Ridges puckered in her cousin’s brow as she squinted at the man in question, taking way too long for Cassie’s comfort. She glanced over at Cassie, eyes pensive. “I won’t lie, Cass—I think he used to be, before you. I remember him joking once with Blake about he may as well fall in love with a rich woman as a poor one, and I do know he’s only shown interest in girls from wealthy political families. But . . . ,” she cocked her head to give Cass a pixie smile, “I’ve never seen him look at any of them like he looks at you, and Liddy says he hasn’t taken Patricia out in over a month, and they were practically courting.” Alli’s smile slid into a smirk. “Which means he’s falling for you instead, and she’s as rich as Midas and a senator’s daughter to boot.”
“Maybe he thinks I’m rich too,” she whispered. “After all, nobody knows about Daddy’s dry wells except you, Uncle Logan, and Aunt Cait.”
Alli gripped her arms to give her a little shake. “Cass—he’s not after you because he thinks you’re rich. He’s smitten, and anybody can see that. Trust me, he may have bowled you over at that train station, but it was definitely Jamie who took the fall.”
Cassie’s heart pounded, as loud as the boom accompanying a spider streak of golds and scarlets. She paused. “Well, then, you don’t think . . . he’s pursuing me because I’m a challenge, do you?” She bit at the side of her lip as she peered up at Alli. “You know, the only woman who’s spurned his advances? Hard to get, then once the chase is over, he’ll be bored?”
“Aw, Cass . . .” Alli tucked a stray curl behind Cassie’s ear. “I know Mark wounded you and believe me, nobody knows more than me how skittish that makes a girl about falling in love. But Jamie cares for you deeply, and he’s trying hard to show that.”
“I know,” Cassie whispered, chewing on a sliver of nail. “I just don’t think I could go through that again, you know?” She spit.
Alli stroked her hair. “I know. A heart is a fragile thing, especially in the hands of rats like Mark. But you and I have been praying about your relationship with Jamie ever since you gave him the ultimatum, so I say take a deep breath, trust God, and enjoy the fireworks.”
Cassie nodded, eyes straying to where Jamie stood across the lawn in the dark, his boyish grin tingling her skin in the soft glow of a torch. Trust God? Yes, definitely the safe and right thing to do. But enjoy the fireworks? Cassie gulped. Maybe . . . if the loud boom of her heart didn’t scare her to death first . . .
19
One o’clock, two o’clock . . .”
Tease, taunts, and laughter filled the night as cousins and friends scattered to the far reaches of Uncle Logan’s estate, scurrying to hide while Liddy was “it” in a game of midnight.
Jamie squinted through the dark in the direction Cassie had taken, pulse racing at the thought of sharing a hiding space with Cassie McClare. His jaw compressed. Preferably, one nice and tight. He’d spent the last three weeks doing things her way, trying to woo her with church and book studies, which only succeeded in luring him deeper in love with a woman who wouldn’t admit she was in love with him too. Well, tonight he would woo her his way, hopefully to convince her she needed to say yes. Yes, to the courtship and yes to becoming his wife. Chin firm, he made his way to the hiding place Blake told him about, bent on turning her head—and her heart—in his direction once and for all.
“Eight o’clock, nine o’clock . . .”
He ducked behind a massive rhododendron into her secret crevice, a narrow corridor created by a deep sunporch on the south side of Logan’s estate. Lips easing into a grin, he inched several feet back to where Cassie hid in the shadows with her back to the brick wall.
Even in the dark, he saw the whites of her eyes go round. “What are you doing here?” she whispered, shooing him away. “This is my hiding place, MacKenna—go!”
“Ten o’clock, eleven o’clock, midnight!” Liddy called.
Jamie chuckled. “Too late,” he whispered, sandwiching himself behind her with his back to the wall. He looped an arm to her waist, tightening his hold to quiet her when a flicker of lamplight indicated someone just passed. Heady scents rose to taunt him—lilac water and Pear’s soap mingling with the loamy scent of moss that never saw the light of day—delicious perfumes all, tingling his skin. His smile tipped at the soft absence of a corset that allowed him to feel the tension in her body along with the race of her pulse, evident in the rapid rise and fall of her chest.
Footsteps faded away, and she tried to whirl around, luring a grin to his lips when she got stuck halfway. “Jamie MacKenna,” she hissed in the dark, “what in tarnation are you doing?”
Nudging her back around, he hooked her from behind once again, grazing her ear with a low chuckle. “This is my hiding place, Cowgirl. Can I help it if you stole it first?”
“Yours?!” she whispered loudly, her voice a near-squeak. “This has been my hiding place since I was knee-high to a grape, you pickle-brained polecat.”
“I know,” he said with a grin in his voice. “Blake told me.”
She grunted and wrestled to get free. “Let-me-go! Have you forgotten our agreement?”
“No, ma’am.” He firmed his grip, careful to brush his nose to the soft flesh of her lobe before he breathed warm in her ear. “No kisses are involved, Miss McClare,” he said softly, taking her hand in his. His thumb teased the inside of her palm. “Hugs and hands only, I believe the fine print said.” His fingers skimmed to her wrist, eyes closed to lose himself in the silky touch of her skin, the chaotic sprint of a pulse racing along with his own.
Her shuddery breaths filled the darkened space between them, matched by his own jagged breathing as he buried his face in her hair. “Cass,” he whispered, unable to stop the heat that shimmered his skin. “I’m in love with you . . .”
“Jamie . . . please . . .” Her voice was a shaky rasp that seemed to beg him not to stop, and he had no choice but to succumb, tracing her ear with his cheek, the warmth of his breath caressing her temple. The softest of sounds parted from her lips, and with a surge of his pulse, he grazed the nape of her neck, skin against skin, nuzzling with his nose to drink in her scent.
“Jamie, no,” she whispered, but never had a “no” sounded more like a “yes.” She jerked to face him, lips parted in irregular breaths. “Jamie . . .”
His chest labored as he stared, blood pounding in his ears when her gaze flicked to his mouth. “Cass,” he said, his voice husky and harsh, “I’m in love with you and I want to kiss you, but I can’t unless you say it’s okay.” He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple aching when it ducked in his throat. “Is that what you want too?”
Uneven air quivered from her lower lip as her eyes locked with his, a breathless woman in the crosshairs of decision. She finally nodded, her eyes consenting with nary a blink.
The breath he’d been holding rushed out in a groan, and he lowered his mouth to hers, the sweet taste of her causing his head and stomach to swim. “So help me, Cass, I’ve never wanted any woman like I want you.” He kissed her again, delving deeper until her moan met with his.
“MacKenna!” Blake’s whispered chuckle caused Cassie to gasp. “I’m sure Cass is tired of fending you off, so I suggest you come out separately so nobody’s the wiser.”
Swallowing a low groan, Jamie trailed his fingers down the smooth line of her jaw. “You’re not mad, are you?” he whispered.
“A little.” There was the barest trace of trepidation in her tone.
“But you forgive me?” he asked, gently kneading her neck.
Her nod was as shaky as the sigh that quivered from her lips.
He kissed her forehead, closing his eyes to fuse her scent into his brain. “Good.”
“But this means another talk, you know,” she said, voice quivering.
His lips curved in a grin. “I was hoping it would . . . one where you agree to let me court you true and proper.”
“MacKenna!” Blake’s voice held a note of impatience.
“Coming!
” Stroking her face one last time, his voice carried a plea. “My faith is growing because of you, Cass, and I want to court you now, not later—please. I apologize for trapping you, but I needed a little arm-twisting to help you see the light.” He deposited a final kiss to her nose. “I love you, Cass.”
“Get a move on, will ya, Mac?” Blake prodded. “The natives are getting restless.”
Jamie edged his way against the brick wall, quietly easing from the dark, narrow space.
“Took you long enough, Casanova.” Blake’s chuckle was a clear indication he thought Jamie had struck out. He cuffed his shoulder with a wide grin. “How many times does my cousin have to slap you upside the head before you understand ‘no’?” His laughter rang in the night air as they rounded the corner to where the others awaited the next game. “I’ll tell you what, mister. I saved your hide tonight, so you’re ‘it.’ ”
Jamie grinned outright. “I most certainly am.”
“It”—the luckiest man alive.
“Mama, I’m tired.”
Caitlyn glanced up at Maddie on Logan’s lap. Her russet curls splayed on his pin-striped shirt as she lay against his broad chest in front of a fire waning as much as the people around it.
“Goodness, it’s after midnight,” Alli said with a yawn. She lumbered up from her wrought-iron patio chair and stretched, arms high as if reaching for the harvest moon overhead.
Before Caitlyn could clear the chaise, Blake jumped up to bundle Maddie in his arms. “I’ll take her up, Mother,” he said with a kiss to Maddie’s nose, “if Alli puts her to bed.”
“No problem there.” Alli tugged Cassie up. “Come on, Cuz, you can help.” She bussed her mother’s cheek while Cassie and her younger cousins followed suit. “Good night, Mother.”
“Good night, girls. Liddy, Patricia, if you need anything, just let Alli or me know.”
“You up for a game of pool, Uncle Logan?” Blake said, Maddie now draped over his shoulder. “Rumor has it Mac’s been humbled considerably these days.”
Logan chuckled. “So I hear.”
Jamie ambled up from his chaise, eyes following Cassie to the door before zeroing in on Blake with a mock scowl. “Just part of my game plan, McClare, to catch you unaware.”
Blake grinned. “Oh? Something you learned from my cousin?”
Bram chuckled. “I’d say that’s a given. Good night, all.”
“That settles it.” Jamie prodded Blake and Bram through the door. “You’re both going down.” He shot a smile over his shoulder. “Thanks, Mr. and Mrs. McClare, for a great evening.”
Caitlyn flushed at the innocent implication of Jamie’s words. “Good night, boys.”
“At the risk of appearing to be a killjoy, I fear I must turn in as well.” Father Harry rose and slapped Logan’s back. “I’m not as young as I used to be, and neither are you, my friend.” He yawned. “But then I suppose one of us has far more experience with burning the candle at both ends.” He gave Caitlyn a short bow. “A delight to see you again, Caitlyn. Good night.”
“Good night, Father Hough.” Caitlyn buffed her arms, wishing she could just flee to her bedroom as well rather than asking Logan’s support with the Board. She scooted forward to hold her hands to the fire, shaky at the thought of the two of them being alone.
“G’night, Harry.” Logan added another log to the fire, and sparks shot into the summer sky as he squatted to stoke the flames. The fire’s glow burnished his chiseled face, illuminating the dark shadow of beard that bristled his jaw like a pirate.
Caitlyn hugged her arms to her waist, eyes focused on the flames that leapt and popped rather than on Logan, who rose to drape a blanket over her shoulders. “Thank you,” she whispered, the intimacy of fire furling into a sky studded with stars making her feel shy with this man she’d known more than a quarter of a century. He pulled his chair close—too close—and she gulped. At least he wasn’t sharing her chaise, for which she was most thankful.
“So, Mrs. McClare . . . ,” he said softly, hands clasped on parted knees. “Must be important to spend time with me under the stars past your bedtime.”
She peeked up, the words stuck in her throat as she pinched the blanket close.
His husky chuckle warmed her cheeks more than the fire. “Come on, Cait,” he said, “you’ve never been afraid of me a day in your life, so what is it? What do you want?”
She drew in a deep swallow of air, her stomach awhirl from the import of her request . . . and from his presence. “I . . . need your . . . support,” she said quietly.
“You already have that, Cait, you know that.”
Her throat shifted. “On the Board.” Her voice quivered like her body beneath the blanket.
Silent for several moments, he finally sat back to assess her with hands braced behind his neck, studying her through pensive eyes. “What do you want, Cait?” he whispered.
She forged on, absently picking at the nubby edge of the blanket. “Well, you see, the Vigilance Committee . . .” She paused, avoiding his gaze. “Or I should say I . . . have drafted a proposal for the San Francisco Board of Supervisors regarding the Barbary Coast, but I didn’t want to present it to the Vigilance Committee until I . . .” Chancing a glance, she was encouraged by the smile hovering on his lips, giving her the distinct impression he enjoyed the fact that she needed him. Emboldened, she lifted her chin. “Well, it’s an important initiative, you see, and I don’t want to go in blind, presenting a mere piece of paper, so I was hoping to . . .” She nervously clamped the blanket to her chin. “Gird it with some . . . clout.”
“You want my vote,” he said simply, effectively releasing the breath she’d been holding.
The blanket slid to her shoulders. “Oh, Logan, I realize this is highly improper, with you being an influential member of the board, but . . .” She stared at him openly, honestly, without the least bit of guile. “Cleaning up the Coast means everything to me, outside of my family, and I was just hoping . . . well, praying, really . . . that you might . . .” He was watching her with such affection that she caught her breath, suddenly aware that in his own way, this man loved her and would do anything for her and her family. The thought stunned and energized her all at the same time, and with the barest hint of a smile, she stated her plea. “Present my plan to the Board.” The air left her lungs in a whoosh of relief.
“You’re aware I have vested interests in the Coast?” he said slowly, eyes never straying.
She nodded, arming herself with another deep intake of air. “Yes, but phase one of this initiative primarily targets the brothels and opium dens, Logan, not the gambling halls or bars.”
“Yet.”
She gave a little gulp, not to be deterred by his businesslike tone. “Yes, later phases will focus on the dance and gambling halls, some of which, I’m well aware, you hold controlling interests in.” She bent forward, her words as earnest as the plea in her eyes. “But the restrictions I propose will only improve your bottom line, Logan, I assure you, promoting a safer, more upstanding environment that will actually draw the upper class.”
“Might I remind you it already draws the upper class, Cait?” Logan said in a matter-of-fact tone, his statement taking a turn toward dry. “At least the male component.”
The insensitivity of his statement stunned. She sat straight up, fire singeing her cheeks. “I assure you no reminding is necessary, Logan—you proved that long ago.”
It was Logan’s turn to blush, blood crawling up his neck when he realized his mistake too late. He closed his eyes, scouring his forehead with the ball of his hand. “Sorry, Cait, that was a stupid thing to say.” Heavy lids edged up, revealing both sorrow and regret. “And do.”
She released a wavering breath. “My concern is for the future, not the past, which is why I need to know—will you help me?” Dropping her gaze to the fire, she awaited his answer for what seemed like eons, heart pounding. Please, Lord, let him see the good he can do.
“Yes.”
He smiled. “It’s a sound business decision, Cait, one that bodes well for our city.” He paused, gaze tender. “Of course, it doesn’t hurt you hold my heart in the palm of your hand.”
His words barely registered, such was the excitement whirling in her brain. She rushed on, almost giddy. “And you’ll help me garner votes from other members of the Board?”
The smile slid into a grin. “You’re a beautiful woman—how can I say no?”
“Oh, Logan!” She lunged to give him a tight hug before pulling away with a squeeze of his hand. “I don’t know how to thank you! Honestly, you’re the best friend I could ever have.”
“Friends, yes,” he whispered, eyes dimming. “But we both know we were meant to be more.”
Her mouth opened and closed. Biting the edge of her lip, she tried to ease her hand from his, but he held on tight. “Logan, I—”
“Cait, please—I don’t mean right away. I understand you need more time, but I have to know . . .” His thumb feathered the palm of her hand. “I need to know. Do you think . . . is it possible . . . ,” the chiseled jaw flickered when a knot ducked in his throat, “you could ever love me again? Because I love you, Cait, and the fact is, I always have.”
She jerked her hand free and shot to her feet, taking several steps back. “Logan, I’m sorry, but I’m . . . happy with my life the way that it is . . .”
He rose slowly, his heated gaze welded to hers. “Don’t you ever get lonely, Cait? Miss the touch of human affection?”
“No, of course not,” she said too quickly, hands locked to her body like an emotional straitjacket. “I have my children, my niece, my friends . . .” She attempted a weak smile. “And, of course, I have you . . . a friend who just offered his help for something so dear to my heart.”
Love at Any Cost (The Heart of San Francisco Book #1): A Novel Page 20
