Before I Knew (The Cabots #1) Read online

  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 and 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

  “Beck takes readers on a journey of self-reinvention and risky investments, in love and in life . . . With strong family ties, loyalty, playful banter, and sexual tension, Beck has crafted a beautiful second-chances story.”

  —Publishers Weekly, starred review

  PRAISE FOR SECRETLY HERS

  “[I]n Beck’s ambitious, uplifting second Sterling Canyon contemporary . . . Conflicting views and family drama lay the foundation for emotional development in this strong Colorado-set contemporary.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “[W]itty banter and the deepening of the characters and their relationship, along with some unexpected plot twists and a lovable supporting cast . . . will keep the reader hooked . . . A smart, fun, sexy, and very contemporary romance.”

  —Kirkus Reviews

  PRAISE FOR WORTH THE RISK

  “An emotional read that will leave you reeling at times and hopeful at others.”

  —Books & Boys Book Blog

  ALSO BY JAMIE BECK

  In the Cards

  The St. James Novels

  Worth the Wait

  Worth the Trouble

  Worth the Risk

  The Sterling Canyon Novels

  Accidentally Hers

  Secretly Hers

  Unexpectedly 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. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Text copyright © 2017 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: 9781477824443

  ISBN-10: 1477824448

  Cover design by Diane Luger

  To every reader who needs a second chance in life and in love.

  CONTENTS

  Start Reading

  Prologue

  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

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ABOUT THE RECIPES

  EXCERPT: ALL WE KNEW

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  I have been bent and broken, but—I hope—into better shape.

  —Charles Dickens

  Prologue

  Two Years Ago

  Of all the dilemmas Colby Cabot-Baxter had faced in her twenty-nine years, none had tortured her like this one. It didn’t help that, unlike many spring mornings in Lake Sandy, Oregon, the sun peeked through the clouds now, causing the fine mist coating the grass to glitter. Normally she’d appreciate a reprieve from the dank air that settled beneath the skin, but today she would’ve welcomed its bite.

  Although warm inside the car, Colby shivered. Through the passenger window, she watched the mourners entering the church. Heads bowed, shoulders hunched, looking as if the weight of their grief might tip them forward.

  A fleeting image of Joe’s rugged face flashed—one from days earlier, just before he and her husband, Mark, had set off on a hike.

  She’d grown up trading smiles with Joe across the backyard fence. His broad grin had showcased the gap between his front teeth. The gap he’d used to squirt water at her sometimes, just to be irksome. Her buddy—coconspirator, even—sneaking into the tree house their fathers had built in the nearby woods to spy on or torment their older brothers, depending on their moods.

  Five years ago, Colby had been tickled when Joe welcomed her then-new husband into his circle. Of course, now she rather wished Joe hadn’t liked Mark so well.

  Her eyes misted again, like the dew-covered earth, as her throat tightened.

  Mark’s movement beside her snapped her back to the decision she couldn’t put off any longer.

  “Wait.” She clutched Mark’s forearm as he prepared to open his door. “This is a mistake.”

  “I need to pay my respects.” Mark’s baby blues widened in defiance beneath thick, straight eyebrows. Innocent-looking eyes that belied his often-convoluted thoughts. Thoughts that, when left unmedicated, had contributed to why they were here today.

  “He was my friend, too.” She loosened her grip but left her hand resting on his arm. Her marriage might be running on fumes, but she wouldn’t compound his misery by arguing. At least not today. Gentling her voice, she added, “But maybe we shouldn’t add to his family’s grief by showing our faces.”

  Mark’s jaw clenched. “You mean my face, don’t you?”

  Reflexively, she shrugged, then wished she hadn’t. Mark’s eyes dimmed at the silent accusation.

  “Mark,” she said, her voice barely audible, but then couldn’t think of what else to say.

  Heavy silence, the kind weighted down by unspoken judgment, consumed the car. In the trees near the church, she noticed a black-headed grosbeak eating from a bird feeder, acting as if the world hadn’t been indelibly altered.

  If only that were true.

  “You can’t blame me more than I blame myself,” Mark finally muttered. “But it’s done. I dared, he jumped, and here we are. I can’t hide from it, and neither can you. I have to say goodbye to my friend, Colby, and I’d like your support.”

  Tears welled in her eyes while she imagined Joe’s cocky grin just before he jumped off the cliff above Punch Bowl Falls in the Columbia River Gorge. Saying goodbye to him would be hard enough. But walking into that church to face Joe’s parents and his brother, Alec, seemed an impossible task. “My mother’s been the Morgans’ neighbor for thirty years, and even she feels awkward about coming.”

  Last night at the funeral home, Alec had even kept his closest friend—Colby’s brother, Hunter—at arm’s length, so he surely wouldn’t welcome Mark or her today.

  “I’m going. Wait here if you want.” He tugged his arm free and opened the door, letting the co
ol air rush inside.

  Colby sighed. She exited the car, squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin. Mark reached for her hand, which she grudgingly offered. Being dragged inside might be the only way she’d cross the threshold.

  Alec and his family would resent the whole world today, and who could blame them? But she knew that deep down, they resented her husband most.

  They’d barely stepped into the vestibule when Alec’s unerring gaze fell on Mark. Normally, Alec smiled at her, but today his mouth remained fixed in a grim line, and his green eyes mirrored the mossy color of Lake Sandy on a cloudy day. Grief had carved lines into his handsome face, giving more depth to his boyish good looks. His chestnut hair fell lopsidedly across his forehead thanks to the cowlick he could never quite tame.

  She wrestled free of Mark’s grip when Alec began his approach. Words clogged her throat, making it tough to swallow, much less speak. She opened her arms to greet her old friend with a hug, but he brushed past her and walked straight up to Mark.

  Alec stood at least two inches taller than her husband. His eyes, as intimidating as a wolf’s, glared down his finely chiseled nose at Mark. “Leave before my father sees you.”

  His typically mellow voice held an edge today that scraped against her skin like rug burn.

  “I’ve apologized to your family.” Mark didn’t flinch. “You have to forgive me, Alec. You know I loved Joe like a brother.”

  “Lucky for me we’re not close.” He then spared Colby a brief glance. “Make him go, Colby. He shouldn’t be here.”

  When their gazes locked, she noticed a cold, yawning distance that had never before existed. The loss of warmth hit her deep in her chest, choking off what little breath she still had. “I’m sorry. We don’t want to cause you more pain.”

  She reached for Mark’s arm, but he shrugged her off. “I’ll sit in the back of the church and slip out early, but I’m staying. Joe would want me here.”

  “Would he, really?” Alec gritted his teeth. “We wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for you.”

  The flicker of heat in Mark’s eyes warned he was about to do or say something awful. Before Colby could pull him away, he snarled, “Joe’d want me here over you. If it weren’t for what you did, he might not have been so eager to go on that hike, or take that dare.”

  Pain—bitter, brutal anguish—arrested Alec’s features. She had no idea what Mark had meant, but apparently Alec did. Colby reached out to comfort him but retreated when he snapped at Mark, “Get. Out. Now.”

  Other mourners had started to stare at the two men despite the fact that, until Alec’s outburst, they’d kept their voices low. Colby heard whispers, saw shaking heads. “Mark, let’s go.”

  She yanked his arm, forcing him to bend to her will just this once. He ripped free of her grip and stalked to the car. Before he opened its door, he punched the roof and shouted at the sky. By the time she took her seat, Mark’s head was in his hands, his shoulders shaking. Sniffling, he repeatedly banged his forehead against the steering wheel while muttering, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

  Colby sat beside her husband, in the wake of his suffering, and cried.

  She cried for all the years Joe would miss. She cried for the Morgans’ unending pain. She cried for Alec’s tortured history with his brother. And she cried for the empathy she could not feel for her husband.

  For the last bit of love that seemed to have died right along with Joe.

  Chapter One

  Present Day

  People liked to tease Colby that, if she were ever late, they’d assume she was either dead or arrested. She’d prided herself on her punctuality. Today, however, a quick glance at the car’s clock warned that she’d be late for her appointment.

  It couldn’t be helped.

  Her grip tightened on the steering wheel as she stopped at the entrance to the Queen of Heaven Cemetery. Its gates always triggered the same flashback—Mark taking flight off their ninth-floor balcony several weeks after Joe’s funeral. Like a cascade of dominoes, next came the sour stomach, the pasty mouth, the sweaty palms. Breathe.

  Mark’s refusal to properly treat his bipolar disorder had doomed their marriage, but Colby had never wanted that ending for him or herself.

  The echo of survivor’s guilt—as unshakable as her shadow—often steered her into the graveyard. Today, the second anniversary of Joe’s death intensified the summons. Inevitably, a mental fog descended, clouding her thoughts about the two important men in her life who now lay buried beneath earth and memories and broken dreams.

  Although her last three visits to these graves hadn’t ended with mascara-streaked cheeks, the jury was still out on today. Having only recently weaned herself off the medication that had been prescribed to manage her PTSD, this visit would be a test. She’d been feeling stronger, banking on new memories and dreams to mend her broken pieces.

  Colby parked along the narrow road that separated two larger plots of land. To her right lay Mark. To her left, one hundred yards across the road, was Joe’s headstone. A bouquet of fresh hydrangeas lay at its base. No surprise, considering the anniversary. Thankfully, she hadn’t run into his family. But for her whirlwind courtship and impulsive elopement with Mark, the Morgans wouldn’t be visiting Joe’s grave—a fact no one could forget.

  Cold fingers of dread crept up her neck when she thought of meeting with Alec later this morning. Their former friendship had been another casualty of these tragedies.

  Joe had been her childhood playmate, Alec her protector. Opposing images of Alec cycled through her mind like a flip book: him patiently tutoring her in French (which she’d only taken because, when she’d heard him speak it, it had sounded more romantic than Spanish), then politely brushing her off at the grocery store a few months after the funerals. Knowing her face would always be a painful reminder of Joe’s death, she’d given Alec the space he’d demanded without words.

  He must be desperate to be willing to work with her now.

  She shut off the engine but remained inside the car with the window cracked open. Leafy branches swayed in the breeze, sounding like the ghostly whispers Mark had often spoken of during manic phases. In those moments, he’d declared himself a prophet, which had frightened her, although no more than many other things he’d done or said during their marriage.

  If she hadn’t become benumbed to his brain’s pattern of recovery from mania, she might’ve noticed that his depression following Joe’s death had been more acute. Might’ve realized that taking a little time off from work to comfort him wouldn’t be enough. Might not have missed the fact that he’d been lying about taking his meds and seeing his doctor.

  But Mark had been a pretty good liar, and maybe she’d been too caught up in her own disillusionment and grief about Joe to notice. She’d been running on autopilot just to get through those days, reluctant to do or say anything to make the situation at home even worse. It wasn’t until Mark had mumbled incoherent apologies and hurtled toward the balcony that she’d awakened from that haze.

  By then it had been too late.

  Mark had jumped to his death, much like Joe had in the fatal dare.

  She closed her eyes now to block the image of Mark’s broken body on the sidewalk below. Defiantly, the gruesome vision of bone, blood, and gray matter surfaced. She forced her eyelids open, fixing her gaze on the rustling leaves as if they could erase the memory engraved on her brain. The tightness in her chest eased slightly, although her eyes still stung.

  Two deep breaths later, she offered up a prayer. If she had one fervent wish since her husband’s death, it was that he finally found the peace that had eluded him in life. Assuming things went according to plan, she might also know peace soon.

  She twisted the platinum wedding band she still wore out of respect—and guilt—while staring blankly at the light rain now dotting the windshield. Like tears, she thought. She started the car and let the automatic wipers clear them away before heading out of the cemetery
, toward her new venture, A CertainTea.

  Toward the future.

  Even the rain couldn’t mar the sight of the newly renovated restaurant. The elegant, one-story glass-and-stone structure sat at the end of a private driveway, amid a wooded, two-acre parcel bordered on one side by Lake Sandy. A lush, manicured lawn sloped toward the hexagonal cedar gazebo at the water’s edge, where visitors could enjoy a panorama of the four-hundred-acre lake and its shoreline, which was dotted by private homes, docks, and boats.

  Colby could hardly wait to be surrounded by families celebrating engagements, birthdays, and anniversaries here. Celebrating life!

  Convinced that hosting other people’s happiest moments in this peaceful setting would draw her from her perpetual state of limbo, she’d persuaded her father to invest some of Cabot Tea Company’s funds in this endeavor. Of course, that purse had strings. Technically, CTC owned A CertainTea. She’d manage it, but she’d report to her brother, Hunter.

  She accepted that condition because CTC had assumed all the risk. It wasn’t like her former legal career had prepared her to be a restaurateur. But if she could run multimillion-dollar real estate and banking deals, she could manage this place.

  “I was about to call a bail bondsman,” Hunter teased, standing in the open doorway. Her brother’s wire-rimmed glasses framed his owlish eyes, which constantly assessed his surroundings. His wife, Sara, had helped him acquire the bit of polish he’d never cared about: taming his thick brown locks into a neatly cropped style, and dressing him in well-made clothes. “I can’t stay long. Meeting with Dad and Jenna.”

  His nostrils flared while mentioning their stepmother, like always.

  When Jenna married their dad twenty-six years ago, Hunter hadn’t cared much. Unlike Colby, he’d worshipped their father and looked for every opportunity to spend time with him instead of with their mother. But when Hunter finally graduated from Berkeley and returned to take his rightful place in the family business, he and Jenna had started butting heads over everything from strategy to paper clips.

  “Sorry.” Colby kissed his cheek before ducking inside, where a small cadre of workmen were finishing punch list items, like installing switch plates and drawer pulls in the bar, and touching up baseboards. “What do you think?”