When You Knew (The Cabots Book 3)

by Jamie Beck

  Suddenly, as if only then noticing her words, she shot him a saucy smile. A cheesy, playful, yet still sexy come-on that he knew she didn’t mean seriously.

  He should be relieved, he thought, as she sauntered into the house. The woman was trouble. She was reckless. She was, at times, lying to herself and others. Yet she was daring, full of life, and surprisingly vulnerable.

  He closed his eyes and turned his thoughts away from Gentry and back to Haiti. To the way he could always feel the sun before he saw it. To the look of determination on his father’s face as he went back into that building to search for a woman’s missing child.

  Ian had a plan to honor his dad, and no one, not even someone as bewitching as Gentry Cabot, would deter him.

  Chapter Six

  Foolhardy

  According to Merriam-Webster: foolishly adventurous and bold : RASH

  According to me: searching for Colt’s father (also pushing my slogans again on Hunter and Mom)

  After yesterday’s public debacle, Gentry exercised the benefit of being a Cabot for the first time since taking the job the previous fall. Luckily, Hunter and her parents agreed to a brief, private meeting in her dad’s office. A place without interior windows, so gossips and disgruntled coworkers couldn’t watch and wonder.

  “Hi, Cindy.” Gentry waved at her father’s personal assistant.

  Cindy flashed a polite grin—the kind of smile that didn’t give any hint of genuine emotion. “Good morning.”

  Gentry entered her dad’s expansive office, with windows that looked over the adjacent, undeveloped land preserve. Unlike any visit to her mom’s ornate office—where the thick, red silk-and-wool Tibetan carpet and handmade live-edge mahogany desk hummed with her mother’s tense energy—in here she felt safe.

  Her father’s space resembled the casual, no-nonsense appeal of the man himself. Standard beige commercial carpet worn from foot traffic. Family photos on the credenza. Traditional but tired office furniture. No attempt to intimidate or impress. Just straightforward functionality that welcomed every guest.

  Her parents were seated at the small table in one corner, waiting for her and Hunter. Her dad’s Lyme disease symptoms had abated during the past months, although he still had occasional flare-ups. Today he appeared to be having a good day. She kissed him hello before taking a seat across from her mom.

  “How’s it working out with Ian?” Her dad clasped her hand and squeezed.

  The gesture reminded her of when Ian had done the same last night. Her father’s touch comforted and settled her. Ian’s had stirred up something else. It troubled her, actually, that Ian got her to open up about things she didn’t want to discuss. “So far, so good.”

  “You seem a little more yourself today,” her mom added. “On time, too.”

  Also thanks to Ian. Once she’d gotten over her pity party, she’d appreciated coming home to a clean house and a meal. To an adult who patiently listened and had his own stories to tell. It recharged her. And now, to know her son was in safe hands . . . she couldn’t pay Ian enough for that peace of mind. “Miracles happen.”

  Hunter walked in before the zingers escalated. His presence—confident, proud, handsome—absorbed their attention. Gentry had always tried to emulate his attitude. Her effort rang hollow because, unlike Hunter, she couldn’t boast a string of accomplishments.

  “Sorry I’m late. I also have to duck out soon, so let’s make this quick.” He sank onto a chair opposite their dad, removed his glasses to clean a smudge, and looked at her. “What’s up?”

  Two of the world’s most intimidating people were staring at her, so she turned to her father instead. “I’ll be quick, but let me finish before interrupting or rejecting my idea.”

  “Of course,” her father said before shooting her mom a pointed glance.

  Hunter and Jenna exchanged an impatient look. Anytime those two agreed, Gentry braced for a lightning strike or another natural disaster. Then again, those two had laid down their swords in recent months, and yet hell hadn’t swallowed the earth.

  “I thought more about the slogan—” she began. Her mother’s exasperated inhalation—the kind that always made Gentry feel small—interrupted her. Determined to prove her competence, she plowed through. “The name ‘Cabot’s ChariTea’ embodies the USP, so I still think we should add the convenience factor to distinguish it from our regular teas. With that in mind, I thought of ‘ChariTea on the go.’ But if you don’t like that, then how about ‘Quench your thirst for a better world.’ At least that has some punch.”

  Gentry sat, fingers interlocked on her lap to keep from chewing her nails, and settled her gaze on Hunter. At the end of the day, ChariTea was his baby. Maybe his approval could trump her mother’s rejection.

  When he grinned—an uncommon response at work—Gentry broke into a responding smile so big it could almost be mistaken for one of Sara’s. Her knee bounced happily beneath the table until she settled it with her hand.

  “I like the second one.” Hunter looked at their father. “Dad?”

  “Me too.” Her father patted her shoulder, nodding.

  The win sent her floating on air. For a millisecond, Gentry regretted the time she’d wasted in rebellion. Who might she be now if she’d followed in her siblings’ footsteps sooner? “Mom?”

  Gentry tried not to hold her breath.

  “Good to see you getting your head back in the game.” Her mother drummed the fingers of her left hand upon the table while staring at the notepad onto which she’d written out both slogans. “They work.”

  Tepid.

  “Do you like them?” Gentry hated the churning in her stomach and the yearning for some praise.

  “Let’s take them to the marketing team for consensus and go from there.” Her mother’s refusal to applaud her creativity deflated Gentry more quickly than a pinprick to a balloon.

  She fantasized about tossing her pen across the table like a dart aimed at her mother’s forehead.

  “Great. I’ve got to run.” Hunter pushed back from the table and gave a quick wave. “See you all later.”

  As Hunter walked out, their dad said, “I gotta say, I’m happy to see us all working together.” He leaned back, arms crossed over his chest. “I wasn’t convinced you did a good thing when you voted with your brother, but it’s working out.”

  “Let’s hope so.” Her mom stood to leave. “We’ll know in another three months if this gamble was worth it.”

  Last year, her mother had pushed to sell CTC to an international conglomerate. Hunter had pulled out every stop to prevent the sale, but Gentry held the tie-breaking vote. At the time, Hunter hadn’t been speaking to her because of the whole failed adoption. She’d leveraged her vote in exchange for this job, knowing passing up that potential payday might be the only way to mend fences.

  “Putting the family to rights is more important than hitting a home run with this product,” her dad replied. Ten years ago he wouldn’t have said that, but since his illness, her father’s priorities had shifted somewhat. Sadly, her mother’s hadn’t.

  “Now you sound like Leslie.” Her mother summoned Gentry with one hand while taking a dig at Jed’s ex-wife. If Hunter had still been in the office, he would’ve tossed a pen at her mom.

  Gentry had never known life without the Cabot interfamily tension. Peace had been a relative term, not a way of life. She’d vowed to do better for her own son. That vow had kept her up the previous night, causing her to mull over Ian’s opinions about Smith and family. In a moment of clarity, she now came to another decision. “There’s one more thing.”

  “What?” her mom asked, hugging her notepad and glancing at her watch.

  “I’m thinking of finding Smith.” Gentry kept her shoulders square even as her body went a bit numb at the thought.

  Her mother’s eyes rolled up toward the ceiling, but her dad leaned forward, his expression sober but curious. “What’s changed your mind?”

  “Colt should know who his f
ather is.” More than that, he deserved a complete family as opposed to a dysfunctional half of one. Whether Ian or God or a sixth sense toyed with her, she believed Smith would turn out to be a good guy. Not as good of a guy as Ian, most likely. But they’d hit it off before; maybe they would again and, in doing so, could provide Colt the kind of security she’d never known.

  “How will you possibly find a man whose name you don’t even know?” her mother asked.

  “It’s a crazy long shot, but I know what he looks like and the hotel we were in.” She remembered the outdoor shower of her cottage among the low-lying buildings of Carneros Resort and Spa, and the views across the fields to the distant mountains. “I think I remember his room number, but I’m not positive.”

  Her father shook his head, hand held high. “That’s hard for me to hear, you know. Maybe think a little about your audience.”

  “Sorry, Dad.” She’d never given much thought to her impulsiveness. To the extent it had worried her parents in the past, she’d blamed them for being so neglectful. But as a mother, her perspective had shifted.

  “You have no idea whom or what you’re inviting into your life,” her mother warned.

  “If a PI actually finds Smith and learns he’s a bad guy, I don’t have to contact him.” She looked at her father. “I won’t do anything to hurt Colt. But at least I’d have answers so when he’s old enough he can make his own decisions.”

  “I hope you can’t find this Smith person. It’s easier and cleaner this way.” Her mother looked concerned, as opposed to merely irritated about giving up control. “Why borrow trouble when you can simply tell Colt that you got pregnant on a lark and never knew his father’s name. It wouldn’t be a lie.”

  “Jenna,” her dad said.

  “What?” she snapped. “Are we not allowed to call a spade a spade? She likes to boast about her unconventional life. She claims she’s not ashamed of that night.”

  “I’m not!” Gentry insisted. “I don’t regret it, either. I didn’t troll for the worst guy I could find. Smith was pleasant and friendly and made me feel safe enough to do what I did, so chances are he’ll be a decent man who has something to offer his son.”

  Again, she thought of the kind of influence someone like Ian would offer and wished he weren’t running to the other side of the world.

  “Given the fact he didn’t give his name or want yours, I don’t exactly agree with your hunch.” Her dad crossed his arms again. He looked tired, which almost made her back down, but this was too important, and she wanted his support.

  “We were both having fun on vacation. The nickname thing was my idea, and I didn’t ask for, or give, any personal information, either.” She wrinkled her nose, because that also wasn’t something her dad would want to hear. “But Colt’s changed everything, and maybe our son will bring out the best in Smith, too. If I find him.”

  “You’ve never asked for our approval before, so nothing’s changed.” Her mom strode to the door, gripping its handle with unnecessary force. “I hope I won’t have to say ‘I told you so.’”

  If that were true, why did it sound like she did hope for the chance to sneer those exact words?

  Ian descended the stairs at nine thirty in the morning and spied Gentry straddling Colt with a camera in her hands. She hadn’t heard him approach, so he paused on the bottom tread to watch. The photographs on the wall beside him proved her talent but didn’t quite reveal the tenderness he saw unfolding on the floor in spite of her son’s crankiness.

  She tickled Colt’s belly, her voice soft and low, then adjusted her lens. Colt’s tiny body flinched at the burst of rapid-fire snapshots. In response, Gentry bent down to gently rub her nose with her son’s and kiss his forehead. “Come on, Boo. Gimme a smile.” Gentry made a funny sound with her lips, which momentarily caught his attention, and snapped a few more images before she felt Ian’s presence.

  She’d pulled her hair into a ponytail, and her cheeks were flushed, presumably from taking Colt on an early-morning run.

  “Hey, sleepyhead,” Gentry teased as he crossed to the kitchen to brew some coffee. He noticed the faint circles beneath her eyes. She’d been working late at night this week and probably not sleeping well. “What’s on your agenda today?”

  Saturday: a day off. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept so late, but watching Colt all week had required more stamina than he’d predicted. The constancy of attention. Colt’s shrill cries. His inability to communicate. In hindsight, that all paralleled his humanitarian work pretty well, except here he also had to work in isolation. The lack of adult stimulation layered another dimension of difficulty, giving him a new respect for single parents—and Gentry in particular. “Haven’t thought past my first cup of coffee.”

  “You know you can never tell my family I stock coffee. Cabots are tea drinkers—period. My coffee habit is a betrayal of high order.” She set the camera on a side table and stretched with a yawn.

  Ian pretended to lock his lips and toss the key.

  Gentry knelt beside Colt again, wiggling Quackers near Colt to coax her son into reaching for the gross toy. Ian still couldn’t believe she chose to give her son that old duck over something new. He sensed a story there, but wouldn’t ask.

  “Should I make a big pot or small?” he asked.

  “I’m all set, thanks.” She fiddled with Colt’s feet while giving Ian another once-over. “I hate to tell you, but you look like I usually feel.”

  “You have my sympathy,” he joked.

  “I warned you this job wouldn’t be a cakewalk.” She sat back on her heels. “Of course, your help has made a huge difference this week. I still could use some sleep, but getting a break from Colt, the laundry, and grocery shopping is such a treat. And having an adult to talk to at night might be the best part. It’ll be lonely when you go.” She gazed around the clean condo. “And messy.”

  He chuckled. “Neatness is my way of coping with chaos.”

  “Commiseration is mine. That’s why I love my blog. A whole community of single moms lending a sympathetic ear and offering advice.”

  “Do you make money from it?” He’d overheard her midnight keyboarding every night, sometimes punctuated by a giggle or by her talking to the screen.

  “None. It’s a labor of love. I suppose I could monetize it with ads or become an Amazon affiliate and sell stuff online. First, I’d have to build a bigger audience, and even then, it’d be tough to make decent money. Photography is a different story. It’d be amazing to go pro.” She shrugged noncommittally. “I can’t do either seriously while I’ve got Colt and CTC taking up most of my time.”

  “Why not quit CTC and do what you love?”

  “Working at CTC is better for my son.”

  “Because of money?”

  “Hell no. Trust me, the old cliché about money not buying happiness . . . that shit is true. Family. Acceptance. Respect. Love. That’s what my working for CTC will give my son.”

  “Colt can get all that from you no matter what job you have. When you’re happy, he’ll be happy.”

  She shook her head. “My relationship with my family has improved since I started working with them. If I quit to ‘take pictures,’ I’ll revert to being the aimless Cabot, on the outside looking in.” She stretched her legs in front of her and rested back on her elbows. “You should know something about family expectations, though, right? It sounds like your family business is charity work.”

  “But unlike you, I actually love it.”

  “Sounds nice, but I wonder . . .”

  He crossed his arms. “Wonder what?”

  “Nothing.” She rolled onto her side and kissed Colt’s tummy again.

  He should get his coffee and get on with his day, but he couldn’t let her question go. “Since when have you ever held your tongue?”

  Gentry sighed and pushed back up to a sitting position. “I wonder if you’ve ever tried doing something else. How do you know what you love most if you’ve o
nly ever tried one thing? I like pepperoni pizza, but if I never try pizza with pineapple or prosciutto or olives, how do I know pepperoni is best?”

  That explained a lot about her string of odd jobs and whimsical adventures. “Is that the kind of advice you dole out on your blog?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “Good thing you’re sticking with CTC, then,” he deadpanned.

  Gentry laughed. “It’s good to hear you joke. Don’t do it too often, though. I don’t want to miss you when you go.”

  He suspected, after another two or three weeks together, he’d miss Colt and Gentry when he left, too. Another thing he hadn’t counted on when he took this job. “Thanks, but something tells me you’ll be fine by the time I clear out.”

  “I don’t know. I’m pretty dangerous when left to my own devices.” She flashed a saucy smile to make him laugh. “Then again, Colt and I might not be on our own for long. I’ve decided to hire a PI to track down Smith.”

  “Really?” All week he’d been studying Colt and imagining what Smith must look like. Good-looking, no doubt, with Colt’s shock of black hair and sapphire-blue eyes. It hadn’t been pleasant picturing Gentry fawning all over the allegedly “hard to resist” guy, either.

  “Yes, really. Why do you sound upset? Remember, you said—”

  “I know what I said.” He scowled, resisting the urge to fan himself as the airy room turned oddly close and sticky. On Monday, he’d been spouting off judgments like a would-be father who’d been kept in the dark. Six days later, his opinions weren’t as clear-cut. Now he had a totally different perspective—a protective one. Jenna’s opinion on this matter no longer seemed so selfish. “You’ll check Smith out before welcoming him into your lives, though, right? I mean, you don’t even know the guy. Based on what you told me, he doesn’t seem very responsible—”

  Gentry raised her hand and drily remarked, “Neither of us was very responsible.” When Colt cooed, she burst into a wide smile before burying her nose in her son’s belly to elicit more giggles. In a “mommy voice,” she said, “And Mommy couldn’t care less, because look at what I got. I’ll never be sorry. Never, never.”