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.”
—Starred review, Publishers Weekly
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
ALSO BY JAMIE BECK
In the Cards
The St. James Novels
Worth the Wait
Worth the Trouble
The Sterling Canyon Novels
Accidentally Hers
Secretly Hers
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 © 2016 Jamie Beck
All rights reserved.
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: 9781503938816
ISBN-10: 1503938816
Cover design by Eileen Carey
For Christie.
Thank you for a lifetime of friendship and love, and for the endless hours you’ve spent talking with me about my stories. I finally forgive you for leaving me to find my own way home after my first day of kindergarten at a new school.
CONTENTS
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
EPILOGUE
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Excerpt: Before I Knew
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
CHAPTER ONE
Jackson St. James hadn’t prayed for anything since he’d sprinkled dirt on his mother’s casket almost three years ago. At that moment, he’d decided God didn’t give a shit about him or his prayers. Everything that had happened to him since then had only confirmed his hunch. But just now, when another crack of thunder shook his SUV, he considered sending up a Hail Mary.
A coal-colored sky spewed torrential rain onto the mountain road winding its way toward Winhall, Vermont. Autumnal leaves blew about, pasting themselves on his windshield. Trees bowed—bent to the point of breaking—as they fought to hold their ground while straining against unrelenting winds. Only their deep roots kept them from toppling.
A superstitious person might take the weather as a sign of an ill-conceived journey and reconsider. Fortunately, Jackson wasn’t superstitious. And while he didn’t much appreciate God’s twisted sense of humor today, he wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of that Hail Mary, either.
Irritated by the satellite radio cutting out for the umpteenth time in twenty minutes, Jackson punched it off. Only the rapid thumping of his wipers—sounding oddly like a sturdy heartbeat—offered a distraction from his gloomy thoughts.
If the berm of the road were wider, he’d pull over and wait out the heaviest part of the storm. Instead, he flicked on his hazard lights, eased up his speed, and squinted at the few feet of centerline still visible.
He hugged close to those double yellows—the lifeline leading him through the dark to safety. Had he not been so far to the left of his lane, he’d have crashed into the idiot who not only failed to park a massive Chevy pickup truck away from the road’s edge, but who also leapt out and ran to its rear.
Was help needed?
For a split second, Jackson thought to keep going. He had his own problems to sort out, after all.
Of course his conscience kicked in, reminding him that he’d never ignored a person in need, not even a stranger. Apparently not even a stupid one who just might get them both killed.
He steered his Jeep as far to the right side of the shoulder as possible while avoiding the drop-off to the river on its other side. Twisting to the right, he considered reaching for his umbrella. Then the howling wind shifted and rain began to pummel the car sideways. Cursing, he left the umbrella under the passenger seat and stepped out of his car.
Within three seconds, his clothes were as soaked through as if he’d been tossed into the swollen river ten yards away.
Muttering to himself, he jogged back to where the pickup remained precariously parked, trying to ignore the way his jeans had transformed into some kind of Chinese finger trap, tightening with each step.
Just then a small figure circled around from behind the truck bed. A woman—a young woman—stopped in her tracks, wide-eyed, teeth chattering. “Oh!”
Like him, her soggy clothes dripped. Long brown hair adhered to her cheeks, neck, and shoulders. Raindrops bounced off the thick lashes framing her impossibly round, pale eyes.
Unlike him, however, she didn’t look particularly miserable. In fact, she looked kind of cute in her oversize barn coat, with the skirt of her multicolored, floral-print dress clinging to her legs, which were slim and long despite her short stature. Like a rookie schoolboy with a first crush, he felt a grin tug at the corner of his mouth.
“Looks like you need help,” he shouted above the din of another peal of thunder. “Flat tire?”
“Yes.” The young woman stepped back slowly. She flashed a brave yet tight smile and took another step away from him. “But don’t trouble yourself. I’ll be okay, thanks.”
The rain made it difficult to see her face clearly now that she’d put distance between them, yet the spark of attraction charged through him. Attraction he hadn’t felt in a long time. Attraction he had no business indulging for many reasons, not the least of which
being the fact that she looked like a college coed.
Too young and innocent for a guy like him.
“Your jack probably weighs more than you do.” He took a cautious step toward the back of the car so she wouldn’t be alarmed. “Have you ever changed a tire?”
“Please don’t bother.” She held up one hand. “You can’t help, anyway. There’s no spare.”
Jackson frowned, noticing the flat front tire. He stooped to take a closer look at the gash. No sealant would fix that tear, and his compact spare wouldn’t fit this huge wheel rim. He glanced at the decal on the side door: Gabby’s Gardens.
Gabby. Cute name, too.
“Did you call for help?” He stood, his hands tucked under his armpits, water sluicing off every inch of his body.
“No service.” She shivered.
Oddly, the chilly rain hadn’t cooled him off. In fact, his body temperature had only increased since he first set eyes on her, despite the gusty weather.
A truck honked as it zoomed by, simultaneously hurling a gritty spray at them and causing Gabby’s pickup to quake. Jackson swiped his bangs from his eyes, slinging a handful of water from his face.
“Why don’t we get off the side of the road before we both end up dead?” He gestured over his shoulder. “Hop in my car and I’ll drive you to the nearest dry spot with cell service.”
Presuming common sense would force her to agree, he started back toward his car. When she didn’t catch up to him, he glanced back at her. “Aren’t you coming?”
“I don’t think so, but thank you.” She darted for the door of her vehicle. “If you wouldn’t mind calling a tow truck when you reach an area with service, I’d appreciate it.”
“Miss, you’re parked right at the edge of the road. I’m afraid you’ll get hit.” When that failed to persuade her, he added, “If I were going to hurt you, I could’ve done so already.”
“All the same, I’ll take my chances here. Not much traffic at this time of day.” She waved before ducking into her truck with a quick “Bye!”
He heard her car doors lock. For three seconds, Jackson stood there, dumbfounded . . . and a little insulted. No one had ever refused his help or considered him a danger. Then again, a small woman like her probably shouldn’t take chances with any stranger.
Another heavy rumble overhead forced him to shrug and return to his Jeep. He knew, from dozens of ski trips to the area, that the Stratton resort area wasn’t too far ahead, so he flicked the hazards back on and drove away.
Leaving her alone didn’t sit well with him, but it made no sense for both of them to indefinitely park there, wedged between the road and the engorged river. He couldn’t very well have tossed her over his shoulder and thrown her in his car.
That idea, however, looped a thick curl of desire through his gut.
Obviously it had been too long since he’d been with a woman. Shaking his head to erase the image, he refocused on the road. Of course, it only took seconds before his mind began racing ahead of his car, mulling over why he was even on this road in the first place.
He hadn’t come to Vermont for pleasure, and he sure shouldn’t become sidetracked by a woman. Not even an adorably drenched kitten of a girl like Gabby—no matter how bright her eyes or sweet her dimples.
He’d allotted himself six weeks to get his shit together. His business demanded it—his family, too. Hell, according to them, his very life depended on it.
Following the surprise intervention his older brother, David, had sprung on him, he’d remained completely sober these past several weeks while making arrangements for this hiatus.
Of course, the stress of temporarily handing over the reins of his construction projects to his friend, Hank, had made it difficult. Made him crave the slow burn of whiskey sliding down his throat. Made him yearn for numbness to wind its way through his limbs and mind.
He’d resisted the impulse—barely.
Pride had kept him from surrendering to the siren call of Glenfiddich. He remained determined to prove to everyone that he could stop whenever he wanted.
Neither David nor his sister, Cat, understood him. They took after their reserved father, keeping their emotions locked down all the time. Jackson, on the other hand, had always reverberated feeling, temper, passion. He’d merely hidden it in recent years, after getting burned too many times.
Concealing pain, however, didn’t mean insults no longer hurt or that slights merely skimmed the surface. No. Those things buried themselves deep inside, like a bullet in bone. Even if plucked out, there would always be a scar.
Whiskey had helped him soften the jagged edges of bitterness. The fact that he hankered for the smell and taste of it didn’t mean a damned thing. Everyone drank, some even more than him.
Now that he’d arrived in Vermont, it’d be easier. The extended vacation—with abundant outdoor activities and unscheduled days—would give him time to unwind, to think, and to figure out how to move forward. He’d picked this area because it was close enough to return home quickly in an emergency, but distant enough to escape the family microscope.
He’d refused to consider rehab. That was for addicts, not guys who’d just fallen into bad habits. But he’d promised to check out counseling, so he’d called a local doctor to set up some appointments, for whatever that would be worth.
If only that damn lawsuit wasn’t hanging over his head.
Somehow he’d missed pegging Doug as a bad guy when he’d hired him. Huge mistake. How that guy convinced some lawyer to file a bullshit suit for wrongful termination and a bunch of other bogus claims boggled Jackson’s mind.
At least he could rely on his brother, David’s, law firm to secure him the best defense possible. Jackson’s only real regret about the whole incident involved Hank’s accidental wrist injury. He prayed he hadn’t permanently sidelined Hank from being able to build furniture or work as a carpenter. If Jackson didn’t find some way to compensate his friend, his sister would make damn sure he did.
Cat and Hank—a couple more unlikely than David and Vivi, which had been about as big of a surprise as he could’ve envisioned at the time.
Never in a gazillion years would Jackson have thought he’d be the lone St. James, still single in his thirties. Hell, he’d been the most romantic of his siblings. He’d flung himself into every relationship, no holds barred. At a time when most guys had run away from commitment, he’d run straight at it, like a lacrosse attackman racing downfield toward the goal.
Until Alison bodychecked him with her decision.
Her name might as well have been a hunting knife for the way hearing it still carved his heart into ribbons. Without whiskey to blunt the pain, he’d need to find some other way to forget her betrayal. Forget the loss. Moving on might’ve been easier if she’d been the only one who’d let him down.
His text message chime jerked him to the present and brought to mind the girl he’d left stranded a few miles back.
He yanked the steering wheel and drove into a nearby empty lot, then searched Google for a local tow service. After he ended the call, he made a U-turn and returned to Gabby and her truck.
Gabby’s Gardens.
A gardener. Landscaping or vegetables, he wondered? Then he frowned. Gabby and her gardens weren’t the answer to his problems. If anything, she’d only unleash new ones.
When he passed by her truck this time around, she appeared to be reading in the front seat. He pulled up behind her, flicked on the hazards, and killed the engine. Through her rear window, he watched her twist around to look at him. She was too far away for him to tell whether his return caused alarm or relief.
He got out of the car, thankful the rain had slowed to a steady drizzle. He popped open the rear hatch, dug around his emergency kit, and retrieved two reflective emergency road triangles. Jogging about two car lengths, he placed one in the berm and then, about halfway back to his car, he placed the other slightly inside the roadway. Satisfied with his handiwork, he returned to his Jeep
.
Wet jeans on a damp seat—damned uncomfortable. Cold denim, clinging to him like an awkward second skin. Still, he’d sit and wait until the tow truck arrived and he could be sure she was safe.
His stomach gurgled, reminding him it had been several hours since he’d eaten. He noticed Gabby turn around another time or two, either in discomfort or confusion. Had she really thought he’d leave her stranded and defenseless in the middle of nowhere?
When her truck door opened, he straightened up, curious about what she’d do next. Clearly, she no longer feared him. She dangled one of her tempting trim legs from the cab, like she was still deciding what to do. As he waited for her next move, something deep inside whispered in his ear, “You’re the one in trouble.”
Reckless. That’s what she’d always been—plain old reckless when it came to men. She’d thought having Luc would wise her up, but apparently her toddler hadn’t yet knocked common sense into her brain. Boundless love, enormous responsibility, and a long spate of chastity: yes. Wisdom? Not so much.
Nothing else could explain why she’d risk her safety to go trade words with the crazy man playing white knight in a thunderstorm. Then again, recent weeks of meditation—her last-ditch effort to cope with the demands of parenting—were teaching her to experience everything openly and without judgment. To be present. Mindful. And right now, curious.
She jumped down from the cab and began her approach. That’s when she saw Connecticut plates on the front of his car. A tourist. Hopefully not a rapist or murderer, too. To her knowledge, murderers didn’t usually draw attention to themselves with reflective roadside emergency gear. Then again, she’d never known any violent criminals.
Whether habit or nerves took over, she didn’t know, but one of those two caused her to smooth her wet hair. Like that would help.
Resolved, more or less, she trotted to the passenger side of his car and motioned for him to roll down his window. He donned a pleasant expression but remained seated, making no attempt to approach her or the passenger door. She guessed he froze in place to keep her from getting jumpy.
