“Well, no, I suppose not,” she said slowly, glancing over her shoulder at the table at which he’d been staring. Her eyes flared wide. “Wait—is that young woman crying?”
“Yes, she is . . . ,” he said quietly, firmly leading Cass from the floor.
“So, how’d she do?” Alli asked, smile fading when she saw Jamie’s granite jaw. Ignoring her, he seated Cassie with a gentle squeeze of her shoulder. “The next dance is mine, Miss McClare,” he said before disappearing through the crowd. Approaching the girl’s table, he could hear her quiet heaves and the soothing whispers of her mother while a man Jamie assumed to be her father stood close, gently kneading her shoulder.
Jamie offered a short bow. “Excuse me, Miss—but may I have this dance?”
Three heads shot up, eyes agape. No one spoke, and Jamie’s heart softened at the girl’s soggy lashes and mottled cheeks. He extended his hand, the smile on his lips as gentle as his tone. “If you’d rather not, I understand, but it would enhance my evening if you did.”
She blinked, blue eyes glazed with tears and cheeks dotted with circles of dusty rose that grew as he awaited her answer. Something strong squeezed in his chest, and in that moment, Jamie knew nothing could enrich his evening more, short of time with Cassie.
“Janet, the young man is asking to dance,” the woman whispered.
The older gentleman rose and offered his hand in a shake. “Dr. Winterberger, young man, and this is my wife, Delpha, and our daughter Janet. And you are . . . ?”
“James MacKenna, sir,” Jamie said, reciprocating with a solid grasp of his hand.
“I say there,” the doctor said with a squint, “did I see you seated with Logan McClare?”
“Yes, sir—Mr. McClare is my mentor and employer as well as a good friend.”
He studied Jamie with a keen eye. “McClare, Rupert and Byington is my law firm, son. I’ve never had dealings with Logan, of course, but Thomas Rupert and I go way back.”
“Is that right?” Jamie grinned, facial muscles easing more from the shy smile on the girl’s face than the legal connection with her father. “I have great admiration for Mr. Rupert—he interviewed me for the position, of course, along with Mr. McClare and Mr. Byington.”
The doctor nodded. “Well, it appears they made a wise choice, given the courtesy of your manner.” He turned to his daughter. “Janet—this young man has had the courtesy to ask for a dance—I suggest you comply.”
“Yes, Papa,” she said with a chew of her lip, peeking up at Jamie beneath heavy lashes.
“Shall we?” Jamie offered his arm, and the young woman tentatively placed her hand over his, following his lead as he ushered her to the floor. On their way, they passed the young man who’d made her cry, his sullen look glazing into shock at the sight of Janet on Jamie’s arm.
“You look very pretty tonight, Miss Winterberger,” Jamie said, loud enough for the hooligan to hear, and the kid actually froze to the spot, jaw distended while he stared.
“Thank you,” she whispered, and her glow of innocence brought a smile to Jamie’s lips. Taking her hand in his, he noted the lift of her chin and the squaring of her shoulders despite her gentle manner and timid hold, making Janet Winterberger very pretty, indeed.
At least, to him.
14
Who’s Jamie dancing with?” Alli peeked through the throng of dancers, green eyes in a squint. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen her before, and we come to The Palace fairly often.”
“I’m not sure,” Cassie said, hand splayed to her chest to slow the chaotic beat of her heart. “But I think she was crying.”
“Crying?” Alli blinked, dark brows sloped in question. “Whatever for?”
A sigh floated from Cassie’s lips as she watched Jamie chatting and whirling the girl to a waltz, his heart-melting grin skipping Cassie’s pulse. “I don’t know,” she said, biting her thumbnail, “but I think he asked that sweet young woman to dance to make her feel better.”
“Yep, that sounds like Jamie,” Alli said with a chuckle. “Most men with his looks tend to be rather self-absorbed, but that boy is definitely one of a kind.” She turned back to Cassie and swatted at her with a playful scold. “Hey, stop that! Chewing on your nails is a bad habit.”
Cassie spit out a sliver. So is Jamie MacKenna, but I can’t seem to stop that either . . .
“I thought you quit biting your nails.” Alli snatched a fork to poke at her dessert.
Pthu! Another splinter sailed through the air while Cassie continued with the other thumb, eyes trained on the “bad habit” who was laughing with the girl on the floor. “Started again . . . after Mark,” she muttered with another spit.
“Well, stop it, you goose!” Alli grabbed Cassie’s hand, her laughter belying the concern in her eyes. “What’s with you tonight? Did Jamie do something to upset you?”
“Yeah,” she mumbled, “he asked a shy, little wallflower to dance.”
The whites of Alli’s eyes expanded as comprehension dawned. “Wait a minute,” she said with a slow smile, “you’re falling for him, aren’t you?” She grinned. “After that long-winded spiel you gave me about not trusting a hair on that pretty boy’s head?”
“Oh, hush,” Cassie whispered, her gaze darting around the table to see if anyone else had heard. She exhaled slowly, relieved the others were engrossed in one of her uncle’s stories. Turning back, she seared her cousin with a narrow gaze. “Over my dead body.”
“You mean dead ‘pride,’ don’t you?”
Alli’s wink unleashed heat in Cassie’s cheeks that stung almost as much as her blasted pride. She clamped her cousin’s arm, fingers tightening to a pinch. “Look, Al, this is not funny. I’m shaking in my boots here, and I left ’em at home, for pity’s sake! I have no time for this.”
“Sure you do,” Alli said with a massage of Cassie’s shoulders. She ducked to smile into her cousin’s eyes. “Every girl has time for a really great guy who could make her happy.”
“No!” Cassie’s tone came out too sharply, tears smarting despite her best efforts.
“Hey,” Alli said, eyes tender. “You’re really scared, aren’t you?”
Cassie shot to her feet, body trembling. “Feel like some air?” she whispered.
“Sure.” Alli rose and took Cassie’s hand, smiling at Caitlyn when she glanced their way. “Mother, Cassie and I will be out on the veranda.” Giving Cassie’s palm a squeeze, she led her toward a bank of floor-to-ceiling windows at the far end of the ballroom. Each was draped in rich, claret velvet, a striking contrast to warm honeyed wood walls that rose to an exquisite vaulted ceiling. Austrian crystal chandeliers sparkled like diamonds overhead as she ushered Cassie through a beveled glass door onto a veranda where the smell of sea breeze mingled with that of the city below. Steering her to a private stone bench at the far end, she pressed her to sit and then sat beside her. “Okay, what’s going on, Cass?” she said quietly.
The night was warm, but Cassie tucked her arms tightly to her waist as if she were chilled. “I can’t fall in love with him, Al,” she whispered, eyes lagging into a cold stare. “I’m too raw. Mark wounded me, and I’m just not ready for this.”
Alli sighed, the sound swallowed up by the gentle trickling of the fountain nearby. “He’s not Mark, Cass, he’s one of the good guys—”
Cassie spun to face her, her breathing shallow. “I know, but he’s not for me.”
“But how will you know till you try? The guy’s smitten. For heaven’s sake, he lights up every time you walk in a room. He’s a great guy and we all love him—what more do you need?”
Her lips tipped into a sad smile. “More, I’m afraid.” She peered up beneath weighted lids. “He has no faith, Al.”
Alli blinked. “What do you mean he has no faith? He goes to church every Sunday.”
A sigh withered on Cassie’s lips. “Yes, he does, but he doesn’t believe.”
Silence prevailed as Alli stared in obvious disbelief, the faint sound of the orchestra
harmonizing with the splash of the fountain and the hum of the city below. “That’s ridiculous. How can someone not believe in God, especially when he has a God-fearing family?”
Cassie rubbed her temple, grimacing at the headache that suddenly appeared. “I think he’s angry inside—over his sister’s illness and the life they’ve been forced to live, I don’t know.” She drew in a heavy breath scented with the fragrance of potted tea roses that dotted the veranda wall. “All I do know is I won’t give my heart to a man again till I know he’s given his to God. Because I don’t just want to share a bed, a family, and a life, Al—I want to share a faith as well.”
“Oh, goodness, Cass, I didn’t know,” Alli whispered, shoulders slumped. “That makes me sad because I love Jamie.” She clutched Cassie’s hand. “I’m so sorry.”
“I know, me too.” Cassie exhaled slowly. “Especially after seeing him reach out to that girl like he did.” She sucked in a calming breath as thoughts of Jamie MacKenna triggered her pulse. “I’ve been picked on and ostracized my whole life in Humble, so nobody knows better than you, Al, just how much Jamie’s actions with that girl meant to me, someone with a soft heart for the downtrodden.” She sighed. “There’s a powerful lot of good in a man like that.”
“Yes, there is,” Alli agreed. She hesitated. “What are you going to do?”
Cassie gave a little shrug that sagged her shoulders. “Keep him at arm’s length as a friend, I guess.” She offered Alli a melancholy smile. “And pray.”
“I’ll join you,” Alli said with a tender smile. “Even Jamie MacKenna can’t win against prayer.” She patted Cassie’s arm and lumbered to her feet, brushing the wrinkles from her dress. “Ready to go back in?”
“Not just yet.” Cassie stood and gave her a hug, then nodded skyward with a wry twist of a smile. “I think I’d like to have a few words with You-Know-Who first.”
Alli laughed. “Always a good plan, as Mother says.”
“Yes, it is,” Cassie said with a chuckle, “and trust me—I plan to give him an earful.” With a final hug, Cassie strolled to a shadowed corner of the veranda to lean on the marble balustrade, peering at the city while the breeze from the bay feathered her hair. From stories high overhead, the autos and horse-driven carriages looked like miniature toys, bustling about to the bleat of distant car horns and the muted clang of the trolley. Buffing her arms, she lifted her gaze to the inky sky, glittering with stars that winked and waited for her to beseech their Maker.
“God, it’s me, and I need your help. You see, Jamie MacKenna and I have become very good friends, but I have to admit—my heart is leaning towards more.” She closed her eyes, the next words chilling her skin. “But he doesn’t believe in you, Lord, and I know you don’t want me unevenly yoked, so I guess you’ll either have to take these annoying feelings away or . . . ,” she peeked up with one eye, “hog-tie him till he cries uncle, ’cause heaven knows he needs you.” Eyelids lifting, she squinted up at the sky. “Oh, and he tells me his mother and sister have been talking to you for a long time, so I’m pretty sure you’d want to answer their prayers too, and this is the perfect opportunity.” She paused, the tease fading from her tone. “But whatever you decide—friends or more—please get ahold of his heart, because when the cows come home at the end of the day, he really is a pretty wonderful guy.” With a final soggy sniff, she swiped at her eyes, a trace of a smile shading her lips. “That is, for a pretty boy.”
“So . . . two questions, Cait,” Logan said. “One—why did you finally agree to dance with me after declining all night and two—why did you agree to Napa?” He spun her in his arms, the orchestra’s rendition of Jere Mahoney’s “For Old Time’s Sake” haunting him as much as he hoped it haunted her. His heart thudded as he studied her in the soft glow of the chandeliers overhead. The flawless porcelain skin, the eyes the color of jade, and that lustrous auburn hair piled high with enough loose strays to tease an alabaster neck, leaving no doubt that his attraction to her had never waned. Oh, he’d buried it deep when she’d married his brother, certainly, allowing him to survive the loss of her in his heart and in his bed, but somehow it surfaced with a vengeance in the last year, and that alone told him that the timing was right.
She’d been chattering nonstop while they danced, so out of character for a woman as content with silence as conversing with family and friends, and he couldn’t help the faint smile that shadowed his lips. She was obviously nervous—the song, the dancing, the memories—all too close to home for them both, and her unease reminded him of the girl he’d proposed to years ago in this very ballroom. She’d been shy and sweet and oh, so tempting, but innocent to a fault. A “fault” that resulted in utter shock when he’d dallied with another. He exhaled slowly, his regret hidden behind an easy smile. Just one more chance, Cait—for old time’s sake?
She stared at him now on the heels of his questions, the chatter suddenly nowhere in sight, and he was fascinated by the flare of her pupils, the shift of her throat, those full lips so ripe for tasting now parted in shallow breaths. He awaited her response while heavily fringed eyelids flickered in thought, and he realized her pull on him was stronger now than the night he’d slipped the ring on her finger. He hadn’t been just smitten with her then, no, he’d been besotted, but a man whose desire for her, regrettably, was far outweighed by youthful lust.
“Why did I finally agree to dance with you?” she repeated, her voice as wispy as the gauzy pale-yellow bodice that rose and fell with every breath she took. Her chin lifted enough for him to know she was steeling herself for battle, promptly broadening the smile on his lips. A good sign—at least she was battling something. Her feelings for him, perhaps? Or his for her?
“Yes, why now?” he said, with a shuttered smile. He slowed his steps as the music ended, but held firm lest she bolt away. “After cruelly turning me away all night.”
Color toasted her cheeks, and the chin rose higher. “I danced with you because you asked, Logan McClare, and I didn’t prior because I was engaged in stimulating conversations.” She stepped back a fraction of an inch despite his lock on her waist.
The strains of “Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder” filtered through the ballroom, and Logan found himself hoping that the song was prophetic for Cait. Heaven knows it was for him. He grinned. “Come on, Cait, you’re not a woman prone to untruths. Why don’t you just admit the only reason you said yes is because it’s my birthday and you felt guilty?”
A pretty shade of rose burnished her cheeks and he laughed. She was so easy to read . . . and rile. He swept her in a wide arc, savoring the way wisps of her auburn tresses fluttered in the breeze. “Besides, Mrs. McClare,” he said softly, “I can be stimulating too.” The rogue in him took over as his gaze flitted to her lips and back, his voice a husky whisper. “Or don’t you remember?”
Color swamped her throat and cheeks, nearly swallowing her whole, and he laughed out loud, firming his grip when she tried to pull away. “Come on, Cait, I’m sorry, but you’re just so easy to bait.” His smile ebbed into a tender look. “You always were, as I recall.”
Shooting a nervous glance at their table, she fixed him with a stern gaze, gold flecks of fire in those startling green eyes. “Please keep your voice down.” Her nostrils flared slightly as she drew in a calming breath, chin engaged once again. “And I’d appreciate it if you would not refer to our past to anyone, including me.” Her tone softened. “We are friends, Logan, please keep that in mind. I am not one of your many women to be toyed with, I am your sister-in-law. I ask that you treat me with the respect due your brother’s wife.”
He gave her a veiled look. “You mean my brother’s widow,” he said quietly.
Her jaw set. “Either way, you are my brother-in-law, and it’s uncomfortable when your comments or actions are overly familiar.”
Grip firm, his eyes and voice softened. “You forget, Cait,” he whispered, his humor no longer a mask for his feelings, “I am overly familiar with you whether y
ou like it or not. I know your habits, your expressions, every nuance of your face. I know you take Earl Gray with sugar in the morning and Chamomile without at night. I know you have a habit of jutting your chin when backed into corner and that you tend toward melancholy when fatigued. You pick at your nails when you’re nervous and you twirl your hair when in thought, and despite your love for the classics,” he said in a rush, exhaling slowly, “you have a secret fondness for dime novels.” His voice trailed to a whisper. “Especially on rainy days.”
She stared, lips parted, as if poised for her lungs to start breathing again.
Her hand felt small and warm in his and with a shift of his throat, he gently circled her palm with his thumb. “We have history, Cait,” he said softly.
Tears glimmered as she carefully slipped her hand from his, the grief in her face a mirror of his own. “Yes, we do. But that’s no basis for a future.” Slowly, gently, she cupped a palm to his cheek. “I need a friend, Logan, nothing more.” The bridge of her nose puckered as she studied him intently. “Can you be that for me—please?” The orchestra began to play, and she took his hand. “Can we celebrate your birthday as family members who respect and support each other?” She peered up, a gentle woman with a gentle request. “And friends—good friends?”
He paused, unable to breathe for the ache in his chest. Bracing his palm to her shoulder, he lifted her hand to begin the dance, a dance of will and heart that he was determined to win. He smiled, his manner as kind as hers. “Sure, Cait, friends.” With casual grace, he whirled her to the music, her body suddenly relaxed and fluid and calm.
For now.
15
Is Cass in there?” Jamie squinted at the ladies’ room door Allison had just exited with a group of society matrons, their brows in a scrunch.
Alli perched a hand to the waist of her pale-green dress where ruffles swept to her hip. She tossed her head back, midnight-black curls shimmering beneath a crystal chandelier as she blew wisps of bangs from her eyes. “Why? You planning on going in?” she asked, a mischievous gleam in piercing green eyes much darker than Cassie’s.
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