Love at Any Cost (33 page)

The doorbell rang, and she startled, glancing at the beveled
glass door where the image of a man shone through along with the sunlight. She heard Rosie's shouts for Hadley to answer the door and patted his arm. “I'll get it, Hadley,” she said with a grin, “and I'll leave Rosie to you.”

“Very good, miss,” he said with a click of his heels, but she noted humor in his eyes.

Peering through the thick glass, she sighed, grateful for something to do other than lament a niece who was more like a daughter. She opened the door to the disgruntled look of her dear friend, Walter Henry, and instantly unease churned over the resignation she'd tendered. “Walter,” she said with more enthusiasm than she felt, “what a pleasant surprise.”

His lips flattened into a wry smile. “Come on, Cait, we both know my visit is neither a surprise nor pleasant, judging from the pallor of your face.” He removed his hat and nodded toward the foyer, sparse head gleaming with silver. “You plan to invite me in or do you want to duke it out here in the street?”

The blood that drained from her face upon Walter's arrival now whooshed back, heating her temper along with her cheeks. She opened the door wide, motioning for him to enter, but her knuckle-white grip on the crystal knob was a key indicator he wouldn't get far.

He marched past and turned mid-foyer, the pinch of his hat in gnarled fingers as taut as the clench of his jaw. “Resignation denied,” he snapped, one bushy white brow jagging low. “Never figured you for a quitter, Cait.”

Her anger seeped out on a weary sigh as she carefully shut the door. “I'm a liability, Walter,” she said quietly, “and the Vigilance Committee will achieve far more if I'm out of the way.” She reached to take his hat. “Would you like some lemonade to cool off?”

He snatched his bowler away. “The only thing that will cool me off, Mrs. McClare, is your retraction. And you're wrong—we'll achieve far more with you presiding over this board.”

Her lips curved into a gentle smile, her affection for this friend as deep as if he were the doting father he always appeared to be. “Dear Walter,” she said with a look of tenderness that eased the furl in his brow, “if I had misgivings about accepting the position before, I certainly have them now when my very presence has jeopardized the committee's most critical vote, and this after tireless months of work to even bring it before the Board. I just think it's best if—”

“It passed.” The glint of anger became a twinkle as a smile crooked his weathered lips.

She blinked, her mouth still open from the statement he had so effectively halted. Shallow breaths wisped forth. “Pardon me?” He knew as well as she that the resolution had been defeated six to five after the meeting, including Logan's negative vote. “I don't understand,” she whispered, barely able to speak. “The vote was taken—we lost.”

The twinkle in his eye turned mischievous. “The preliminary vote, yes, Mrs. McClare, but the final vote debated behind closed doors?” He winked. “We won six to five.”

“S-someone c-changed his v-vote?” Her mind scrambled to envision the faces of each and every board member. She recalled Logan's granite scowl while she'd taken the floor, and knew this would only deepen the divide of any civility they shared. “Who would do that?” she whispered, too stunned to be fully impacted by the victory they'd won.

Walter raised up on rolled heels as a satisfied smirk curled the edge of his lips. “Why don't you ask your brother-in-law?”

She blinked. “Excuse me?”

He grinned. “The deciding vote was his, Cait, although no one is supposed to know that.”

With an audible gasp, she listed against the glass door, utterly speechless.

Walter's low chuckle prompted a blush to her cheeks. “You and I both know, Caitlyn, there's only one reason why a man with a vested interest in keeping the Coast as is would change his mind.” He winked. “And she's standing before me right now.” He grasped her hand to graze a soft kiss to her fingers. The warmth of his laughter tickled her skin. “So you see, Mrs. McClare, if you are a liability, it's to the opposition, my dear, not us.”

“I . . . I c-can't believe that.” Her voice was a rasp caught in her throat, the shock of Logan's actions effectively stealing her wind. And then in a rush of giddy air, laughter rolled from her lips in a little-girl giggle that brought a wide grin to her friend's face.

“Believe it, Cait—as you know, the closed-door vote is supposed to be secret, but I have it on good authority as to the board member who changed his mind.” He lifted her gaping jaw with a gentle finger. “But you didn't hear it from me, understand?” The tenderness in his eyes was matched by his look of paternal pride. “There's only one person alive who could have changed Logan McClare's mind on that vote, male or female, and we need that person's influence on this board.” He gave her chin an affectionate tap. “We need you, Cait.”

“But—”

Head cocked, he held up a hand, the stiff bent of his mouth evidence he wouldn't take no for an answer. “No ‘buts,' young lady. I expected at least a year's commitment from you, not a mere month, and besides, your position on this board can only assist in your plans to open a school for the poor in the Barbary Coast, can it not?”

The breath caught in her throat. The Hand of Hope School—her dream to bring hope to an area so badly in need—could certainly be served by her influence on this board. The moment Walter uttered the words, Caitlyn knew he was right. She drew in a calming breath and squeezed his hand. “You're a wily one, Walter Henry,” she said with a tilt of a smile. “I may have the board chair, but it's a certain gentleman who garners the influence.”

“Ah, yes, my dear, but when it comes to Logan McClare?” He leaned close with a sparkle in his eyes. “I'm not the one who has his ear, now, am I?”

Caitlyn shook her head, giving Walter a scold of a smile. The realization of what Logan had done suddenly spread through her chest like embers aglow that seeped all the way up to her cheeks, warming her blood.
No, Walter, not his ear.
Her stomach did a little flip.
Nor his heart
 . . .

 26 

T
hank you, God!” Replacing the telephone receiver, Jamie shot up from his desk with a shout before realizing God had nothing to do with it whatsoever. Nope, the credit for this was entirely Jamie's.

Regrettably, Logan hadn't been able to garner any influence, but Senator Hamilton was as good as his word and now Jess was on the docket of pro bono surgeries to be voted on next week. Adrenaline pumped through Jamie's veins as he glanced at the clock on his desk, grateful it was only six and Bram would still be here, no doubt preparing to assist Logan in court tomorrow. Jamie reached into his bottom drawer for two glasses and a bottle of his precious Dr Pepper, the last of a case Logan had given him for Christmas last year from the Dublin Dr Pepper Bottling Company in Waco, Texas. He usually reserved it strictly for special occasions, but this was clearly one. He needed to celebrate, and no one knew better than Bram the obstacles he'd overcome—most of which his friend approved, some he didn't. He thought of Bram's anger over his courting Patricia and hoped this news would soften his stance.

“Toss that witness list aside for the moment, buddy boy, we have serious celebration at hand.” Jamie kicked Bram's door closed
with the heel of his shoe and carried the Dr Pepper and glasses into his best friend's office, clunking both down with an ear-to-ear grin. “Jess is on the docket,” he said, not even a bit embarrassed by the sheen of moisture that sprang to his eyes.

A grin that mirrored Jamie's inch for inch eased across Bram's lips despite the look of fatigue on his face. “No kidding?” He took the quarter glass of Dr Pepper Jamie poured and held it aloft like it was aged whiskey, clinking it with Jamie's. “That's great news, Mac,” he said, belting his drink back as his friend did too. “So, who gets the credit—Logan, you, or the senator?”

Jamie dropped into the chair and poured a second round for them both with a laugh that sounded more like a grunt. “I think it's safe to say I had absolutely no clout in this whatsoever, counselor. The credit goes to the senator who not only legislated funding for Cooper Medical in the past, but just so happens to be golfing buddies with several key members of the board.”

Bram let loose a low whistle. “I knew Hamilton had political influence, but I didn't know he had social pull too.”

“Yep.” Jamie crossed his legs on Bram's desk, swirling the dark liquid in his glass. “Which is why Patricia was my first choice right out the gate.” He took a deep draw of his soda pop. “I'm just lucky she's smart and beautiful too.”

“Yeah . . . lucky.”

Jamie glanced up at Bram's sour tone, eyes in a squint. “How many times do I have to tell you—I had no choice.”

A heavy exhale vented from Bram's lips. “Yeah, well, neither did Cassie, I guess.”

Jamie's lips thinned along with his eyes. “What's that supposed to mean?”

Bram paused, watching him closely. “It means she's gone, Jamie.”

The Dr Pepper curdled in his stomach the exact moment the air left his lungs, Bram's guarded look not boding well for this conversation. “What do you mean ‘gone'?”

A sigh escaped Bram's lips. “I mean gone, Mac—left, called it quits, hightailed it home, you know—
vamoose
in Texas vernacular.”

The soda turned to sludge in his system, obstructing his windpipe.
Cassie? Gone?
“Why?” It came out as a croak.

Bram studied him over the rim of his glass. A mix of sympathy and frustration shone in sky-blue eyes that darkened to the same stormy gray of San Francisco Bay during a squall. “Well, Blake said she went home to help her mother teach at a reservation school, but judging from the look in Alli's eyes when I played tennis with her over the weekend? I'd say it's something more.”

Jamie tossed a hefty swig down his throat, the pop burning as much as his conscience. “What do you mean ‘more'?” he whispered, gaze focused on the bottle on Bram's desk.

“Well, let's put it this way, Mac. When I asked why Cass left so suddenly without saying goodbye to you or to me, Al muttered something I obviously wasn't supposed to hear, but I managed to catch the tail end . . .”

Jamie peered up, the knot in his chest getting tighter all the time. “Which was . . . ?”

Sympathy radiated from his best friend's eyes. “Sounded an awful lot like. . . ‘pretty-boy fortune hunters.' ”

All blood drained from Jamie's face.

The edge of Bram's lip crooked. “Right before she unleashed the most wicked swing I've ever seen. Could have peeled the flannel from the ball.”

Jamie's eyelids lumbered closed as a silent groan rose in his throat, heart constricting at the thought of Cassie ever finding out why he'd chosen Patricia over her. He put a hand to his eyes,
his breathing shallow. “How could she possibly know? You're the only one I've ever told the whole truth to. I only told Cassie part of it, that I couldn't meet her demands of faith in God and nothing more, which was certainly true, especially after God socked me in the gut with the news that her family was poor.” He gouged a hand through his hair, stomach wrenching at the prospect of causing Cassie such pain. He glanced up, the same panic he felt in his gut bleeding into his voice. “We were fine at Blake's party, I swear. She was resigned to just being friends—she told me so. So what on earth happened between now and then?”

Bram shook his head, setting his drink back on his desk. “I don't know, but if it's true, I can't imagine the damage it did, first getting jilted by a fortune hunter in Texas, then by you . . .”

The reality of Bram's words sliced through him, and he slammed his drink down and angled in, eyes itching hot and fists clenched on the desk. “I am not some callous fortune hunter!” he shouted, the very word making him feel dirty. “I'm just a man taking care of my family because God won't, and blast it, Bram—I have every right to court whomever I please.”

Expelling a weary sigh, Bram leaned against the leather headrest while his hands draped over the arms of the chair, eyes wary. “Yes, you do, Jamie, but the truth is, if money and influence are your governing motives, well, I'm afraid you have a difficult defense, counselor, convincing anyone the title doesn't fit.” He paused, voice fading to soft. “Especially Cassie.”

Jamie stared while ragged breaths pumped from his lungs, the truth exposing him in his mind's eye for the very first time, forcing him to see himself through Cassie's eyes instead of his own. Branding him for what he truly was—a man who used his charm and looks to prey on wealthy women, no matter the rationale. His heart cramped in his chest. He'd always told himself the end
justified the means, that he was only taking care of his family the best way he knew how. Trying to convince himself—and Bram—that if he planned to marry anyway, he may as well marry rich. But Bram had warned him once he would fall in love with whom God chose, not him, and sometimes a fortune didn't come with it. A painful truth Jamie learned all too well.

He sagged back in his chair, eyes wandering into a glazed stare. He'd convinced himself as long as Cassie was a part of his life, as long as they remained friends, he could do this, sell his soul to the highest bidder. But suddenly her absence and the pain he'd caused left a gaping hole, not only stripping away his pride, but his joy and hope as well. “She must hate me,” he whispered, the glow over the potential surgery as stone cold as Cassie's feelings for him.

“I doubt it,” Bram said quietly. “She's hurting, certainly, but she cares about you and she cares about God, which means she'll do what he asks her to do—she'll forgive you.”

Jamie put his head in his hands, despair sucking the life from his soul as surely as it sucked the air from his lungs. “But can I forgive myself? I wounded her, broke her trust . . .”

“Yes, you did, Mac, but keep in mind her trust isn't in you anymore—it's in God—where it belongs.” His chair squealed, and Jamie looked up, almost desperate enough to listen to his best friend's prattle about God for once, anything to alleviate this suffocating feeling. Bram bent forward, arms folded on his desk and eyes intense. “Because Cassie knows no matter the pain or situation, God'll see her through . . . just like he'll do for you, Jamie, if you'd let him.”

“And how would he do that, Bram?” His voice was hollow, echoing the hopelessness he felt inside. “He hasn't been there before, what makes you think he'd be there now?”

Bram's eyes softened. “He's been there, Jamie, you just never acknowledged it before, but think about it. You're a kid from the Barbary Coast, poised to become one of the best lawyers in the city and a legislator down the road.” Bram hesitated. “Do you really think you did that all by yourself?”

Jamie blinked, fully aware of the near-impossible task he'd accomplished. It was unheard of for a boy from the slums to ever finish school, much less graduate Stanford Law with honors. His eyes weighted closed and suddenly he remembered all the breaks that had come his way—the men on the docks taking a liking to him, his aunt sending his mother funds after his father died, jobs that had been so plentiful when he needed to earn money, not to mention the doctor's discounts for Jess's medicine. Realization pricked like a pinpoint of light through a dark, damp fog of despair. Could it be true? Did God actually care about him? About his mother and Jess?

As if sensing Jamie's train of thought, Bram slanted in, the fervor in his tone matching that in his eyes. “If God has taken care of you all these years without your consent, Mac,” he said quietly, “just imagine what he could do if you let go and gave him free rein . . .”

Jamie's eyes flicked up. “Free rein . . . ,” he whispered, wishing more than anything he could do just that, shift the burden of worry off his own shoulders onto those of some invisible Being, to be finally set free from the guilt that gnawed at him day in and day out. To trust someone other than himself. He shook his head. “Trust me, Bram, there's nothing I'd rather do than turn this mess I've made of my life over to God or anybody, but there's too much at stake.”

“Yeah, there is, Mac—your happiness, Cassie's, and your family's. Right now, you're barely one for three. Do you really want to trust the people you love to that kind of record?”

Jamie kneaded his temple with the ball of his hand, frustration roiling in his gut. “No, but you don't understand—I don't have a choice. Believe me, I'd give anything to be courting Cassie instead of Patricia, you know that, but I need the senator's influence.”

“And his money?”

Pretty-boy fortune hunter.
Jamie winced, hand to his head. He paused, taking too long to answer. “I thought so, but now I'd give anything just to have Jess well and Cassie by my side.”

“Anything?”

Jamie seared him with a look, vehemence in his tone taking him by surprise. “
Anything
.”

The faintest glimmer of a smile played on Bram's lips. “How 'bout that stubborn pride, then, MacKenna? Laying it down to let God have his way? After all, faith can move mountains, you know—be they granite . . . ,” the smile edged into a grin, “or pigheaded pride.”

As if in a trance, Jamie lapsed into a cold stare, jaw shifting the barest amount while Bram's statement rolled around in his head. He finally looked up. “What if God's way doesn't include a surgery for Jess?” he whispered, the tension in his neck seeping into his tone, clipping his words. “And she has to live in pain the rest of her life?”

“Tell me, Mac—do you love your sister?” Bram asked quietly.

“What kind of stupid question is that, Hughes—I'd give my life for my sister.” A scowl tainted Jamie's lips. “Blast it, I
am
giving my life for my sister!”

Bram sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Then, it's no different with God. He loves you and he loves Jess—so much that he gave his life for you both. If you want the very best for your sister, Mac, then do it his way, not yours. And ‘his way' says to ‘commit your way unto him, trust him, and he shall bring it to pass.' ”