Dare to Love Again (The Heart of San Francisco Book #2): A Novel (37 page)

Her eyes laid him bare with the depth of their sorrow. “And yet another lie,” she said in a quiet voice laced with sadness. “You forget I know you, Logan—the shrewd businessman, the definitive lawyer—you would have
never
paid a cent if you truly believed Jamie wasn’t yours.”

The truth of her statement stabbed at his very core, where a wellspring of guilt and shame lay buried for far too many years. He hung his head, moisture stinging his nose, voice barely a whisper. “I was nothing more than a boy, Cait, a cocky kid too full of his own self-importance and lust to do the right thing and too shallow of faith to even want to.”

She nodded, swiping at her eyes. “I know . . .” Her words trailed off.

“I’ve made amends with Jamie and we are well on our way to the father/son relationship I’ve craved since I fully realized he was my son at the age of twelve. He’s forgiven me, Cait, and please know that both of us had our reasons for secrecy.” He
took a step forward, his agony over losing Cait’s trust embedded deep in the furrowed ridge of his brow. “But I need you to forgive me too,” he said, a plea bleeding into his tone. “Because I’m no longer that man.”

“I know that too.” Her words, as soft spoken as a thought, instilled a flicker of hope that halted the breath in his lungs. Her smile was sad. “And because of God, Logan—I do forgive you.”

“Oh, Cait . . .” The muscles in his throat convulsed as he started forward.

Her raised palm halted him as effectively as the wall she seemed to have erected around her heart. “But I cannot marry you.”

Her statement stunned like a blow, rendering him motionless for several shallow breaths before a horrendous wave of panic hit so hard, he felt like he was falling from the sky.

“Please forgive me,” she whispered. “I know this is a shock . . .”

Shock?
He stared, seeing nothing but the demise of his dreams.
No, Cait, this is the extinction of
every hope, every breath I’ve taken for the last
year . . .

“Please know that I will always be your friend, Logan,” she said quietly, “because I love you deeply, I do. But love like that must be gilded with trust—and an unwavering faith in God—in order to have the kind of marriage I hope to have.” She paused, desolate eyes seeking his while she absently wrung the handkerchief in her hand. “Do you . . . do you understand?”

He shook his head, voice as listless as his gaze as it lagged into a cold stare across a paisley rug he barely saw. “I understand that you are a hard taskmaster, Cait, one whose trust I can never satisfy no matter what I do.” His eyes rose to meet hers, an edge of anger creeping into his voice. “I guess I should be grateful it’s only my heart that’s captive and not my soul, lest I be a man lost forever.”

“Oh, Logan—” She took a step in.

“Is that it then, Cait?” he said, cutting her off. “Your final word?” He rose to his full height with shoulders square, his shock giving way to an expanse of anger needed to walk away with his pride intact. “Marriage will not be an option—ever?”

“I . . . don’t know,” she whispered, brows puckered in pain, “but . . . certainly not in the foreseeable future.”

A muscle jerked in his cheek. “I see.” He adjusted his sleeves out of nervous habit, jaw stiff as he made his way to the door. “Well, you’ll forgive me, Mrs. McClare if, in the ‘foreseeable future,’ I stay away to lick my wounds from a distance.”

“Logan, please—”

He towered over her at the door, anger fairly shimmering off his body. “Please what, Cait? Smile and go on as before as if my heart hasn’t been ripped out? Laugh and talk and dine with you and your family as if my hopes haven’t just been crushed? Give you a lifeless peck on the cheek each time I leave when all I really want to do is make love to you night after night in a bed we share as man and wife?”

A flush swallowed her whole.

“No, thanks, Mrs. McClare,” he said, bypassing her to fist the knob of the door. “You may have the power in dictating friendship over marriage, but I reserve the right to adapt in the only way I know how. Please tell the children I’ll be tied up until the wedding, working on a difficult case, but I’ll pick them up for dinner each Wednesday wherever they want to go.” He opened the door, not even sparing her a glance. “Good night, Cait.”

———

Cait’s heart shot to her throat, cutting off all air when she realized just how much she’d wounded this man that she loved. Panic clawed in her chest at the painful thought of losing his friendship, his love … “Logan—wait!” She clutched his arm before
he could leave, her words fractured by broken heaves. “Don’t do this, please! My children need you here and I . . . I n-need you too . . . in m-my life . . . as m-my friend.”

A nerve flickered in his cheek as he bowed his head, eyelids closed and jaw tight. “And I need time to regroup, Cait . . . and get over my anger.”

Her sob forced him to look up while grief trailed her cheeks with tears. Listing against the door, her body quaked from the anguish searing her soul, her every syllable trembling at the prospect of losing this soul mate and friend. “God help me, Logan,” she whispered, “but I’d b-be so very lost w-without you . . .”

His eyelids shuttered closed and in two ragged beats of her pulse, she heard his weary expulsion of air. “Blast you, Cait
,”
he muttered, and when he turned to face her, she shot into his arms, clinging as if her very life depended upon the safety of his hold. Her body shuddered against his and as natural as breathing, his arms swallowed her in a crushing embrace, head tucked to hers as he eased the door closed. “Shhh . . . it’s okay, Cait—I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered, stroking her hair. His gentle touch and familiar scent calmed her body, eased her pain like the laudanum Rosie kept on the top shelf of the pantry.

With a gentle kiss to her hair, he led her over to the sofa and sat down, bundling her close while she wept against his chest. Her heaves finally faded into frail whimpers as he gently kneaded the nape of her neck.

Oh, Logan, I do love you and
maybe someday . . .
With a watery sniff, she pulled away to dab at her nose, her handkerchief as limp and soggy as she. The faintest of shivers traveled her body as she peeked up to meet his eyes, ashamed over her outburst of emotion . . . and ashamed just how much she needed him so. “Please forgive me for hurting you, Logan, because heaven knows that’s
the last thing I want to do to someone I love. And I do love you, you know, far more than I should.” Her gaze was tender as she lifted a shaky hand to caress his jaw, her words quivering as much as the water that now welled in her eyes. “And I
need
you,” she whispered, her voice frail and low, “far,
far
more than I should. I need your presence in this family and in this house. I need your affection, your wisdom, your strength . . .” Her voice faded to near nothingness as she studied his handsome face. “And above all, I need your friendship,” she finished quietly, heart aching at the wounded love she saw in his eyes. She reached for his hand to entwine it with hers, a plea in her tone and an urgency in the press of her fingers. “Will you forgive me for hurting you, Logan? For dashing your hopes? And will you … somehow—” she swallowed hard, the fear of losing him thickening her throat, quivering her stomach—“find it in your heart to still be my friend?”

———

Friend.
The very thought slammed so hard, he was tempted to break down and cry right along with her.
Not courting, not
engaged, not married.
He exhaled slowly, most of his anger finally siphoning out on a surrendering sigh.
Friends and only
friends.
The unwavering rock of friendship in every storm of her life. Like now—when fear had her in its grip, too paralyzed to proceed into a marriage that was always meant to be. And all because of her fear of betrayal. His heart constricted for surely the hundredth time over the damage he’d done to this woman he loved.
God, forgive me . . .

And that’s when it hit him. Caitlyn McClare was a strong and beautiful woman, undaunted and unafraid in most areas of her life—with her children, with the Vigilance Committee, with her faith. But when it came to him, she appeared to be that same tremulous and wide-eyed little girl he’d fallen in love with, starry-
eyed at times, terrorized at others. And although he’d managed to put some of the stars back in her eyes over the last year, there loomed a fear so large—fear of his betrayal once again—that he realized she couldn’t see past it to the future he was certain they were meant to have.

“All right, Cait,” he whispered, his anger suddenly nowhere in sight. “Friends it is.”

She pulled away, face swollen and mottled with tears, and yet still the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. “You’ll stay, then?” Hope flickered in her red-rimmed eyes like it was beginning to flicker in his soul. “You won’t make me suffer by staying away?”

He took the crumpled handkerchief from her hand and tenderly wiped the remains of her tears. “No, Mrs. McClare, but be warned—I
will
make you suffer in a game of cribbage, where I vow to methodically grind you into dust.”

She lunged into his arms again, clutching so hard, a silent groan lodged in his throat. “Oh, Logan, thank you so much! You’re the dearest friend I have, and I never meant to hurt you.” She stroked his jaw. “I love you,” she said with a gentle smile, “and I’ll make it up to you.”

Oh, you bet.
His lips took a slant.
But not on my timetable, apparently.
He rose and tugged on his coat, offering his hand to help her up. “Good. And you can start right now by letting me teach you how to play poker.”

She balked, heels digging into the carpet as he attempted to usher her out. “Oh, no you don’t—I abhor gambling and you know it.”

A grin surfaced on his lips as he all but dragged her along. “I do, but seems to me this friendship has just shifted to my terms, wouldn’t you say?” He latched a firm hand over her arm as he led her to the door. “Which means you’re gambling already, Mrs. Mc
Clare, but just to put your mind at ease—we’ll play with Cracker Jacks instead of with money.”

She halted midway, eyes flaring with interest. “Cracker Jacks, you say?”

He patted the left side of his vest. “Yes, ma’am—the very box intended for the woman I had hoped to marry, but since she’s nowhere around,
you
will have to earn it.”

Her eyes narrowed, the barest touch of tease in her tone. “You’re taking advantage of this friendship, Logan McClare.”

“You bet I am—get used to it.” He turned the knob, his grin stretching as wide as the door as he prodded her through, deciding that maybe his hopes to marry Cait had not been obliterated after all, only stalled by a brick wall as stubborn as the woman herself. A wall that friendship and time and careful planning could certainly bring crashing down if he played his cards just right. He issued a silent grunt. And she could bet her bottom dollar the gamble wouldn’t be for popcorn and peanuts this time. He steered her into the parlour, his resolve as firm as his grip.
Nope—it
will be for your heart and your hand, Mrs. McClare
, he thought with a tight smile.
And winner takes
all.

29

A
lli, can I open just one present—please, please?” Maddie glanced up as she lay on her tummy beneath the ceiling-high Christmas tree in the parlour. Stubby legs wagged in the air while the twinkle of tinsel and colored tree lights sparkled as much as her eyes.

Alli gave her a sideways squint as she arranged the nativity scene amidst a mountain of presents, reaching to tweak her sister’s neck. “Madeline Marie McClare,” she said with mock horror, “Christmas is still a week away, you little minx. Of course not.”

“But I’ll die if I have to wait that long,” Maddie groaned.

“You better not, you little stinker. Can’t open my presents and yours too.” Alli pounced and tickled unmercifully, unleashing a peal of little-girl giggles. “You’ll just have to be patient.”

“And this from the woman shaking every package under the tree this afternoon,” Cassie called from the game table where she and Jamie were playing pinochle with Bram and Blake.

“Not to mention the brat who snuck downstairs at midnight at the age of five to open all the presents,
including
mine.” Blake threw down a trick and shot Alli a wink.

“So I’m curious—file a lawsuit, why don’t you?”

Bram chuckled. “Sorry, Al—Blake can’t handle the workload he’s got now.”

Jamie tossed a trick down with an evil grin. “What are you talking about, Hughes—Blake can’t handle work, period.”

“You two are a regular vaudeville act, you know that?” Blake leaned back in his chair, studying his cards with a crooked grin.

“Up with you, Miss Maddie—your bath awaits.” Rosie stood at the door, hand extended.

“But I’ll miss Meggie coming home,” she groaned, lumbering up with a tortured face.

Rosie’s mouth edged up, her gaze narrowing on Blake. “At least you won’t smell like sour milk sprayed from your nose when your sister arrives.”

Blake grinned, offering a shrug of his shoulders as he gave Rosie a wink. “Come on, Rosie, can I help it if I’m so charming I make all the girls laugh?”

“Especially behind your back,” Jamie said with a chuckle, tossing a trick down.

“Humph—oughta make
you
give her a bath,” the housekeeper said with a mock scowl, snapping her fingers at Maddie who trudged forward with a heavy sigh.

“Gee, Rosie, I’m not sure he knows how.” Cassie wrinkled her nose, giving Blake a sniff.

“Great—I’m playing pinochle with a bunch of clowns.” Blake shook his head when Rosie actually cracked a smile on her way out the door.

“Yeah, but at least we smell good,” Jamie said with a proud lift of his chin.

Laughing, Bram glanced at his watch. “So, when is our girl supposed to be home?”

“Any minute now,” Alli muttered, strolling over to the front
window to peer out into the dark. Meg’s return was one of the few things that actually cheered her up since Nick Barone had disappeared from her life almost three months ago. Of course being surrounded by family at Christmas helped a lot, as did Jamie and Cassie’s wedding two days away. And certainly her mother’s advice to forgive and pray for the man who’d broken her heart had eased the malaise hovering over her life like a damp fog over the bay. Her gaze wandered into a glossy stare that blurred the street lamp into a surreal glow, reminding her that although she’d forgiven Nick Barone with the help of God, forgetting him was something else altogether.

Oncoming headlamps jolted her attention, and she blinked hard to stem her tears. “They’re home!” she shouted, pulse jumping when Uncle Logan’s Mercedes eased up to the curb. With a swipe of her eyes, she rushed into the foyer to fling the door wide, bounding down the steps to where Uncle Logan was helping Meg from his car. “Meggie—you’re home!”

Glancing up, Meg shot into Alli’s arms. “Oh, Alli, I missed you so much!” She pulled away with a worried look in gentle green eyes. “Are you doing okay?” she whispered.

“Better now that you’re home.” Alli hooked an arm through her sister’s and flashed a smile over her shoulder. “I vote we have Cassie hog-tie her so she can’t leave us ever again.”

“Sounds good to me,” Uncle Logan said with a heft of suitcases. “I don’t cotton to my nieces being far away. Besides, Frisco is known as the Paris of the west, Megs, so we’ve got everything they do and more.”

“Including a delinquent uncle who persists in teaching bad habits,” her mother said easily, looping an arm through Meg’s on the other side. Her lips squirmed with tease. “Like poker, for instance.”

“News flash, Mrs. McClare . . .” Uncle Logan followed them up the steps, his tone dry. “Poker is a universal game enjoyed all over the world, even in Paris monasteries, no doubt.”

Alli giggled and gave Meg an extra squeeze as she and their mother ushered her through the front door. “So, tell me, Megs, was it really as wonderful as your letters say?”

“Oh, Alli—more!” Meg’s eyes sparkled as much as the cut-crystal tear drops in the chandelier overhead, her cheeks dewy with a blush that enhanced her soft, peaches-and-cream complexion. “The Rousseaus are so warm and wonderful—just like I’m one of their own, and Lily and I have gotten closer than ever. And, oh my—the sights I’ve seen!”

Alli bumped Meg’s hip with her own, a devious smile tipping her lips. “Mmm . . . any of them tall, dark, and handsome, I hope?”

“Alli!” A pretty shade of pink promptly dusted Meg’s full face as she slipped off her wrap, her shy grin displaying glints of gold from wire braces that matched her gold wire-rimmed glasses. She giggled while Uncle Logan hung her cape on the rack by the door, cheeks flaming to rose. “Well . . . maybe one or two,” she whispered shyly, “but I think they may like Lily.”

“Don’t be too sure,” Uncle Logan said in a brusque voice, swallowing her up in a hug. “That settles it, Cait.” He cinched an arm to Meg’s waist, gripping her to his side. “She’s not going anywhere I can’t keep an eye on her.”

“I second that.” Bram strode into the foyer ahead of Cassie, Jamie, and Blake, literally snatching Meg from Logan to hoist her up in the air in a joyous spin. He put her back down and stepped back. “Sorry, Bug, we’ve taken a vote—you’re barred from leaving the city ever again.”

“Oh, Bram!” Meg launched right back into his arms with tears in her eyes. “You have no idea how much I missed you!”

“Doesn’t sound like it,” he teased, voice gruff as he pressed a kiss to her hair.

“Hey, what am I—chopped liver?” Uncle Logan tickled Meg’s neck, prompting a giggle.

“Perhaps,” her mother quipped with a smirk, offering Uncle Logan a patronizing pat on the back. “After all, chopped liver
is
an acquired taste.”

He slid her a thin gaze. “And considered a delicacy, I might point out, Mrs. McClare.”

Everyone laughed when Caitlyn gave him an uncharacteristic pinch on his cheek. “Point out all you like, Mr. McClare, just don’t make any of us eat it.”

“Hey, don’t hog the French girl,” Jamie groused, nudging Bram out of the way to give Meg a hug. “Welcome home, kiddo—now maybe Bram won’t be such a grouch.”

“Ha! You ain’t seen nothing till she leaves again after Christmas.” Blake stole her from Jamie to press a kiss to her cheek, arm draped over her shoulder. “Thank God you’re home—we need a little sunshine around here. I don’t know who’s been the bigger stick-in-the-mud—Bram or Alli—but we definitely missed your smile, kiddo.”

“I’ll say.” Cassie gave Meg a tight squeeze. “Jamie and I can certainly attest to that.”

“Oh, please, as if you even noticed anyone else is alive.” Alli smirked, Meg’s return lifting her spirits so much, she actually felt like teasing again. “These two have had their heads so far up in the clouds with the wedding so close, they don’t know anyone else is in the room.”

“Maybe that’s because certain ones in the room have been a wee bit dull lately,” Cassie said with a loop of Meg’s waist, “but that’s about to change with Meg home for the holidays.”

“Hear, hear,” Bram said with a grin.

“Speaking of the wedding.” Her mother scooped Meg’s waist, a slight pinch in her brow. “Have you lost some weight, darling? I’m worried your dress for the wedding may need to be altered.”

A pretty shade of pink flushed Meg’s cheeks as she nibbled on her lip. “Maybe a little, Mother, but only because the Rosseaus keep me quite busy, trekking all over the city. Certainly not enough to alter my dress, I’m sure.” Her gaze roamed the foyer, settling on each and every one with a glow of love in her eyes. “Thank you, everyone, for such a wonderful welcome.” She inclined her head to peek into the parlour. “But where’s Maddie?”

“Upstairs wrestling with Rosie over a bath.” Alli chuckled. “And Blake’s next.”

“Thank God,” Uncle Logan said, strolling toward the parlour with a wry grin.

“All right, everyone, let’s move the celebration into the parlour, shall we?” Mother’s voice rose over the laughter, “ Alli, darling, do you mind helping Hadley bring in the coffee and tea while I assist Rosie with Maddie? And, Meggie, we have a special dessert Rosie made just for you, sweetheart, and then you can tell us all about Paris.” She kissed Meg’s cheek before she made a beeline for the stairs. “We won’t be long, so don’t start without us, all right?” Her gaze flicked to Uncle Logan, humor sparkling in her eyes. “And I’d appreciate you keeping them busy in a respectable manner, Logan, until Maddie and I come down, if you will.”

Uncle Logan rubbed his palms together with a decadent laugh. “You bet, Cait. Ante up!”

“Awk, ante up, ante up!”

“Don’t you dare, Logan Beware!” Her mother whirled on the bottom step with a firm jut of her brow, but her lips twitched,
indicating the threat of smile. “I do not want my children to gamble, is that clear? It’s a vice we could all do without.”

“Whatever you say, Cait.” Uncle Logan shot her a wayward smile that belied his consent, striding into the parlour like a man who intended to do exactly what he wanted to do.

“May I escort you in, mademoiselle?” Bram extended his arm to Meg.

“
Oui
, monsieur,” she said with a giggle.

Alli smiled, the lilting sound of her sister’s chuckle buoying her mood. She watched her family file back into the parlour and released a wispy sigh. It had been so long since she’d felt any joy that Meg’s homecoming—no matter how brief—was truly a blessing. A family like hers was a buffer against the heartaches of life, she suddenly realized, and moisture swelled in her eyes.

“Thank you, Lord, for the blessing of family,” she whispered, her thoughts suddenly straying to a crotchety Italian she had hoped would be one of their own. Nick’s absence left a gap so wide there were times she didn’t know how she could hold on. Laughter filtered out from the parlour, prompting happier tears.
But I know now.
She turned toward the kitchen, gratitude thick on her lips despite the gaping hole in her heart. Her mother was right—gambling was a vice, especially for someone like her, so unlucky in love. But when it came to the love of family? She pushed through the kitchen door, promptly giving Hadley the soggiest of smiles.

She was the luckiest woman alive.

Signing the final letter with his usual scrawl, Logan handed it back to his young receptionist, his lips crooking into an affectionate smile. Without question, Patience Peabody was appropriately
named. The shy granddaughter of one of the senior members of the Board of Supervisors had barely uttered a peep when he’d hired her as a favor two years ago. Today, she handled three senior partners, six associates, and two executive secretaries with nary a complaint. “Thank you, Miss Peabody, for typing these letters in Margaret’s absence—excellent job.”