by Jamie Beck
“Worth every penny.” As soon as those words left her mouth, she noticed his mouth twitch, like he’d squashed a thought—an impolite one. Huh. Her ice-breaking silliness hadn’t quite eased the tension. Time to lay it on the table. “Let’s start by getting all the awkwardness out of the way. Otherwise living together for two minutes, let alone two weeks or more, will be torture.”
He shrugged. “Fire away.”
“In case you were wondering, I’m not crazy, despite the fact that I hired a virtual stranger to watch my son.”
She made sure to keep her gaze steady, although that was harder than it should’ve been. He possessed the kind of calm assuredness that made her think he could read her mind. If he could, he’d know she was fighting an inexplicable crush.
“Not crazy. Got it,” he said, his expression neutral except for a glimmer of humor in his eyes. His captivating eyes. The only part of himself that he didn’t keep on a tight leash. Now the part of her that liked to crack people open tingled with anticipation.
“I’m just desperate.” Then, because that sounded bad, she corrected herself, saying, “In a bind, I mean. I have to go back to work tomorrow. Given your connection to Sara, your expertise, and what you did last night, you seem trustworthy.”
“I am.” He sipped more water like he was rationing it or something. Very odd duck, this one. “Why the urgency to go to work, though? Don’t you work for your family’s company?”
“I do, but everyone’s stretched thin because of the new product launch.” She straightened her chair, unwilling to admit that she also didn’t want her family and coworkers to think she couldn’t hack juggling motherhood and work. “Besides, if I no-show, I’ll never hear the end of it from Hunter or my mom. That’d be worse than death.”
He nodded, but that constipated expression returned, like he was thinking something he shouldn’t say.
“What?” she demanded.
“Sorry?”
“That’s the second time you’ve repressed some snarky thought. Just spit it out. You’ll soon learn I rarely keep my opinions to myself, so make free with yours,” she teased. And then, because that might’ve sounded a bit obnoxious, she added, “Please.”
He leaned forward, pushing his water glass aside, eyes assessing, the tiniest uptick at the corners of his mouth. “As long as you’re asking nicely.”
In the silence that stretched, the crickets grew louder, almost drowning out the sound of her bare foot tapping against the wood deck. She stilled herself and chugged a bit more of her wine, then flipped her palm up in question. “Well?”
“I was thinking that people throw around that phrase—‘worse than death’—way too easily.”
“It’s only a saying. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“Exactly.” He shrugged.
“Well, hello, Mr. McJudgy-Pants.” She cocked her head, waiting for his comeback.
“You asked.” He tucked his chin for an instant and rapped his thumbs on the table. “Why don’t we talk about the job? Am I only on from eight to five, or do you want to mix it up some nights and have me handle Colt so you can sleep well?”
“I’m thinking eight forty-five to six during the week, and maybe a few hours on the weekend if you’re free. I’m used to being awakened at night, so I’ll deal with that on my own.”
“Sounds fine.”
“I’ve made a list of important numbers, like my cell, my work line, the pediatrician, and so on. I’ll leave money in case you need it to get something for Colt. Also, Colt’s feeding and nap schedule are written down—not that he follows it much. But I don’t want you letting him cry it out or anything barbaric. I know it’s exhausting, but he must feel safe and loved so he knows he’s the most important thing to me. Can you handle that?”
His expression screamed “I’ve handled so much worse,” but he didn’t say it. At least he was consistent.
“I can. I doubt day care will cater to his whims, though. Why not hire a permanent nanny?” He gestured around. “Clearly, you can afford one.”
“Day care will be better for socialization. Of course, this situation with his ears makes me consider waiting until he’s old enough to actually socialize.” She finished her wine and muttered, “I hate when my mom is right.”
His expression remained passive, as if he wasn’t all that interested in her answer. Only his eyes—sparkling and attentive—gave him away.
Questions percolated in her mind. Did he regret this decision? What did he think of her? Did he miss his ex?
“One last thing,” she said. “I’d prefer if you didn’t have overnight guests.”
He bit his lip, cocking his head. The sexy expression caused her to squeeze her thighs together. “Shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Really? I’d hate that rule if I were young and single.”
He leaned closer. “You are young and single.”
Was it her overactive imagination, or was he flirting with her? She wished she’d brought the whole wine bottle outside. “Colt’s a magician. When he’s around, men disappear.”
Ian laughed. He had a hearty laugh that made her tingle, but too soon he ruined the little buzz. “Will Colt’s dad be stopping in to visit?”
“No.” That was all she’d say about that. She wasn’t ashamed of her one-night stand, but she wasn’t exactly proud, either. Mostly because now her son might grow up with questions about his father that she couldn’t answer.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’m not.” She swirled her wineglass, staring at what was left. “Being a single mom isn’t all bad. Plus, it’s spawned my blog, Apron Strings and Mommy Things. I’ve already built a little readership. People like my pictures and humor. Some poor souls even ask for my advice.”
Before she wiped the sarcastic smirk off her face, a movement from inside snagged her attention. Through the sliding glass door, she caught her parents using their key to enter the condo without knocking. “Oh, great.”
Hopefully, Ian heard the warning in her voice. He sat back, turning to see them before they reached the deck.
Gentry’s insides tensed, having been unprepared for the intrusion and her mother’s inevitable judgment. “Mom, Dad, didn’t expect to see you.”
Ian immediately stood and extended his hand. “Mr. and Mrs. Cabot. I’m Ian Crawford.” Then Gentry watched him fight a grimace as he finished with “the nanny.”
She couldn’t help it. She giggled.
He should have been miffed at Gentry for laughing in his face, but instead he struggled not to grin. When was the last time he’d had to smother a laugh? Her parents’ shocked expressions made that battle even harder. He’d never met anyone quite like Gentry, whose moods and thoughts ricocheted in all kinds of unexpected directions. If someone had asked, he wouldn’t have guessed he’d enjoy it so much.
“Ian,” Mrs. Cabot said, shooting her daughter a queer look. “I’m Jenna.”
Jenna physically resembled Gentry, but her stiff, self-conscious manner and sharper features made her less attractive.
Mr. Cabot, on the other hand, flashed a welcoming grin while offering a warm handshake. “Call me Jed.”
“Sure thing.” Ian nodded. “Nice to meet you both.”
Gentry rose from her chair and kissed her mom hello, then hugged her dad. “By the way, that key isn’t an invitation to barge in without warning. It’s a good thing we’re dressed.”
Ian choked on his water, but Jenna clearly knew one of her daughter’s jokes when she heard it. She rolled her eyes, waving a bejeweled hand. “It’s past seven o’clock. I thought, if you were lucky enough to get Colt down, you wouldn’t appreciate us waking him by knocking.”
“Thanks,” Gentry conceded, twirling a lock of hair around her finger until its tip turned white. Interesting. Especially when paired with a tone of bored nonchalance. “So what brings you by?”
“We wanted to hear about Colt’s doctor visit.” Jenna sounded perturbed that she hadn’t already received an upd
ate.
“He’s got an ear infection and will be fine in a few days,” Gentry assured her.
“Oh, poor baby.” Jenna frowned. “Now I wish he was still awake so I could see him for myself.”
“Sorry, but if you go in there to peek, you’ll wake him,” Gentry said.
“I love that little honeybee,” Jenna sighed. “What if I take off my shoes and don’t make a peep?”
“Mom, please.”
“Fine.” She gave Ian another quick head-to-toe assessment before asking Gentry, “I assume you’ll show up at work tomorrow now that you’ve taken my advice?”
Gentry’s eyes flickered her irritation. No wonder. Jenna didn’t give off a warm, fuzzy vibe, and Ian experienced a profound moment of gratitude for his own mother’s gentler nature.
“Ian’s only here until the infection clears and I can send Colt to day care as planned.”
“Because your childhood was so terrible despite having had the best nannies.” Jenna cast a weary gaze at Ian, as if looking for an ally.
Ian was certain Jenna would’ve said more, but Jed pulled out a chair and pushed her onto it.
“Let’s not rehash all that.” Jed took a seat beside his wife. “So, Ian, how’d you get roped into this so quickly?”
“Sara called me last night to come check on Colt because I’m an EMT, I guess. When Gentry got the doctor’s advice, she asked for some help.” He kept his gaze on Jed but could feel Jenna’s stare assessing his every move.
“Do you have experience with infants?” Jenna leaned forward, ramping up for what promised to be quite an inquisition.
“Mom, Ian works for me, not you,” Gentry interrupted. “And he’s taking care of my son.”
“Who is my grandson.”
“Jenna, honey.” Jed patted her hand, then resumed speaking with Ian. “How do you know Sara? Did you go to school with Hunter?”
Ian shook his head. “My mother runs the Angel House. I met Sara there last fall.”
Jed’s smile broadened. “We have a special place in our hearts for that shelter. Sara and Hunter wouldn’t have Ty without it.”
Ian immediately liked the genuine man. “My mother speaks highly of Sara, too. Admittedly, I don’t know her well.”
Jenna waved her index finger back and forth between Gentry and him. “So you two barely know each other?”
She shot Gentry a pointed look before either answered.
“Dad.” Gentry closed her eyes.
“Ian, do you work with Portland Med Center or Shriners?” Jed asked.
“Neither, actually. I’m only in Portland for a few weeks. Then I’m heading back to Haiti—”
“Haiti?” Jenna interrupted.
“Yes. I’ve spent the majority of my career working in developing nations, assisting with disaster relief and providing training.” Ian now wished that he’d joined Gentry in drinking that bottle of wine.
“I see.” Jenna’s shoulders relaxed upon learning this information, which he guessed she’d add to the “Ian Crawford” mental file she was clearly compiling. “I suppose if you can do all that, one little baby shouldn’t be a problem. Maybe having help in the house will finally convince my daughter to do so on a more permanent basis.”
“Disaster relief? You must see some terrible tragedies.” Jed’s expression revealed empathy, even as he artfully steered the conversation away from a mother-daughter showdown.
“Yes, but also tremendous resilience and hope,” Ian said, aware of Gentry’s riveted attention. He didn’t hate it, either. “It’s very rewarding.”
“Your parents must be proud,” Jed said.
“Or terrified,” Jenna insisted. “What mother wants her child living in constant danger?”
Ian’s mom had never objected, but he chose not to correct Jenna.
“How’d you get involved in that kind of work?” Jed asked.
“My parents. I grew up helping my mom locally. In my teens, my father started taking me with him to other countries when possible.”
“Does your dad still globe-trot?” Gentry asked.
“No,” he responded, hoping to end that line of questioning. Gentry’s raised brow prodded further response. “He died several years ago.”
“Oh! Sorry.” Gentry grimaced and covered her mouth with her hand for the second time tonight. Given her propensity for blurting out her thoughts, he doubted it would be the last. As usual, his dad’s death halted conversation for an awkward moment. Apparently, Gentry sensed Ian’s reluctance to divulge more, because instead of grilling him, as he suspected she wanted to, she popped off her chair. “I need more wine. Anyone else?”
“No, honey. We wanted to check in, but we’ll get out of your hair and let Ian get settled.” Her dad tapped his reluctant wife on the shoulder before smiling at Gentry. “See you at the office tomorrow. Busy weeks ahead.”
“I know, I know.” Gentry hugged him again, stiffening slightly when her mom kissed her cheek. “See you in the morning.”
Ian stood. “Nice meeting you both.”
He watched Gentry lead them out, only then becoming aware of the slight perspiration that dotted his upper lip. He didn’t want her prodding for more information about his dad or the circumstances leading to his death.
Glancing upward, he wondered what his dad might think of him now, staying here in such luxury. Worse, how he’d feel if Ian admitted that he looked forward to sleeping in that bed? Would he call it selling out, or say the ends justified the means? He doubted his dad would approve of Ian’s instacrush on a woman like Gentry, who couldn’t be more different from his mother or Farrah, or any of the women he’d ever known.
As long as C-VAC got off the ground, surely this brief detour couldn’t hurt.
Gentry returned with the bottle and an extra glass. “Don’t think about turning this down. Everyone needs a glass of wine after meeting my mother.”
He couldn’t help himself. He laughed, although she hadn’t been joking.
“He laughs. Good,” she teased, taking her seat and covering herself with the blanket. She didn’t quiz him about his past—thank God. The wind whipped through the trees, adding a chorus of whistling leaves to their conversation. “I was beginning to wonder.”
Her observation bothered him. He knew he didn’t laugh often, or at least not often enough. To be fair, most days he didn’t experience much humor in life. Lots of struggle and pain and injustice. Very little merriment.
But maybe, for right now, he could hit “Pause” on all that and enjoy the break. A peaceful time to remember, once he returned to Jacmel, where he’d have plenty of grave situations to handle. “It’s been known to happen.”
“Cheers.” She raised her glass and clinked his.
He took a prolonged sip, letting the cool drink warm his throat and stomach. They sat for another moment or two, drinking their wine in comfortable silence. Then, as if on cue, the baby monitor squawked.
Gentry’s eyes fluttered closed, and she finished her glassful in one swallow. “My hour of rest is over. Here’s your chance to run for cover tonight.”
He could. He wasn’t on the clock for another twelve or so hours. But something about the way she stood there—breath held in her chest—kept him in place. “I should probably shadow you and Colt tonight so I get to know him and see how you like things done.”
A quick smile lit up her face.
“Glutton for punishment, I see.” Gentry grabbed the monitor and other things, then started for the door, glancing back over her shoulder. “I suspect you think my life is easy compared with most, but we’ll revisit that opinion in a week or two.”
“Challenge accepted.” He followed her into the house. Whether it was the wine or Gentry’s playful jabs, he wasn’t sure, but he relaxed for the first time since he’d returned to Oregon.
Chapter Five
Regression
According to Merriam-Webster: a trend or shift toward a lower or less perfect state: such as . . . c : reversion to an earli
er mental or behavioral level
According to me: a less-than-triumphant return to work
“You’re running late.” Ian stood—his wavy hair still damp from his shower—with his arms reaching for Colt.
He might be ready to take over, but Gentry couldn’t release her son. For the past eight weeks, she’d spent most of each day nuzzling him, inhaling his intoxicating scent, feeling the weight of him against her chest and shoulder. The sudden realization that, by leaving, she’d miss out on all those moments—even the fussy ones—rooted her in place. Not even her desire to prove herself to her family made her budge.
8:47. If she hit all the green lights, she could make it to CTC in ten minutes. She snuggled her son and smothered his head with kisses, willing him to remember each one. “Mommy loves you, Boo. I’ll be home soon. You won’t even miss me, I bet. I love you. Love you lots.”
Ian gently pried Colt from her grip. “He’ll be fine. I promise. Go to work and enjoy the break from all this. Your son knows you love him.”
But would he? If she left him every day, how would he understand that her heart now beat for him?
“Gentry, trust me.” He waved her off with one hand while bouncing Colt with one arm. “Go!”
Her son squealed, but that was nothing new. It had nothing to do with her or Ian. Little Boo didn’t understand the significance of her conservative attire or anticipate the impending change in their normal routine. It wouldn’t be until later, when he wanted her and was stuck with a stranger, that he might be confused and afraid and . . .
Ian stared at her, head tilted, eyes fathomless and pitying. Oh no. Pity! Had she sunk that low?
Dabbing her eyes, she nodded. “Okay. I’m going. But keep your phone with you at all times. And send pictures or call me if anything is weird. Do we need a quick review of where everything is—and all the numbers?”
“No. I’ve got it under control.”
She’d prefer for him to be a little flustered—anxious, even—instead of so calm. At least then she’d know he understood that caring for Colt wasn’t an easy undertaking. This might not be an earthquake or hurricane zone, but that ten pounds of flesh and bone in Ian’s arms could wreak as much havoc. “I’ll call in a while.”