Worth the Trouble (St. James #2) (7 page)

David and Vivi departed to make their rounds with the other guests.

“Cat, can you be ready in twenty minutes?” Jackson asked.

“Pretty much.” Cat forced another chunk of muffin down her throat, hoping it would absorb the remnants of alcohol in her system. “I just have to throw some things in my bags.”

“Okay. I’m going up to pack. Meet you in the lobby?”

Cat nodded.

“Amy, it’s been nice to meet you. Hank, see you tomorrow.” Jackson picked the last piece of bacon off his plate and ate it in two bites before he disappeared.

Well, this is awkward
. Cat almost ducked out, too, but then a com
pulsion to speak privately with Hank swamped her. She couldn’t leave
without knowing whether he’d peeked at her journal.
Now or never
.

“Hank, may I speak with you for a minute . . . alone?”

His eyes flashed. For a second he looked dangerous, like a bear caught in a trap. “Sure.”

“Thanks.” Cat rose from her chair with as much poise as she could muster. “Sorry, Amy. I need five minutes.”

Hank stood and followed Cat into the lobby.

“What’s up?” He shoved his hands in his pockets, calling her attention to his jeans. His untucked shirt hid the waistband, but she could tell they hung low on his narrow hips. Despite wishing for a better view, she dragged her eyes up to meet his before he caught her staring.

Cat absently hugged herself then crossed her arms in full defense mode. “I’d like to know what happened last night.”

Hank’s chin withdrew. “Nothing.”

“Really? ’Cause I woke up in my underwear, and I remember you kissing me.”

Hank sighed and raked one hand through his hair before meeting her gaze. “I took you to your room to keep you out of trouble. You asked for a kiss goodnight. Rather than argue, I kissed you and left. That’s it, Cat. No need to worry.”

Sounded reasonable, but she sensed something more had happened. “Did you read my diary?”

His brows rose to his hairline. “No, I didn’t invade your privacy while you were passed out, Cat. But that sure confirms what you think of me.”

“I can tell you’re hiding something, so I’m left to wonder.” She peered at him more closely and poked him in the chest with her index finger. “Why did you think I was in trouble? As I recall, I was having fun.”

“Fun? Fun!” A fiery shade of scarlet stained Hank’s neck. His sea-glass-colored eyes turned as charcoal as thunderclouds as he spoke. “So being the subject of a bet between two assholes over who would get you in bed first is fun?”

“You’re crazy.” Outrage chased away the remnants of her headache. “We weren’t betting anything.”

“
You
weren’t
in
on the bet.” His hands left his hips and flew through the air in emphasis. “Those jerks made the bet in the men’s room then, minutes later, had you doing shots. Rather than cause a scene in the middle of the reception, I waited for the chance to get you away from them.”

He folded his expressive, powerful arms in front of his chest. Cat was still processing his remarks when he quipped, “You’re welcome, by the way.”

Earlier that morning, Cat had thought she couldn’t feel more disgraced. Apparently, she’d been wrong.

Her eyes began to sting, but she’d be damned if she’d let anyone see her cry. She stared at the ceiling and blinked back tears.

Hank’s eyes narrowed. “What now?”

She cast her eyes to the floor, debating her response. Marshaling whatever reserves of pride that remained, she coolly met his gaze.

“I’ve been highly paid to be used as a sex object to sell things. Guess I can’t complain when men objectify me now, can I?” Cat enveloped her waist with her arms, in a protective cocoon. “I’ve made my bed, so to speak.”

“Is that what you think?” Hank grabbed her bicep and stuck his face so close to hers their noses nearly touched. The tension in his hand traveled to her core as he rasped, “Do you really think you deserve abuse because companies use your image to sell stuff?”

Obviously she must, otherwise she would never have put up with Justin for so long.

“My choices have consequences, and this is one of them.”
And probably not the last or worst of them, either
. “Ever since my first magazine cover, I’ve been swarmed by men, but they’ve all been users, phonies, or jerks.”

He abruptly released her and stepped backward.

“I
know
that’s not true.” Hank’s compassion faded, and his face turned to granite. “Maybe it’s just that you’re only attracted to the assholes.”

“What?” Cat replayed their last few remarks in her head and realized why he’d suddenly become offended. “Oh, wait. I didn’t mean you, Hank.”

“You know what, it doesn’t matter. Go pack, Cat. Jackson will be waiting.” Hank turned to leave. “I’m going to finish my breakfast.”

“With Amy?”

Hank halted and faced her. “If she’s still there, then yes.”

“Is she the reason you didn’t stay with me last night?” Cat held her breath, having surprised herself with the reckless question.

His gaze drifted down the hallway while he formed a response.

“No,” he said. Unexpected optimism sprouted in Cat, until he looked at her through narrowed eyes and spoke again. “You’re the reason why I didn’t stay.”

“What’s that mean?” She frowned, nearly reaching for his arm.

“Figure it out,” Hank muttered before ambling away without glancing back.

Mom,

I rejected Hank last year; he rejected me last night. We’re even now, right? Don’t think I can’t see you shaking your head at me for keeping score. I hope last night is the last of my embarrassing behavior where that man is concerned. What is it about him that makes me so irrational?

Whatever happens next, I must hold my head high, like Dad always expects. He’s so unlike you in that way. You never thought twice about showing every emotion. How freeing that must be.

C
HAPTER
F
IVE

H
ank rubbed both hands over his face as he strode outside. Every single time he interacted with Cat, she pushed all his buttons—good and bad—leaving him revved up and confused.

Jackson was normal. David thought clearly. What the hell happened to make Cat such a hot mess? And dammit, how could he both love and hate his own mixed-up response to her particular kind of crazy?

Even now he nearly turned around and ran back to her despite the fact he knew she’d probably spin on her heel and stalk off. He shook off his frustration and joined Amy, who remained seated, sipping her coffee.

Unlike Cat, Amy welcomed him with an unguarded smile. Last night he’d been glad to prove he hadn’t simply blown her off in favor of another woman. Better yet, Amy hadn’t pestered him with annoying questions about what had happened between him and Cat. They’d simply enjoyed another hour of mild flirting before calling it a night, at which point Hank had walked her to her room and kissed her goodnight.

Easygoing, friendly Amy didn’t play games. But she also didn’t make his heart pound in his chest, get him tongue-tied, or inspire dirty fantasies. Kissing her, while certainly pleasant, wouldn’t remain burned on his brain for months or years. Precisely why he hadn’t accepted her invitation into her room.

Maybe he was as screwed up as Cat, who couldn’t seem to make up her mind between flirting with him and pushing him away. But unlike Cat, he didn’t intend to live his life at the mercy of his own insanity.

Instinct argued that Cat’s distant, sometimes biting, behavior was a protective façade—for what purpose, he had no idea. Yet, in a war between instinct and experience, he’d be an idiot to dismiss her past rejection.

“My ferry leaves soon,” Amy said. “I’ve got to finish packing now.”

“Okay.” Tossing his napkin on the table, he stood and pulled her chair out for her. “It’s been nice meeting you.”

“Maybe we can see each other back in New York or Connecticut?” she asked with hope.

“Maybe.”
Say yes
, Hank thought right before he shot her down. “Unfortunately, I don’t have much free time. That’s not an excuse, just the truth.”

“Well, if you find the time, you’ve got my number.” Her sweet smile failed to entice him, which perturbed him to no end.

“Thanks, Amy.” He kissed her cheek. “Drive safely.”

As she walked away, he sat down to finish his meal and savor a second cup of black coffee. Sunlight spilled throughout the veranda, warming his shoulders and easing the tension in his body. He stretched out his long legs and took another bite of a bagel and lox. Unlike the other guests, he wasn’t in a rush to end his minivacation.

Out of nowhere, Vivi appeared.

“I swear I’d forget my head if it weren’t stuck on my body!” She grabbed the purse hanging on the chair she’d vacated earlier. “Why are you sitting here alone?”

“Not finished eating.”

Vivi’s eyes darted around the porch before she pulled a chair up beside him. “I saw Amy in the lobby. Did you two make plans to see each other again?”

“You’re relentless, woman.” Hank smiled and shook his head.

“Among other things.” Vivi pushed some of her perpetually tangled hair behind her shoulder and stared straight at him. Her clear, violet eyes scanned his face. “Promise me this, Hank. Don’t make the right choice for all the wrong reasons.”

What the hell did that mean?
His face must’ve broadcast his confusion, because Vivi rolled her eyes.

“Don’t settle, Hank. Don’t you dare settle for a love lacking in passion. It’s not fair to you or anyone else.” She nodded decisively before squeezing his hand and waltzing away. He chuckled because she looked like a kid who thought she just shared a big secret.

Of course passion mattered, but in the long run, maybe loyalty, consideration, and kindness mattered more. Life was tough. Passion, while exciting, didn’t always burn so brightly in the face of real obstacles.

Hank cringed as an image of Cat’s earlier crestfallen expression popped into his mind. He probably shouldn’t have stormed off and left her in the hallway. If he were smarter, he’d take advantage of those moments when her armor cracked—pry it open and get the answers he wanted.

But ultimately he’d prefer to learn her secrets because she wanted to share them, not because he stole them. Too bad the likelihood of her opening up to him, or anyone, seemed about equal to the chances of him ever walking on the moon.

He took another swig of coffee to wash down his last bite of bagel. Its bitter taste matched his altered mood. Waiters scurried about, clearing tables and waiting on vacationers. He noticed the other men his age—husbands and fathers who appeared relaxed and carefree.

Hank tried to imagine himself with a kid on his knee, a smile from a wife, an abundance of cash, then snickered and washed away his envy with more coffee.

His life had been derailed when his father died from a massive heart attack shortly before Hank’s high school graduation. With four younger sisters who needed his support, Hank had scrapped his college plans and taken a construction job to help his mother raise the girls and keep their home.

He didn’t resent his situation, but sometimes he wished for the freedom to pursue his own dreams—personal and professional. To finally quit working construction and set up a custom furniture design shop, get married, have kids. Maybe one day he’d even return to this island to vacation with a family of his own.

For now, he’d content himself with his sisters and his young nephew.

Having finished his breakfast, Hank reluctantly stood to leave. On his way back to his room, he bumped into Jackson and Cat, who were waiting in the lobby for their taxi to the harbor.

Cat appeared fully recovered from her momentary lapse of self-confidence. A pleasant buzz surged through Hank, irking him. How could he be hot for her even when she pissed him off?

“Hey, buddy.” Jackson shoved his phone in his back pocket. “Meet me at the Caine’s house tomorrow at seven, okay?”

Hank tore his eyes from Cat’s outrageously short skirt—as if anyone needed further inducement to appreciate her incredible legs. “Seven o’clock. Got it.” He noticed three designer suitcases at Cat’s feet. A lot of luggage for a two-night trip. He covered his mouth, stifling a smart-ass remark.

She scowled.

“You never know what mood you’ll be in, or if the weather will change.” Cat squared her shoulders while crossing her arms in front of her chest.

Was she so defensive with all men, or did she reserve this behavior solely for him?

“You don’t owe me any explanation,” he replied casually, taunting her with a lazy smile.

“Come on, Cat. Cab’s here.” Jackson waved good-bye to Hank, pulling his luggage behind him on his way out the door. Cat hefted her small bag up over her shoulder, looking like she might topple over on those heels as she bent over to deal with the other bags.

“Need a hand?” Hank watched Cat hesitate. He’d never met a woman so determined to refuse help.

She looked surprised. “Sure, that would be nice.”

Hank hoisted the largest piece of luggage up off the floor. “What’s in here? Anvils?”

“There’s a reason for the wheels, Hank.” She lifted the retractable handle of her carry-on-size bag and headed toward the door, casting a seductive glance over her shoulder. “Guess you’ll have to ‘figure it out.
’
” After hurling his earlier words back in his face, she then strutted outside.

He followed her, trying but failing to keep from gawking at the hypnotic sway of her hips. She was a witch—a sexy, dangerous witch. And apparently some twisted part of him relished being the victim of her particular black magic.

Four hours later, Hank pulled his beat-up Ford F-250 pickup into the driveway of the small Dutch colonial home he shared with his mother and youngest sister, Jenny, in Norwalk, Connecticut. He sat in the driver’s seat, stealing an extra minute of peace before going inside to deal with whatever the latest problems were. The car door squeaked open just as Jenny blew through the back door of their house and ran over to his pickup.

“You’re finally home.” She looped her golden hair through a ponytail band, still looking like a kid even though she’d recently turned twenty. Their eleven-year age difference sometimes made him feel ancient. “I’m exhausted, but I still need to study for an exam.”

Hank regarded her pursuit of an accounting degree with a mix of pride and envy. Thanks to his sacrifices, all of his sisters would earn degrees. The other three had already graduated and were now employed as a nurse, a teacher, and an office manager, respectively.

Raising four sisters taught him that he’d be a good father. Caring for an infant had to be easier than managing four teenage girls. A baby wouldn’t hog the bathroom or yell at him because some
other
man did this or that. And hopefully he’d have a few sons so the women in his life wouldn’t perpetually outnumber him.

“May I please have the keys so I can go to the library?” Jenny asked.

“Hold on, where’s Meghan?” He slammed the back door of his truck closed after retrieving his luggage. Throwing his free arm around Jenny’s shoulders, he kissed the top of her head. “I thought she was staying with you this weekend to help take care of Mom?”

Jenny walked with him back inside the house, where her backpack sat packed and ready by the door.

“Meg bolted around eleven. I fed Mom lunch and got her settled into bed.” Jenny grimaced. “She seemed agitated while you were away, but she never asked for you by name or anything.”

His mother had been diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer’s seven years ago, at the age of fifty-two. Now in the late stages of the disease, communication had become a real struggle when she felt like talking—which wasn’t often these days.

Hank gently tugged on Jenny’s ponytail. “I’d have come home a little earlier if I’d known Meg had planned to bug out before lunch.”

“It’s okay.” Jenny offered a bright smile. “How was Block Island?”

“Gorgeous.” Hank smiled as he tossed his bag on the kitchen table,
privately replaying the highlights from the wedding, which
included
Cat’s late-night kiss and confession. “It was good to get away.”

Jenny cast her eyes downward. “You must be sick of taking care of Mom and me, huh?”

“No.” He frowned. Sure, he’d given up a lot for his family, but he’d also taken pride in being dependable, needed, and well loved. “I’d do it all over again if given the choice.”

“Maybe it’s time to consider other options for Mom, like a nursing home,” Jenny said while rubbing one wrist with her hand.

Given her young age, Jenny hardly recalled the brave, beautiful woman who’d raised her kids with a firm hand and loving heart.

His mother had set high expectations for their behavior, and her frankness had made it easy for him to understand what she wanted, and what he needed to do to make it happen. Yet even with a lifetime of memories, each month it became harder to remember his mother as she used to be rather than as she was now.

“I can’t put Mom in a home full of strangers. Besides, I just finished paying off the mortgage on this house. Not interested in swapping that debt with one to a nursing home. We’ve hired Helen to help out. Between the two of us and our sisters, we can manage the rest.”

“I’m not bailing on you, Hank. But I see how sad you get when you watch her.”

“Don’t worry.” Guess he hadn’t been hiding the ache as well as he’d thought. “I’m tougher than I look.”

“Sure you are.” She hugged him. He savored the warm moment before pulling back.

“Hang on.” He strolled through the living room toward the master bedroom. His hand hesitated on the doorknob, which, like all the doorknobs in the house, was covered with a childproof safety cover—one of many precautions meant to keep his mom from wandering and hurting herself. Quietly, he pried the door open, praying he’d find her asleep.

Through the dim light he saw the rented hospital bed. His mother’s frail form looked almost childlike as she lay on top of the quilt she’d sewn decades earlier.

Living with her while watching her mind and body slowly wither away broke his heart. It sucked to lose her in pieces—much more unbearable than his father’s heart attack. At least she appeared to be sleeping now, which meant he’d have a few quiet hours to himself. He closed the door and returned to the kitchen and Jenny.

He clipped the handheld receiver of the video baby-monitor system to his belt.

“You headed to your shop to finish that table you’re building?” Jenny asked.

“Yep.” He opened the screen door and stepped outside. Jenny picked up her backpack and followed him.

A sense of calm washed through his body as he crossed the yard and unlocked the door to the detached garage, which he’d converted into a private wood shop years ago. He’d purchased a used table saw and band saw on Craigslist, and slowly added various incannel gouges, chisels, and hand planes to his collection of hand tools.

At his day job he installed cabinetry and built-in units in people’s kitchens, closets, and family rooms. But in this space he dreamed. Here his artistic creations jumped off the page and sprang to life.
This
work fed his soul.