Worth the Trouble (St. James #2) (28 page)

Hank ached to comfort her. To figure out how to lessen her sorrow. But first he needed to convince her that he didn’t care about her diagnosis and that he wouldn’t regret that decision—ever. “Can I sit?”

“Sure.” She sat in a chair, fidgeting with her hands and the hem of her shirt. “Would you like something to drink?”

“No, thanks.” Hank shook his head and cleared his throat. He tugged at his shirt collar because, despite the air-conditioning, his body temperature spiked about ten degrees. “Listen, I’m going to say what I came here to say, and I want you to hear me out. Really
hear
me.”

Cat nodded and sat on her hands.

“First of all, thank you for trusting me with your journal. After the way things ended, I don’t think I deserved it. I’ve chewed myself out many times since leaving Chicago, but didn’t know what to do or say. After getting that text from you, I decided to give you the out you seemed to want.

“Second, I want you to know I didn’t read everything in your diary. I only read the pages since Vivi’s wedding. Now I understand why you looked so fragile that weekend, why you drank so much, and a big part of the reason why you’ve been pushing me away. I wish you’d have felt safe telling me the truth sooner. Maybe then I could’ve convinced you that you aren’t any less of a woman in my eyes just because you can’t have kids. If you believe nothing else I have to say, know that you’re the most amazing woman I’ve ever had the privilege of knowing.

“I know you think you did me a favor by walking away. And one day I might’ve found and loved some other woman, but she’d never be you. She wouldn’t dream big dreams for herself and everyone else she cared about. She wouldn’t try to have it all, or push me to my limits. She wouldn’t challenge me when I was wrongheaded, or tease me just to push my buttons, or teach me that the only way to have a life worth living is to create it myself instead of waiting for it to happen.” He cocked his eyebrow and grinned. “And she sure wouldn’t be a woman with your sexy lingerie.”

Cat’s eyes misted, but she remained stock-still. Hank leaned forward.

“If you don’t love me—if you can’t see yourself being happy with me and my simpler life—then I’ll accept that and walk away. But don’t push me out because you’re afraid I can’t be happy with you. ’Cause the truth is, I’m not happy without you, Cat.”

His eyes stung from his own damned tears. “I’m not pretending the fact we probably won’t ever create children together is insignificant, but it also doesn’t mean we can’t create a family. Somehow, some way, we can. It’s too early to make lifelong promises, but let’s at least be willing to take a chance. To figure out if what’s between us is something that can last. You won’t be the only one risking your heart, Cat, ’cause I’m already there.”

Hank crossed the room and kneeled beside Cat the instant he noticed her lips trembling. He raised her hand toward his mouth and kissed her wrist. “Please trust me when I tell you I know my own heart.”

“I want to believe you.” She wiped beneath her eye and sniffled. “You have to know how much I want to believe you.”

“Believe it. Roll the dice with me,” he said before he pulled her into a kiss that carried two weeks’ worth of emotion and longing.
Home
.

“I missed you, Hank. I missed you so much.” Her wet cheeks brushed against his neck as he held her tight, thankful to God for giving him another shot.

“I missed you, too.”

An urgent rush of desire caused him to push her deeper into the chair and claim her mouth with the hungry kisses of a starving man. Cat’s hands slipped beneath his shirt and scorched his skin. He locked eyes with hers, reveling in her heated gaze and swollen lips.

He glanced down at her shirt. His voice turned husky. “What skimpy underwear are you hiding under there? More red?” Using his good hand, he tugged her open collar aside to expose a white floral-embroidered underwire bra. The contrast between the innocent appeal of the fabric and the sinfully sexy woman aroused him beyond measure. “I love your fancy bras.”

He dragged his mouth across her cleavage and over the sheer material, sucking it hard. Cat arched her back and moaned.

“I missed this,” Hank uttered against her skin. Goose bumps broke out along his back wherever her hands brushed his skin. “I love the way you taste.”

“I love the way you make me feel,” she murmured into his ear.

Hank held her close. “I love you, Catalina. Don’t shut me out again, okay?” His thumb was caressing her cheeks when he felt a tear. “What’s wrong?” She shivered, so he tried to hold her tighter despite his splint. “Tell me.”

“I hope you don’t ever regret me.”

“Don’t be afraid, Cat.” Hank smiled and kissed her collarbone. “I’ll never, ever regret you.”

E
PILOGUE

Mom,

This is the first Christmas I’ve looked forward to since you died. I put your lighted angel on the top of my tree and made a wish, although it seems like most of my wishes have already come true. One will never happen (your meeting Hank), but I finally believe some day, some way, I will be a mother.

When that happens, I hope I can be half the mother—half the woman—that you were.

Cat pulled into Hank’s driveway and parked behind his truck. She swung open the front door and called out, “Hello?”

No answer. She crossed to the master bedroom, which he’d moved into recently. Although his mother never returned home, Hank had left her room untouched until she died the week following Halloween. Two weeks later, Cat had helped Jenny clear out the room and then convinced Hank to repaint and decorate it for himself. She popped her head inside the door, but it was empty.

Swiveling around, she walked through the house and into the backyard. A faint melody emanated from his shop, and she saw lights on through the garage windows.

Once his wrist had healed well enough to be optimistic about a full recovery, they’d revisited their plans for Mitchell/St. James and taken a private commission to build David and Vivi a dining room table.

Cat loved watching him work, so she sauntered over to the garage to peek inside.

Hank sat on the floor, wiping down the legs of a gorgeous burled-wood writing desk. When the door creaked, he swung around.

“Hey, I didn’t expect to see you this evening. I thought you had a final today,” he said. “Shouldn’t you be studying?”

“Early morning test, which I’m sure I aced. I’m free until January now.” She crossed her arms to fend off the cold. “What are you working on?”

“This isn’t for a customer.” He grinned. “It was going to be a surprise for you, but now you’ve busted me.”

“For me?” She stepped closer, confused.

Hank stepped aside and gestured toward the desk. “I figured you could use a desk now that you’re pursuing a marketing degree.”

“I love it!” Cat ran her hand along the top, then frowned. “Did I just ruin my Christmas gift?”

He reached for her and pulled her in for a kiss. “Not entirely. You’ll have to be patient for the rest, though.”

“Not my strong suit,” she admitted. She glanced over his shoulder at the desk again and noticed two shallow drawers. Easing out of his arms, she started to open one, but he batted her hand. “Oooh, now I’m really curious.”

“Don’t!” he said, too late.

Unfortunately, she’d already managed to duck beneath his arm and open the drawer. Inside sat a ring box. “Oh!”

Hank rested his hands on his hips and shook his head. “
Now
you’ve ruined your Christmas, and all my plans.”

Cat should have felt sorry and apologized and maybe even been a
little sad, but all she could do was smile and bounce on her toes. At least her response made Hank grin—a good thing under the circumstances.

“Guess there’s no reason to make you wait another five days, is there?”

Cat shook her head, which elicited a chuckle from him.

Hank withdrew the little velvet box from the drawer, his grip so tight with anxiety his knuckles were white. “I had an elaborate, romantic scavenger hunt planned, but maybe it’s better that I do this here in the dusty garage where you first opened up to me about who you really are and what you need.

“We’ve certainly had our ups and downs since we first met, but even in our worst moments, you captivated me. I can barely remember my life before you blew into it like some crazy monsoon, turning everything inside out and upside down—in the very best way. I can’t imagine life without you, and I don’t want to have to try. So I hope you’ll agree to continue down this road we’re on. Together I know we’ll build an amazing business, family, and life if you’ll agree to marry me.”

He’d barely finished his sentence when she jumped into his arms and kissed him.

“Don’t you even want to see the ring?” He laughed.

“Of course I do!”

He opened the box and withdrew an emerald-cut diamond set in a band of pavé diamonds. Classic, elegant, perfect. As he slid it on her finger, he whispered, “Merry Christmas, Catalina. I love you.”

“I love you, too, and I can’t wait to be your wife.”

Hank ran his hands along her thighs, grabbed her butt, and kissed her. “Jenny’s not home. Wanna go inside?”

“You know it.” She kissed his neck.

He lifted her up and spun her around in his arms, sending a flurry of sawdust into the air around them, which caused Cat to sneeze.

“Bless you.” Hank set her down. He regarded her with reverence as he trailed his finger along her jaw. “Bless you, Catalina,” he said before kissing her.

She wrapped her arms around his neck.
Bless us.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Many thanks to my family and friends for their continued love, encouragement, and support.

And none of this would be possible without my agent, Jill Marsal, as well as Chris Werner, Krista Stroever, and the entire Montlake family believing in me, and working so hard on this story.

A special thanks to Tom Throop of Black Creek Designs, who patiently answered my questions about his background and his handcrafted fine-furniture business (and for making me the
most
gorgeous desk). For the sake of fiction, I took liberties with the information he provided, but I so appreciate all of his time and input.

A very special thank-you to my friend Ramona, who opened up her heart to me about her past experience so that I could portray elements of Cat’s reaction to her infertility in a realistic way.

As always, my Beta Babes (Christie, Siri, Katherine, Suzanne, Tami, and Shelley) provided invaluable input on various drafts of this manuscript.

And I can’t leave out the wonderful members of my CTRWA chapter (especially my MTBs), who provide endless hours of support, feedback, and guidance. I love and thank them for it as well.

Finally, thank you, readers (especially those who wrote to me asking for Cat and Jackson’s stories), for making my work worthwhile. With so many available options, I’m honored by your choice to spend your time with me.

AN EXCERPT FROM

Worth
the
Risk

Editor’s
Note: This is an uncorrected excerpt and may not reflect the finished book.

J
ackson 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 rain onto the mountain road that
wound 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. Though
battle-scarred and broken-limbed, the trees with the deepest roots would
survive this storm. Weaker ones wouldn’t, which posed a serious threat.

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’s 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 that were still
visible.

He hugged close to those double yellows—the lifeline
literally pulling 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 the truck’s 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 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 little jean jacket, with the skirt of
her multi-colored, 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 a 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 co-ed.

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 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 residential 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. To confirm that he didn’t have an addiction—he’d merely
fallen into some bad habits.

Neither David nor his sister, Cat, understood. Unlike him,
they took after their reserved father. Jackson, on the other hand, had always
reverberated feeling, temper, passion. He’d merely learned to hide 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. He’d be
relaxed. Outdoors. Active. Without work-site stress—and away from his family’s
microscope—he’d reclaim his peace of mind without booze.

If only that damned lawsuit weren’t hanging over his head.

Somehow he’d failed to peg Doug as a bad guy when he’d hired
him. Huge mistake. How that guy convinced some lawyer to file a bullshit claim
for wrongful termination and a bunch of other bogus claims boggled Jackson’s
mind.

At least he could rely on 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
damned sure he did.

Cat and Hank—a couple now. 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, just like a
lacrosse attackman racing downfield toward the goal.

Until Alison bodychecked his soul.

Her name may 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 weren’t the only one who’d let him down.

His text message chime jerked him from his mental meandering
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 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 arrival 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 in 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 truck.

Wet jeans on a damp seat—damned uncomfortable. Cold denim,
clinging to him like an unwanted second skin that didn’t fit right. 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 just 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. As he waited for her
next move, something deep inside whispered in his ear,
You’re
the one in danger.

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.