The Pregnancy Surprise

“That’s a lot of driving.”

“It’s only forty minutes. I don’t mind.” He really didn’t mind. The woman was exciting to be around, even if she did keep him in a constant state of semi-arousal. Anyway, what else did he have to do?

He had already set up the bookkeeping for Remington Charters, the business he and his cousins had inherited from their uncle. He could have gone home a week ago, and really he should have. But he’d been dragging his feet, pretending there was more work to do, and not quite sure why. For the first time in his life he wasn’t eager to return to his office and the numbers he loved.

Numbers were reliable. He understood them. He could rely on them to behave. Beautiful, wild, chestnut-haired women, on the other hand, were a complete mystery to him.

But he now realized Sara was at least part of the reason he hadn’t rushed home to his job, although she clearly was a most unsuitable woman for him.

Relationships were all about compatibility. Having the same interests, the same values. The fact that she got his juices flowing simply wasn’t enough.

“Well, if you really don’t mind driving all that way,” Sara said, “I’d appreciate it. Miss Greer will rest easier knowing someone is looking after the guests.”

“What rooms should I put them in?” Reece asked.

“The Silversteins always like the Orchid Room…no, wait, maybe that’s the Canfields who like to stay there. They’re coming next week…or the week after. But for sure, put the Taylors in the Tea Rose…or maybe it’s the Lilac Room.” She waved a dismissive hand. “It’s in the calendar at the front desk.”

Miss Greer wasn’t kidding about Sara being bad with the details. She was intelligent and well-read. He’d often seen her tucked into the window seat in the side parlor, reading something really dense like Proust or Hemingway.

Yet she was a disaster when it came to numbers and details. Why was that?

“I should go,” Reece said. “I’ll come back around eight o’clock. We can grab a bite afterward, if you want to.” He held his breath. Had he actually just invited Sara Kaufman to have dinner with him?

She surprised him with a warm smile. “I’d like that. Ooh, I heard about this great restaurant not too far from here. I’ve been dying to try it.”

“Okay, sounds good.” And it saved him the agony of coming up with some place to take her that she would enjoy.

SARA WAS WAITING in front of the hospital when Reece pulled up precisely at eight o’clock. She waved and trotted toward the car, jumping into the passenger seat. The car suddenly seemed a more cheerful place, filled with her colors and the scents of vanilla and cinnamon that swirled around her wherever she went.

She looked a little tired, but as usual she was smiling. “Right on time.”

“I hate being late.” Besides, he was hungry. He usually ate dinner early, went to bed early, woke up early. He liked getting to the office before anyone else, when he could really concentrate in the quiet. Just him and the numbers.

“Did you get the guests checked in?” Sara asked.

He nodded. “When I got back I found the Silversteins roaming about the living room a little puzzled by the fact no one was there to greet them. But when I explained about Miss Greer’s accident, they were completely understanding. The other two couples arrived right after. I got them all settled into their rooms.”

Then, because he’d promised Miss Greer, he’d listened to messages, returned phone calls and taken three reservations. Business was certainly heating up as summer approached.

“How is Miss Greer?” he asked as he pulled away from the curb without any clue where they were going.

“Resting comfortably. She’s scheduled for surgery first thing in the morning. Meanwhile, they gave her some pain meds that worked pretty well, though they made her a little bit loopy.”

“Loopy?” That was hard to imagine.

“She thought she was a little girl, and she spoke in German. Did you know she came over from Germany right after the war?”

“I truthfully don’t know anything about Miss Greer. She’s not exactly chatty.”

“Sometimes when she’s baking, she’ll let things slip.”

“Speaking of baking…” Reece said, “I assume you’ll want to be at the hospital for Miss Greer’s surgery tomorrow.”

“Yes, of course,” Sara said passionately. “Someone has to be here for her. But what does that have to do with baking?”

“What about breakfast?”

“I can grab something here.” Then she gasped. “Oh, my gosh, who’s going to feed the guests?”

Exactly what Reece was wondering.

Sara looked at him, her eyes beseeching. “I don’t suppose you’d—”

“Oh, no. I don’t even know how the coffeemaker works. Where are we going, by the way?”

She looked around, orienting herself. “Turn right at the light. Reece, you have to do breakfast. It’s easy. I’ll get everything ready for you. All you have to do is pull things out of the oven. Then there’s just the easy stuff—orange juice, yogurt, toast—oh, shoot, I need to bake bread, too.” She looked at her watch. “Maybe we shouldn’t do dinner after all.”

Reece was surprised at how disappointed he felt. He wanted to take Sara to dinner. “I’ll help,” he said. “I guess if I don’t actually have to cook, I can handle it. As soon as we’re done with dinner, we’ll go back and I’ll help you all I can to get ready for tomorrow.”

Her smile lit up the whole car. “Great.”

Yeah, great. He wondered if he should refund the Silversteins and the others some of their money. Part of the appeal of a B and B was a fancy, fabulous breakfast. But with Reece in charge, he was afraid it would be distinctly non-fabulous. He would shoot for edible.

“Just so you know, cooking was the one Boy Scout badge I never got. And I made it to Eagle Scout.”

“You were a Boy Scout? That’s so cute.”

Cute? He didn’t want Sara to think of him as “cute.” But he supposed “hot and studly” was out of the question.

“Sara, where are we going again?”

She looked around. “Oh, shoot. I forgot to tell you to turn at the last light.”

“No problem.” Reece made a U-turn. “So where is it?”

“I’m not sure of the exact address, but I think I know how to get there.”

“And what’s this place called?”

“I don’t remember, exactly. But I think it’s an Indian place. Or maybe Pakistani. Maybe there’s an elephant on the sign.”

Pakistani food? No, thanks. Despite the fact New York had ethnic restaurants on every corner, he was a meat-and-potatoes man. Spicy, foreign food had never done anything but give him heartburn. He didn’t even like pepperoni on his pizza.

Well, maybe he could get a hamburger. Few restaurants would refuse to cook a hamburger.

“I think you turn left at this next light,” Sara said uncertainly.

“You think?”