Worth the Trouble (St. James #2)
Page 1
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 [that] 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
“With strong family ties, loyalty, playful banter, and sexual tension, Beck has crafted a beautiful second-chances story.”
—Publishers Weekly, Starred Review
ALSO BY JAMIE BECK
In the Cards
The St. James Novels
Worth the Wait
The Sterling Canyon Novels
Accidentally 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: 9781503954502
ISBN-10: 1503954501
Cover design by Jason Blackburn
To my dear friend Ramona, one of the best moms I know. Thank you for graciously allowing me to steal aspects of your journey for Cat’s story.
CONTENTS
CAT’S JOURNAL
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
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
EPILOGUE
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
AN EXCERPT: WORTH THE RISK
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
CAT’S JOURNAL
Mom,
Tomorrow I go to Block Island for David and Vivi’s wedding weekend—unescorted, of course. Still, the ceremony should be a memorable affair. The only thing missing will be you.
Who but you would’ve believed David would marry my best friend? Their love gives me a hopeful feeling, but it also makes me a little lonely.
Hank will be there. Thinking of him makes me feel hopeful and lonely, too. Not that I’ll ever admit it aloud.
CHAPTER ONE
Cat loosely tied the plastic ribbons of the paper gown she’d been provided—a far cry from the Armani couture she’d worn in yesterday’s Vogue photo shoot—before sitting on the exam table. The thin paper beneath her crinkled as she leaned back to rest her weight on her elbows.
She glanced at her watch.
Her train to New London, Connecticut, departed Penn Station at eleven thirty. If she missed it, she’d never catch the ferry to Block Island in time for her eldest brother, David’s, wedding rehearsal. But despite the inconvenient timing of this particular appointment, she couldn’t afford to reschedule it again.
She glanced around the stark, impersonal room, wondering about the other women who would pass through it today. Some would arrive, carefree, for regular checkups. An expectant mother might listen to her baby’s heartbeat for the first time. Another, like her own mother, might receive news of a fatal breast tumor. How absurd that such a sterile environment served as the setting for pivotal moments in a woman’s life.
Cat hoped her own concerns were baseless, but doubt was gnawing at her when the doctor entered the room and proceeded to the small sink to wash her hands. Although Dr. Wexler was neither beautiful nor young, Cat envied her and her confidence, competence, and obvious sense of purpose. Intangible qualities that burned brightly from within, and shone through clear, lively eyes.
“Catalina, what brings you in today?” She glanced over Cat’s chart while waiting for an answer.
“Well,” Cat began, “I went off the pill ten months ago and, except for a little spotting early on, never got my period. At first I assumed it was because I was under a lot of stress.” She tucked a length of hair behind her ear, averting her gaze. “But now it’s June, and I’m concerned.”
“Any unusual cramping?”
“Not really.” She tried reading Dr. Wexler’s politely detached expression but, like Cat, the doctor had mastered the art of hiding emotions.
“Disturbed sleep, irritability, or pain during sex?” The assessing tilt of Dr. Wexler’s head discomfited Cat, who hated discussing personal issues.
“Well, I haven’t had sex since then either, but before that there was nothing remarkable about it. I mean, not in terms of pain.” Heat rushed to her cheeks as the innuendo struck. “So, anyway . . . jet lag often messes with my sleep. And I suppose I’m no more irritable than normal.” Cat grimaced.
“Was the source of stress extreme?” Dr. Wexler asked, ignoring Cat’s lame attempt at levity.
Cat’s muscles tensed, like they did every time she thought of her ex, Justin. Throughout their two-year on-and-off relationship, she’d mistaken his jealous, possessive rages for intense love. Sadly it took Vivi getting caught in the crossfire and ending up in the emergency room with a skull fracture for Cat to wise up.
“An ugly split with my ex involving assault charges and unpleasant PR.” Her skin became clammy when her doctor’s eyebrows shot upward. Fighting the urge to slink beneath the exam table, Cat feigned nonchalance. “But things have settled down.”
Settled down because Cat had practically gone into hiding to avoid the paparazzi and men. Of course, hiding from photographers hadn’t been a great career move, which now created a new layer of stress. At twenty-eight, she’d already been fighting to sustain her modeling career. Thanks to Justin (or, more accurately, her response to the fallout), her cover-shoot days were probably numbered.
“Sorry for your trouble.”
Cat hoped to evade a prolonged discussion about that relationship—a relationship that thrust every one of her faults into the open, where they couldn’t be ignored or dismissed. Thankfully, Dr. Wexler patted the stirrups and redirected her interrogation. “Any family history of autoimmune disorders such as hypothyroidism or lupus?”
If Dr. Wexler intended her relaxed tone to calm Cat, it wasn’t working. “Not that I know of.”
Staring at the ceiling tiles, Cat tried to quiet her mind during the ensuing silence. Thankfully, Dr. Wexler spoke again. “Many women experience amenorrhea when they first go off
the pill, although it typically sorts itself out within three months. Stress can substantially affect your cycle. Also, extremely low body fat could cause the disruption. That’s fairly common among models and dancers.” She stood, peeled off her gloves, and tossed them in the trash.
Cat sat upright and smoothed the wrinkled paper gown, the knot in her chest beginning to loosen.
“Everything looks normal from a physical perspective. While you’re here, let’s order some blood work.” Dr. Wexler sat on her little round stool. “I don’t want to jump to conclusions, but something more serious could be causing the disruption.”
“Something life threatening?” Cat’s mind immediately veered toward her mother’s unlucky fate. Her next breaths were strained and tight, as if the small room suddenly lacked enough oxygen.
“Doubtful. But we need to consider all possibilities.”
Cat’s stomach acid began to churn. Intuitively she’d known something was wrong, but she’d been putting off this appointment in order to forestall bad news. Why had she thought she’d be ready today? “Possibilities such as?”
“Well, thyroid or hormonal imbalances, sexually transmitted diseases, or the less likely candidates: primary ovarian insufficiency and premature menopause.”
“Menopause?” The word struck with the force of a punishing slap. “But I’m only twenty-eight.”
“Granted, it’s uncommon. It affects about one in one thousand women under thirty.”
Cat’s scattered thoughts collected, latching on to one unfortunate memory. “Didn’t my mom enter menopause fairly early?”
Dr. Wexler nodded. “Yes, your mother’s history is a factor, but it isn’t decisive. Let’s draw some blood to check your FSH and estradiol levels, among other things.”
A small, thin version of her voice wove its way through the haze that consumed her thoughts. “So I might be infertile?”
For years she’d wrestled feelings of emptiness while forced to project an image of absolute confidence and sensuality. How ironic now to possibly be—quite literally—empty. Barren. To confirm that, all this time, her insecurities hadn’t been a figment of her imagination. That all along her father’s perception had been true. She really, truly was just a pretty face.
Her customary armor of indifference slipped for a second. Anxiety tightened her throat, making it feel like she’d swallowed a golf ball.
“Statistically speaking, your problem is more likely the result of stress and unhealthily low body fat. But ten consecutive months of missed cycles is significant, and unfortunately infertility is an issue with both POI and POF.” Dr. Wexler’s lips pressed together in a tight line.
“How long until you receive the test results?” Cat’s voice sounded distant and tinny in her ears.
“Not too long. In the meantime, try to relax and gain a few pounds.” She smiled. “I’m sure many women would love that prescription.”
Cat closed her eyes while the doctor completed a few forms, determined to reject the dread winding its way through her mind like a rat in a maze. She had barely begun to fit the splintered shards of her heart back together. How would she manage to fix this latest blow to her soul?
“I’ll be in touch soon.” Dr. Wexler handed her the forms. With a brief nod, she exited the room. Cat sat, stuck to the table, taunted by the steady ticking of the clock on the wall.
By three o’clock, Cat’s ferry was cruising across the Long Island Sound toward the Atlantic and Block Island. Staring out the window, she scanned the wide-open sea. If she focused only on its inviting surface, glittery with sunlight, she could almost ignore the realities of its murky darkness, the turbulent churning of sand, the sharks and other creatures lurking beneath its surface waiting to strike without warning.
Absently, she clutched the fabric of her skirt in her fist.
What a cruel joke! Pregnancy—something she’d actively prevented since losing her virginity—might now never be an option. Pressure gathered behind her eyes despite the fact she had no husband, no boyfriend, nor any immediate desire to be a mother.
Enough! Given her lifestyle, stress and low body weight made more sense than menopause, for God’s sake. Perhaps this wake-up call meant the time had come to change her life. To parlay her “brand” into some new career—one that allowed her to eat.
A brief smile formed at the thought of enjoying an occasional dessert, but then her mind returned to work.
She certainly wouldn’t be the first model turned entrepreneur. The real question was what, exactly, could she do next, given her limited skill set? If she’d finished college or had other work experience to fall back on, perhaps she’d meet this challenge with less reluctance.
Cat heaved a sigh just as her phone rang.
“Are you getting close?” Vivi asked before Cat even said hello, her bright voice instantly lifting Cat’s mood.
“I should be there in thirty minutes.” Cat scanned the horizon.
“Oh, good!”
“Excited much?” Cat chuckled at her memories of Vivi’s blatant devotion to her brother. “How many times did you imagine being Mrs. David St. James? I lost count by tenth grade.”
Despite Vivi’s abiding love for David, his unexpected romantic turnabout last summer had caught Cat and her other brother, Jackson, by surprise.
At first she’d worried things would end badly and destroy her and Vivi’s friendship. Thankfully she’d been wrong, and by tomorrow night her dearest friend would be an official member of her family.
“Go ahead and laugh. Meanwhile, look at where my optimism got me.” Vivi paused. “Be warned, now that my love life is perfect, I’m free to work on yours.”
“No, thanks.” Cat noticed a young mother playing peekaboo with her giggling toddler. The little girl must have felt the pull of Cat’s attention, because she turned her wide-eyed gaze on Cat. The child’s mother quickly diverted her attention with a hug and kiss. Cat’s interest remained fixed on the spot where the mother had planted a kiss, while her own fingers came to rest upon her lips.
“Cat?” Vivi’s voice came through the phone. “You still there?”
Tamping down the flush of embarrassment from her behavior, Cat resisted the urge to share her infertility worries. “Yes, I’m here. And I’m still not looking for a matchmaker.”
“Oh, it’s well past time for a romantic intervention,” Vivi insisted. “You haven’t been out with anyone since you broke up with Justin.”
A shiver danced through Cat’s core at the mention of his name, at the time she’d wasted while unaware that her biological clock had been ticking in double time. “I just want to celebrate with you and my brothers this weekend, okay?”
While Cat felt nothing but happiness for Vivi and her brother, their impending marriage did force her to reexamine her own loveless status.
Contrary to popular belief, her career and modest fame hadn’t helped matters. Sure, professional recognition, monster paychecks, VIP access to clubs and parties, and attention from men—worldly men who’d momentarily made her feel fascinating—had been a rush. But less than a decade later, she had little to show in the way of genuine, lasting relationships.
Like her airbrushed images, nothing had been real.
Modeling had, however, fulfilled one important goal: success. Her need to succeed had been nurtured by her dad’s favoring her brothers and their accomplishments while reducing hers to her appearance.
He hadn’t been cruel. If anything, he’d considered his remarks to be complimentary—he’d just never realized how hollow they were when compared with those he gave her brothers.
Driven by pride and a dash of spite, she’d worked tirelessly until her “pretty face” graced everything from magazine covers to designer-label billboard ads—proving her worth to him, if not to herself. To her chagrin, maybe all she’d really accomplished was living up—or down—to the trivial role he’d assigned to her since middle school.
Perversely, the hollow victory now seemed rather apropos.<
br />
Once again, Vivi’s voice pulled Cat from her stray thoughts. “Hank’s coming tomorrow.”
Hank Mitchell: the blond-haired, green-eyed carpenter who worked for Jackson’s construction company.
“Jackson will enjoy having his wingman around.” A little surge of warmth blossomed at the thought of seeing Hank.
Fourteen months ago, she’d spent one unforgettable night flirting with and kissing that soft-spoken man before passing him over to return to Justin. Not her finest decision. Thank God no one kept track, because her list would probably make the Guinness World Records.
“Don’t pretend Jackson’s the only one who’ll be happy to see Hank,” Vivi drawled. “Come on, admit it. You’re ready to date again.”
“No, I’m not.” Experience confirmed that men expected Cat to be the sexy woman portrayed in advertisements, not a real woman with everyday interests and complaints. Probably just as well. Given her waning career and potential diagnosis, she’d be better off keeping love at the bottom of her to-do list. “Besides, Hank’s not the right man for me.”
“Exactly what part of Hank doesn’t work for you?” Vivi demanded. “His gorgeous face? His integrity? His good heart? Or maybe you object to the tool belt?”
Cat smiled, recalling how Vivi thought Hank’s whole “carpenter” thing was scorching hot. Of course, it was. He was. But no matter how handsome and nice Hank appeared to be, he was still a man, which meant his main interest in her was physical. The idea of trying once again to live up to her own image to hold his—or any man’s—attention filled her with prickling resentment.
“Hank and I live in different worlds.” Then again, his low-key lifestyle and attitude held more appeal now than they had before. Too bad it took being burned once too often for her to appreciate a good guy when she met one. “We’ll never be a couple. Best you give up on that particular wish.”
“Pffft. Have you forgotten that I watched you two dance around each other on the island last July, each stealing glances at the other yet pretending your secret make-out session at Jackson’s party earlier that year never happened? So don’t tell me there’s not unfinished business there,” Vivi said. “The more you protest, the more sure I am.”