom. That was uncalled for.”

      “But somehow it seemed to come from the gut,” he said.

      Reggie leaned back in her chair and studied his face. With the exception of the longer hair and the beard, which was little more than a neatly trimmed five o’clock shadow, he looked almost the same as he had seven years ago. But he wasn’t. Her Tom was there—she’d seen glimpses of him the night they’d slept together—but he was buried under a heavy layer of Chef Tom Gerard. The dog-eat-dog world he had embraced had changed him.

      But why had he chosen it over her? Why couldn’t he have stayed with her?

      “Maybe it did,” she allowed. She put a hand against her flat abdomen. “I’m concerned about the baby.”

      “And I’m your biggest concern.”

      “In a way, yes.”

      “Why? This has got to be as life altering for you as it is for me.”

      She had a feeling he knew exactly what she was going to say. That he wanted her to say it so he could contradict it. Fine.

      She leaned forward again. “I’ll spell it out, Tom. Once upon a time I loved you. We were supposed to start a catering business. Papers were signed. We had a plan.”

      His eyes flashed with sudden temper. “It wasn’t carved in stone.”

      “Obviously,” Reggie replied, unfazed. “Since you took off for the north of Spain for a job that had no future.”

      “It made one hell of a future for me.”

      “Yes, it did,” she conceded. He’d taken a gamble and it had paid off. And, since he had such a valid point, she took the low road. “But which of us is still employed?”

      “I will be employed,” he said coldly. “I don’t think Letterbridge is flying me across the country on a whim.”

      “Okay…and forgive me for being blunt,” Reggie said, tossing the crumpled napkin past him into the trash, “which one of us will stay employed?”

      He smiled. “Which one of us has had the more successful career?” he asked with exaggerated politeness.

      “I rather like mine. At least I know I’ll be bringing home a paycheck. It may not be as big as yours, but it’s steady.”

      Tom hooked an elbow over his chair back. “You’re still angry about me leaving,” he said as if making a major deduction.

      Brilliant, Tom. “Believe it or not, it stung when you chose a shot in the dark over me and a fairly sure thing.”

      “You could have come with me. Instead you gave me that fricking ultimatum.”

      “Which