The Pregnancy Surprise

Chapter Six

Reece spent most of the afternoon going over the dratted financials and painstakingly explaining the concept of Collateralized Mortgage Obligation over the phone to his brother, who was handling the financial aspects of a leveraged buyout.

But his thoughts were never far from Sara.

He’d blown it in more ways than one today. First he’d upset Miss Greer with his talk about nursing homes. Then he’d argued with Sara. And finally, when she’d overlooked his boorish behavior and actually asked him to go to a party with her, he’d said no.

The answer was automatic reflex. The thought of going out for a purely social evening with Sara terrified him. He didn’t much like parties, either.

But she’d asked him out. And he’d said no.

Maybe he needed to read a book on interpersonal skills, because he obviously was lacking in them. While he was at it, maybe he should see a shrink, too. He was crazy for being so attracted to Sara, and also crazy for pulling away from her when she’d made an overture.

He heard the front door open and knew without a doubt it was Sara and not one of the guests. She didn’t say anything, but the air in the house subtly changed whenever she entered or exited. Not long ago he would have scoffed at the idea that a person had vibrations that could be sensed, but Sara did.

He had the financial printout, a yellow legal pad and several other documents spread out over the dining-room table. He’d hoped to finish his work early enough to free up his evening-if Sara would give him a second chance at that party.

But he still had several hours’ worth of analysis to do, and Bret needed it by tomorrow morning.

He didn’t like disappointing his brother, especially at this sensitive time, when Remington Industries was about to name a new VP of Finance, a position currently held by their soon-to-retire father.

Reece and Bret had always gotten along well, but sometimes Bret’s meteoric ascent in the family business was irksome. Bret was no smarter than Reece, but he knew how to work the system better. Reece had to remind himself that it wasn’t Bret’s fault that he was charming and glib; he could shovel manure and make you think it was spun gold. He’d been born that way. But he couldn’t work the numbers the way Reece could.

Bret had gotten in over his head with this project, and if Reece were spiteful he would let Bret drown in his own incompetence. But that wasn’t his way.

“Oh, hi,” Sara said reservedly. “How’s it going?”

“Slow. Did you calm Miss Greer down?”

“She’s fine. In the end she wasn’t really mad at you. It’s just that you made her think about things that made her uncomfortable.”

“I got that.” He put down his pen, took off his glasses and squeezed the bridge of his nose.

Sara pulled out a chair and sat beside him. “Headache?”

“It’s nothing. I probably just need new glasses. I’ll take something.”

She stood and moved behind him. He tensed because he didn’t know what she was going to do. But when she placed her fingertips on his forehead right at the hairline and began moving them in slow, firm circles, he quickly surrendered to it.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, an annoying voice reminded him that letting Sara touch him like this wasn’t such a good idea. They were alone in the house-all of the guests had checked out today.

But another, less rational part of him told the annoying voice to shut up. This felt too good to stop.

She moved her fingers to another spot, began the slow massage again, and the muscles of his face relaxed.

“This is much better than any medicine you could take.” Her voice was soft, low in her throat.

“I thought you were mad at me.”

“Nah. I’m always shooting my mouth off when I shouldn’t, but I get over things quickly. No use holding on to anger.”

“That’s a nice philosophy. Speak your mind, then let it go.”

“Yeah. Most people don’t get that. They get very attached to their grudges.”

Did he hold grudges?

She moved on to his temples, then the top of his jaw. She massaged his ears, then behind his ears. She dug her thumbs into the back of his neck.

Reece let out an involuntary moan.

“Did I hurt you?”

“God, no.”

She moved her thumbs down his upper spine, finding each little tight spot and working it loose. She moved on to his shoulders. Her hands were firm, and she seemed to know exactly what she was doing.

Could he hire her to come to New York, stand behind his chair at work and do this…oh, maybe once an hour?

She reached around to his chest and unfastened the top button of his shirt. By now he was such a mound of Jell-O that it didn’t register for a few seconds that she was taking off his shirt.

“Um, Sara?”

“Massage is much more effective skin to skin.”

I’ll say.

The annoying voice started up again, but Reece mentally put a clamp on it as Sara yanked out his shirttails and dragged his shirt off his shoulders and down his arms past his elbows, baring a good part of his upper torso.

She massaged his upper back and arms, digging her thumbs under his shoulder blades. “You’re just loaded with tension knots. I can work them loose, but it will hurt a little.”

“I don’t think you can hurt me-ouch.”

“Sorry.”

It was a bit uncomfortable as she worked the balled-up muscles, but it was a good kind of hurt, if there was such a thing.

“You have good muscles for an accountant.”

“Too skinny,” he mumbled. All his life he’d had to work to keep meat on his bones. His brother had played football in high school, and the family always made a big deal about attending the games and cheering him on. Reece hadn’t had the body type for football and so had opted for soccer, but he couldn’t remember his parents coming to any of his games. His father, though he never said it, clearly thought soccer was for sissies.

“You’re not skinny,” Sara said firmly. “You’re lean. There’s a difference. Do you work out?”

“A little.” Not as much lately, though. He used to run, but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d put on his running shoes.

“How’s your headache?” she asked.

“It’s…it’s gone.”

She ran her fingers lightly over his back as she finished up the massage, giving him wonderful chills. “Now, see, wasn’t that better than taking some stupid pill that would just mess up your stomach anyway?”

“I would never take another pill in my life if you could cure all problems like that.”

She laughed as she pulled his shirt back up onto his shoulders. She gave his upper arms an affectionate squeeze, and she might have even pressed her face against the back of his head, but he wasn’t sure about that.

“I’m glad to oblige.” Then she moved to pick up her purse where she’d dropped it onto the table. “I’m going to put my things away and change clothes. Any thoughts on dinner?”

“Uh.” She was walking away? He’d kind of thought the whole massage thing might be the beginning of a seduction, and he’d been willing to go along with it. Or rather, he’d been helpless to stop it.

But apparently a therapeutic massage was all she’d had in mind.

“Well, you think about it,” she said breezily, and she headed for the stairs.

Reece buttoned his shirt and tucked it back into his jeans. Dinner. He was hungry, but could he endure another of Sara’s concoctions?

By the time she returned downstairs, Reece had shut down his computer and arranged his papers into neat stacks. He could work on this some more after dinner, but he didn’t want to risk the headache returning until he’d eaten.

“I could make BLTs,” she said.

That sounded pretty safe. “Okay, thanks.”

“On yours I’ll use white bread, mayonnaise, iceberg lettuce and nothing weird.”

“You make me feel very boring, you know.”

“I consider you more of a challenge than boring. The first time I saw you, I remember thinking I wanted to ruffle your hair, mess you up a little.”

He couldn’t tell her what he’d thought when he first saw her. She would probably slap him. “What time does your party start?”

“Oh, later. Nine or ten o’clock. Sure you don’t want to come?”

“Actually, yeah, I’d like to.”

She flashed him a brilliant smile. “You mean it? Excellent.”

After she disappeared into the kitchen, Reece called his brother on his cell.

“Have you figured out what the problem is?” Bret asked, his voice tense with anxiety.

“I have an idea, but I’m not there yet. Bret, I’m sorry, but it won’t be done by tomorrow morning.”

Long silence. Then, “Really?”

“Yeah, really.” It was probably a shock to Bret. Reece always lived and died by his deadlines. But given the choice between a deadline and Sara, Sara won hands down.

“YOU DON’T NEED your car keys,” Sara said as Reece came down the stairs, keys in hand. “We’re taking the trolley. That way no one has to be the designated driver.”

He’d changed out of his button-down shirt into something a little more party-esque-a golf shirt, green cargo pants and running shoes. Not bad.

“I don’t mind being the designated driver,” Reece said.

“But the trolley is more fun. Come on. It’s just a short walk to the stop. If we hurry we can make the nine o’clock.”

She locked the door, then paused on the front porch and reached for Reece. She thought she saw a flare of something in his eyes as she pulled out his tucked-in shirt, but she wasn’t sure.

“There. Much better.” Then she reached up and mussed his hair for good measure.

“Sara!” He finger-combed it back into place.

“Sorry. Sooner or later I was going to do that.”

Reece’s cell phone rang. Honestly, his phone rang more than any other person’s Sara had ever known.

“Reece Remington. Oh, hi, Bret.” He listened patiently as Sara checked his watch, then indicated with sign language that they should hurry. “Let me call you back about that tomorrow, okay?”

After he completed the call, Sara smiled at him. “Why don’t you turn that thing off?”

“Turn it off?” He sounded shocked, as if she’d asked him to tear up his tax return.

“Just for one evening. Can’t the world turn without you for a few hours?”

He smiled back at her sheepishly. “Sure, why not.” He switched off the phone and stuck it in his pocket.

They walked along at a good clip down Magnolia Street toward the ocean. The old-fashioned trolley ran along Second Street, parallel to the beach but one block inland.

“The trolley is already there,” Sara said. “We better hurry or it’ll leave without us.” She grabbed Reece’s hand and they ran down the sidewalk. “Wait!” Sara called as the trolley started to move. Benji, the conductor, usually waited for stragglers, but he must not have seen them. “Hurry, Reece, we can still make it.”

“What? No, we can’t.”

Ignoring him, she ran faster, dragging Reece with her.

A group of people already riding on the car urged them on. Reece, with his long legs, ran ahead and jumped on. The trolley was picking up speed and Sara damn near didn’t make it. But Reece grabbed her arm and hauled her on board. They collapsed, laughing and gasping for breath, on the first seat they saw while the other passengers cheered their effort.

“You are crazy!” Reece said, still laughing.

Her heart skipped a few beats. Reece was handsome no matter what expression he wore, but seeing him laugh took her breath away.

“You should laugh more,” she said.

“If I spent more time around you, I’m sure I would.”

“Am I that funny?”

“You’re crazy-funny.” He ran one finger down her bare arm and she shivered with anticipation, hoping he might kiss her again or at least take her hand or put an arm around her shoulders. But he pulled away and gazed out the window.

Sara felt like she had in junior high with her first crush. With most guys she knew exactly what signals to send and how to interpret the ones she got back. But with Reece, she was never sure. He kept his cards close to the vest.

The trolley lumbered down the center of Second Street through the renovated downtown filled with ice-cream parlors and T-shirt shops, antique stores, a movie theater where they screened old movies for two bucks-which included free popcorn-restaurants, a couple of funky little hotels and more bed-and-breakfasts.

Palm trees towered over the brick streets and restored nineteenth-century buildings. Sara viewed it with new eyes, taking a sudden pride in her adopted hometown.

“It’s a nice town,” Reece said, as if reading her mind. “I haven’t spent much time checking it out.”

“It wasn’t always this nice. When I first moved here eleven years ago, downtown was run-down and kind of creepy. But once plans were in place to get the trolley going, the place got a face-lift. Port Clara is starting to be a real vacation destination again, like it was a hundred years ago.” That was both good and bad. Good for anybody in the tourist industry, like Allie and Miss Greer. But sometimes Sara missed the sleepy backwardness of the old Port Clara.

“Why did you move here?” Reece wanted to know.

“I was really just passing through. I had it in my mind I would go out to California and make my fortune, maybe become a movie star or something. But I saw that Help Wanted sign in Miss Greer’s front window, so I stopped on a whim, and that was it.”

She realized her whole life was pretty much lived on a whim. That was how she liked it, but it probably gave Reece hives.

She punched him lightly on the arm. “You probably had your whole life mapped out by the time you were twelve.”

He grinned. “You really do know me better than I thought.”

They rode the trolley all the way to the end of the line. They stepped off the old wooden car. Sara waved to Benji, who began the process of reversing the car for the trip back.

“Where is this party, anyway?” Reece asked.

“It’s on that undeveloped stretch of beach toward the north end of the island, past the jetty. There’s no road-we’ll have to walk along the beach.”

“Whose party is it?”

“Um…I don’t know. But I heard about it from my friend Tracy, who heard about it from her boyfriend’s brother. I think it’s some friend of his.”

Reece skidded to a stop. “So we’re crashing?”

She smiled indulgently at him. “This isn’t the kind of party where they send out engraved invitations. Someone just decides to have it, and word gets around. There will be a keg and maybe some hot dogs, but people bring their own food and drink if they feel like it.”

“Should we bring something?” Reece asked, nodding toward the convenience store that squatted where Second Street dead-ended.

“Got it covered.” She patted her straw bag.

It was only a block to the beach. They crossed the dunes using a rickety boardwalk, then Sara paused to take off her sandals, leaning one hand against his shoulder.

“Don’t you want to take off your shoes?” she asked. “No sense walking on the beach with shoes on.”

“I guess. Aren’t you worried you’ll step on something? It’s kind of dark.”

“This beach is very clean,” she said, unconcerned. “Oh, look how pretty it is with the moon shining on the water.” She ran toward the ocean, holding her arms wide as if she could hold the whole thing in her embrace.

When she realized a wave was barreling toward her, she did an abrupt U-turn and ran the other way, holding her skirt up so it wouldn’t get wet.

Reece was just standing there, watching her.

She squealed in delight as the cold water hit her lower legs. “Hey, come on!” She ran back to him and took his hand, urging him to join her in playing tag with the waves.

“I don’t want my pants to get wet.”

She sighed, then stooped down to untie his shoelaces and roll up the legs of his cargo pants to just below his knees. “There. Now catch me!” She took off and, moments later, she heard footsteps slapping in the wet sand behind her. She quickly changed direction, ducking when Reece reached out for her and heading toward the waves, where she was sure Reece wouldn’t follow.

But she’d underestimated him. He pursued with single-minded determination and caught her right at the water’s edge, pulling her close until they were chest to chest.

“Tag.” He closed in for what she was sure would be one helluva kiss-they’d been leading up to it all night. She felt his warm breath, then the subtle intake, and…

A wave chose that moment to hit them full force.