All or Nothing Read online

  All or Nothing

  #4 of The Coxwells

  by

  Deborah Cooke

  Some people will do anything for true love—even if they have to fake it.

  Jen Maitland had no use for handsome guys with easy charm—until she met Zach. He’s the perfect fake date to end her mother’s matchmaking scheme before it starts. Besides, he’d probably just use her and leave her like her ex-fiancé did. At least that’s what Jen tells herself. The only problem is that Zach isn’t as predictable as he appears…

  Zach Coxwell hates commitment, but loves a challenge. Like the pretty bar waitress who turned him down flat for a date—only to invite him to her family’s Thanksgiving dinner. Zach knows he can make Jen smile—and he’s betting that he can unravel her mysteries—even if he has to do it over candied yams.

  A tofu turkey, a sister who threatens to have Zach’s love child, the untimely appearance of a knitted avocado—and Zach’s discovery of her real motive—combine to turn Thanksgiving dinner into Jen’s worst nightmare. Zach, on the other hand, has the time of his life. And when he finally makes Jen smile, he realizes there’s one commitment he’s willing to make after all…but persuading Jen to believe him will take everything he’s got.

  Dear Reader;

  All Or Nothing is the fourth and final book in my Coxwell series of contemporary romances. From the first moment I met Zach, I knew I had to tell his story—and I knew his romance would have to be an unconventional one. There’s nothing typical or predictable about Zach. The challenge was finding him the perfect romantic partner. I wanted a heroine who would make him realize how lucky he was, and persuade him to make an effort instead of just accepting whatever came his way. Jen was the perfect match. She’s creative, and she feels lucky because she knows what it is to be unlucky. At the same time, Jen has lost her stride. That’s not unreasonable for a cancer survivor, but she needed some laughter and a good hard push to start living again. I love how the sparks fly between these two, even at their first meeting. Their banter reminds me of the dialogue in old movies, even though they are very contemporary characters. Of course, I particularly like how they push and prod each other, then make each other’s dreams come true.

  I haven’t made any major changes to All Or Nothing and have republished it essentially as it was published in the first place. I did choose to republish the Coxwell series as Deborah Cooke books, since I now publish contemporary paranormal romance under my own name. I continue to write historicals as Claire Delacroix, so my Claire Cross time travel romances have been republished as Delacroix books.

  I haven’t published any contemporary romances since All Or Nothing, although reviewing the Coxwell series for republication reminded me just how much I loved writing these stories. I’m currently working on a new series of contemporary romances, which begins with Simply Irresistible. There’s an excerpt from that book at the end. Of course, I’m still writing paranormal romances featuring dragon shifters, too. Please follow my blog or subscribe to my monthly newsletter to keep up to date on my news. If you prefer to receive a single email whenever I have a new book published, please subscribe to my new release alert.

  In the meantime, I hope you enjoy reading Jen and Zach’s story!

  All my best—

  Deborah

  The Coxwells

  Third Time Lucky • Double Trouble

  One More Time • All or Nothing

  Copyright

  All Or Nothing was originally published under the pseudonym, Claire Cross. Deborah Cooke also writes as Claire Delacroix and as herself.

  This re-release has had only minor corrections from the original text. It is essentially the same as the original print edition, although there are minor variations.

  Copyright © 2007, 2012 Claire Delacroix, Inc.

  Published by Deborah A. Cooke

  All Rights Reserved.

  Cover by The Killion Group, Inc.

  Digital formatting by Author E.M.S.

  ISBN: 978-1-927477-19-9

  Digital Edition

  Excerpt from Simply Irresistible

  Copyright © 2015 Deborah A. Cooke

  Without limiting the rights under copyright preserved above, no part of this book may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright holder and the publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  Table of Contents

  Cover Copy

  Dear Reader

  The Coxwells

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Author’s Note

  Excerpt from SIMPLY IRRESISTIBLE

  About the Author

  More Books by the Author

  Chapter One

  “Are you gay?”

  Jen glanced up from her toast. It was just before noon on a Friday morning and she’d thought herself alone in her mother’s vivid yellow and cherry red kitchen. She had been considering the problem of how to knit the skin of an avocado so that it looked real, but any internal debate about the pebbly merit of moss stitch would have to wait.

  Her mom, as bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as Jen was not, was leaning in the doorway to the hall. Natalie had “that look”, the one that meant trouble.

  A casual observer wouldn’t have guessed that Natalie and Jen were related, much less that they were mother and daughter. While Jen was tall and slender with cropped dark hair, her mother was petite, curvy and possessed of what seemed to be several acres of corkscrew-curled auburn hair.

  Jen’s mother had found her niche in the 1970’s and had decided to remain there for good. Natalie wore little round glasses, her jeans were worn, her sweater was hand knit (by Gran) and old enough to be embellished with many fuzz balls. She wore Birkenstock sandals all year round, baked the best whole grain bread, and persisted in starting earnest conversations with her children at unpredictable moments.

  Jen had forgotten the earnest conversation bit when she’d accepted the chance to move back home two years before. She’d worked a double shift the night before at Mulligan’s, was due in for the lunch shift today and her feet were still begging for mercy. She wasn’t really up for having her soul searched, her chakras aligned, or the fiber content of her diet analyzed.

  Again.

  Jen tried not to show any of her frustration. She changed the subject instead of answering, a ploy that sometimes worked. “Hi, Mom. The bread is really good this time.”

  “Don’t you do that to me,” Natalie said as she advanced into the kitchen. “I know you well enough to see you putting your shields up. I want you to be honest with me, Jen.”

  “I’m not puttin
g…”

  “You are. I can see you closing off the world. You’ve always done it, but now you’re better at it.”

  Jen didn’t know what to say to that so she ate her toast. She toyed with her knitting while she did so. It flopped on the table, not looking like much of anything since it wasn’t yet stuffed. The pit of the avocado was done, because her plan was that the end result would look like an avocado cut in half. The round pit had been the easiest place to start. So, she had a purple golf ball with floppy frills around it and a lot of doubt.

  Shouldn’t the flesh be more yellow around the stone? Should she use more than one color of yarn? She could ask Teresa how to change from one color to the next gradually.

  Jen’s mom shook her head, which made her ringlets dance, then pulled out the chair opposite Jen with such purpose that she couldn’t be ignored.

  “Well, if you are gay, then you should know that I’m okay with it,” her mother said with the compassion that characterized these discussions. “I’d just like to know—assuming, of course, that you don’t think that’s too much of a personal thing to ask.”

  So much for the diversion plan. Jen wondered at the timing of the question. “Why do you want to know? Shouldn’t we have had this chat when I was sixteen?”

  “I know, I know, and now your life is your own business, blah blah blah.” Her mother sighed and grimaced, then leaned closer. “But you might as well know, it’s because I need to decide what to tell your grandmother about Thanksgiving. You know, she’s always after me about whether you’re bringing a date or not.”

  “Just tell her no. It’s worked before.”

  “Not this year.”

  “Gran saw some documentary on television and now she has this idea that maybe you’re gay and we’re hiding it from her.” Jen’s mother took a swig of her herbal tea. “She’ll love it if you are, I’ve got to say. She’s always insisted that I didn’t know anything about raising children, and you know that she won’t understand that being gay isn’t a lifestyle choice. It’s wired right in, we know that, but she’s going to think that you’ve gone and chosen to do this to annoy her or me, and that you can be persuaded to change your mind and be “normal” again, whatever the hell that is. I don’t even want to imagine that campaign.”

  Neither did Jen. She ate her toast as quickly as she could, hoping her mother got lost on a tangent long enough that she could escape without answering the question.

  The chances were slim, but it was worth a try.

  “How many times have I told you not to wolf down your food?” Her mother fixed her with a stern glance, exactly the opposite of what Jen had hoped for. “I’m all for people expressing their own rhythms, but eating quickly only inhibits digestion. You, of all people, should be respecting your body’s natural needs.”

  “Mom, I’m not sick anymore.”

  Her mother sat back, smiling slightly as if Jen had said exactly what Natalie had wanted her to say. “Really? How would I be able to tell?”

  “Check out my new hair.”

  “Hair is only part of it. You mope around here like a ghost, or like a person with a death sentence.”

  “I was a person with a death sentence.”

  “Was being the operative word. Past tense, Jen. You’re better now, all better from what the oncologists say. Last I heard, your prognosis was excellent. You’re one year clear.”

  “That’s what I heard, too.”

  “So, when are you going to do something about it? When are you going to act as if you’re alive, Jen, instead of marking time until you die?” Her mother leaned her elbows on the table and regarded Jen earnestly. “When exactly do we get the old Jen back?”

  Jen swallowed the last bite of her toast and picked up her plate. “I don’t know what you mean,” she said with a shrug. “I’ve got a job and I go to work almost every day…”

  “And what about going back to college?”

  “I’m not sure what I want to do yet.”

  “What about traveling again?”

  “I’ve already waitressed in sixteen countries. I’m good with that as a lifetime total.” That wasn’t it and Jen knew it, but she wasn’t sure enough of herself to confess more to her mother.

  Even if the woman had X-ray vision. She felt Natalie’s gaze following her and knew she wasn’t out of the kitchen yet.

  “You used to have a lot of dreams and plans.”

  Jen said nothing. Not knowing how long you were going to live had a way of short-circuiting long-term dreams and plans.

  Her mother tried another tack. “And what about your friends? What about Teresa?”

  “I stay in touch with Teresa…”

  “But you don’t get together anymore. You don’t go downtown and hang out with her as much as you used to.”

  “Teresa’s really busy with her job. She’s CFO now, you know.” Jen chose not to try to explain that she felt so out of step with her old friends. It was like Death was sitting on her shoulder, making her unwelcome company among people busy being vibrantly alive. “And after all, I don’t care about power shopping or speed dating.”

  “Why not? That’s what women your age should care about: clothes and music and parties.” Her mother took a deep fortifying breath. “And men, Jen. You should be crazy for men. But you’ve shown no interest in men lately. Which leads me back to the question: are you gay?”

  It took Jen only a heartbeat to see where this was going and how a little white lie could be useful. “Maybe I’m not sure.”

  Her mother exhaled with impatience. “Then you aren’t. There’s no middle ground with sexual orientation. And for what it’s worth, I don’t think you are, anyway.”

  It seemed that Jen’s inability to bend the truth was one constant in her universe. In a way, she was glad. “How would you know?”

  “Hello. Don’t you remember who caught you kissing Mark Desilvo behind the garage at your thirteenth birthday party?”

  “Maybe I was curious.” Jen glanced up. “Maybe he wasn’t very persuasive.”

  “That would explain why you cried your heart out every night for three entire weeks when Drew MacPherson broke up with you to date Annemarie Schultz instead?”

  “That was pride,” Jen insisted. She rinsed her dishes in the sink. “Drew didn’t break my heart.”

  “Maybe it was Joel, then?” Her mother asked lightly, continuing before Jen could answer. “Or was it Steve?”

  Jen caught her breath and was glad that she had her back to her mother. “You remember everything.”

  “I’m your mother. It’s my job.”

  Jen pivoted to face her mother, feeling annoyed and defensive. “Is there a point to this? I need to get to work.”

  Her mother shrugged. “I just asked you a question. Are you gay or not?”

  “It seems as if you’ve worked that out for yourself already.” Jen dropped her mug and plate into the dishwasher, then let the door slam a bit more assertively than she’d meant to do. She felt like a cornered teenager, although that scenario was years behind her.

  Maybe moving back home had stirred up a lot of old behavior patterns, like her mother meddling in her life and Jen resenting it. Unfortunately, waiting tables wasn’t going to be the key to her financial freedom anytime soon.

  Not with those medical bills still unpaid. One of her chemo buddies—they’d had a similar schedule and had quickly realized they were both uninsured—had joked that if the cancer didn’t finish you off, the debt would. Now that she was healthy, Jen found the dark joke less funny.

  Her mother, meanwhile, persisted in the day’s theme of choice. “If you’re not gay, when are you going to start dating again?”

  “Maybe never.” Jen strode to the door, wanting this conversation over ASAP. She picked up her avocado and her needles and decided that she could stop into that yarn shop on her way to work.

  Her mother smiled the sweet smile that made people—other people—underestimate her. Jen folded her arms across her chest i
n anticipation of a direct hit to the heart.

  It was too late to run for cover.

  “Steve wasn’t worth the trouble…”

  “Forget Steve.”

  “Maybe you should forget Steve, Jen.”

  Jen had to admit that there was truth in that, but she wasn’t going to admit it at this particular moment. “Do you want me to move out? Is that what this is about? Because I don’t have to get married to move out of here.”

  “No, you don’t.” Natalie was annoyingly serene. “That was what I had to do, but you have a thousand choices. If you want to move and you want my help in any way, you’re welcome to it. But that’s not what this is about.”

  “You aren’t going to tell me that I can’t be happy without a man in my life, not you.”

  Natalie put her mug down on the table. “No, that’s not what I’m going to tell you. We both know that I’m not a really great source of advice when it comes to men, at least when it comes to marrying them. I like men a lot and do think that they do add something to your life, but that’s not what this is about either.”