The Pregnancy Surprise

“Like some guy named Ike from Santa Fe called you at least three times a day on your cell phone. You didn’t want to encourage him, but you didn’t want to hurt his feelings, either.”

She blinked in surprise. “Now who’s eavesdropping?”

“Sometimes I couldn’t help overhearing,” he said, echoing exactly what she’d just said to him.

Gracious. He wasn’t nearly as oblivious as she’d guessed. Here she thought she hadn’t even registered on his radar, and he’d been listening to her conversations.

“What else do you know about Cooper?” he asked.

“Aren’t you more curious as to how much I know about you?”

He looked away. “I don’t give off that many clues.”

“You’re thirty-four years old. You’re the youngest of two brothers, your brother is named Bret, and he dumps a lot of work on you.”

Reece opened his mouth, but no words came out.

“You’ve never been married,” she continued. That was more of an educated guess than actual knowledge, but she could see the moment she said it that it was true, and she felt unaccountably relieved. “Bret is already married and has two kids, a boy and a girl…Bret Jr. and Jessica.”

“Not bad.”

“You like things neat, and you make your bed every morning even though that’s my job. You get seasick and you have seasonal allergies.”

“How do you know that?”

“I’m the maid. I clean your bathroom and I’ve seen the medicine you leave out on the counter.”

“You’re a snoop!” But he softened the comment with a smile. “I bet you wouldn’t want some man looking at your private things.”

She shrugged. “You can look in my bathroom any time you want. Especially if you’re willing to scrub the toilet.” He wouldn’t find anything shocking. The most controversial thing in her medicine chest were birth control pills, which she often forgot to take because lately there hadn’t been any compelling reason to. She and Ike hadn’t made it that far because she’d quickly realized he wasn’t for her.

He’d finally gotten the message, too, thank God.

The antique clock on the buffet chimed the half hour, and Sara realized she needed to get a move on. “The frittata comes out of the oven at six-fifty,” she said. “The muffins, in about five minutes. You’ll need to make the orange juice from frozen—we don’t have any fresh oranges today, but I’ll stop at the grocery on my way home. Is there anything else you need to know?”

“Um, Sara?”

“Yes?”

“How were you planning to get to the hospital?”

Oh, damn. The automotive fairies hadn’t magically materialized a new car for her last night. She gave Reece a beseeching look. “You won’t let me borrow yours?”

His expression told her exactly what he thought of that idea. Some men were a little funny about loaning out their cars, and she didn’t really blame him, since the Mercedes was so new.

“Miss Greer needs me,” she said. “I’m a very good driver. I’ll drive like my grandmother, I swear.”

He wavered, then finally, looking resigned, reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out a set of keys.

She took them, then impulsively threw her arms around him and kissed him—on the cheek at the last minute instead of his mouth, since another kiss like last night’s was apt to addle her brains so thoroughly she would drive into a lamppost.

“Thanks, Reece, you’re a peach. If you need anything, my cell number is stuck to the fridge.”

“Tell Miss Greer I hope she’s better soon.”

“I will. Bye!” She got out of there before he had a chance to change his mind.

REECE PEEKED out the lace curtains at the front windows and watched as Sara jumped into his car, gunned the motor and sped off, gravel flying. She hadn’t taken the time to adjust the seat or the mirrors.

Too bad he couldn’t call the Department of Motor Vehicles and check her driving record, but he had a sneaking feeling that being a “good driver” was all in Sara’s mind.

He had no more time to think about his poor car, though. Breakfast called. He remembered the muffins just in time. While they cooled he mixed up some frozen orange juice—luckily the instructions were on the can.

Then it was time to take out the frittata, which he had to admit smelled pretty good. But those little bits of green and red floating around in the eggs were peppers, and peppers were scary.

He poured himself some coffee, then remembered he wasn’t supposed to drink it on an empty stomach, so he located last night’s bread. The golden loaves made his mouth water, but they were unsliced.

He got out a cutting board and bread knife—at least, he was pretty sure it was a bread knife—and started slicing. But his slices were thick and ungainly, nothing like the thin, regular slices he was used to seeing at the Sunsetter’s breakfast table.

The first guests arrived for breakfast right at seven. The Taylors were a young couple who were planning to visit the nearby wildlife refuge.

Reece brought out the coffeepot. “Breakfast will be ready shortly,” he said as he poured the husband’s coffee. But the wife stopped him.

“I’d like hot tea, please.”

“Tea.” Sara hadn’t mentioned anything about tea. “Coming right up.”

“And do you have skim milk for the coffee?” the husband asked.

Blech. “I’ll check.”

Tea required boiling water. A kettle sat on the stove, so Reece filled it and turned on the burner. He found a carton of skim milk in the fridge and started to bring it out to the dining room, but he remembered that both Sara and Miss Greer always put everything in nice dishes. He had to rummage for a cream pitcher.

Then the water was boiling. Oh, God, what should he do with it? Where were the tea bags?

The toast popped up, but he didn’t have time to eat it. He put in more of his lumpy, uneven slices for the guests, brought the whole kettle to the dining room and poured it into Mrs. Taylor’s cup as she looked on, puzzled.

“I suppose you’d like a tea bag,” he said.

Mrs. Taylor pointed at the buffet. “They’re right there.”

Thank God.

He brought out the frittata just as the second couple, the Silversteins, arrived. They, of course, wanted coffee right away, but with half-and-half, not skim milk.

“Could we get something to serve the frittata?” Mr. Taylor asked, when Reece returned with the half-and-half carton—he couldn’t find another cream pitcher, though he knew there must be one somewhere.

“Just scoop it up with your hands,” Reece said in a lame attempt at humor. When no one laughed, he retreated, found a spatula, and brought it to Mr. Taylor.