A Case for Calamity (6 page)

She forced a smile. “It’s been a long week.”

“Don’t I know it?” He nodded, accepting the excuse. “I’ll get the rest. Why don’t you go inside and make sure Sophia and Tina haven’t come to blows.”

Three hours later, Jane slipped into the kitchen with a tray of empty plates.

Tina rushed in behind her. Excitement brightened her eyes. “I think Donald Trump just arrived.”

Sophia, finally calm after zipping around the kitchen like a manic elf earlier, looked up from the cart holding her signature confection. The three-tier, stark white cake with climbing red poinsettia blooms was as much a work of art as it was dessert. Returning nerves showed in her stiff smile. “Really?”

Wide-eyed, her sister-in-law nodded furiously.

Jane laughed. “Relax, Soph. It’s not him.”

Tina frowned in disappointment. “Are you sure?”

“It’s the hair. They must use the same barber.”

Sophia let out a shaky laugh.

“Huh.” Tina shrugged. “I’ve never seen so much bling in my life. It looks like a Tiffany’s convention out there. And did you see the tall blonde’s sandals, Jane? They’re gorgeous!” She sighed. “I can’t wait to be one of those women who can afford to pay a month’s wages for four tiny straps of satin and a row of beads.”

Jane grinned. A slave to designer labels, Tina had a closet full of high-fashion imitations, with a few originals mixed in. “At least you can afford the knock-offs. I drool over the selection at the secondhand store.”

Tina bared her teeth in an unapologetic smile.

“If you’re done comparing poverty levels, girls, it’s time to go earn tonight’s pay.” Sophia dusted her hands on her apron. “Are we set up for the last course?”

“The coffee is ready and the tables cleared.” Jane folded a fresh white silk napkin over one arm. “All that’s missing is you and your awesome cake.”

The chef heaved a deep sigh. “Okay, then. Let’s do it.”

Jane grasped the cart’s front handle as Sophia grabbed her arm.

“Wait. How do I look?”

Tina rolled her eyes, gripping the other handle. “You look like the beautiful chef who just blew the socks off Manhattan’s elite.”

“Good. Just what I was shooting for.” They shared a grin, then Sophia let out a heavy breath. “Okay, here we go.”

Jane rolled the large cart down the hallway into the grand living room. The milling crowd turned at their approach. She didn’t need to look back to know Sophia blushed under the oohs and aahs as the guests broke into polite applause for the designer cake and its creator.

Jane smiled, scanning the well-dressed crowd until her gaze snagged on a familiar profile beneath a dark Stetson. Her heart lodged in her throat, and she stumbled to a stop. In disbelief, she gawked at Gabe Sutton bending close to speak in Melanie Archer’s ear.

Behind her, Tina attempted to slow the momentum of the cart and failed. The metal handle bumped Jane’s hip, sending her lurching forward. The watching crowd gasped as the cake swayed before settling once more.

“Jane!”

Rooted to the spot, she couldn’t answer Tina’s whispered demand—especially with the piercing green, masculine gaze that suddenly clashed with hers.

Gabe straightened to his full height and immediately began moving in her direction.

Spinning around, she began tugging the cart, and Tina, toward the patio door. “Sorry.”

Her co-worker pinned her with a confused stare, but there was concern in her lowered brow. Jane shook her head, silently pleading for understanding when she caught the identical look of distress on Sophia’s face. From the corner of her eye, she marked Gabe’s progress, quickly closing in, then doubled her efforts at speeding the cake to its final destination on the patio before one very intent cowboy entrepreneur could reach her and ruin Sophia’s perfect night.

Tina struggled to control the sudden wobble of the cart when it bounced over the threshold, whispering between clenched teeth, “For heaven’s sake! Slow down!”

Jane didn’t bother looking back and didn’t slow down. Six feet. Six short feet and she could slip around the bar and through the pantry door toward escape. She simply couldn’t allow the approaching Calamity Jane moment to occur in front of friends and strangers alike. Manhattan’s elite wouldn’t understand, and the Garbinos would never forgive her.

Unfortunately, those six feet were three too long. A large hand clasped her shoulder, and Jane jolted. A collective groan filled the air as the cart clipped the edge of the bar and shuddered wildly beneath her hand. She couldn’t look. Squeezing her eyes shut on Sophia’s gasping cry, Jane scrunched them tighter at the sound of crystal shattering on flagstone, followed by a damp thud.

A deep voice spoke in her ear. “I’ve been looking for you…
Shae
.”

Jane wanted to sink into the floor, but the hand gripping her shoulder held her in place. Knowing she had no choice, and hoping to convince Gabe to take the coming conversation somewhere a little less public, she opened her eyes to the narrowed green gaze she’d dreamed of many times since Paris. The heated passion her subconscious placed in his gaze during those dreams was missing, however, replaced with a furious demand for answers.

Chaos reigned around them. Tony scrambled from behind the bar. Sophia and Tina attempted to salvage the cake, tipped on its side on the cart. Guests scuttled backward away from the broken shards of glass.

Jane’s scope of sight shrank until only the pinpoint of his eyes filled her vision. “Hi, Gabe.” Her head spun and the green of his eyes blurred behind a veil of deepening darkness. She attempted a smile and fell short. “My name is Jane, by the way.”

Startled gasps and strong arms registered, but she wasn’t sure why as the blackness closed in.

Chapter Six

“She’s coming around.”

A cool cloth pressed to Jane’s forehead, and she opened her eyes.

“Welcome back, young lady.” Subtle shades of a Texas drawl echoed in Melanie Archer’s greeting.

Jane’s foggy head cleared enough for horror to bloom. “Oh, God.” She groaned. “Oh God, Sophia?”

“I’m here.” The chef leaned over Melanie’s shoulder. “Are you all right? You scared the life out of us.”

“Oh, Soph, I’m so sorry.” Jane’s gaze jerked to Melanie. “I’ll replace everything. None of this is Sophia’s fault.” She bit her lip and winced. “Please, don’t blame Creative Cuisine for ruining your party. I don’t know how I’ll make it up to you, but I will. I swear. I’ll run errands. Do laundry. I’ll clean your bathrooms.”

She attempted to sit up, but a large, male hand appeared from somewhere behind her, landing on her chest and pressing her back down. Recognizing those long fingers, she arched her head back to look up.

“Stay put.” Gabe glared at her. “The paramedics are on their way.”

“I don’t need paramedics.” She dropped her head, and her panicked gaze sliced back and forth between Sophia and Melanie. “Call them back and tell them never mind.”

“Let them check you out first.” Melanie’s green gaze briefly flicked up at Gabe. She smiled. “I’ll admit, my grandson can be a little intimidating at times, but, to my knowledge, he’s never made anyone faint before.”

“Grandson?” Her closing throat cut off her breath.

Gabe spoke from behind her. “Jane, is it? Meet my grandmother, Melanie Archer.”

And the hits just keep on coming.

A sudden commotion behind Melanie cut off the bubble of hysterical laughter working its way up from Jane’s compressing lungs. Melanie rose from the couch, at Jane’s hip, and disappeared from view as four efficient members of NYFD closed in. They fired questions, ignoring Jane when Melanie chimed in to overrule her insistence she was fine.

“Any nausea?”

“Yes, but—”

“When was the last time you ate?”

“I had soup for lunch.”

“Have you ever fainted before? What have you had to drink today?”

On and on they pushed. Jane answered the rapid-fire demands while being poked and prodded.

“My name is Susan.” The only female paramedic sat in Melanie’s place. “I need some contact information.” She requested Jane’s full name, birthdate, and past medical conditions while making notes on a pad of paper.

Jane waved Susan closer as she attached a pinching clip to Jane’s finger and wrapped a blood pressure cuff around her arm. She leaned down, bringing her ear closer to Jane’s mouth.

“Is he listening?”

“Is who listening?”

“The tall guy in the cowboy hat.” Jane tilted her head back in an attempt to discover Gabe’s position beyond the wide shoulders of the other paramedics.

Susan looked around, then shook her head. “He’s talking to some people on the other side of the room.”

“Good.” Jane spoke quietly. “Look, this really isn’t necessary. I fainted because”—she dropped her voice to a whisper—“I’m pregnant.”

“How far along?”

“Eight weeks.”

“I see. Well, that may have something to do with the fainting, and you can refuse treatment if you want, but your blood pressure is pretty high.”

Her nose scrunched up with her grimace. “Believe me, if you were in my place, your blood pressure would be high, too.”

“How is she doing?” Melanie stepped close once more with Sophia at her side.

The paramedic wrapped the coils of her stethoscope around her neck. “I recommend she be seen by a doctor, but I believe she wants to refuse transport. Is that right, Jane?”

“Yes. No. I mean, I just want to go home, please.”

“That’s your prerogative, but I recommend you see your obstetrician as soon as possible.”

“Obstetrician! You’re pregnant?”

Jane cringed at the volume of Sophie’s shocked question. If her blood pressure was high before, it spiked through the roof when Gabe’s face joined the others crowding the couch.

“I’d like to hear the answer to that question myself.” His dark brows dipped together over piercing green eyes. “I think I deserve an answer. Don’t you,
Jane Whitmore?
”

****

Gabe sliced the keycard through the lock. A twist of his wrist and he pushed open the door to his condo, stepped over the threshold, and spun around. He resisted slamming the door once Jane was inside, but it was close.

“Is this private enough for you?” He needed a drink and, without waiting for her reply, headed for the wet bar to pour himself three fingers of his favorite malt.

His throat burned as he downed half the contents of the glass in a single gulp. He glanced over and met her wary gaze. “One question. Who’s the father?”

Her chin jutted stubbornly. “You.”

Terror ripped at his gut. He threw back the rest of his drink before pinning her with an accusing stare. “I used a condom. Several condoms.”

“Yeah, well, obviously they weren’t one hundred percent effective.”

“Christ.” He slid his eyes shut.

“I don’t blame you for being upset.”

Gabe opened his eyes and slammed the glass down on the bar. Her flinch pleased him. “Upset is an understatement. First, you play me with that shell game you and Shae Austin dreamed up, then you disappear without a word. Now, you show up and announce a supposed pregnancy to my grandmother? You don’t know upset!”

She stiffened, but held her ground. “I didn’t show up at your grandmother’s to announce anything. I was there because she hired Creative Cuisine.”

“Right.” His disbelieving snort echoed in the silent apartment.

Her chest expanded on a deep breath beneath her white caterer’s shirt, and her knuckles went white on the strap of her purse. She had the kind of eyes a man could drown in, but, at the moment, the storm in them would cause a man to rethink taking a dip.

“Do you really think I was happy to discover
Melanie Archer
is the little old lady you told me about?” Fury flashed in her eyes. “The Garbinos are friends of mine. I don’t hurt my friends, and that scene I caused, trying to avoid a confrontation with
you,
hurt them more than you know. Not only have I probably lost my job, I’ve lost good friends.”

“I wasn’t the one who pretended to be someone I wasn’t.”

Her lips thinned in a dismissive smirk. “Give me a break. So, I showed up in Shae’s place. As I recall, you weren’t thrilled with Michael Austin’s matchmaking either, and in the end, you got your deal.”

He’d gotten much more than that. He’d gotten it into his head he’d finally found the woman he might just be able to plan a life with, only to have her disappear. “I don’t like to be played.”

Her shoulders slumped at his growled complaint. She dropped her head to stare at her feet. “I apologize for tricking you. Shae had something else going on that night, and I was there. I speak French; you needed an interpreter.” She shrugged a slim shoulder and lifted her gaze to his once more. “I should have told you the truth, right away, but switching places with Shae wasn’t done out of any kind of malice.”

Either she was sincere or she’d missed her calling. A woman with her looks and that ability to offer an apology with the perfect mix of swallowed pride and regret would make a fortune in Hollywood. The temptation to believe her rankled.