Cassie turned, blood leeching from her face. “He has a crippled sister?”
Alli nodded, joining her at the door. “Run over by a horse and buggy when she was two and Jamie blames himself. Told Blake if he had only stayed with Jess like his mother had asked instead of playing with friends when the toddler had napped, she’d be normal today and painfree.” Alli shook her head, sympathy lacing her tone. “For pity’s sake, he was only a kid, Cass, and that kind of guilt is a heavy load for anyone to carry, much less a little boy.” She released a heavy sigh. “Jess is pretty housebound now because of a limp that bothers her if she’s on her feet too much, so she and Jamie’s mother seldom go out, even though Mother has invited them here for dinner and holidays repeatedly over the years. I’ve only met them both two or three times—once at Jamie’s graduation and then twice at Jamie’s church, but Jess is a real beauty and the apple of Jamie’s eye. I’ll tell you what, Cass, it broke my heart when I saw her limp because she seems almost deformed, each step slow and feeble. I can’t help but think that’s part of the reason she stays away, because she’s embarrassed and doesn’t want to distress her brother. Whatever the situation, Blake says guilt is eating Jamie alive.”
“Oh, that’s awful . . . ,” Cassie whispered.
A weary sigh parted from Alli’s lips. “I know, but apparently Jamie’s researched a new surgery that can repair Jess’s damaged hip and alleviate her discomfort. Unfortunately, it’s very expensive and has a ridiculous wait list, so Jamie’s written dozens of letters to the Cooper Medical School, begging them to consider Jess for one of their few pro bono surgeries. Meanwhile he’s saving up for the surgery himself despite Blake, Bram, and Uncle Logan all offering to help. Claims it was his negligence that crippled his sister, and it will be his hard work and sacrifice that frees her.” Her eyes misted with tears. “His mother and sister are everything to him, Cass, and my heart breaks for him because they are poorer than poor, barely eking by in a boardinghouse close to the Coast.”
“Oh, Alli, I . . . well, I didn’t know . . .”
Alli slipped a hand to Cassie’s waist. “So you see, Cuz, underneath that handsome, carefree façade, Jamie MacKenna really is a pretty wonderful guy.” She gave her a little squeeze. “I wish you’d give him a chance because believe me—I wouldn’t steer you wrong.”
A smile trembled on Cassie’s lips. “I know, Al, but I’m just not ready . . .”
Alli ducked, giving Cassie an impish smile. “He doesn’t exactly repulse you, does he?”
Blood gorged Cassie’s cheeks. She swallowed hard. “Not exactly.”
Laughing, Alli pinched her, easing some of the tension in Cassie’s chest. “I thought as much. For all your protest and flashing eyes, I sensed a spark between you two.”
Cassie sniffed. “Yeah, well the next ‘spark’ may be the flash of gunpowder if he lays another hand on me anytime soon.”
Alli grinned. “Just tell him you only want to be friends. Then when you get to know him and see what a great guy he is, you won’t mind when he steals your heart.”
As Alli opened the door, Cassie released a noisy sigh, then sucked in a bolstering swallow of air. She slid her cousin a grim smile. “Yes, well, when it comes to my heart, Cuz, it’s not the stealing I have a problem with.” The smile angled into a quirk. “It’s the ‘breaking’ part I mind.”
8
Oh, Liam—sometimes I miss you so much it aches . . .” Closing her eyes, Caitlyn McClare leaned against the stone wall of her study veranda, face lifted to capture the sweet scent of a gentle wind from the bay as it fluttered the loose tendrils of her hair. The late summer night settled over the city like a mist, filling her senses with the haunt of the sea and the music of crickets and tree frogs. Somewhere the faraway shriek of train whistles and the groan of fog horns blended with the clang of trolley bells and music of steam pianos floating up from dance halls on the Barbary Coast.
Releasing a fragile sigh, Caitlyn opened her eyes to the sprinkle of lights throughout the Coast and Fisherman’s Wharf. Mirrored in the inky waters, they shimmered and danced beside a mango ribbon of moonlight that striped San Francisco Bay. Moisture pricked in her eyes, and the lights blurred into a million hazy stars, whisking her decades away to the night on the wharf when Liam proposed.
The stepdaughter of one of the richest men in San Francisco, she’d been swept off her feet at barely seventeen by a handsome college boy named Logan McClare. Accepting his proposal of marriage with stars in her eyes, she enjoyed a close friendship with his older brother as well, never realizing the true depth of Liam’s feelings. When Logan betrayed her with another woman, Caitlyn was crushed. The more spiritual and grounded of the two brothers, Liam had seen her through one of the most painful times of her life. Although Logan had begged forgiveness, she’d broken the engagement nonetheless, fearful she’d never be able to trust him again. Wild and worldly, Logan was nothing like Liam, the brother who offered something Logan could not—trust, a deep faith in God, and a friendship so true, it had mended her heart. In a whirlwind courtship, Liam proposed, a man of like mind and like faith, who promised to love, honor, and cherish her all the days of his life. A tear trailed her cheek. And he did.
Their marriage had been a comfortable one. Not tempestuous and passionate like her feelings for Logan, but gentle and sweet and a balm to her soul . . . and never had Caitlyn missed him more. Over a year and a half had passed since an aneurism stole him away, snuffing the light from her eyes as surely as it snuffed the breath from Liam’s body. Only through the grace of God and the love of her children had she survived, finally coming to a place where she could embrace life again. And pursue a passion she’d shared with her husband—to purge their beloved city of the title of “the wickedest town in the USA,” compliments of the Barbary Coast.
Hands firm on the marble balustrade, she stared off into the distance toward the sea and the seedy section of town, heart aching for the poor and misguided souls who called the Barbary Coast home. Before Liam died he was a key member on the Vigilance Committee to help eradicate blocks of opium dives, slave dens, brothels, parlourhouses, dance halls, barrooms, and concert saloons that tainted the city, an effort attempted twice before in the 1800s by the Vigilantes. Some called it Sodom and Gomorrah, and although Caitlyn seldom stepped foot in the Coast, she knew it to be true from the stories Liam had told her. A lawyer like his brother Logan, Liam had been a driving force in the ongoing efforts to dismantle the Nymphia, a three-story brothel that fostered nudity, peep shows, and prostitution. Liam had been instrumental in the first police raid a year after it opened, spearheading legal battles to close the 150-cubicle bordello that had become a festering sore in an already downtrodden city.
Caitlyn swiped at her cheek, now slick with tears over the plight of so many. Tragic men, hopeless women, and innocent children who would not remain that way for long on the streets of the Coast. Children like Jamie MacKenna, one of the few who’d scratched and struggled to rise above the degradation with a dream for something better. Her heart warmed at the thought of her son’s best friend, who had no idea that Blake’s parents knew from whence he hailed. But the moment Logan had met him at the Olympic Club and introduced him to Liam, Jamie MacKenna had become a beacon of hope to both Liam and her, a shining example of what prayer and action could do to set people free from the death hold of the Barbary Coast.
“Oh, Liam, Jamie would make you so proud,” Caitlyn whispered, the sea breeze cooling the tears on her face. “And God willing, I will too.” Her thoughts returned to the decision she’d made after months of prayer, the words of her good friend, Walter Henry, echoing in her brain.
“Caitlyn, we need you on the committee, pure and simple,” he’d insisted, one silver brow arched high. “We need your dignity, your grace, your passion for Liam’s work. Please—don’t let Liam’s dream die. Pick up the baton, Cait, and run! With your husband’s memory, his influence, and your faith, we can win and offer hope to thousands of poor souls
who have no hope at all.”
“Oh, Walter, I know nothing of politics and legalities—what can I possibly offer?”
He bent to kiss her hand, his fervor stirring the fervor in her soul. “Cait, we have all the knowledge and expertise we need ad nauseam. The one thing we lack is heart, and I know of none purer than yours, my dear. Mark my words—with you on this board, nothing can stop us.”
Caitlyn stared into the summer night, her heart fluttering in her chest like the wind through her hair. No . . . nothing except Logan McClare.
Her eyes drifted closed at the thought of the one man who scared her more than any other. Liam’s lawyer brother had battled the committee on every front, thwarting their efforts to clean up the Coast, and Cait had no desire to contend with him as well. Till now, Logan had always been courteous and respectful since her marriage to Liam, keeping his distance, and for that she was grateful. He’d been a godsend during Liam’s funeral, despite being as catatonic as she, revealing a mourning for his brother she hadn’t expected. Although he was known as a deadly opponent in the courtroom and on the political scene, Logan’s one weak spot was clearly his family, and even when Liam was alive, her brother-in-law was a frequent visitor to their home, forging close relationships with each of her children.
Caitlyn relinquished a weighty sigh. And, apparently, hoping for that with their mother as well. Oh, he laid low for a while following Liam’s death, certainly, providing friendship and counsel, but lately, something had changed. Suddenly Logan McClare, the man about town, became Uncle Logan, the man about her house more than she was comfortable with. Over the years, Logan had a standing invitation for Sunday dinners, to see his nieces and nephew, of course. But in the last six months, his visits had escalated until the girls were begging her to let him come to dinner three times a week, and Caitlyn could feel the tension of that request in the roiling of her stomach. Yes, her children needed their uncle, the only mature male influence in their lives. Cait’s mouth crooked. That is, if one considered Logan McClare “mature,” something with which she wasn’t inclined to agree. She was increasingly concerned about his influence on her son, who thought Uncle Logan could do no wrong. In fact, Blake’s cavalier attitude toward women reminded her so much of the Logan she almost married, that Cait had had more than one talk with Blake from college on, praying he would heed her concern. For decency’s sake, Logan had no roots whatsoever except his love for her children, appearing in the society pages on the arm of a different woman every night of the week. Except, of course, the nights he was with her and her children. Suddenly he transformed from a free-wheeling bachelor to the consummate uncle, showering her children—and her—with undivided attention and love.
A tremor skittered through her that had nothing to do with the cool sea air. No, her brother-in-law scared the living daylights out of her. Despite almost twenty-six years in a companionable marriage with his brother and children who filled her days and nights with joy, she could feel it. Logan McClare was worming his way in—into her family and into her heart, and the very thought stole the breath from her lungs. He had a magnetism that called to her, commanded her to love him, and it took everything within to fight the pull he wielded. And the closer he got to her children, the closer he came to her, setting her on edge whenever he entered the room.
She braced her hands on the stone balustrade and scanned the heavens with frantic eyes. “Please—I cannot fall in love with Logan McClare. He’s godless and ruthless and I can’t trust him with my heart. Strengthen me, please, gird me with your grace and help me to withstand the onslaught of his charm, because, Lord, I am so very afraid . . . afraid to love him.” The cool of the night shivered through her as more tears slipped from her eyes, and with a final quivery sigh, she slowly bowed her head, painful heaves rising in her throat. “Because the truth is,” she whispered, the very words quaking her soul, “I fear I’ve never stopped . . .”
“Aunt Cait?” Cassie peeked out the French door of the darkened study, the frail sound of her aunt’s weeping freezing the blood in her veins. “Is something wrong?
“Oh!” Aunt Cait spun around, swiping the tears from her face. “Nothing, dear, truly—just a little melancholy, that’s all, thinking of your Uncle Liam. What are you still doing up?”
“Couldn’t sleep.” Cassie joined her aunt on the veranda. “I hoped some warm milk might help.” She tightened the sash of her robe and looped an arm to her aunt’s waist, sharing her mourning over a man who’d been so dear to them both. She tucked her head to her aunt’s. “I miss him, too,” she whispered, “but after the loss of Mark in my life—a man I loved for only a short time—I can only imagine the grief you must still bear after a lifetime of joy.”
She felt rather than saw the lift of Aunt Cait’s smile, and Cassie closed her eyes, allowing the soothing caress of the hand on her back to fill her with the comfort of home. Soft-spoken and sure, Aunt Cait possessed a magic like few others, able to lift a heart or calm a soul better than most, and that magic did not fail now. Peace settled on Cassie’s mind like the hand caressing her back, Aunt Cait’s tranquil tone and touch easing the tension of her body.
“It was a lifetime of joy,” she whispered, her voice as soft and faraway as the lights flickering on the bay. “And I know deep down, Cassie, that God spared you with Mark Chancellor so he can bring a man who will cherish you like my Liam cherished me. A man like that is rare enough, but a man like that who loves God is a priceless treasure, and I hope you never settle for less.” She searched Cassie’s eyes. “Was Mark a man of faith?”
Cassie grunted, the sound harsh against the still of the night. “Faith in himself, yes, but in God?” She shook her head, bitterness bleeding into her words. “Oh, he attended church, prayed at meals, and said all the right things, but when we were alone?” Her laugh was grim. “Faith was the farthest thing from his mind.” Her body shimmied from a chill, and Aunt Cait pulled her close. Cassie bowed her head, her next words tinged with shame. “So much that my own faith suffered as well. I was so in love with the man that I found myself allowing liberties I shouldn’t have.”
“Liberties?” Aunt Cait whispered, the barest hint of alarm in her tone.
“Oh, nothing immoral—I know better than that, but that didn’t stop Mark from trying.” She leaned on her aunt’s shoulder, eyes trailing into a faraway stare. “But we’d cuddle and kiss on the porch longer than we should have because I was so crazy for him, I could barely say no.” Her lip quirked. “And trust me, I said ‘no’ a lot because Mark was always pushing for more. I kept telling myself it was all right since we’d be married soon, but now I know it wasn’t. Every kiss, every sweet nothing bonded my soul to his, making it so hard to forget him.” Her eyes fluttered closed. “I pray I never get that close to a man again without a gold band on my hand.”
“Good girl.” Aunt Cait kissed her hair. “And the right man will wait, Cassie, not push for you to compromise your convictions.”
“I hope so,” she whispered.
“I know so.” Aunt Cait’s voice was gentle but firm. “Before your Uncle Liam, I was engaged to a handsome rogue much like yours, and I was just as moonstruck as you, finding it difficult to keep the young man in line.” Her aunt’s sigh feathered warm against Cassie’s cheek, filling her senses with the wonderful scent of Pear’s soap and lavender. “Fortunately, I broke the engagement, and when your Uncle Liam courted me, he was a perfect gentleman with a faith as deep as mine, so he treated me with respect, putting my wishes before his own.”
“That’s what I want, Aunt Cait, and I have no intention of settling for less.”
“I’m glad, darling, because I promise you—there’s no better way to guard your heart from heartbreak and the wrong man in your life than to follow God’s precepts.” She swept a stray strand from Cassie’s face. “This is going to be a good summer, Cass. I feel it in my bones.”
Cassie gave her a tight hug. “Thanks, Aunt Cait—I think so too.” She cinched her robe a bit m
ore snugly, then stifled a yawn. “Goodness, I may not need that milk after all.”
“Good night, darling.” Aunt Cait gave her shoulders a final squeeze. “Sweet dreams and may the angels keep the bad ones away.”
“You, too, Aunt Cait.” Cassie kissed her aunt’s cheek and stole into the study, heaving a weary sigh when her aunt turned to stare out at the bay, head bowed as if something still weighed on her mind. A common condition tonight, she thought with a wrench of her heart, aching for her aunt as well as herself. Uttering a silent prayer for them both, Cassie mounted the steps, hoping that, indeed, the angels would keep the bad dreams away. Her lips tipped up while her gaze did the same. “And, Lord—if they can do the same for Mark Chancellor? So much the better . . .”
9
Can’t sleep?”
Cassie glanced up to see Uncle Logan striding down the second-story hallway, obviously from the billiard room where male laughter could be heard amid the crack of ivory. Her ears honed in on Jamie’s voice, and much to her annoyance, her stomach did a little flip. Her smile lapsed into a scowl. “Nope. Counted sheep, steers, horses, pigs, and armadillos, but all I’ve got to show for it is an imaginary zoo, albeit odorless, thank heavens.”
Swallowing her in an embrace, he kissed her head and tipped it up with a sympathetic smile, the scent of lime soap mingling with tobacco and a hint of port. He’d shed his coat and tie, shirtsleeves rolled to reveal muscled arms with dark hair while the black bristle on his jaw lent a pirate air. “You’re a McClare, Cass—restlessness runs in our blood.” He shot a quick glance down the stairs and lowered his voice. “Don’t tell your aunt, but did you try warm milk with honey and bourbon? One of Nana’s tricks that works for me every time.”
The memory of her eighty-two-year-old great-grandmother warmed Cassie’s heart like the bourbon would warm her throat, no doubt. Nana had been as unorthodox as Uncle Logan in her own shocking way, and a source of utter joy to Cassie and her cousins. She grinned. “Only one of many tricks as I recall,” Cassie said, her smile melancholy. “But no, I haven’t, although I was actually on my way down to get some warm milk,” her smile tipped, “without the bourbon, when I noticed Aunt Cait on the veranda. We chatted and now I’m ready to turn in.”
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