by Jamie Beck
“You’re hilarious,” he mocked, tugging on her hair. For a second, they sat there, her hair wound around his finger; then he released it.
She covered her breathlessness with a joke. “Now, now. Don’t envy my sense of humor. I can teach you to have one, too.”
“Keep it up, wiseass.” He twisted in his seat. “But here’s my question. Why do you two argue so much?”
Resentment. Disappointment. Attention. “Habit.”
She flung the door open and exited the car, eager to walk away from that discussion. Rounding the hood, she observed her parents’ home from the perspective of an outsider like Ian.
Not a pebble littered the intricately designed granite walkway. No weed dared blemish the massive flower beds. Everything was perfectly manicured and tended to, exactly like her mother. And just like with her mother, most of that tending came from someone else’s effort—the stylist, the decorator, the gardener, and so on.
To meet Jenna Cabot now, one would never believe she’d been Jenna Buchanan from Danbury, Connecticut. Daughter of a single, working mom who’d worked at Ruby’s Dry Cleaner by day and waited the counter at the Silver Star Diner by night. She and her sister had been raised in a tiny but clean apartment. Gentry’s mom had studied endlessly, knowing her only shot at attending college required a full scholarship.
When Jenna was eleven, her father, a mall cop with a gambling habit, had taken off for parts unknown. If Gentry’s mom had any sorrow about that, she never showed it. But that history made Jenna leery of most men.
Gentry had met that grandfather once, when she was around ten years old and too young to understand the truth. Having had no other living grandfather, and being from a dysfunctional family, she’d been thrilled when Grandpa John had appeared. Finally, someone who might like her best.
She remembered dragging him by the hand up to her room to show him her drawings. She’d even performed a little of her ballet recital to win his love. To become his someone special. Grandparents loved their grandchildren, after all. They bragged endlessly, especially Shelly Smythe’s grandmother.
Of course, Grandpa John had only come to Oregon in search of a handout. He’d been there less than forty-eight hours when her mom had handed him five grand and told him to leave. He took the money without looking back or contacting Gentry again.
“What’s wrong?” Ian touched her shoulder.
She emerged from that memory slightly shaken. Back then she’d been livid with her mom for sending Grandpa John away. Now she understood that keeping that man out of her life had been a giant favor. “Sorry. Zoned out. Must be the martini.”
“Maybe I ought to be driving.”
“I’ll be fine.” She opened the door and watched Ian struggle not to react to the marble floors, bronze banister, and soaring ceiling. “Okay, McJ. Take stock and then bury that indignation before my mom sees it.”
He raised his hands. “I didn’t say a word.”
“You didn’t have to. You’d suck at poker.” Their conversation got cut short by Colt’s wail echoing through the cavernous home. She clapped her hands together. “My little bugaboo knows I’m here.”
Ian grinned. “He’s clairvoyant.”
She gestured for him to follow her back to the family room. In the past, she’d proudly brought friends home. Tonight her stomach twisted uncomfortably with each step they took through the rambling home. She didn’t dare look back at Ian, who no doubt would turn it into a shelter for as many people as he and his mother could squeeze under its roof.
Her mother stood over Gentry’s nearly naked son in the corner of the family room, dabbing at her shirt. Gentry covered a smile, knowing Colt had just peed on her mom. Not a surprise, when she thought about it. After all, changing diapers had always been the nanny’s job. “Everything okay?”
“Everything’s perfect.” Her mom dropped the towel and cradled Colt. He wriggled and fussed, but Jenna didn’t give up easily. She continued to nuzzle him against her bony shoulder.
Gentry hugged her dad after he and Ian shook hands. “I bet you’re ready for a little peace and quiet.”
“No, no. We love having Colt to ourselves. I’m thinking he’ll be a terrific singer with all the practice his lungs are getting.” Her dad beamed at Ian. “I can’t get enough of my grandkids. Two in less than six months. I’m blessed!”
Her mother raised Colt in the air. Staring into his eyes, she affected a gooey grandmother voice. “But you’re my favorite, Colton Cabot. Yes, you are. Yes, you are!”
Her mom seemed doomed to repeat history with her “us versus them” mentality when it came to Gentry’s siblings.
Ian’s brows rose right before he looked away.
“We don’t have favorites,” her dad hurried to add. “Both boys are adorable Cabots.”
Her mother finished dressing Colt, continuing to speak her mind through a false conversation with Colt. “Right now you’re a Cabot. But what if your mommy finds Smith and he wants to change your last name? We don’t even know what that could be, do we? Has she thought of that?”
“I’m standing right here,” Gentry sighed.
“I know.” Her mother held Colt tight again, brushing his wispy dark hair with her hand. “I’m hoping you’ll reconsider this idea of hunting down Colt’s father.”
Gentry considered her options. A: make like normal with a sarcastic remark. B: tell her mom it wasn’t any of her business. Or C: show empathy. “I get it, Mom. You worry that Colt’s dad will be like your father. But what if he’s like mine?”
She smiled at her dad, who threw his arm around her shoulders and hugged her.
“There aren’t many fathers like yours.” Her mom said it in a way that sounded like a compliment about herself for snagging him—or stealing him, if you looked at it from Leslie Cabot’s perspective.
Either way, Gentry’s patience had run out. “I’ve made up my mind, Mother.”
“How was dinner?” Her dad changed the subject.
“Fine.” Gentry turned to Ian, who, despite her best efforts, hadn’t quite removed that stick from his behind. “I’d hoped Colby could kick some foundation money Ian’s way, but it’s against the charter or something.”
“She offered other help that will likely be as valuable,” Ian said. Mr. Manners. No wonder Sara liked him so well.
“I’m sure she’ll make good on her promise,” her father said. “Did you like the food?”
“Of course,” Ian said.
Her father shook his head, chuckling. “I know it’s top-notch stuff, but I prefer food I can pronounce.”
Ian grinned. “I was skeptical at first, but my meal was delicious.”
“Well, that’s good. I’m grateful the place is doing well. Colby and Alec needed a win after everything they’ve been through,” her dad said.
Gentry reached for her son, eager to leave. Nothing had gone quite according to plan tonight. While she didn’t know how to salvage it all, she knew more time with her mom wasn’t the answer. “We’d better get Boo to bed. Thanks for watching him.”
“Anytime.” Her mother hovered, stroking Colt’s head, her face soft and full of adoration. “I love this little fusspot.”
Gentry couldn’t recall her mom ever being so gentle with her. Instead of hugs, praise, and tenderness, Gentry had been dealt rules, lectures, and consequences. That bitter memory caused her to flinch when her mother tried to kiss her goodbye.
She allowed her mom to love on Colt because she wanted everyone to love on her son, but she couldn’t pretend that she and her mom enjoyed a warm rapport. For Pete’s sake, they were still working on cordial.
“See you on Monday,” Gentry said as she and Ian left.
Colt was unusually quiet during the ride home. She should be doing cartwheels that he’d settled down, but she couldn’t quite trust it.
“What did your dad mean about Colby and Alec?” Ian asked after a minute, referring to her dad’s slip about them needing a win.
She supp
osed their history wasn’t much of a secret anymore, and Ian didn’t appear to have an agenda.
“Here’s the short version. Colby’s late husband, Mark, committed suicide in front of her by jumping off their condo balcony several weeks after he’d dared their friend—Alec’s brother, Joe—to jump off the cliff above Punch Bowl Falls. That dare killed Joe. Everyone grieved for a long time . . .” She thought of Alec’s other secrets but decided not to share all the details. “Until recently, no one but Colby knew Mark was bipolar, because he wanted that kept secret. So, basically, it took a long time for the families to heal, forgive each other, and put their lives back together.”
“Wow.” Ian stared ahead, eyes wide and fixed on the road. “I’d never suspect so much turmoil and loss—”
“Because people with money never suffer real pain and loss, right?” She probably shouldn’t have been so sarcastic, but she wanted him to stop making assumptions about people like her.
He didn’t reply, so she kept quiet for the remainder of the drive home.
The silence gave her time to think. Think about her mom’s past and the present. Think about her sister’s change of circumstance. Think about her life and her choices. About the things she wanted for her son but didn’t know how to provide.
And then she thought about Ian.
She didn’t want to interfere with his plans to save the world, but it seemed a shame he couldn’t do it from Oregon. If they had more time together, she’d probably learn a lot from him. And she could teach him a thing or two, like how to enjoy himself now and then. Everyone needs good memories to get them through the days when life slams into them like a tsunami.
But even when the worst happens, beauty can come from destruction—like Colby and Alec’s love, or Ty becoming a Cabot because of his mother’s overdose.
“You look like you’re plotting,” Ian said when they pulled into the garage.
Gentry unfastened Colt from his car seat and laid his sleepy body on her shoulder. In a quiet voice, she said, “I’m sure you caught my mom’s little dig against Ty. I don’t want Colt to think of Ty as anything less than a cousin. Honestly, I wonder if my mom ever hears herself.”
“Colt will take his cues from you. If you accept Ty as family, he will, too.”
Could it be that simple? “I hope so. The truth is, I haven’t spent much time with Ty lately because I’ve been struggling to handle Colt.”
Ian held open the door for her. They stopped in the entry, which was lit by a small lamp.
She didn’t turn on the overhead lights, hoping to keep Colt lulled in his half slumber long enough to transfer him to his bassinet.
Ian locked the front door, then raked a hand through those mahogany waves of hair. “Invite Ty over tomorrow. I’ll lend a hand. Your brother and Sara might like a little Sunday break, and you can spend time with your nephew.”
“You’d help?” She stopped and stared at him. Most men she’d known wanted her for her body or her money. None had ever gone out of their way to be kind without some other agenda. “I mean, I’ll pay you for working.”
“No need. I’m not busy, and I want to help . . .” Ian’s eyes looked darker than normal. His pupils were almost as big as his irises in the dimly lit space. All week they’d exchanged these little moments—the kind riddled with delicious tingles.
At another time in her life, she would’ve taken advantage of it and kissed him. The mere thought made her gaze at his mouth, which sent a rousing shiver down her back. But Ian Crawford wouldn’t be impressed by a bold sexual move. And anyway, she still had Colt in her arms.
“Let’s make it fun. I’ll plan a picnic by the lake.” Gentry’s imagination kicked into gear, coming up with a plan to ensure both Ty and Ian had a memorable day.
“Sounds nice.”
He stood so very close yet remained impossibly far away. She did not want to like him. Or be curious about how his coarse hair would feel in her fingers. Or fantasize that he could soothe her the way he did her son. Those thoughts only set her up for rejection, like with Grandpa John and everyone else who so easily left her behind.
As Ian would when he left for Haiti.
And still, whenever Ian did go, she wanted him to remember her fondly . . . at least for a little while. “I’ll make it perfect.”
Ian sprawled out on the gray-and-lime-green plaid blanket, feeding Colt from a bottle, while Gentry chased Ty around the edge of the lake with her camera. In a pile beside Ian lay a giant bubble wand, water guns, and a beach ball, all of which Gentry had purchased that morning.
Hunter and Sara had hesitated to leave Ty with them. Born to a drug addict hadn’t been the easiest start in the kid’s young life, so Ian didn’t take offense to their protectiveness. Gentry had worn her brother down, though, as Ian suspected she did often. Sara had dropped off Ty an hour ago, along with a list of instructions and rules, which Gentry conveniently “forgot” on the kitchen counter.
Now she chased the toddler along the water’s edge, snapping photos as they went. Ty’s delighted screeches echoed across the lake as he splashed in the water, sandy mud oozing between his toes. Within twenty minutes, his mud-soaked shirt and pants clung to him. His overstimulated smile would melt even Jenna’s heart.
Ian couldn’t remember spending idle time with his own parents. Picnics he’d attended had been church affairs where they’d also collected money, or clothing for shelters. He hadn’t a single memory of his mother chasing him with a camera, her hair flying in the breeze, creating a scene for the sole purpose of making him laugh.
He’d never thought he’d missed out on anything until the joyful sounds of Ty’s rare giggle, and the rustling leaves overhead, caused a slight pang.
Eventually Gentry and Ty returned to the blanket to eat. Ian placed Colt in the car seat so he’d be safe but upright and able to observe. He stretched a bit, savoring the sunny afternoon and mood. A mood he attributed to the complicated, playful woman who’d been consuming more of his thoughts each day.
“I got Ty to laugh, now I need to work my magic on you.” Gentry smiled at Ian, her cheeks pink from exertion.
As if that magic hadn’t already taken root. “Planning to chase me with the camera?”
“No. Getting you to loosen up will take a bit of creativity—possibly even something mildly shocking,” Gentry teased.
Her warning made his body hum and the hairs on his neck come alive. She excited him with very little effort. A dangerous reality for both of them.
She looped her hair up into some kind of knot on her head and then fixed Ty a plate with a crust-free ham sandwich, orange slices, and a vanilla cupcake. “Ty, this is our secret, okay?”
“’Kay.” He immediately stuffed the cupcake into his mouth, eyes wide with sugar fever.
“Eat the other stuff first, honey.” She grimaced at Ian as she handed him a ham-and-turkey sandwich loaded with extras, muttering, “Now I get Hunter’s no-sugar rule.”
“You know you’ll get busted.” Ian had no doubt Hunter would not find it cute that Gentry had broken his rule. “I’m surprised by you, too, considering how you insisted that I follow your rules.”
“Not letting my son cry himself to sleep is not the same as giving a kid a treat. Jeesh, you, my brother, and Sara could benefit from a little rule breaking now and then. Moderation in all things, I think.” She leaned forward and drolly added, “No one ever died from a cupcake.”
“This is the first time you’ve used your oven, so these cupcakes might actually be lethal,” he said, straight-faced, bracing for a whack to the thigh.
“Even I can’t mess up box-brand cupcakes and canned icing.”
“Let’s test that.” He gestured for a cupcake.
She stretched across the blanket to reach the Tupperware container. Seeing her on her hands and knees in those microshorts and tank top did strange things to his heart. Fortunately—or unfortunately—she was quick to sit back on her haunches.
He reached out for the cupcake
, still buzzing from his physical response, so he didn’t pay much attention to her funny expression. Before he understood what was happening, she lunged forward and smashed that cupcake in his face. She then scrambled backward, laughing nervously at his stunned response.
Both of them ignored Colt’s startled cry as Ian jumped to his feet to chase after her. Once he caught her from behind, he lifted her off the ground and swung her around while she laughed. A burst of joy shocked his heart.
Gentry wriggled in his arms, all laughter and soft curves and perfumed hair. His senses lit up, setting him on fire. Everything in him longed to lay her down on the soft grass and kiss her senseless. Instead, he rubbed his sugared face against her neck and shoulder. Torture for him, because her soft skin tempted him beyond control.
He released her before he acted on his urges, then swiped the icing off her neck with his fingers, licking one.
“Look at you, Ian Crawford.” Her eyes twinkled as she fell to the ground beside Ty, then she carefully avoided Ian’s gaze while fixing the hairs that had fallen loose. “Now I finally know what you look like when you’re truly happy.”
Ian didn’t know what to say to that, so he brushed off the last of the crumbs from his shirt before taking a seat on the blanket. He rocked Colt’s car seat, buying himself a few seconds for his heart to settle.
Thankfully, Gentry didn’t bombard him with questions or commentary. She tended to Ty, encouraging him to eat the healthy food he’d ignored. Once Ty had cleaned his plate, Gentry filled the large plastic dish with the liquid soap and tested the bubble wand.
Ty’s eyes grew three sizes rounder as she created a massive oblong bubble that glistened in the sunlight. He tried to catch it, popping it in the process. Before the kid’s tears spilled over, Gentry formed another and then popped it herself.
“Your turn!” She knelt down to hand Ty the wand, but Colt started crying again, as if he sensed losing his mother’s attention to a rival. Definitely his mother’s son, Ian thought with a smile.
“I’ve got him,” Ian said, enjoying watching Gentry play with her nephew. What a gift she was to these two boys—so wild and free and full of humor.