The tomato slices had skidded, the lettuce was falling out, and he’d been so generous with the egg salad that each sandwich bulged bounteously. Like a pregnant woman, he thought. “I couldn’t care less if you eat them or not! After Dieter and Maria saw Gustave’s gear they were very upset, and I sure as heck wasn’t going to ask either one of them to make your lunch.”
Joanna pushed back her chair, stood up and marched over to him. Her chin high, she said, “I’m sorry they’ve lost their son. Truly I am. But Gustave was a disaster waiting to happen—far too taken up with his own ego to be half the climber they thought he was.”
“If he’d just found out you were pregnant and he wasn’t sure who’d fathered the child—that’s completely irrelevant?”
“He knew who the father was. Trust me.”
Why couldn’t he trust her? She wasn’t Suzanne: or even remotely like Suzanne. Deliberately needling her, Cal said, “How could he have known? There are a lot of men in Europe.”
“And according to Dieter and Maria I’ve slept with most of them.” She gave an unamused laugh. “I’d like to know when I’d have found the time.”
Suzanne still on his mind, Cal said with a touch of bitterness, “Some women can always find time for what they want to do.”
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