Love at Any Cost (34 page)

Jamie shook his head. “You have no idea how much I wish I could believe that, Bram, but I've come too far in helping my sister. I can't risk throwing it all away now because I wish things were different—I can't do that to Jess.”

“And what about Cass?” Bram whispered, her very name twisting Jamie's gut.

He closed his eyes, seeing her face, missing her so much, it was a physical ache. The pinprick of hope flickered briefly and then faded to black, sealing Jamie's decision. “Jess's health has to come before anything I want, even my love for Cassie.” He downed the rest of his pop. “That's just the way it's gotta be.”

“For now,” Bram said softly. “I know you don't understand this, but God's Word says not to lean unto your own understanding. Tells us to acknowledge him in all our ways, and he will direct our paths.” He slid his empty glass across the desk. “That's how I plan to pray for you, my friend, that you'll relinquish control and let God lead the way to your future and Jess's.” He paused, a measure to his words. “And I'm asking you to do the same. Will you?”

Jamie peered up with a half smile. “Me? Pray?”

Bram grinned. “Yeah—you. I get real sick of hauling your sorry life out of the pits all by myself, you know that?”

A chuckle escaped Jamie's lips, easing the tension in his jaw. “Yeah, I do.” Collecting the bottle and glasses, he rose to his feet, not sure if the warmth he felt was from the Dr Pepper or the comfort of words from a man he trusted. “And I will,” he said on his way to the door. He raised the bottle in a mock toast. “Because it sure in the blazes can't hurt.”

 27 

S
oooo, young lady . . .” Virginia McClare doled out a Texas-size piece of peach cobbler for her daughter in the cozy, candlelit dining room where Cassie had eaten many a holiday meal. Her mother topped it with a scoop of homemade ice cream, then sailed it across the polished oak table now graced with a crystal vase of Mama's yellow tea roses. “You've filled us in on everyone in San Francisco except for that nice young man you always talked about in your letters.” She looked up with a smile. “Jamie, was it?”

Coffee pooled in Cassie's mouth. Oh drat, why had she written so much about Jamie in her letters to her parents?
Um . . . because I was falling in love with the mangy, flea-infested mongrel?
She swallowed her coffee in a thick gulp while she reached for the cobbler, scrambling for an answer that would satisfy a woman who could read her daughter's mind like the front page of the
Humble Gazette
. It was bad enough the low-down, mealy-mouth weasel of a womanizer invaded her thoughts on a daily basis, but the last thing she wanted was to ruin her welcome-home dinner with talk of a skunk named Jamie MacKenna.
Talk about indigestion!

“I was sure I detected a spark of interest on your part, darling,” she continued, cutting cobbler for herself, “which is why I was
surprised you wanted to come home.” Her mother eased into her seat to partake of dessert, assessing Cassie with an innocent stare that was anything but. Knowing her mother, she wanted details, and Cassie would have killed for a peach pit to choke on, anything to keep from talking about Jamie. “So, why the rush to come home, Cass?”

Why the rush?
Because another yellow-bellied, dirt-sucking snake of a man slithered into my life to steal my heart, that's why.
“Goodness, Mother, I swear even Rosie can't touch your cobbler, and peach no less—my very favorite.”

Shoving his empty plate away, Quinn McClare folded burly arms on the table, his penetrating gaze more deadly than her mother's. As handsome as his brother in a laid-back flannel kind of way, her father was every bit as shrewd as Uncle Logan, parlaying barren farmland into one of the biggest cattle spreads in East Texas before debt and disease took its toll. And, like his political brother, an influential force in Humble government. That is, until his oil investments veered south, bleeding his assets—and his reputation—as dry as a Texas drought. Green eyes darker than her own studied her with an unflappable air of calm that typified her daddy, grounding her with the stability to come clean with the two people she loved most.

He cleared his throat and reached for a toothpick. “Side-stepping the question isn't going to fly in this neck of the woods, Sweet Pea. Both your mama and I can sense you're not right, so you may as well spit it out, 'cause none of us are getting up from this table till you do. Something happened in San Francisco to steal the roses from your cheeks, darlin', and we aim to know what it is.” His jaw set while the toothpick rolled around the corner of his mouth. “Now . . . just who is this Jamie character and what's your relationship with him?”

A groan escaped on the wave of a blustery sigh. She dropped her fork on the cobbler and pushed her plate aside, sagging back in her chair. She'd forgotten how prying two parents who loved her could be. “Jamie is Blake's best friend and a lawyer in Uncle Logan's firm and practically family, so we became friends.”

“Just friends?” The furrow in his brow was so like Uncle Logan's that Cassie's heart cramped in her chest, suddenly homesick for San Francisco.

“At first,” she whispered, avoiding his eyes while she toyed with the handle of her fork.

Her mother leaned in, eyes tender but smile wary. “You're in love with him, aren't you?”

She should have expected it—her parents' keen intuition when it came to her happiness, but still the question shook her to the core, water filling her eyes like a flash flood. With a shaky nod, tears spilled down her cheeks and instantly they both shot from their chairs, Daddy tugging her up in his arms while Mama hovered close with a gentle hand to her back. “I . . . n-never int-tended t-to, but h-he p-poured on the charm and I . . . I . . .”

Her voice broke on a sob, and Daddy cradled her shoulder to usher her into the next room with its hewn wood beams and simple oak furniture while her golden retriever Gus trotted behind. Tucked between her parents, Cassie sagged back on a rough-sawn wood couch Daddy had built and Mama upholstered in hues so earthy and vibrant, like the hill country of Texas. With liquid brown eyes as sorrowful as Cassie's own, Gus plopped down in front of her, sinking against her with a comfort as warm as the two people beside her. “What happened, Cass?” Daddy whispered with a stroke of her hair, and suddenly Cassie knew she'd done the right thing in packing her bags to head
home. Pulling away with a sniff, she took the handkerchief he offered and blew her nose while Mama soothed with a steady caress of her back.

“I didn't like him at first because he reminded me so much of Mark—too good-looking for his own good and more charm and blarney than a Dublin peddler convention.” She drew in a wobbly breath and released it again, dabbing her eyes with the cloth. “But he wouldn't take no for an answer, you see, and kept pressing to court me.”

“Did you say yes?” Mama asked, tucking several flyaway hairs behind Cassie's ear.

“No, he has no faith in God, Mama, and Aunt Cait warned me about that.”

Daddy squeezed her waist. “Good girl. Aunt Cait's a wise woman in matters like this.”

Giving a nasal sniff, Cassie looked up. “I know, she told me—with Uncle Logan.”

“She told you that?” Mama said, eyes wide as she bent forward.

Cassie nodded. “We became very close, Mama—Aunt Cait's a lot like you, you know.”

“So what happened with this boy, Cass?” Quinn McClare was apparently in no mood to dally when it came to the welfare of his daughter.

A sigh withered on Cassie's lips. “He said he would do anything to court me, Daddy, so I told him the only way I would even consider courtship was if his faith in God matched mine. I made a deal that if he was willing to remain friends while he went to church with me and discussed
Pilgrim's Progress
once a week, I might reconsider.”

“And?” Mama shifted to face her.

“He did and so I did.” A heave bubbled in Cassie's throat and
she blew her nose, her voice trailing off into a weak sob. “And then he said he only wanted to be friends . . .”

“Aw, Pumpkin.” Daddy swallowed her up in a bear hug that smelled of pine and leather and hay. “Why would that scalawag say something like that after tracking you like a coyote?”

“B-because of God, he said. Claims we don't think the same way and he wouldn't meet my expectations.”

“The boy has a point, darling,” Mama said quietly.

“B-but that wasn't the real reason, Mama,” Cassie said with a quiver in her throat. “I found out from the girl he's courting now that it was because she's rich and I'm not.”

“What?” Quinn McClare sat straight up, fire in his eyes that could have singed his brows. “The polecat's already courting somebody new
and
he's a fortune hunter? Does Logan know?”

“No, Daddy, and I don't want him to, please. Alli is the only one I told, and all I want to do is forget that I ever met Jamie MacKenna.”

“Well, you can bet your sweet bloomers we'll certainly see to that—”

“Boss?”

Quinn McClare glanced up to where his foreman John Redstone stood with another man in the door, hats in their hands. He waved the men in. “Come on in, Red.”

Red ambled in, affection etched into every wrinkle of his craggy face. “Well, I'll be bound and gagged! Miss Cassidy, you sure are a sight for sore eyes—welcome home.” He strode across the room to give her a hug that lifted her clear off her feet. “It's just plumb dull around here without you, sweetheart, so I sure hope you're here to stay.”

“Uncle Red!” Swiping at her eyes, Cassie squeezed the big man who'd fawned over her since she was paw-high to a prairie dog. “I missed you too, and yes, I'm home for good.”

“Good to hear.” He set her down and waved the other gentleman forward, more lines crinkling at the edges of his eyes. “Sorry to interrupt your homecoming, Cass, but the Boss Man's been hankering to meet this here feller for a long time.” Red hooked an arm to the shoulder of a man dressed in a pin-striped shirt and tie that would have been fashionable if the sleeves weren't rolled up and his tan muscled arms splotched with mud. “Boss, Mrs. McClare, Cass—Mr. Zane Carter—the man who's going to help us turn those dry wells into rivers of oil.”

The gentleman extended a hand to Cassie's father, pumping it with a flash of white teeth that instantly put Cassie on edge. Matching her father's six-foot-two height and then some, the man reminded her of Mark in a more rugged, natural sort of way. Coal black hair neatly combed back explained a shadow of beard on his angular jaw, and khaki trousers displayed smudges of dirt matching those on his arms, indicating a man who didn't mind hard work. “It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. McClare,” he said, tone conveying respect. “Captain Lucas speaks highly of you.”

“Not as highly as he speaks of you,” her father said with a deep chuckle. “Says you're the son he never had and the answer to my prayers. Thank you for agreeing to bring the new drill bit and oversee the drilling in what so far has been a very disappointing venture. We're certainly hoping you can change that.” Quinn looped an arm to Cassie's waist. “Mr. Carter—this is my wife Virginia McClare and our daughter Cassidy.”

“Call me Zane, please,” the man said with a quick smile to both her mother and her. “I hope so too, sir. I spent the afternoon at the drilling site and there's no question the cable tool you've been using is ill-equipped. It can't handle the tricky sands of the salt dome, which is the problem Captain Lucas had at Spindletop. The new drill bit is expensive, to be sure, but I have every
confidence it'll be the best money you ever spent. Between it and the solution Captain Lucas's partner Mr. Hamill came up with to pump mud down the hole instead of water, I expect to see a gusher that could give Spindletop a run for its money.” The grin flashed again, revealing dimples that put Cassie on guard. “And we all know what happened there.”

“Yes, sir, we do,” Quinn said with a deep chuckle. “My friend Captain Lucas went from near bankruptcy like me to an oil gusher the likes of which the world has never seen.”

Cassie eyes spanned wide. “Daddy, do you mean . . .” She swallowed a swell of hope in her throat. “The Bar J might not go to auction after all? That things may turn around?”

Quinn McClare cupped his daughter's face in hands rough from an honest man's work and a tireless spirit. “We didn't want to get your hopes up, Cass, till we were sure we had the funds to implement our plan, but now that you're home, you need to know—I believe this young man is the answer to our prayers.” His lip crooked. “Along with your Uncle Logan, of course.”

“Uncle Logan?” Cassie's gaze flicked to her parents, noting the exchange of a smile.

Hip cocked, her father folded thick arms. “Yes, young lady. Apparently
someone
leaked we were on our last legs down here,” he said with a jag of his brow.

She bit her lip. “I know I wasn't supposed to say anything, Daddy, but I was so worried and you know Uncle Logan . . .”

“Yes, I know Uncle Logan—the talent to drill deeper than any newfangled bit this young man has to offer. When you spilled the Texas beans, darlin', my brother went behind my back after I turned down his offer of a loan. Made an investment in Spindletop contingent upon aid given to Bar J to staunch the red ink. Which,” Quinn said with a nod at Zane, “is why Mr. Carter is here. He
was the chief engineer at Spindletop after countless dry wells.” Her father slapped Zane on the back. “Welcome aboard, young man. Care for some coffee and peach cobbler?”