“Sorry I haven’t checked in since this morning,” Sara said. “Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine, dear,” Miss Greer said. “The guests are quiet.”
“Good.” The TV screen caught Sara’s eye. “What’s going on with the storm?”
“You haven’t heard?” Valerie said. “It’s now Hurricane Chelsea.”
“And it’s headed this way,” Miss Greer added. “If it doesn’t change course, it’s supposed to make landfall early Monday morning. Maybe tomorrow you could get out the ladder and close the shutters.”
She didn’t sound too worried, so Sara decided she shouldn’t be, either. This brick house had withstood storms for over a century, and the worst that had happened was an occasional brick or shingle coming loose.
“I’ll take care of it,” Sara promised. She wondered if she should mention the storm’s status to Reece, then decided not to. He would only worry about it, and his flight was scheduled before the storm would hit, so it shouldn’t concern him. “I’m going to fix myself some dinner and go to bed,” she announced.
“Good night, dear,” Miss Greer said. “Oh,” she added just as Sara was about to close the door, “tell Reece good-night, too.”
Sara felt her face heating as she escaped into the kitchen. She hadn’t been as discreet as she’d thought. Then again, Miss Greer had a sixth sense when it came to the goings-on under her roof.
The refrigerator was stuffed full with wedding leftovers, which Valerie had generously carted back here. Sara had been too busy during the wedding to actually eat anything, but now she warmed up two big plates of the Mexican food, including Reece’s special enchilada.
She was disappointed to find Reece dressed when she returned to her room with their feast. She had thought maybe they would eat naked on her bed. But Reece voted for her small table and chairs, which was suitably cozy and intimate after she cleared all the junk off it and stuck a candle in her tarnished silver candelabra.
“I’m sorry I skipped all this at the wedding,” he said after inhaling the enchilada, several taquitos and some refried beans and chips. “I don’t even like Mexican food, but this is wonderful.”
She warmed under his praise. “Thanks. Not all Mexican food is superspicy.”
“You should do more catering. I heard a lot of the wedding guests raving about how great the food was.”
“I would do more, if people asked. But you have to remember, the kitchen isn’t mine. I’m sure Miss Greer wouldn’t mind my taking an occasional job, but I couldn’t disrupt the B and B with large-scale cooking on a regular basis.”
“I guess not. But it’s a shame, because you could make a fortune. And you love to cook.”
She’d thought about trying to make a go of catering, to really push it instead of just taking a job here or there when they fell into her lap. But that would require capital investment…a business plan…employees and taxes… advertising and marketing. All those things gave her hives.
“I like doing it whenever,” Sara said, hearing herself through Reece’s ears and knowing she sounded like a flake. “If I actually turned it into a business, I’m afraid it wouldn’t be fun anymore.”
He shrugged. “It was just a thought.”
But Sara got the distinct impression she hadn’t said what Reece wanted to hear. What possible difference could it make to him? He was leaving in less than twenty-four hours and he would never see her again.
She felt an almost overwhelming urge to tell him of her suspicion that she was pregnant. But she squelched it. She wouldn’t manipulate him that way. At the very least, she ought to be certain before she said anything.
Following her own advice, she pushed thoughts of the future out of her mind and concentrated on the here and now. “Did you leave room for dessert? I brought up sopaipillas, but they’re never very good unless they’re fresh. Still, if we drown them in enough honey…What?” He was looking at her in a slightly predatory way, almost smiling but not quite.
“I was just thinking about what I
“Oh.” She smiled and reached for the hem of her T-shirt.
“Wait. I really need to go to Cooper’s. My aunt and uncle will wonder what happened to me.”
Sara sagged with disappointment. “You’re leaving? Can’t you just call and tell them you’re…engaged elsewhere?”
Reece removed his glasses and absently cleaned them with his ever-present handkerchief. “It would get back to my father in two seconds.”
“So? Does he think you’re a monk? Why does he care what you do on the weekend?”
She could see he was thinking about it. “I at least need to get my things. Toothbrush, razor…unless you like the caveman look.”
“I like just about any look on you. Hurry back.”
AS HE SLID behind the wheel of his car, Reece turned his cell phone on and it immediately began to ring. He didn’t answer, didn’t even look at the caller ID. He knew it was someone from the family, someone who thought he ought to be on a shorter leash.
He was too content to let the Remington clan bug him. He’d never felt more relaxed, more at peace. Although he knew it wouldn’t last, he wanted to hold on to the feeling a while longer, to bask in the glow of Sara’s lovemaking. Monday morning they could have him back, but for now he was determined to relax and enjoy the moment.
Several cars were parked at Cooper’s house and the windows were all lit up. Apparently the party lived on. That suited Reece just fine. Hopefully he could slip in and slip out without getting interrogated.
But when he entered through the front door, he didn’t find a party atmosphere. A group of cousins were gathered in front of the big-screen TV watching the Weather Channel.
“Reece, there you are. About time.” It was Uncle Jonathan. He had on a suit and a cell phone in each hand. “Why weren’t you answering your phone?”
“I turned it off.” And that was all the explanation he was going to provide. “Is something wrong?”
“Have you been living under a rock? We have a category three hurricane headed straight for us. If it stays on course, it’ll make landfall at Port Clara in the early hours of Monday morning. I’ve rescheduled my flight for tonight and you better do the same. The airport is sure to be a madhouse.”
“Hurricane? When did that happen? I thought it was just a little tropical storm way out in the gulf.”
But Jonathan wasn’t listening. He was talking to an airline agent, making sure he had a first-class seat.
Reece wandered toward the TV. Sure enough, that worrisome little tropical depression had organized itself into Hurricane Chelsea in record time and was gaining strength. News video clips showed people standing in line to buy gas, water and plywood for boarding up windows.
Alarm bells went off in Reece’s head. If an evacuation was ordered, the roads would be clogged, the airport jammed. He had to get out of here. He had to beat the rush or he might never get home. If he missed that Monday meeting…
But then sanity prevailed. It was a hurricane. His father was just going to have to understand. He could postpone the meeting or hold it without Reece, but the world wouldn’t come to an end.
At least, he didn’t think so.
He thought uneasily about the phone calls he hadn’t answered, and finally he couldn’t resist the impulse to check. He pulled his phone out of his tux pocket. Four messages, all from his father.
“Are you going to try to get on a plane tonight?” It was Max, who was chowing down on a piece of pizza and looking perfectly relaxed. And why shouldn’t he be? He didn’t have to travel during a hurricane.
“I thought I would wait it out,” Reece replied.
“That’s what I would do. No sense making yourself crazy just to get back one day earlier.” Max lowered his voice. “You don’t want to travel anywhere near Uncle Jonathan. He’s gone into his Tasmanian devil routine. Apparently some stupid meeting on Monday means millions of dollars one way or another.”
Ugh, the meeting. Reece found a quiet corner and listened to his messages. The first was merely cautionary, pointing out that he’d better confirm his plans because travel was going to get dicey. The next call was slightly more insistent, instructing Reece to try to get an earlier flight, maybe book with a couple of different airlines so he’d be sure to make it home in time. The third call, Archie sounded angry, and the fourth, he was threatening to fire Reece if he didn’t return his call.
The sharp pain in Reece’s chest returned, and he rubbed his sternum absently. He shouldn’t let his father get to him. The man threatened to fire Reece at least once a month. But he knew he wouldn’t be able to relax with Sara unless he confronted Archie and reassured him everything was fine.
After all, he had a confirmed reservation for tomorrow evening, several hours before the hurricane was
