Kara Lennox – The Pregnancy Surprise (страница 5)

“That’s it!” Sara cried triumphantly. “I told you I could find it.”

“If we drove every street in Corpus Christi, we’d find it by process of elimination,” he grumbled. “Anyway, I don’t see an elephant.”

She punched him lightly on the arm. “Don’t be a spoilsport. We’re here, aren’t we? And that goat looks like an elephant.”

They were somewhere. Which was not cause for celebration as far as Reece was concerned. He would’ve preferred the steak house. Yes, he was set in his ways. But he liked his ways.

“I’m not eating goat meat,” he said, though he did pull into a parking place. He could at least give the place a try, since Sara seemed to be so excited about it.

“You’ve never eaten goat?”

He pulled a face. “Have you?”

“Sure. In Mexico, cabrito is served everywhere. It’s good.”

“It’s goat meat.”

“Well, I’m sure this place serves something you’ll like.”

The restaurant was kind of interesting, he had to admit, reminding him of something you might find in the Village. The décor was dark and red and suitably exotic, and everyone who worked there appeared to be actually from Bulgaria. The mouthwatering smell of grilled meats made Reece’s stomach growl. Maybe this wouldn’t be so horrible after all.

The prices were certainly reasonable. Not that he minded paying premium prices for really good food.

Sara ordered Bulgarian red wine, cold cucumber-yogurt soup, and some kind of pepper stuffed with meat and rice.

“Do you have a hamburger?” Reece asked when the waiter turned to him. “Or a plain beef steak?”

Sara and the waiter wore twin expressions of horror.

“Reece,” Sara said, “you can’t come to a restaurant like this and order hamburger. I’m not sure they even serve beef here. Don’t you want to try something interesting?”

“I don’t really like spicy food,” he said, feeling boring all of a sudden.

“How about this?” Sara asked, pointing to an unpronounceable word on the menu. “It’s supposed to be like a shepherd’s pie.”

That didn’t sound so bad. “Okay.”

Sara smiled, pleased, and Reece suddenly realized he would eat just about anything—even goat—to get that smile.

“Spicy food is an acquired taste,” she said when the waiter had gone. “If you experiment, you’ll find things you like.”

“I might like it, but my ulcer wouldn’t.”

“Ulcer? You have an ulcer?”

“I did two years ago.” It was the most miserable experience of his entire life. “Don’t worry, it’s better now. But I try not to tempt fate by eating weird stuff.”

“Hmm. I’ll bet your ulcer had a lot more to do with your work than your diet.”

His doctor had shared that opinion, but he’d refused to believe it. “Not likely. I love my work.”

“You eat, drink and sleep your work,” she countered. “You always have your cell phone glued to your ear, or your nose against the screen of your laptop. You check your watch constantly.”

He shrugged. “Unfortunately, my department doesn’t run itself.”

Sara’s observations weren’t new to him. He knew he spent more time and energy on his work than was strictly healthy.

He’d thought everything was under control in his department when he’d left almost a month ago for what was supposed to be a two-week leave of absence.

But the job had escalated when ownership of the business came into dispute, and the eventual resolution involved a complex merger of interests among the Remington cousins and Cooper’s soon-to-be wife, Allie Bateman.

Problems had also cropped up at his regular job, problems only he could solve.

“Did I say something wrong?” Sara said. “You suddenly got this look on your face like you swallowed a bug.”

He shook off his dismal thoughts. Tonight, at least, he ought to be able to forget about his job. He forced a smile. “No, you didn’t say anything wrong. You’re right, I do work too hard. But that’s the nature of the beast.”

When their dinners arrived, Reece was pleasantly surprised. His shepherd’s pie was delicious, flavored with a delicate blend of seasonings that weren’t at all hot as he’d anticipated. He did pick out a few suspiciously unidentifiable purple things, but other than that it was fine.

He declined dessert, but Sara ordered a gooey pastry, and he thoroughly enjoyed watching her eat it. She did so with gusto, relishing every bite with her eyes closed.

After watching her lush lips close around the fork a few times, however, he started thinking about things he shouldn’t, and he had to force himself to look away.

“Let me pay it,” Sara said when the check arrived. “I’m the one who ate a lot.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” He snatched the bill from her hand. “Dinner was my idea.” And he knew she didn’t have a lot of disposable income. Although her room and board were taken care of, her various temporary and part-time jobs couldn’t net all that much extra cash.

“Let me at least leave the tip.” She reached into her big straw bag and pulled out what could only be described as a money ball. She peeled a few ones from it and set them on the table, then dropped the rest back into her bag.

“You don’t have to—”

“It’s done.”

He didn’t want to argue with her, but it seemed less like a date if he let her pay even a small amount. Maybe that was her true purpose. Maybe she wanted to subtly let him know that just because they’d shared dinner, he shouldn’t have any expectations.

Of course he didn’t. Sara was as friendly as a puppy, but that didn’t mean she had any designs on—or interest in—his person.

When they returned to the B and B, they went immediately to the kitchen, where Reece got a taste of just how much work a gourmet breakfast required. Sara had made it look easy—almost effortless—in the past as she’d delivered plate after plate to the dining room. But Reece had never ventured into the kitchen during the preparations.

First Sara made up the dough for two loaves of bread.

“It’s quick bread,” she explained, “so it doesn’t require a lot of rising time.” She popped it into the oven, then went to work making up the batter for blueberry and cranberry muffins.

He remembered when he was a kid his mom had occasionally made muffins from a box, but this was altogether more complex, with lots of chopping and folding.

Sara let Reece chop nuts—for a few minutes, anyway.

“Good Lord, you’re going to lop off a finger using a knife that way!” She took the knife away from him. “Here, why don’t you whip some eggs for the frittata.”

“The fri-what?”

It turned out “frittata” was just a fancy name for eggs and fresh vegetables, bacon, cheese and spices. When the eggs were whipped, Sara put Reece to work grating cheese, a job he couldn’t mess up too badly except when he grated his knuckles.

She sliced fresh strawberries and added sugar. By now she was out of jobs he could do, so he just watched. Her hands were small, quick and clever. The knife moved so fast it was a blur. Most interesting was her face. As she worked, she wore an expression of such contentment and serenity he thought she looked like an angel.

A mischievous angel, maybe, with that halo of brown curls around her face and the smudge of flour on her cheek.

“The fruit is in case anyone wants cereal or oatmeal, which they usually don’t.”

“Oatmeal?”

She laughed. “Oh, now surely you can make oatmeal. You eat it every morning.”

He shook his head. “Honestly, I don’t cook. Nothing.”

She sighed. “Don’t offer oatmeal, then.”

When they were finally finished, it was close to midnight. They tidied up the kitchen and turned out the light.

The bulb popped just as Sara switched it off, and they were plunged into darkness.

“Oh, hang it, that lightbulb burns out all the time,” Sara said, her voice coming to him soft and velvety in the dark, sending a pleasurable chill up his spine.

“I’ll change it tomorrow morning,” Reece said. “Let’s not worry about it now.”

“Yeah, but what happened to the lamp in the living room? It’s on a timer, and it always comes on at night.”

“I’ll check it tomorrow, too.” But for now he would enjoy the darkness. It seemed so…sexy.