Love at Any Cost (The Heart of San Francisco Book #1): A Novel

by Julie Lessman

  “Come in.” The voice was all business—brusque, no-nonsense with almost an edge.

  Jamie opened the door and popped his head in, grateful Logan offered a semblance of a smile despite the piles of legal briefs on his desk. “Excuse me, sir—do you have a minute?”

  Logan tossed his fountain pen on the desk and leaned back, peering at Jamie over wire-rim reading glasses that made him look more like a meek scholar than one of the city’s most intimidating legal and political figures. “Sure, Mac, what can I do for you?”

  Venting a slow exhale, Jamie closed the door and took a seat in one of two leather arm chairs, easing back as Logan had done to convey an air of confidence he didn’t quite feel.

  “The appellate brief on the Dunn case was stellar work,” Logan said, approval warm in his eyes. “You’re a quick study, counselor.”

  Heat ringed Jamie’s collar, both from the outright compliment and the warm glow it provided, coming from a man whose respect he desperately wanted. He nodded. “Thanks, Mr. McClare—it means all the more coming from a legal mind of your caliber, sir.”

  “How long have I known you, Mac?”

  Jamie paused, the question taking him by surprise. “Eight years, sir, since that first day I waited on you at the Oly Club.”

  Logan nodded slowly, his eyes reflective. “That’s right. I remember being impressed with any kid from the streets who would work three jobs to put himself through college. You were a rare kid then, Mac, and you’re a rare man now, still impressing me with your drive and hard work.” A half-smile flitted on his lips. “That said, don’t you think it’s time you call me Logan?”

  Jamie blinked, his words stumbling. “Y-yes sir . . . if that’s your preference.”

  “It is, at least after business hours, which . . . ,” he squinted at an exquisite antique grandfather clock that graced his far wall, “it’s well beyond. You’re Blake’s and Bram’s good friend and mine too. And unless my eyes have deceived me,” he said, smile shrewd, “I believe you’re chummy with my Texas niece as well, at least until the last few weeks when we haven’t seen hide nor hair of you at family dinners.”

  The heat from his collar fired all the way up his neck. “Yes, sir, Cassie and I are very good friends.” He swallowed hard. “But regrettably, the Dunn case has kept me quite busy.”

  “Well, don’t be a stranger, Mr. MacKenna,” Logan said with a formality that indicated he’d made his point and was ready to move on. “You had something on your mind?”

  “Yes, sir,” Jamie said, spine stiff. “I think you may be aware my sister sustained a hip injury at the age of two that has hindered her life.”

  He nodded, concern shading eyes that studied him keenly.

  “I’ve been saving for a surgery down the road, of course, but after a recent . . . ,” Jamie faltered, a sudden flash of fury in his throat, “ fall . . . her pain has escalated considerably, so it’s more critical than ever before that I . . . escalate the process of obtaining a surgery. I’m not sure if you’re aware or not, sir, but I’ve spent countless hours over the last six months petitioning Cooper Medical School on her behalf.”

  “To what end, Mr. MacKenna?”

  Jamie fortified himself with a deep inhale. “To procure a medical procedure on a pro bono basis, which as you know, the college will periodically provide.” So intent on stating his case, he shifted to the edge of his seat, forging on before Logan could utter a word. “You see, I’ve done a fair amount of research on a fairly new procedure called a hip cheilotomy introduced by a Dr. John Benjamin Murphy of Mercy Hospital in Chicago. Surprisingly, it’s a relatively simple surgery to alleviate pain in damaged hip joints such as my sister’s. Consequently, I’ve left no stone unturned in attempting to secure such a surgery for Jess.”

  Logan nodded. “Yes, I’ve heard of it. I understand they’ve met with good success.”

  “They have, sir, based on my research, which is why I’ve been relentless in pursuing this course of action for my sister.” The walls of his throat thickened. “My sister’s lived with pain all of her life, and although she’s been some better recently, she had an accident over the Fourth that jarred her hip and left her bedridden much of the time.” He swallowed hard, working to keep his tone calm and his emotions in check. “Of course Jess is the type of person who bears it all without a single complaint, but to be honest, sir, I don’t know how much longer I can.”

  A muscle flickered in Logan’s jaw and he nodded. “I understand. And you’ve exhausted all avenues, I suppose—letters of recommendation, medical contacts, political contacts?”

  “Yes, sir, all dead ends except for one I’m still pursuing,” Jamie said quickly, hoping Logan’s curiosity would not venture into Jamie’s plan to court Patricia.

  “I see.” Logan retrieved his pen to absently twirl it, jaw taut as he considered Jamie’s problem. He finally heaved a weighty sigh and placed the pen down, fingers resting on the arms of his chair. “I do have an old fraternity brother on the funding committee for Cooper, but—” he glanced up with regret in his eyes—“unfortunately we butted heads in college over a girl and haven’t spoken since. Also the surgery wait list is long and the opportunities, few, so I don’t want to get your hopes up, but . . .”

  With a tight nod, Jamie waited, the air fused to his lungs.

  Pausing for several seconds, Logan glanced up over his specs, the barest of smiles curving on lips clamped tight. “I’ll see what he can do, Jamie, but I can’t guarantee anything.”

  Euphoria exploded in his veins, and he jumped to his feet with a grin, hand extended. “I understand, sir, and I can’t thank you enough for your willingness to try.”

  Gray eyes capable of being as cold and tough as pewter when battling in a courtroom now glinted with a hint of affection that warmed Jamie’s soul. “My pleasure, Jamie. As inseparable as you, Bram, and Blake are, I think of you as family.”

  More heat braised his cheeks, and he nodded. Oh, that I were . . . “Thank you, sir. Good night.” He turned to go.

  “Jamie.” Logan’s words halted him at the door.

  “Yes, sir?”

  Empathy radiated from the older man’s eyes that Jamie hadn’t expected from someone so skilled at guarding his emotions. “I’m sorry about your sister, son,” he said quietly, “and for what it’s worth, if she’s a tenth the fighter her brother is, she’s gonna lick this thing.”

  Tears threatened and Jamie nodded before quickly looking away, unable to speak for the swelling of his throat. He closed the door and leaned against it, lids closed to thwart all moisture. Swiping his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt, he returned to his office and at least thirty minutes of work before he was expected at Patricia’s house for dinner, something he wasn’t looking forward to. He’d much rather be home with his mother and Jess, playing dominoes or whist after one of Mrs. Tucker’s meals, as was his custom of late. Or sparring with Cassie at the McClares’ . . . A heavy malaise settled on his shoulders—also his custom of late.

  He dropped in his chair to stare at the deposition before him, head in his hands. But all he saw was Cassie—so sweet and sassy, his throat ached. Steeling his jaw, he forced himself to think of Patricia instead—beautiful, smart, and the daughter of an influential man with ties to Cooper Medical. His eyes shuttered closed. Something he needed if Logan didn’t come through.

  “Soooo . . . you’ve certainly been making yourself scarce lately.” Bram stood, hands in his pockets and hip cocked to the door, studying Jamie through pensive eyes that spelled trouble.

  Jamie stifled a groan, gaze flicking to the clock on his desk that registered almost six-forty-five. Which meant Bram should be long gone by now, on his way to wining and dining at the McClares’. Nausea roiled in Jamie’s stomach—the same sick feeling he’d had for the last two weeks. “Too much to do,” he muttered, doing his best to focus on his deposition.

  “Yeah, I know,” Bram said, strolling in with a casual air. He ignored Jamie’s obvious attempt at b
eing too busy and plopped in a chair, brown oxfords crossed on top of Jamie’s desk. “Avoiding Cassie’s a full-time job.”

  Fingers kneading the bridge of his nose, Jamie huffed out a sigh. “Come on, Bram, I feel like garbage as it is—don’t you have someplace else to be?”

  Bram propped hands behind his neck, his eyes far more serious than his relaxed manner warranted. “Yeah, I do, Mac—the McClares’. Remember them?”

  Jamie slapped the papers down on his desk. “Look, Hughes, I already told you—Cassie threw me out. She doesn’t want to see me again, all right?”

  “I got that, MacKenna,” Bram said with a squint, “it’s the ‘why’ that has me in a fog.”

  A tic twitched in Jamie’s jaw. “It’s personal,” he bit out. “Just let it go.”

  Bram arched a brow. “You’re right, it is personal, especially when it affects people I care about, and no, I won’t let it go.” He sat up and leaned in, feet back on the ground. “The McClares are family to both of us, and what’s going on here is taking its toll—on them, on Cassie, and on you.” With a quiet exhale, he sloped back in his chair. “Not to mention me.” He probed Jamie with a questioning gaze, concern etched into every wrinkle of his brow. “You’re more of a brother than a friend, Mac, and I hate to see you like this.”

  “I know,” Jamie whispered, near depleted as he sagged back in his chair. He massaged his temple with the pads of his fingers. “Me too.”

  “So, what’s going on? How do you go from being crazy in love with a woman one minute and then she’s out of your life the next?”

  Jamie winced, Bram’s question a barb with deadly aim. His chest rose and fell with a heavy sigh, eyes trailing into a glazed stare. “Not without a lot of pain, I’ll tell you that.”

  “So, why are you doing this? You were walking on air the morning after the Fourth in Napa—what happened to change your mind between then and now?”

  “We’re just not a good match, Bram,” Jamie whispered, closing his eyes to rest his head on the back of his chair. “Friends, yes, but not anything more. I’m not the right guy for her.”

  “That’s horse manure, Jamie, and you know it. I’ve never seen you happier than the last few months, falling in love with Cass.” He hesitated, his voice quiet. “Falling in love with God.”

  Jamie’s eyelids snapped up like a tightly wound shade. “Yeah? Well, there’s no love lost between God and me now, Padre, so just lay off, will you?”

  Hurt flickered on Bram’s face, and Jamie felt like a heel. So, what’s new? Venting with a loud exhale, he gouged his forehead with the ball of his hand. “Look, Bram, I’m sorry, but I’m worried about my sister right now, and frankly, I’d rather not discuss Cassie, if you don’t mind.”

  Bram studied him for painful seconds before rising. “I do, but I’m not here to sling guilt.”

  The edge of Jamie’s lip curled. “But you’re so good at it, Hughes, almost no effort at all.”

  A sad smile lined Bram’s lips. “Not good enough, apparently.” He slipped his hands in his pockets. “The real reason I’m here is to extend an invitation from Mrs. McClare herself.”

  Blood warmed his face, Bram’s “guilt” evidently not through with him just yet. “Sorry, Bram, can’t tonight.”

  “Why? Plans with the senator’s daughter?”

  More heat infused Jamie’s cheeks. “Maybe.” He rifled through his bottom drawer for milk of magnesia, the acid in his stomach churning into high gear.

  Bram exhaled, the sound depleted of all energy. “I suspected as much. So, tell me, Jamie—why would you throw over a down-to-earth woman like Cassie for a socialite like Patricia?”

  “We’re better suited, okay?” Jamie snapped. He upended the bottle, then capped it and tossed it back into the drawer.

  “No, it’s not okay.” Bram knuckled the front of the desk, his expression tight. “Something happened between Fourth of July weekend and now, and I want to know what it is.”

  Jamie stared, pulse throbbing in his ears. He wanted to tell him it was none of his blasted business, but the dangerous look in Bram’s eyes told him he couldn’t damage their friendship that way. Bram had taught him long ago that one of the liabilities of having people who cared about you was telling them the truth because they mattered more than your pride. Muttering a rare curse, he blew out a wave of frustration and put a hand to his eyes. “I swear, Hughes, you’re worse than a nagging wife.” He huffed out another sigh and averted his gaze, unwilling to look his best friend in the eyes. “I can’t court Cassie because she’s . . . ,” he gulped, realizing just how shallow it would sound, “dirt poor,” he whispered, the very words making him feel like scum.

  His statement was met by silence, and Jamie reluctantly lifted his gaze, his gut threatening to pull rank at the look of shock in Bram’s eyes.

  “What are you talking about?” Bram breathed.

  Harsh air expelled from Jamie’s mouth. “Cassie’s father lost his fortune when his wells ran dry. She’s not an heiress,” he whispered. “She might even be as poor as me.”

  “Tell me you’re joking.”

  Annoyance pinched his brow. “No, I’m not—I found out the day I left Napa.”

  “No,” Bram said with deliberate emphasis, “tell me you’re joking about turning your back on Cassie—because she’s not rich?”

  Fire engulfed him. “That’s right, Hughes, something you would know nothing about because you were born with a silver spoon in your mouth, so don’t judge me.”

  Bram rose to his full height, the tic in his hard-chiseled jaw a completely uncommon occurrence. “Judge you? I don’t even want to know you, MacKenna.”

  Jamie slammed his fist on the desk, eyes burning in their sockets. “I have never lied to you, Bram. I told you from the beginning I planned to marry well, and now you act like it’s some big shock to your system. Before you judge me, why don’t you live in the streets awhile, share space with rats and vermin in the Barbary Coast, watch your sister rot before your eyes from some godforsaken injury, and then you come back and tell me I’m wrong.”

  Facial muscles sculpted tight, Bram seemed to wrestle with a scathing response, cheek pulsing. And then with a deep exhale of air, a calm settled that bespoke the godly man Jamie knew him to be. “No, Jamie, I won’t tell you you’re wrong,” he whispered, “just misguided.” He looked up, face composed, but eyes dark with concern. “You’re a smart man, Mac, but when it comes to the spiritual side of life, you are a lost soul and not all that bright. Because if you knew just how much God loves you, you would know you could have your dreams and Cassie too.”

  Fury flushed through his body. “Yeah? And where’s my sister in all of this, Hughes? Somebody’s gotta save her because God sure hasn’t. Only money and influence will, and Cassie being poor is just another example of God shortchanging me like he’s done all of my life.”

  “You know what I think?” Bram said quietly. “I think it has less to do with your sister, and more with your pride. A Barbary Coast street rat, determined to prove to the world he belongs on Nob Hill instead of the gutter, a man putting himself before the people he loves.”

  “That’s a lie,” Jamie hissed.

  Bram hiked a brow. “Is it? Think about it.” He reached inside his suit coat and tossed an envelope on the desk. “Cassie asked me to give this to you. I think it’s her way of trying to restore your friendship, although to be honest, Mac, at the moment, I’m not sure why she would even want to.” He strolled for the door. “I’ll tell them you can’t make it tonight.”

  Jamie fingered the envelope, his name written in Cassie’s graceful script. “Wait . . .”

  Bram halted, back stiff at the door. “What?”

  “Tell them I’ll be there next week,” he said, body bent from the nausea roiling in his gut.

  Nodding, Bram walked out, leaving Jamie to stew in his guilt. He reached in his drawer for more milk of magnesia and threw back several hard swallows.

  “A man putting hi
mself before the people he loves.”

  Issuing a silent groan, he dropped his head in his hands. Bram’s words gnawed inside his chest like the acid that ate at his stomach, and he wished more than anything he had a remedy to alleviate his pain. Because at the end of the day, he could coat his nerves with milk of magnesia. But there wasn’t a whole lot he could do about shame.

  22

  Boom. Boom. Boom. The strike of the gavel reverberated in the meeting room of City Hall to finalize the prior motion, the very sound thudding in Caitlyn’s heart at the same time.

  Eleven male board members presided over tables draped with the city seal, expressions ranging from intense to comatose as they studied the agendas before them. Stomach quivering at the prospect of speaking, Caitlyn’s gaze flicked to where Logan sat on the board. Eyes cool, he gave her a short nod, his stone face weakening her knees at the prospect of butting heads with him now while the goals of the Vigilance Committee hung in the balance. For the briefest of moments, she almost wished she’d succumbed to his advances in Napa for the sake of this sacred cause.

  And yet, not. Logan was a man used to getting his own way, but some things were simply not up for barter. Certainly not her heart, especially with a man she couldn’t trust. She noted the steel glint in his eyes, recalled his cool manner the last few weeks and knew that when it came to Logan McClare, there was only one thing she could trust—he would fight her tooth and nail over the Barbary Coast. Just like she’d fought him tooth and nail in Napa.