Worth the Risk (St. James Book 3)

by Jamie Beck

  When she stepped close enough to peer through the open window, she noticed the spotless interior. No wadded-up wrappers or napkins, no stray sippy cups, no scuff marks on the seats. Either this guy was a neat freak or he didn’t have kids. “I don’t mean to be rude, but what are you doing?”

  “Making sure you don’t end up as roadkill.” He grinned. A heart-stopping, full grin surrounding stark white teeth contrasted against his olive-toned complexion.

  Growing up in this rural, tiny town of eight hundred residents, she hadn’t seen men who looked like him except in magazines. Around here, clean-shaven was a bonus, let alone this guy’s level of H-O-T. She’d been right to think him deadly, just wrong about the why of it.

  “Oh.” Her heart began pumping as hard as it might during a hike up Mount Equinox. “Thanks, but I’m sure the tow truck will be here soon. I told you, not many cars pass this way on Tuesday afternoons. You really don’t need to stay. I’m fine.”

  She swiped her palm across her face to wipe away the water. Darn rain. Surely she had mascara streaks down her cheeks.

  “I’m fine, too.” His gaze strayed to the raindrops coming in through the open window. Tilting his head, he said, “You’re welcome to take a seat if you’d rather continue your interrogation someplace dry.”

  Gabby stepped back and shook her head. “No, thanks.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Do I look like some kind of murderer?”

  “Frankly, I’ve got no idea. I’ve never met a murderer.” His wide-eyed reaction spurred her to tease him. “But Ted Bundy was good-looking, so for all I know, you’re a serial killer.”

  Instead of arguing, his devilish smile emerged, which set free a thousand butterflies in her stomach. A magical, brightening sensation she hadn’t felt in years and now wished she could capture in a box to take home to experience again and again and again.

  His smile expanded. “You think I’m good-looking?”

  As if he didn’t already know. Every woman on the planet would consider him handsome . . . and sexy. She could only imagine how fine his dark, curly hair would look when it dried. Fistfuls of it, she knew that much. Broad shoulders—very broad—and a square jaw. Amber-colored eyes set deeply beneath dark, heavy brows, although those eyes looked quite melancholy for someone wearing that smile.

  She crossed her arms and chuckled. “That’s all you heard?”

  “I’ve got a talent for homing in on the most important point.” Then his playful expression swiftly shifted, as if he’d scolded himself for flirting. Perhaps he had a girlfriend, or a wife. It would be a stretch to think that a guy his age—who was also beautiful and considerate—would still be single.

  “Go on back to your car and get out of the rain before you get sick.” He jerked his chin toward her truck. “Don’t worry, I’m not a stalker. As soon as the tow truck comes, I’ll grab my stuff and go. Gotta eat.”

  If she’d had good sense, she’d have nodded and scooted back to her car. Naturally, she didn’t. He might be a million miles out of her league, but for now they were stuck together. She couldn’t force herself to walk away while those butterfly wings still tickled.

  “I see you’re from out of town. Do you like French food, because there’s plenty of it around here, or are you hungry for a burger and fries?” She wiped more rain from her face in a futile attempt at poise.

  “Burger.”

  Of course. He didn’t look like the type who’d order duck and wine at lunch. He had too much testosterone, too much swagger. Even though he was sitting still, she could feel the masculinity rippling off his body like heat radiating off asphalt. Just staring at him warmed her from the inside out.

  This kind of rock-my-world chemical reaction should’ve made her wary. Last time it had struck, she’d gotten Luc out of the deal, along with a side dish of heartbreak. She loved her son to pieces, but didn’t need to risk another life-altering consequence merely to satisfy a healthy dose of lust. The mere thought of Noah, the cocky local cop who’d knocked her up and left her hanging, shot heated shame straight to her cheeks.

  “If you’re heading toward Manchester Center, you’ll pass by Bob’s Diner on Route 11,” she said. “Or you could go a little farther to a tavern called The Perfect Wife.”

  “Diner’s fine, thanks.”

  A heartbeat passed before she realized there was nothing more to say. She should return to the car, not stand in the rain ogling a man she didn’t know. The blasted man was a stranger. A very attractive stranger who, sadly, hadn’t once asked for her name.

  The fact that thought even crossed her mind proved how pathetic her personal life had become. Honestly, didn’t she have any self-respect? He hadn’t said or done a single thing since the Ted Bundy conversation to suggest he found her the least bit appealing. “Thanks for looking out for me. Enjoy our little corner of the world while you’re here.”

  His eyes clouded over with something that looked a lot like regret—an emotion she knew well thanks to teenage rebellion and other mistakes. “Thanks.”

  She waved good-bye and then jogged back to her truck. For the next ten minutes she pretended to read her People magazine. Knowing he continued to watch over her swept a prickling sensation over her scalp.

  A pleasant kind of prickling. The long-forgotten kind.

  She deemed it a blessing that he didn’t live around here because that way she’d never be disappointed to learn he wasn’t as good as he appeared. She could pretend heroes weren’t only in movies and romance novels. She’d simply enjoy their brief encounter for what it was, nothing more or less.

  Yep, just as well she never got his name.

  Luc needed a mother who’d put him first, unlike her own pill-popping mom, who’d walked out on her and her dad almost seven years ago. Gabby would be a mom her son could rely upon to care for him, protect him, teach him right from wrong. Not the madcap girl she’d been before her unplanned pregnancy. A girl prone to impulsive behavior. One whose head had been too easily turned by a handsome face.

  Mr. White Knight from Connecticut would forever remain nothing more than a nameless fantasy. A fantasy she might have to satisfy in private later that night.

  Although thoroughly convinced of how much better off she was that she’d never see him again, a little piece of her heart sank when Manchester Towing arrived.

  “Hey, Paul. That didn’t take too long.” She smiled through her window.

  “Gabby, didn’t realize I’d find you here.” He glanced at Mr. White Knight, who was picking up his emergency gear from the road. “Who’s that guy?”

  “A Good Samaritan.” Gabby smiled, although her chest tightened a tiny bit when he climbed into his car and drove away without any kind of good-bye.

  “Let’s get you off the road.” Paul slapped his hand on the sill. “Go jump in my truck while I get this baby hooked up.”

  “Sounds great.”

  The inside of Paul’s tow truck left a lot to be desired. Two crushed soda cans, an empty Doritos bag, and crumpled receipts lay scattered on the seat. Nothing like the spick-and-span inside of her white knight’s Jeep. Sighing, she set the trash on the floor, then closed her eyes and rested her head against the back of the seat.

  Before she could stop it, an image of her Good Samaritan’s smile flickered like a favorite scene in an old movie. For once she’d made the smart choice by being wary of the stranger from out of state. Still, her reckless side—the trait she worked hard to bury—beat against her conscience, telling her she might have just missed out on something special.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Jackson shrugged out of his wet jacket and tossed it on the passenger seat before heading into the diner. If the sharp edge of hunger weren’t gnawing on his stomach, he would’ve first stopped to pick up the keys to his apartment and changed into dry clothes.

  He pushed through the door and stepped into the old diner. Like a lot of other places in this part of Vermont, it probably hadn’t been renovated since it was built. He stood sur
rounded by small black-and-white mosaic-tiled flooring, round vinyl stools at the counter, and no shortage of aluminum. The greasy aroma of the griddle invaded his nostrils, too, whetting his appetite.

  He sat at the counter.

  “Looks like you’ve been through the wringer.” The bottle-redheaded young waitress smiled. She cocked her hip when handing him a menu. A tattoo of blood-red roses on a vine climbed up her forearm. Multiple piercings dotted her ears, and she’d painted her nails dark gray. “How about a beer while you decide what you want? A Bud, or maybe you’d like my favorite, Switchback?”

  Ice-cold beer sounded perfect. He looked around, knowing no one here would think twice about a guy ordering a beer with lunch. After the storm he braved today, he deserved one, too. His family would never know. Just one cold beer to take the edge off.

  His mouth began watering, but he stopped himself. He’d never been a liar, and he didn’t want to start today. Something sweet always curbed the craving, so he ordered a chocolate milkshake.

  The waitress’s heavily lined eyes slightly widened with surprise. “You got it, handsome.”

  Some guys envied the regular attention women gave Jackson. Most of the time, he wished to be more invisible. Especially in this case, because he had no interest in hanging out with an obvious party girl. Besides, meaningless flirtations usually made him feel lonelier—emptier—than ever. They made him yearn for the kind of love and family he’d always assumed he’d have by his thirties.

  “Thanks.” He scanned the menu, then set it aside and glanced around the diner. An elderly couple sat in a corner booth, two middle-aged moms with toddlers in another. And at the end of the counter sat a scraggly-looking guy about Jackson’s age, drinking the beer Jackson would’ve liked to order.

  Someday. Once he’d shown himself and others how they’d overreacted to his drinking.

  The waitress pushed a tall, frosty shake in front of him. “Ready to order?”

  “Cheddar burger with onion and tomato, and fries.” He smiled and handed her the menu, then returned his brother’s earlier text with a phone call.

  “Jackson, how’s the apartment?” David asked.

  “Don’t know. Stopped for lunch first.”

  “Oh? Did you hit a lot of traffic?”

  “Storm slowed me down, and then some girl with a flat needed help.”

  A brief pause ensued. Jackson figured David was weighing whether or not to ask more about the girl. “Are you feeling optimistic about this trip? I still wish you’d stuck closer to home or checked into a formal program.”

  Jackson suspected his family wanted him where they, or someone else, could keep a close eye on him. He, however, needed privacy to figure out how to finally deal with the fact that both his siblings, among others, had betrayed his trust in one way or another. The thought roughened his voice.

  “I need space. Hank and I have a plan to address any business issues he can’t handle. I’ve got my first therapy session tomorrow. I just ordered a milkshake instead of a beer. Any other concerns?”

  He heard David exhale. “I know you’re still upset with me about Hong Kong, and the intervention. When you return, I want to resolve everything.”

  “How about you let me take one step at a time?”

  “Of course,” came David’s quick reply.

  For years, Jackson’s friends had confessed to being glad they’d never had to live in the shadow of an older brother like David. David, the star pupil and athlete—a perfect rule follower, adored by teachers, girls, and other parents. But Jackson hadn’t minded that part. He and David had never been in competition. If anything, he’d admired his brother as much as anyone else, and he’d believed David would always have his back.

  Then, when their mom died, David had moved halfway around the world, cutting everyone out of his life for eighteen months. Offered no comfort while Jackson mourned their mom—a time when he really needed his big brother’s company. After that, Alison ripped what remained of Jackson’s heart in half by terminating her pregnancy, and all the while David remained blissfully unaware.

  By the time David had returned to the family, the gulf between them might as well have been the damned Grand Canyon. Jackson didn’t know how to bridge it, so he’d been polite yet continued to emotionally withdraw. He no longer trusted that David—or anyone—would be there for him through ups and downs, thick and thin. How does one rebuild broken trust?

  Hopefully he’d figure that out here in Vermont.

  “Before we hang up,” David began, “I spoke with Oliver and he wants you to consider settling Doug’s claim.”

  Oliver Nichols, his lawyer for this case and one of his brother’s law partners, was a white-shoe, pencil-pushing pussy who never gave Jackson a straight answer. He wished David were handling the matter, but David’s specialty was mergers and acquisitions, not litigation.

  “Settle?” Jackson slurped the shake through the thick straw. No way. Doug had never done a great job, and his big mouth had caused problems within the crew. The guy sure had balls, though. First he dissed Jackson in front of other employees, then he threatened to spread exaggerated rumors about Jackson’s drinking to clients and competitors. When Jackson fired him on the spot and kicked him off the site, Doug shoved him. Hell, Jackson hadn’t done a thing wrong, and never even hit Doug. “I didn’t do anything wrong. Doug was insubordinate, slanderous, and he made the first move.”

  Honestly, what kind of dumbass thinks he’s entitled to keep his job after that kind of behavior?

  “Even if that’s true, protracted litigation only serves us lawyers.” David sighed. “You don’t need extra stress or mounting legal fees in your life now. Litigation could stretch for two years and hurt your reputation. Better to settle quickly and get a confidentiality agreement in place. You don’t have to admit anything, just offer a number to make it go away.”

  “No.” Jackson’s calm tone belied his outrage. “No way in hell” was what Jackson wanted to shout into the phone.

  “You won’t even consider it?”

  “Nope.” He tossed the straw and guzzled some of the shake straight from the glass.

  “Oliver doesn’t get the sense Doug’s going to back off. He’s got less at stake than you.”

  “That’s what he thinks. But if he intends to trash my reputation, I can do equal if not more damage to his. I’m the one with a good history and tons of friends in the business. I’m the one with a string of satisfied homeowners to vouch for my character and reputation. He’s a young punk with jack shit for a track record, and if he pushes me harder, I’m going to make it impossible for him to work in Connecticut.”

  “Don’t say that to anyone but me, Jackson.” Following another pause, he added, “Maybe it’s best that you’ve left town for a while.”

  “Seems so.”

  David huffed and Jackson could picture him closing his eyes and counting to three, like he always did when Cat or Jackson exasperated him. “You’re clearly spoiling for an argument, so let’s cut this short. I’ll let everyone know you’ve arrived and will check back in with you in a few days.”

  “Fine.” As an afterthought, Jackson added, “Thanks.”

  “Jackson, all I want is for everything to get better, for you and for us.” David’s quiet, sincere tone hit its mark.

  “So do I.” That much was true. Beneath the recent disappointments and distance, he knew David loved him and missed the closeness they’d once shared as much as Jackson did. “My lunch arrived. I’ll touch base in a couple of days.”

  He wedged his phone into his pocket and then shoved a handful of fries into his mouth. Salty, hot fries. Tasted damn near perfect.

  While he gorged on the most fattening lunch he’d eaten in weeks, two cops came into the diner. One had a paunchy gut and salt-and-pepper hair, the other looked extremely fit and young. Midtwenties, if Jackson had to guess. Sandy-colored hair, ice-blue eyes.

  The older officer slapped the scraggly customer on the shoulder and st
arted a conversation.

  When the younger cop sauntered to the counter and smiled flirtatiously at the waitress, Jackson got a better look at him. Something about the guy made Jackson uneasy. He didn’t look malevolent so much as phony. Slick. Untrustworthy. A smidge of arrogance. Just like that asswipe Doug. Not exactly the qualities one seeks in a policeman.

  “Noah, what can I do you for and Lou?” The hot-to-trot waitress sashayed closer to the good-looking cop, eating up his attention.

  “Two sodas and an order of fries for the road, Missy.” The young cop’s answering smile caused her to bat her lashes and giggle. He then glanced at Jackson, and his gaze narrowed. “Lose a battle with a hose?” He chuckled, like he was Stephen Colbert or something.

  Jackson’s skin itched from the way the man homed in on him—focused, curious, assessing. “Feels like it.”

  He took another bite of his burger, hoping to signal polite disinterest in further conversation.

  No such luck. Apparently Jackson’s odd appearance piqued this officer’s interest, because he showed no sign of backing off.

  “I’m Noah.” The young cop stuck out his hand then nodded toward his partner. “That’s Lou.”

  “Jackson,” he replied as he shook the man’s hand.

  “You don’t look familiar.” He tipped his head, giving Jackson a closer inspection. “Where’re you from?”

  “Connecticut.” Jackson wiped his mouth and met the cop’s even gaze. “Came up here for a little r-and-r.”

  After a slight hesitation, Noah nodded. “Fly-fishing should do the trick. Orvis runs some programs down in Manchester Center.”

  Thankfully, Missy returned with a bag of fries and two sodas. She handed them to Noah and stuck her chest out a bit. “Here you go, boys. Stop back for coffee later.”

  “Wouldn’t miss it.” Noah winked at her and then he tilted his head and mock saluted Jackson. “See you ’round, Jackson.”

  Maybe Jackson had become overly paranoid this year, but something about Noah’s tone sounded a little bit like a warning. Missy’s gaze followed Noah until he left the diner, then she leaned her hip against the counter and brazenly checked Jackson out. “So, you here alone?”