Jeannie Watt - The Baby Truce

Did she have the look of someone going through her pregnancy alone?

“I want the baby,” Reggie said coolly, not taking a particular shine to this nurse. “I just hadn’t planned to become pregnant. It happens.”

“Boy, does it,” the nurse muttered. She smiled at Reggie, though. “I didn’t mean to offend. If a woman isn’t comfortable with her pregnancy, she needs to confront the issues both for her health and the health of the child. I offer the service to all mothers-to-be.”

Reggie didn’t believe her. Or maybe she was just nervous and cranky.

The doctor was a very likable, if somewhat harried man. He did a quick exam, pronounced Reggie fit to have children without a C-section, and prescribed vitamins. “Now, do you have any questions?”

“About five hundred,” Reggie said.

He laughed. “I’ll answer what I can and point you to some excellent online sources for the questions that pop into your head as soon as you leave.”

Reggie left the office with a handful of literature and web addresses, a prescription for vitamins and a November due date.

“Well?” Eden said, looking up from the manicotti she was filling when Reggie walked into the kitchen.

“Everything’s good.”

“No pictures? No boy or girl?”

“Not yet. Several more weeks before they can tell.”

“Hope it’s a girl,” Eden said.

Obviously the aunt was settling into this pregnancy better than the mother.

PATTY PASSED HER SECOND interview with flying colors, because Justin was more than happy to rein in the irreverence if they could get some additional help. She started work the day after Reggie’s doctor’s appointment, bustling in fifteen minutes early and then carefully stowing her purse in the locker assigned her. She’d brought a chef’s jacket that was so stiff it seemed to creak when she put it on. Once it was buttoned to the top, she rolled her shoulders and asked, “Where do I begin?”

“Inventory,” Reggie said, leading the way to the dry storage area.

Patty pulled a small spiral book and pencil out of her pocket. “Do you mind if I take notes?”

“Not at all,” Reggie said. “Although honestly, the procedure isn’t that complex.”

“Everyone has their own way of doing things.”

Indeed. Counting could be tricky. But Reggie reminded herself that the woman had primarily worked in hospital and care facility kitchens. There were probably set procedures for everything.

Once she and Patty were in front of the open stainless steel shelving, she said, “It’s important that we have emergency stock and an adequate supply of basic ingredients, but having too much of anything is a waste of money that could be earning interest.”

Patty nodded sagely and made a notation in her book.

“I have a master list here…” She went through her procedure, letting Patty do the actual inventory. “Justin’s cake supplies are on a different sheet, and vary according to what he needs for the week. I take care of the orders, but he fills out this list.” Reggie was just flipping to it on the clipboard when the phone rang.

“When you’re done here, move on to the cooler. The sheet is on the very bottom of the stack.”

“Will do.” Patty didn’t salute, but Reggie had the feeling she wanted to. Please relax, she wanted to say.

The call was from Eden. She was leaving the site for the Italian dinner party they were giving that evening and heading for the linen supplier. She’d discovered that the order was short. “Be sure you make a notation on the invoice,” she said. “How’re you feeling?”

“Like I’m tired of you asking that every morning.”

“Better?”

“Good enough.”

It had been only two weeks since Reggie had found out she was pregnant, but her body had definitely become different. Not her own. It was acting on autopilot, responding to ancient signals from deep within her DNA. She only wished those signals would stop making her feel queasy because she wanted the Italian dinner, not to mention the bridal shower the day after tomorrow, to be perfect. Or if not perfect, to at least give that impression.

Funny how the success or failure of Tremont Catering had taken on a whole new significance since discovering she was pregnant. Yes, she’d been driven to make the business a success, but it had been because she loved to cook and cater. Because she enjoyed the challenge and thrill of running her own company and enjoyed working with her brother and sister.

Now success was a matter of necessity, because she was going to have a child to support.

As soon as Patty finished the inventory, Reggie put her to work chopping veg for the salad and vegetarian courses for that evening’s dinner. Reggie waved at the mail lady from the kitchen, as the woman came and went, and minutes later Justin walked through the front door. Reggie kept her eyes on her knife as she sliced mushrooms, but she heard her brother sorting through the mail, envelopes hitting the bottom of the metal trash can every few seconds, then silence.

He was yawning as he walked in, and Reggie was about to say something along the lines of how much sleep did you get last night, despite her intentions not to, when he held up an envelope with a distinct blue-and-green design.

Reggie almost dropped her rolling pin. “Is that…”

“I hope it’s not bad news,” Patty said.

“Bad news doesn’t come in a blue-and-green envelope, Patty.” The prep cook turned a little pink at Justin’s tone.

“Are we in?” Reggie asked, stunned. The deadline for acceptance into Reno Cuisine had passed two weeks ago—just about the time she’d discovered she was pregnant, and hadn’t given two hoots about a catering competition. Not even a big one.

Justin pulled the contract and a letter out of the envelope and handed them to her. “We’re in. Sutter’s Catering had to drop out and we’re first on the waiting list.”

“I’ll write the check and get it in the mail today,” Reggie said, skimming the letter. This was good. Really good. Now to make a decent showing. Thank heavens for Patty. “How much time do I have? Do we have to notarize the contract?”

“They need word by the end of the week. No notarization.” Justin had obviously read every word before coming in.

“Maybe I’ll drop it by their office on the way home.” Reggie looked up at him.

“Good plan.”

“The Reno Cuisine?” Patty beamed. “How exciting.”

“You have no idea,” Reggie said. Tremont was doing well, but competition was tough in Reno, and they needed every edge they could get. This would help establish them.

“Exciting and hopefully lucrative.” Justin smiled at the prep cook and again she went pink, even though she was old enough to be his mother.

“Patty,” he added, “you might just be our good luck charm.”

TOM HAD FINISHED FUNNELING HIS frustrations into a massive apartment sterilization project and was packing laundry into bags for his weekly trip to the cleaners when the phone rang.

“Tom Gerard,” he answered as he cinched a bag shut.

“Mr. Gerard? This is Debra Banks from the Letterbridge Hotel Corporation.”

Tom dropped the laundry bag on the sofa and stood up straighter. Finally. He’d turned down an offer from them two years ago, but now he wasn’t turning down anything. Maybe they knew that.

“Would you be interested in flying to our corporate office in Seattle for a meeting and interview with our culinary vision team?”

“Yes, I would,” Tom replied without hesitation. “When?”

Many fine chefs worked for hotels. It was exactly the kind of corporate, don’t-color-outside-the-lines environment that had gotten Tom in trouble in the past, but things had changed since he’d found out Reggie was pregnant. He was going to have to learn how to survive in a corporate environment. There weren’t many other options. He could give them a year or two, then try to move into a more creative kitchen.