Worth the Risk (St. James Book 3)

by Jamie Beck

  So now she and Noah did a polite dance in front of their son. She’d never keep Luc from knowing his father, but she worried about her son forming an attachment. Noah didn’t do commitment with anyone, so it would only be a matter of time before Luc’s heart would get trashed by his father just like hers had been stomped on by her mother.

  Some people simply aren’t meant to be parents. Woe to the children of those folks, because that kind of rejection reverberates over and over, like an echo in a canyon. Gabby planned to protect her son from ever experiencing the pain of being crushed by someone he trusted.

  “Hey, pal, whatcha gonna be for Halloween?” Noah asked Luc as he lifted a bag of Oreos from the display and tossed it in her cart, eliciting a rapturous clap from their son.

  Luc raised both hands overhead and spread his little fingers wide. “Cookie Monstore!”

  “Huh?” Noah’s dissatisfied expression deflated Luc’s enthusiasm. “How about a cop, or football player, or a superhero?”

  “Silly Daddy.” Gabby elbowed Noah out of the way. “Cookie Monster is an awesome costume.” And then under her breath, she added to him, “And a warm one.”

  “Sooner or later he’s got to give up stuffed animals and learn to be a man, Gabs,” Noah said quietly. At least he hadn’t made that pronouncement loud enough to inflict further damage on his son’s little ego.

  She bit back a quip about Noah needing to learn that lesson himself. “Maybe next year you’d prefer to buy his costume and take him around town for candy?”

  He flushed, which she knew he would, just as she knew he’d be evasive and never commit to that plan—certainly not this far in advance, at any rate.

  As predicted, he quirked his killer smile. “I still miss that pointed tongue of yours, Gabs . . . and all the things it used to do to me.”

  Now it was her turn to flush. Noah had never made secret his interest in the two of them revisiting their former sexual relationship, but she’d never trust him again with her heart, or Luc’s.

  As far as she could tell, he hadn’t changed at all in three years, but she sure had. “Now I’m using it to say good-bye. I’ve got things to do, Noah. See you ’round.”

  “Brush me off now, but sooner or later you and I will kiss and make up. After all, we,” he circled his finger amid himself, Luc, and her, “are a family.”

  The possessive tone in his voice caught her so off guard, her mind blanked. Apparently mistaking her silence as some kind of consent, Noah winked and walked toward the registers.

  When his back was turned, she returned the Oreos to the display and braced for Luc’s disgruntled wail. Her son let one rip, but she pushed the cart down the aisle before Noah turned around to see the cause of the commotion.

  Twenty minutes—and, to her chagrin, one bag of orange-and-black Oreos—later, Gabby pulled into the driveway. The day, the run-in with Noah, and the battle she’d valiantly fought and lost with her son had all exhausted her, making her feel much older, if not wiser, than twenty-two.

  Dusk had gobbled up the sky, but the shadows of the yard looked different. She blinked several times. In the side yard, beneath a maple tree, she watched Jackson putting away tools beside a swing set.

  Luc’s swing set.

  Gratitude bubbled up faster than frothy soda in a shaken bottle. Who was this man? She turned off the truck and set her hand to the base of her throat to try to calm her throbbing pulse.

  Jackson looked up and waved.

  Gabby jumped down from the truck and unfastened Luc from his seat. She held his hand and walked him around the front of the cab. Kneeling down, she pointed toward Jackson. “Hey, Luc, look at what Jackson built.”

  Luc’s eyes widened over a giant smile before he took off toward the slide, his little legs nearly tripping over themselves along the way.

  “Whoa, buddy. Take your time so you don’t fall.” Jackson chuckled while watching Luc dive-bomb the base of the slide and attempt to scale its surface. With lightning-quick reflexes, Jackson leapt to Luc’s side. “Maybe you should use the steps, Luc.”

  Jackson’s grin broadened as Luc scrambled around the swing set while happiness shot out of her son in high-pitched squeals.

  Anyone who said Tom Cruise had the world’s greatest smile had never seen Jackson St. James smile. Even his eyes crinkled with joy this time. Positively breathtaking.

  Gabby had never had anyone do something so generous for her or her son without expecting payment of one kind or another. Somehow, without asking, she knew Jackson’s gift came without strings.

  Such a rare and unexpected thing, like snow in Florida, or finding a four-leaf clover. Lightness stole through her, fizzy and warm, and happy tears welled in her eyes. Without a thought in her head, she walked right over to Jackson and wrapped her arms around his waist.

  “Thank you!” She pressed her cheek to his chest for a second—long enough to hear his heart stutter—then released him and stepped back, somewhat disoriented.

  Even in the dim light, she saw Jackson’s cheeks turn crimson. He rubbed the back of his neck, which revealed his modesty. “My pleasure.”

  It occurred to her then that he had no idea how incredible he was—how extraordinary his gift.

  “This is honestly the nicest thing anyone has ever done for Luc and me.” She felt her eyes mist again. “How can I repay you?”

  “I like to keep busy.” He waved dismissively. “This gave me something to do today.”

  Gabby rolled her eyes, laughing. “As if you couldn’t find anything better to do than build this swing set.”

  Luc’s sudden cry of pain made them both swivel in his direction. He’d reached the bottom of the slide with too much speed and done a face-plant.

  In an instant, Gabby knelt by his side, brushed a blade or two of grass from his forehead, and kissed his boo-boo. “You’re okay, buddy. Now, what do you say to Jackson for this awesome job he did today?”

  Luc grasped her shirt and stared up at Jackson through wet eyelashes. “Fank you.”

  “Anytime. Maybe tomorrow we can show your mom how high you can go on this swing.” He gave the empty swing a little push and raised his hand about chest high. “Maybe this high?”

  Luc nodded. “Higher!”

  “Oh, yeah! I knew you were tough.” Jackson then introduced Luc to the fist bump.

  Gabby knew she was gaping at Jackson, but how could she help it? Not long ago, Luc’s own father thought himself “the man” because he’d handed him a bag of cookies. Meanwhile, Jackson had built the swing set and seemed comfortable talking to Luc, too.

  If she were cynical, Jackson’s grand gesture might raise all kinds of red flags. Thankfully, she wasn’t particularly cynical. At her core, she believed most people were fundamentally good and sincere. In twenty-four hours, Jackson had already proven himself to be both, if not much more.

  “If your mom says it’s okay, we’ll see how high you can fly.” He winked at Luc and then hefted his toolbox off the ground. Glancing at Gabby, he said, “Time for a much-needed shower.”

  “Jackson.” She reached out to grasp his forearm. “At least join us for dinner. Pork roast, carrots, and homemade applesauce.”

  His gaze rested on her hand, which remained on his arm. Apprehension seemed to seize control of his body, tensing his muscles. When their eyes met again, she held her breath until he let loose a sigh and grinned. “That sounds delicious, thanks.”

  “See you in an hour. Come right through the kitchen door.”

  He nodded without further comment, and then wandered off to his apartment. She watched him go and, when he was out of view, spun around and allowed the satisfied grin she’d been repressing to spread. Though utterly pointless, she held fast to her mad crush. It had been too long since her heart had sung this particular song, and she had no wish to silence it.

  Luc had sprawled his belly across a swing with his arms and legs out, pretending to be some kind of airplane.

  “Come on, Luc. Let’s go see if
Pappy’s home.” When she took his hand, she remembered the groceries she’d abandoned in the truck.

  She should probably worry about the fact that Jackson’s presence stirred up the restlessness she’d buried three years ago. Sitting on her impulses had kept life sane these past few years. Sane and boring.

  On second thought, how much harm could come from chasing a little short-term thrill?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Jackson crossed the yard unsettled about why, exactly, he’d accepted Gabby’s dinner invitation. Could be that he hadn’t enjoyed a home-cooked meal in months. Or that Gabby and Luc’s gratitude had restored a fraction of his rusty sense of well-being. Or it could be that he simply didn’t know what else to do with himself for the next several hours.

  Admitting that last part made him cringe and wonder when he’d become that aimless guy. Swallowed pride tasted more caustic than cheap Scotch, which he’d still settle for right about now. His mouth watered in response to the easy option of lying on his sofa with a neat glass—or more—of whiskey to chase away stress, resentment, loneliness, and pretty much every other discomfort.

  Contrary to others’ opinions, he didn’t disapprove of numbness as a coping mechanism. What was so wrong with dulling the bruising ache of life’s sucker punches? Numbness helped a man heal. He’d just been slow to mend.

  No matter what his family or others thought, booze had merely been his choice, not his vice. Besides, it seemed pretty hypocritical for society to pop Xanax and Oxy like Smarties while sanctimoniously looking down on a man who appreciated the benefits of bourbon.

  The chilly bite of a crisp fall breeze sank its teeth into Jackson’s shoulders. Some of the trees retained a handful of leaves, which rustled overhead. Twilight transformed dull gray tree bark into silver coats of armor, creating an army of soldiers to protect the Bouchards’ home.

  Funny how vivid everything now looked, sounded, tasted.

  During recent weeks his senses had reawakened somewhat painfully, like the prickling, itchy twinges freezing hands suffer when plunged into warm water. Maybe that explained why the hairs on his body stood, uncomfortably, in a state of constant awareness. Why he kept questioning every small decision. Why anxiety tickled its way up his neck like a centipede.

  Jackson trotted up the two steps to the back door. He blew a warm breath on his knuckles before knocking.

  Jon greeted him with a pleasant smile. “Come on in.”

  “Thank you, sir.” A sweet-and-savory aroma wafted toward him when he entered the kitchen, which had been slightly overheated by the ancient-looking oven. The scent invaded his nostrils, its homey essence gliding through his body like a gentle caress, loosening his bunched muscles. “Smells awesome.”

  Jon closed the door. “Gabby cooked up her maple-mustard glazed pork. You’re in for a treat.”

  “I appreciate the hospitality.”

  “I ought to be thanking you.” Jon slapped Jackson’s shoulder. “One look at all that unmarked lumber made me run in the opposite direction. How’d you build it so fast?”

  “Experience.” Jackson unzipped his fleece. He looked toward the hallway when he heard footsteps approaching. Gabby appeared in the doorway with Luc in tow.

  She’d cleaned up a bit since he’d last seen her. Old jeans exchanged for leggings and a cozy sweater, mussed hair combed into long, loose curls, gloss smeared on petal-pink lips.

  Doubtful she dressed like that just for dinner with her dad. Jackson covered a surge of pure male satisfaction with a modest grin.

  “Hey, Jackson.” She lifted Luc into his booster seat. “Hope you brought your appetite.”

  Her cheery face shone like an evening sun, tinting her cheeks with peaches and pinks. He needed to stop thinking about her fresh-faced prettiness, yet his mind couldn’t think of much else whenever he looked at her.

  Jackson forced his thoughts back to the conversation and patted his stomach. “Always.”

  “Have a seat,” Jon said, gesturing toward one of the wooden chairs gathered around a small oak table.

  While the Bouchards went about setting out a pitcher of lemonade and ladling fresh applesauce into a communal bowl, Jackson took advantage of the opportunity to study the kitchen, which hadn’t been updated since the 1970s. Dark wood-laminate cabinetry, mustard-colored Formica, vinyl flooring. The bones of the roughly two hundred square feet of space were good, though, needing only cosmetic upgrades.

  The substitution of a large picture window above the sink and a French door to the backyard would immediately brighten the room. His mind immediately envisioned the walls outfitted with reclaimed wood cabinetry, accent beams on the ceiling, a slate floor, and stainless steel appliances.

  “So where’d you get experience with swing sets?” Jon asked while taking the seat to Jackson’s left. “Do you have kids?”

  “No kids, although in about six or so months I’ll be an uncle for the first time.” Jackson grinned at the image of a pregnant Vivi, which made him happy despite also being a reminder of the chance at fatherhood that had been taken from him. He pushed that anger aside and looked at Jon. “I’m a general contractor—focusing on residential projects. That play set was no big deal, I promise. But I’ll still cash in on this dinner.”

  The bleating of the house phone interrupted their conversation. Gabby set the pork roast on a cutting board before answering.

  “It’s for you, Dad.” She handed her father the phone and then quickly sliced the roast and spooned roasted carrots into another bowl while her father spoke to whomever had called. Jackson caught himself admiring her multitasking efficiency.

  Jon hung up the phone and sighed. “The burglar alarm went off at one of the vacation homes I manage. Got to meet up with the cops to check it out.”

  “I’ll set your plate in the oven.” Gabby removed his plate from the table.

  “Thanks.” Jon looked at Jackson, shrugging. “Guess we’ll finish our conversation some other time.” Then he snatched his car keys off a hook by the door and disappeared into the darkness.

  “Pappy!” Luc bellowed as he banged a tiny, rubber-handled fork against the table.

  “Settle down, Luc.” Gabby hastened to shut the door, rubbing her arms with her hands for warmth. “It’s already so cold this early in October. We could see frost soon.”

  “Probably,” Jackson replied, watching her cross back to the stove. She moved fluidly but with purpose, unruffled by disruptions. Made her appear more mature than he suspected was true. “Need help?”

  “No, this is all set. You relax.” She then went about setting all the food on the table while humming, which drew on memories of his mother in the kitchen.

  He’d made peace with her passing, or so he’d thought until that specific remembrance rolled into the present like a bowling ball, crashing into his thoughts and sending them spinning.

  Like Gabby, his mom’s name began with a G, Graciela. Like Gabby, she met the world with a combo of candor and good humor. Like Gabby’s, her mere presence had comforted.

  He’d thought he could manage a little crush on a girl he barely knew, but he could not afford to start to see her as someone or something . . . more. More intriguing, more layered, more appealing. Thinking her to be more of anything only proved him to be moronic, given how many of the people he’d believed in had ultimately disappointed him.

  If it weren’t for the fact that Gabby looked happy for his company tonight, he’d have bolted to escape his disconcerting feelings. Like a reflex, his discomfort summoned a craving for whiskey.

  He glared at the pitcher of lemonade, which wouldn’t numb one damn thing. Nor would it help him come up with something to say to make the whole situation less awkward. Not that she looked the least bit self-conscious. He braced against a wave of envy at her apparent peace of mind.

  Collecting himself, he smiled at Gabby when she finally took her seat at the table. After she piled applesauce and carrots onto Luc’s plate, she began meticulously cutting his pork into bit
e-size pieces. Her fingernails were short and unpolished, but her hands were nonetheless graceful in motion. Jackson found himself oddly captivated watching her with her son. Despite her youth, Gabby had obviously taken to motherhood quite naturally.

  She glanced at him, so he masked his thoughts before she took notice. Waving toward the steaming serving dishes, she said, “Don’t wait for me. Help yourself while it’s still hot. I’m used to cold dinners.”

  Her offhand complaint held no note of resentment. She must be used to making dozens of such sacrifices for her son each week. Had he honestly been as prepared to be a father as he’d believed back when Alison stole the choice from him?

  Niggling questions aside, any remembrance of that loss—and lack of vote—flared like fanned coal embers. Jackson loaded his plate, praying the heavenly scented glaze Gabby had smothered over the roast would divert his thoughts.

  The mustard-maple medley did not disappoint.

  “Holy he—” he began until he remembered Luc. “Heck, Gabby, this is delicious.”

  The compliment earned him one of her half-dimple grins. “Thanks.”

  A man could grow dependent on the high from those grins.

  Jackson stole a few glimpses of her while she cut her own food and wiped up one of Luc’s applesauce puddles without criticism. Watching her raised a dozen questions, but he kept quiet, apparently still incapable of conversing with a woman he wanted but would not seduce, even if she had dressed up for him.

  He suspected she was forming questions of her own as an awkward silence descended.

  Luc fixed the problem by kicking his feet and reaching toward the giant bowl of applesauce in the center of the table. “More!”

  Gabby slid him a cockeyed stare. “No seconds until you eat your meat, buster.”

  Ignoring her, Luc groped, with both hands, in a desperate effort to reach the serving spoon while whining, “More, Mama!”