by Jamie Beck
PRAISE FOR IN THE CARDS
“Infused with . . . fresh detail. Between the sweetness of the relationship and the summery beach setting, romance fans will find this a warming winter read.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Fans will love the frank honesty of her characters. [Beck’s] scenery is richly detailed and the story engaging.”
—RT Book Reviews
“[A] realistic and heartwarming story of redemption and love . . . Beck’s understanding of interpersonal relationships and her flawless prose make for a believable romance and an entertaining read.”
—Booklist
PRAISE FOR WORTH THE WAIT
“[A] poignant and heartwarming story of young love and redemption and will literally make your heart ache . . . Jamie Beck has a real talent for making the reader feel the sorrow, regret, and yearning of this young character.”
—Fresh Fiction
PRAISE FOR WORTH THE TROUBLE
“Beck takes readers on a journey of self-reinvention and risky investments, in love and in life . . . With strong family ties, loyalty, playful banter, and sexual tension, Beck has crafted a beautiful second-chances story.”
—Publishers Weekly (starred review)
PRAISE FOR SECRETLY HERS
“[I]n Beck’s ambitious, uplifting second Sterling Canyon contemporary . . . Conflicting views and family drama lay the foundation for emotional development in this strong Colorado-set contemporary.”
—Publishers Weekly
“[W]itty banter and the deepening of the characters and their relationship, along with some unexpected plot twists and a lovable supporting cast . . . will keep the reader hooked . . . A smart, fun, sexy, and very contemporary romance.”
—Kirkus Reviews
PRAISE FOR UNEXPECTEDLY HERS
“Character-driven, sweet, and chock-full of interesting secondary characters.”
—Kirkus Reviews
PRAISE FOR WORTH THE RISK
“An emotional read that will leave you reeling at times and hopeful at others.”
—Books & Boys Book Blog
PRAISE FOR BEFORE I KNEW
“A tender romance rises from the tragedy of two families—a must read!”
—Robyn Carr, #1 New York Times bestselling author
“A multilayered and tightly plotted journey that’s sure to tug at the heartstrings.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Jamie Beck’s deeply felt novel hits all the right notes, celebrating the power of forgiveness, the sweetness of second chances, and the heady joy of reaching for a dream. Don’t miss this one!”
—Susan Wiggs, #1 New York Times bestselling author
“Before I Knew kept me totally enthralled as two compassionate, relatable characters, each in search of forgiveness and fulfillment, turn a recipe for heartache into a story of love, hope, and some really good menus!”
—Shelley Noble, New York Times bestselling author of Whisper Beach
PRAISE FOR ALL WE KNEW
“[A] moving story about the flux of life and the steadfastness of family.”
—Publishers Weekly
“[A]n impressively crafted and deftly entertaining read from first page to last.”
—Midwest Book Review
“All We Knew is compelling, heartbreaking, and emotional.”
—Harlequin Junkie
PRAISE FOR JOYFULLY HIS
“A quick and sweet read that is perfect for the holidays.”
—Harlequin Junkie
ALSO BY JAMIE BECK
In the Cards
The St. James Novels
Worth the Wait
Worth the Trouble
Worth the Risk
The Sterling Canyon Novels
Accidentally Hers
Secretly Hers
Unexpectedly Hers
Joyfully His
The Cabot Novels
Before I Knew
All We Knew
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Text copyright © 2018 by Jamie Beck
All rights reserved.
All definitions used by permission. From Merriam-Webster.com © 2017 by Merriam-Webster, Inc. https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Published by Montlake Romance, Seattle
www.apub.com
Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Montlake Romance are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.
ISBN-13: 9781503902503
ISBN-10: 1503902501
Cover design by Rachel Adam Rogers
For Aunt Teeky, Uncle Bill, Billy, and Laurie
—my second family.
CONTENTS
Start Reading
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Epilogue
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
MENU ITEMS CREDITED
EXCERPT: THE MEMORY OF YOU
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
This above all: to thine own self be true
—William Shakespeare
Chapter One
Colic
According to Merriam-Webster: a condition marked by recurrent episodes of prolonged and uncontrollable crying and irritability in an otherwise healthy infant that is of unknown cause and usually subsides after three to four months of age
According to me: karmic payback for reneging on my offer to let Hunter and Sara adopt my baby
Colt had been screaming all evening, as usual. Colic, they said, although labeling it did nothing at all to help Gentry’s infant son or her to live with the never-ending fussing. No amount of soothing, bouncing, rocking, or walking quieted him if his eyes were open.
Alone, and on the verge of a nervous breakdown, Gentry questioned her sanity. Her thoughts slid like quicksilver, fueling the stress headache pulsating behind her eyes. Her son’s screeching response to the doorbell, which echoed off the vaulted ceiling and plate glass windows, didn’t help.
With her unhappy child bristling in her arms, Gentry raced across the living room—sidestepping a growing stack of unread parenting magazines—to reach the door before the visitor rang again. If she’d actually succeeded in getting Colt to sleep this evening, she might’ve shot the fool on the other side of her door for having risked waking him. In fact, she might shoot him anyway just because it had been that kind of day and her frustration needed a target.
She flung her door open, baby pressed to her chest, and gawked at her half brother, Hunter. “You?”
Hunter and his wife, Sara, stood there against the backdrop of a dusky summer sunset. Wide eyes and slack jaws contrasted with their elegant Saturday-night attire. Were they stunned by her impolite greeting, or by her shabby appearance? Probably both, she conceded.
Seconds ticked by before Hunter found his voice. “You’re alive.”
“Depends on your defi
nition.” Gentry retreated into the house, knowing they’d follow even though she hadn’t invited them to visit. She couldn’t shoo them away, but she didn’t want them to see her strung out, either.
Expecting Gentry to fail was something of a Cabot family tradition. For most of her life, she’d been happy to live “down” to their expectations. In rare moments of self-honesty, she could admit that, at times, she’d even turned it into a game. An immature dynamic, for sure, but one that hurt less than being ignored or than trying and failing. She didn’t, however, want to be seen as a failure of a mother. Especially not by them.
Colton was the only perfect, innocent, precious thing she’d ever produced in her entire life. She didn’t regret her decision to keep him, but unlike Sara, she had no idea how to be a mom, let alone be a good one. Hadn’t exactly had a great role model. But for his sake, she now had to build bridges with her family instead of burning them down.
“We just left A CertainTea.” Sara held up a to-go bag that smelled like curried seafood. Her signature smile returned, which complemented her simple summer sheath and shiny hair. Confronted by that glamour, Gentry smoothed the loose hairs that had pulled free from her ponytail, scarcely able to recall the last time she had looked as sharp. “No one has seen or heard from you in almost three days. We thought we’d check in on our way home and drop off some food.”
Hunter and Sara lived about a half mile up the road. Their proximity had been one of the reasons Gentry had purchased this unit. Its oversize deck and lake views didn’t hurt, either. The only flaw was the cliff of a backyard, which descended more than one hundred feet to Lake Sandy. Not the best play space, but that view! She’d figured the flat front yard and neighborhood park would suffice.
Sara set the takeout bag on the entry table, her gaze homing in on Colt. Gentry almost wished her sister-in-law had held a grudge against her for keeping Colt, because Sara’s graciousness inflicted far worse guilt. The look of love she now gave Colt only made it harder.
“Thanks.” Gentry’s stomach gurgled at the whiff of real food. Getting to the grocery store had become harder than climbing Mount Everest, so she’d been making do with Ritz crackers, oatmeal, and eggs. A fact underscored by the empty red-and-yellow box tipped over on the coffee table.
Hunter stood, legs apart, hands on his hips. His owlish gaze roamed the living room, taking inventory of the remnants of what had once been a lovely, contemporary condominium.
Baby blankets lay strewn on several surfaces, including over the outrageously pricey Roche Bobois sofa cushions now tipped askew. Two half-empty baby bottles sat on various tabletops—sans coasters—and brightly colored baby play gyms, bouncy seats, and other necessities ate up a majority of the floor space. The pièce de résistance? The hideous white plastic sculpture—otherwise known as the Diaper Genie—looming in one corner.
The look on Hunter’s face confirmed what Gentry already guessed. His house never looked ravaged by a monsoon, despite his hectic life with their foster son, Ty. “What the hell happened?”
“Nothing.” Gentry rhythmically jostled Colt, brushing Quackers—her ancient, love-worn Beanie Baby duck—against his arm. Her son fussed, heedless of her wish that he’d stop long enough to convince Hunter and Sara that she knew what she was doing. Colt’s tiny head bobbled against her collarbone.
She tucked her nose against his cheek to smell his sweet skin and then looked into those inky-blue eyes—the color of a moonless night sky—and swore she’d do right by him. Somehow she’d learn, on her own, to be what he needed and give him everything he deserved.
Someday. As soon as his constant crying ended and her mental fog lifted. Then she’d finally experience the bliss reflected in most other young mothers’ faces. Tonight, however, there’d be no bliss. Right now she’d settle for thirty minutes of peace and quiet.
Hunter winced as she touched Quackers to Colt’s nose, showing no recognition of the plush toy he’d given her for her fifth birthday.
When he’d bought it for her with his own money all those years ago, she’d believed, for the first time, he might love her like he did Colby. Growing up alone, she’d envied her siblings’ closeness. Every time they’d gone home to their mother, Gentry had run to her room to cuddle her surrogate, Quackers, which explained his worn condition.
Sara reached both hands toward Colt, soft smile on display. “Can I hold the little pumpkin while you eat?”
“And shower,” Hunter muttered, earning himself a sharp look of disapproval from Sara. He raised his hands in surrender.
Hunter and Sara probably thought they’d make better parents for Colt than Gentry did. As much as she wanted to prove them wrong, right now she wanted that curry shrimp more. “Sure.”
Gentry handed her son to Sara, whose entire face lit up with adoration. Would there come a day when wondering if Sara coveted him a bit would no longer be Gentry’s first thought? It wasn’t charitable or fair of her, considering how quickly her sister-in-law had forgiven her.
Forcing her uneasiness aside, Gentry retrieved the to-go bag from the entry table. Anything from their sister, Colby’s, restaurant qualified as the best food in the Greater Portland area. Colby’s boyfriend, Alec, was A CertainTea’s chef and had spent years training in Mougins, France.
Gentry practically skipped to the kitchen, clutching the bag with greedy hands. Her brother followed her and waited while she reheated the food in the microwave—the one appliance her mom had taught her how to use.
“Gentry.” He then waved his hand up and down, obviously unimpressed by her formula-stained robe, UGG slippers, and ponytail. “Are you okay? You seem a little . . . overwhelmed.”
“You caught me at a bad moment.” She turned away, pretending to study the plate spinning in the microwave. He didn’t need to know that the so-called bad moment repeated over and over, minute by minute, day by day, like a hellish version of Groundhog Day.
He tipped his head, narrowing his eyes a shade. “Will you be back at work starting Monday? I hate to pressure you, but the new product launch is around the corner. We need all hands on deck in the marketing department, even entry-level employees like you.”
The family business, Cabot Tea Company, had entered into a joint venture with King Cola to produce and distribute ready-to-drink iced tea. Hunter had pretty much gambled the family fortune on the venture. He’d been growing more intense by the day in an effort to ensure the launch’s success. Although none of Gentry’s low-level responsibilities would make or break it, she had to do her best. She’d only gone to work at CTC this year to ditch her black sheep status so that her son could be proud and have a real place among the Cabots.
“I thought the launch wasn’t until October,” she deadpanned.
His brows rode up his forehead. “What?”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Hunter. I’m joking.” She snatched the plate from the microwave and grabbed a fork. He was lucky she was starving or he’d have gotten an earful. “I know the schedule. I’ve been on some calls with my mom and the team.”
Just not Facetime or Skype—God forbid!
The first too-hot bite of shrimp burned the roof of her mouth, but hunger kept her chewing. She heard herself purring the kinds of sounds that, in another context, might come from the bedroom—not that she could remember that feeling. “Alec’s the best chef ev-ah.”
“Colby would agree.” Hunter smiled for the first time since he’d arrived.
Gentry had taken her third bite when Sara came into the kitchen with Colt, forehead creased with concern. “I think he’s a little warm. And this cough. Have you been to the doctor?”
Gentry loved Sara but thought her worrywart reflex and preference to parent “by the book” added unnecessary stress to motherhood. Whenever Ty’s adoption went through, the poor tyke’s childhood would be a series of well-intentioned and warmly enforced rules and expectations, tutors, and lessons. Sara probably googled every little boo-boo, too.
Gentry didn’t believe in all tha
t. Rules had never helped her. Too many of them boxed a person in. And too many expectations resulted in dozens of ways to fail. She wanted Colt to be a free spirit. To explore without limitations, so he’d become a confident, interesting, “outside the box” kind of man.
“I don’t need a doctor. Colt’s warm from crying all evening.” She chomped another shrimp. Honestly, it tasted orgasmically good. Was that a word? Well, it should be. Note to self—check Merriam-Webster.
“His cough sounds wet, but I can’t tell if he’s wheezing. You know, preemies are more susceptible to respiratory illnesses like RSV. Maybe you should have him checked just to be sure.” Sara patted Colt while swaying with him, cuddling him like a beloved, if squealing, teddy bear.
Sara often brought up the preemie thing, but Gentry hated labels. Colt had been born three weeks ahead of his due date without significant complications. End of story.
“At eight thirty on a Friday night?” Gentry made a face. “The pediatrician’s office is closed, Sara.”
“What about pediatric urgent care?” Sara suggested with a hopeful smile.
“This isn’t urgent. And look at me. I’m in no state to leave the house.” Gentry ate the last shrimp with a bit of despair now that the plate was empty. If Hunter and Sara would look away for three seconds, she could lick the plate. “Besides, the people in that waiting room are really sick. Why expose Colt to those germs when it isn’t necessary?”
“Good point.” Hunter’s surprised expression irked Gentry. As if her common sense was as rare as snow in Florida.
“What if I call Ian?” Sara kept Gentry locked in her sights, calm and determined, as usual. “He’s in town . . . at a motel, actually. He can listen to Colt’s lungs and make sure there isn’t a problem.”
Ian, the humanitarian EMT Sara had wanted to fix Gentry up with many moons ago, before Gentry had decided to keep her baby. The same EMT who’d arrived on the scene downtown less than nine weeks ago, when Gentry’s water had broken well ahead of schedule, and Sara’s flat tire had prevented them from heading to the hospital. How fitting that her second run-in with him might be as humiliating as the first.
“Why’s he at a motel?” Gentry wondered aloud. She recalled thinking him handsome, which said a lot considering the Freddy Krueger–caliber labor pains stabbing her belly when they’d met. Not that it mattered. Handsome men weren’t a priority. The last time she’d dived into that pool—her one-night stand in Napa with a gorgeous man she knew only as “Smith”—she’d ended up with Colt. Now she hadn’t the interest in or time for men or, sadly, sex.
