Love at Any Cost (9 page)

“Liberties?” Aunt Cait whispered, the barest hint of alarm in her tone.

“Oh, nothing immoral—I know better than that, but that didn't stop Mark from trying.” She leaned on her aunt's shoulder, eyes trailing into a faraway stare. “But we'd cuddle and kiss on the porch longer than we should have because I was so crazy for him, I could barely say no.” Her lip quirked. “And trust me, I said ‘no' a lot because Mark was always pushing for more. I kept telling myself it was all right since we'd be married soon, but now I know it wasn't. Every kiss, every sweet nothing bonded my soul to his, making it so hard to forget him.” Her eyes fluttered closed. “I pray I never get that close to a man again without a gold band on my hand.”

“Good girl.” Aunt Cait kissed her hair. “And the right man will wait, Cassie, not push for you to compromise your convictions.”

“I hope so,” she whispered.

“I
know
so.” Aunt Cait's voice was gentle but firm. “Before
your Uncle Liam, I was engaged to a handsome rogue much like yours, and I was just as moonstruck as you, finding it difficult to keep the young man in line.” Her aunt's sigh feathered warm against Cassie's cheek, filling her senses with the wonderful scent of Pear's soap and lavender. “Fortunately, I broke the engagement, and when your Uncle Liam courted me, he was a perfect gentleman with a faith as deep as mine, so he treated me with respect, putting my wishes before his own.”

“That's what I want, Aunt Cait, and I have no intention of settling for less.”

“I'm glad, darling, because I promise you—there's no better way to guard your heart from heartbreak and the wrong man in your life than to follow God's precepts.” She swept a stray strand from Cassie's face. “This is going to be a good summer, Cass. I feel it in my bones.”

Cassie gave her a tight hug. “Thanks, Aunt Cait—I think so too.” She cinched her robe a bit more snugly, then stifled a yawn. “Goodness, I may not need that milk after all.”

“Good night, darling.” Aunt Cait gave her shoulders a final squeeze. “Sweet dreams and may the angels keep the bad ones away.”

“You, too, Aunt Cait.” Cassie kissed her aunt's cheek and stole into the study, heaving a weary sigh when her aunt turned to stare out at the bay, head bowed as if something still weighed on her mind.
A common condition tonight
, she thought with a wrench of her heart, aching for her aunt as well as herself. Uttering a silent prayer for them both, Cassie mounted the steps, hoping that, indeed, the angels would keep the bad dreams away. Her lips tipped up while her gaze did the same. “And, Lord—if they can do the same for Mark Chancellor? So much the better . . .”

 9 

C
an't sleep?”

Cassie glanced up to see Uncle Logan striding down the second-story hallway, obviously from the billiard room where male laughter could be heard amid the crack of ivory. Her ears honed in on Jamie's voice, and much to her annoyance, her stomach did a little flip. Her smile lapsed into a scowl. “Nope. Counted sheep, steers, horses, pigs, and armadillos, but all I've got to show for it is an imaginary zoo, albeit odorless, thank heavens.”

Swallowing her in an embrace, he kissed her head and tipped it up with a sympathetic smile, the scent of lime soap mingling with tobacco and a hint of port. He'd shed his coat and tie, shirtsleeves rolled to reveal muscled arms with dark hair while the black bristle on his jaw lent a pirate air. “You're a McClare, Cass—restlessness runs in our blood.” He shot a quick glance down the stairs and lowered his voice. “Don't tell your aunt, but did you try warm milk with honey and bourbon? One of Nana's tricks that works for me every time.”

The memory of her eighty-two-year-old great-grandmother warmed Cassie's heart like the bourbon would warm her throat, no doubt. Nana had been as unorthodox as Uncle Logan in her own shocking way, and a source of utter joy to Cassie and her
cousins. She grinned. “Only one of many tricks as I recall,” Cassie said, her smile melancholy. “But no, I haven't, although I was actually on my way down to get some warm milk,” her smile tipped, “
without
the bourbon, when I noticed Aunt Cait on the veranda. We chatted and now I'm ready to turn in.”

Her uncle's gaze darted downstairs, brows in a scrunch. “Cait's still up? I thought she only had five or ten minutes of paperwork before heading to bed.”

“Me too,” Cassie said, “but she probably just wanted to enjoy the night air.” She nodded down the hall. “You're calling it quits? Sounds like the party's just getting started.”

He glanced behind him and grinned. “It is. We have a very volatile billiards tournament going on, and I'm in charge of reinforcements.” He leaned close. “But, if you can't sleep, I'd pay good money to see you take Jamie down a peg or two. The man's downright cocky since he's fleeced both Blake and me, and now he has poor Bram in his sights.”

A full-fledged grin eased across her lips. “Believe me, Uncle Logan, there's nothing I'd rather do than de-peg Mr. MacKenna, but I'm not dressed for pretty-boy humiliation.”

Chuckling, Logan tweaked a loose curl on her shoulder. “You oughta take it easy on the man, Cass. Other than his propensity to cockiness at boxing or pool, he's not so bad.”

“So I've heard,” she said with an off-center smile. “And I hope to make him even better with a hefty dose of humility.” She kissed his cheek. “Good night, Uncle Logan. See you soon?”

———

He tapped her nose. “If your aunt doesn't change the locks first. G'night, Cass.” Logan watched her ascend to the third level, his heart swelling with pride as if she were his own daughter. She certainly could have been—she was a McClare through and
through—gutsy, determined, smart, and no-nonsense, a combination he admired. His thoughts veered to Caitlyn as he descended the steps.
Not unlike Cait
, he mused, all the more deadly wrapped in a gentle and graceful package. His pulse sped up as he approached the open French doors where moonlight spilled in along with the salty scent of the sea and Cait's pillar roses from the garden below.

She was nothing but a silhouette in the dim glow of a quarter moon, casually reclined on her wrought-iron settee. Still as a statue, she sat back, head resting and arms folded, seemingly entranced by the glimmer of the bay. Pale moonlight made her glow like the purest of alabaster, caressing her skin like he longed to do.
You were such a fool,
he berated himself for the thousandth time, first for cheating on her and then for ever letting her go. But he'd been too young and too stupid to realize no other woman could even come close to the rare gift he'd once held in his arms, nuzzled with his lips, treasured in his heart. A bitter lesson learned far too late, stealing his joy far too long. His jaw ground to rock.
But not anymore.
No, Liam may have had the privilege of loving her for almost twenty-six years, and rightfully so. But now it was his turn, and he would
not
lose her a second time. He unrolled the sleeves of his shirt and rebuttoned the cuffs, watching her with the same fierce determination that served him as one of the city's most respected lawyers. She
would
be his someday, he vowed. His mouth crooked.
Once I win her back, that is . . .
He sucked in a deep breath and opened the door. “Cait?”

She jerked so fast, she actually rattled the settee, a clear indication his presence rattled her as well. He couldn't help the smile that twitched on his lips, her wide eyes and parted lips evidence that he was making headway. He obviously made her nervous, a new development that hadn't been evident before—not during
her marriage to his brother nor after his death. But in the last six months? Oh, yeah, Caitlyn McClare was on her guard and that could only mean one thing. His smile eased into a grin. She was scared to death of her feelings. He closed the screen door behind him. “What are you doing out here in the dark?”

She cleared her throat and lifted her chin in that defensive way she had when he got too bossy . . .
or
too close. “Oh, more paperwork than anticipated, but I just finished and I'm afraid the sea breeze lured me out.” She rose, obviously intending to make a clean getaway, feigning a yawn that was hardly convincing. “Goodness, it's late and I'm exhausted. I best head up.”

He stayed her arm with a hand as she tried to pass and didn't miss the slight catch of her breath. “Cait, can we talk?” His palm slid to her wrist, gently kneading. “Please?”

Tendons in that deliciously creamy neck tightened when she swallowed, body tense as she stepped back. Nervously buffing her arms, she gave a little shrug before offering a wavering smile. “It can't wait? I'm so tired right now, my mind is pure mush.”

He grinned, tugging her over to the settee with a coax in his tone. “Actually ‘mush' is right where I need you, Mrs. McClare, since I have favors to ask. Between your mush and my legal skills of persuasion, I just may win this case.”

He eased her down on the settee, then sat beside her, biting back a smile when she scooted over. Body stiff, she faced him, arms crossed at her waist. “All right, Logan. What is it?”

Tamping down his humor, he shifted to speak, his pose relaxed despite jitters in his stomach. He draped an arm over the settee and studied her, his manner sober. “Cait, it's no secret that you and your children are the most important things in my life . . .”

She shot to her feet. “Logan, I'm sorry, really, but I'm very tired . . .”

“What I have to say won't take long, I promise.” Skilled in the art of wooing a jury, he infused a touch of humility in his tone. “Surely you can spare a few moments?”

He attempted to draw her back and she shook her head. “All right,” she said, arms clutched as if it were the dead of winter while she eased to the wall. “But I prefer to stand.”

“That's fine,” he said quietly, sinking back into the settee. He was silent for several seconds as he watched her, her body rigid against the balustrade. Moonlight eclipsed her like a halo, and the shadows in her face could not obscure the wariness in her eyes. Drawn to her as always, he fought hard to stop himself from jumping up and pulling her into his arms, telling her how much he wanted her, needed her. But she would bolt faster than a fawn in a forest afire, and that was the last thing he wanted. Exhaling softly, he massaged the bridge of his nose, his voice edged with fatigue. “Cait,” he began again, tone as calm and controlled as if he were addressing a difficult client. “Family means everything to me, and now that Cassie is here for the summer, I'd very much like to be able to come over more than once a week.”

She blinked, jaw distended enough for him to notice. “That's it? That's the favor—to come over more often while Cassie is here?”

Her chest slowly expanded and released as she visibly relaxed, and he clamped his lips to thwart the smile that itched.
Good grief, did she think I was going to propose?
No lawyer worth his salt would offer a proposition like that without perfect timing and emotional groundwork being laid. And everyone knew, from Nob Hill to the Barbary Coast, that Logan McClare was worth his salt and then some.

He perched on the edge, hands loosely clasped. “Well, the first one, anyway.”

“Oh.” A muscle quivered in her throat. “What else?”

He huffed out a sigh and peered up, head cocked to assess her with a frank gaze. “I want to do things with the kids this summer—bring them to my Napa estate for a picnic, take 'em to Sutro Baths for the day, dinner and dancing at The Palace Hotel and then to the Cliff House. You know, things like the Buffalo Bill Wild West Show the first week in August?” Pausing, he sat up straight with brows bunched. “Wait—will Cassie still be here then?”

A smile softened her lips as she nodded, giving him one of those sweet looks that melted his heart—the kind she gave Blake and the boys whenever they did something she thought was adorable. His heart swelled with love, this time forcing a dip in his own throat.

She leaned back to the wall, arms resting on either side. That remarkable lavender dress swished as her hip shifted to bear her weight on one leg while the other relaxed, knee bent to butt a delicate slipper to the bottom of the wall. A rose-scented breeze played with tendrils of her hair, fluttering it against the curve of a neck he craved to caress with his mouth. He could sense rather than see the sparkle in those gentle aquamarine eyes, eyes that could make a man sell his soul for the sake of love. He sucked in a deep swallow of air.

Like me.

Her voice was soft with just a hint of her Bostonian accent that slipped out whenever she was at ease. “Quinn and Virginia don't know it yet, but Cassie hopes to teach in San Francisco for a year or two.” Her smile turned melancholy. “A fresh start to put the past behind.”

He studied her in silence before slowly rising to his feet, closing the distance to stand beside her. Hip to the wall, he casually traced the smooth edge of the marble balustrade with his palm.
“Yes, a fresh start,” he said, following the motion of his hand until the tips of his fingers brushed hers. He peered up beneath lidded eyes when she quickly pulled away, arms barricaded to her waist in emotional defense. “Which brings me to my last favor, Cait,” he whispered, voice huskier than intended. “It's been almost two years—don't you think you could use a fresh start too?”

“No . . . ,” she whispered, shaking her head hard. “It feels like yesterday that Liam . . .” Her words broke on a heave as tears shimmered in the moonlight. “I'm just not ready . . .”

“Aw, Cait . . .” Before she could stop him, he cocooned her in his arms, his own grief over the past becoming one with her own. She attempted to pull away, body unyielding as her muffled sobs quivered against his chest, but he tightened his hold, gentle but firm while he stroked her hair. “I can't stand to see you in pain,” he said, his voice hoarse, “so let it all out. Go ahead and thrash and cry and rail against the gods for the loss of someone you loved, but don't let it eat you alive.” He bent his head to hers, the sound of her weeping slicing him open, exposing a love for her so deep and so raw, it shocked him to the core. Her body wracking against his, she allowed him to lead her to the settee where she wept in his arms. When her quivers subsided, he handed her a handkerchief, smiling when she sniffed and blew her nose like a little girl. “Feel better?” he whispered, thumb grazing the edge of her jaw.

She nodded and sniffed again, eyes glazed with sorrow as they trailed to the bay, lost in a faraway stare. “I miss him, Logan . . . so much.”