“Nope, it’s practically on my way.” He tucked the parcel under his arm and strode over to give her a kiss goodbye. “Good night, Mom. Love you—don’t wait up.” He shot her a wink and slipped out the door, checking his watch as he hurried to the next block to catch the trolley. He didn’t have time to walk to the Coast as usual, especially since the cable car traveled just a few streets over from the old cow-yard where they’d once lived.
As always, a malaise settled as he walked the final seamy block, the music of steam pianos and gramophones blasting from dance hall after dance hall where half-clad women called out lewd invitations from windows above. Names like The Living Flea, Dead Man’s Alley, and Murder Point, so-called pleasure palaces that reeked of alcohol and stale perfume and the pungent scent of opium. As usual, the street was littered with trash and people, some passed out, some fighting, and some too drunk to care.
The sound of a baby crying reminded him the Barbary Coast was no place for infants or children. Nor Jean MacKenna and her family. But, it was all his mother had been able to afford back then, her meager dance-hall salary finally giving way to seamstress work to supplement his father’s sporadic paychecks . . . if he hadn’t drunk them away first. When Brian MacKenna died, Jamie wanted to quit school altogether to work fulltime, but his mother refused.
“I don’t want you to end up poor like me,” she’d whisper whenever he’d tried to argue. “I want you to make me proud, Jamie—get an education and make something of yourself.” She’d hug him then, tears brimming, and it was all he could do to deflect moisture of his own. So he’d stayed in school and studied hard while his mother squirreled away every spare penny for his education. The very thought caused tears to sting in his nose. She’d sacrificed her life for him and Jess, so he gladly sacrificed his for them—his childhood, his friendships, his sleep. He gave his all to school and work, determined to make a better life for the woman who’d devoted hers to them.
Obscenities drifted from an open window as he mounted cracked steps, anxious to deliver his mother’s package and get out. He opened a scarred wood door that was defiled, he was certain, by everything from booze and vomit to urine and blood, eternally grateful he and his family escaped the polluted sewers of the Barbary Coast.
He entered the foul-smelling brothel on the first floor and was instantly met by shouts and sniffles. Heart squeezing, he bent down to a quivering lump of curls hunched on the first step of a staircase that once led to his family’s flat. “Bessie, what’s wrong?” Ignoring the tyke’s filthy dress and matted hair, Jamie scooped her up, scanning from pudgy bare feet and scuffed knees to a threadbare romper with numerous patched holes. The grimy face of a four-year-old cherub peeked up with fat tears in her eyes, and he placed a kiss on her cheek. “Are you hurt?”
The little waif shook her head and flung chubby arms around his neck, painful, little heaves racking his heart as well as his body. “M-mama . . . ,” she choked out, pointing a shaky finger toward her mother’s flat, “bad man . . .”
Something thudded hard against the wall, and a woman’s muffled scream iced the blood in Jamie’s veins. Temper tightly coiled, he kissed Bessie’s head and pounded on the opposite door, face grim when Julie peeked out.
“Julie, can you keep Bessie for a moment and take this package for Millie?” He handed the little girl and parcel off, nodding toward Millie’s door. “Millie has a problem.”
Julie’s gaze widened, flicking to Millie’s door and back. “Sure, Jamie,” she said, pressing a kiss to Bessie’s cheek. “Come on, sweetie—I’ve a biscuit for you, all right?”
With short, little heaves, Bessie nodded and clung to Julie while Jamie moved toward Millie’s door.
“Cecil—you don’t owe me a dime—just leave, please!” The sound of Millie’s voice was tinged with terror.
Flexing his fingers, Jamie pressed a palm to the cracked door and eased it open. “Millie? You okay?”
Swear words defiled the tiny flat along with whiskey and sweat. A grizzled drunk singed him with a glare, the smell of urine and body odor roiling Jamie’s stomach. “It’s none of your bloomin’ business, you cheeky sod. You can have her when I’m done.”
Jamie ignored him, gaze shifting to Millie huddled in a corner, tears streaking her face and blood on her cheek. A nerve twittered his jaw. “Answer me, Millie, did he hit you?” His teeth clenched so tight, he thought they might crack. Like Cecil’s face when I’m done.
“Jamie, no, he’ll hurt you!” Millie scrambled to her feet, her cheek just beginning to bruise.
Cecil grinned, revealing rotted teeth as putrid as the rest of him. “That’s right, bloke, better run afore I mess your prissy outfit along with your prissy face.”
“Or try.” Calmly removing his top hat, Jamie hooked it on a peg by the door and carefully hung his jacket as well. Without a word, he slowly rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, his gaze dispassionate. A cold smile skimmed his lips at the memory of weekends at the Oly Club, where Gentleman Jim Corbett often schooled him in the art of boxing.
“Why, you blasted upstart . . .” Cecil lumbered forward with fists raised, and the sting of Jamie’s well-aimed punch slammed the man’s jaw to the side before he crumpled to the wooden floor in a heap, out cold and blood trailing his lip.
With a rock-steady hold that belied the angst in his gut, Jamie dragged him to the door and tossed him in the hall to a round of applause from several scantily clad women. “Jamie, you’re our hero,” Julie shouted, Bessie wide-eyed in her arms.
He grinned. “Wouldn’t take much if this is the riffraff you’re comparing me to, Julie.” He unrolled the sleeves of his shirt and prodded Cecil with the toe of his black oxford shoe, prompting a low groan. “Cecil, I suggest you take your business elsewhere from now on, because if these ladies tell me you’ve been around, I’ll be obliged to break your arm along with your jaw—is that clear?”
Cecil didn’t answer, and Jamie jerked the scruff of his neck, his tone composed even if his nerves were not. “I said, is that clear?” A garbled grunt escaped Cecil’s bloody mouth, and Jamie released him, head dropping with a thud on the filthy floor. “Good, because these ladies are my friends. Now, I’m going to wash your blood off my hands, get my hat and coat, and if you’re still here when I get back, I’m going to finish you off, understood?”
Lumbering to his feet, Cecil stumbled out with a glazed look while Jamie cleaned up in Millie’s water basin, then returned to the hall, hat in hand and coat over his arm.
“Oh, Jamie, you’re a lifesaver, ye are,” Millie said with a quivering smile. “And Julie is right—you’re our hero.” She reached up to kiss him on his cheek before her eyes went wide. “Aw, the dirty bum has gone and bloodied your shirt.”
“You got another fancy doings tonight, Jamie Boy?” Julie said with a wink, auburn curls dangling over one bare shoulder of a faded dressing gown. “Because ye look good enough to eat, Mr. MacKenna, make no mistake.”
Jamie glanced at the blood on the sleeve of his shirt. “As long as I keep my coat on, that is.” He tapped the top hat on his head and slipped into his jacket. “And yes, Julie—I have a dinner at The Palace.”
A blonde from the next flat sighed, her stained kimono heaving with regret as she peeked out her door. “I’ll tell you what, mister, in that fancy suit, you’re every woman’s dream.”
Julie winked. “Hope you reel in a rich one, Jamie, ’cause nobody deserves it more.”
Extending first one arm and then the other, he buttoned his cuffs with an easy smile. “I’ll do my level best, ladies, so wish me luck.”
“You won’t be needing any luck, James MacKenna, and I’ll bet me mother’s eyeteeth on that.” Millie repositioned his top hat with an affectionate smile. “Thanks again, Jamie, and if there’s aught I can do to repay ye, ye just let me know, you hear?” Her smile was radiant for a woman with a black-and-blue face. “Now, you go and have a grand time.”
He bent to kiss her good cheek. “You might want
to love up on Bess a while, Mil, she was shaking pretty hard.” He tweaked her chin. “Mom sent clothes and books too. Julie has them, okay?”
The light in Millie’s eyes dimmed while her gaze drifted to where Julie was playing snuggle monster with Bessie, giggles ringing out with every kiss. “Och, I’d give anything to get her out of this place,” she whispered.
Jamie swallowed hard, not sure what to say. He kneaded her shoulder. For him and his mother and sister, freedom was a reality, but to Millie and the others who called Barbary Coast their home—with no money, no education, no skills—hope was as empty as their pockets. He placed a coin into her hands, giving her a squeeze. “Put this in a safe place for Bess, and promise you’ll add to it every week, no matter how small. Someday soon there will be enough to buy a new dress and shoes so you can look for decent work, where you and Bess won’t be in danger.” He bent to connect his gaze with hers. “Promise me, Millie.”
She nodded, the motion dislodging a tear from her eye, and then she lunged into his arms to hug him so fiercely, the muscles constricted in his throat. “You’re a rare find, Jamie MacKenna. I pray God showers you with all the blessings you so richly deserve, including a wealthy wife and a fancy house on Nob Hill.”
He laughed, and the sound echoed in the dingy hall spidered with cracks. “I’m not sure how many ‘blessings’ I deserve, Mil,” he said with a wink at her and the ladies, “but the rich wife and fancy house on Nob Hill?” Ambling to the front door, he tossed a rogue’s grin over his shoulder. “I’m hoping it’s only a matter of time.”
12
Chin in hand, Caitlyn swayed to the music of The Palace Hotel orchestra, feet tapping a waltz beneath the crisp linen tablecloth aglow with candles. The scent of gardenias drifted from exquisite blossoms gracing the table where they’d enjoyed Logan’s birthday dinner. Closing her eyes, she almost felt seventeen again, a starry-eyed girl whirling in the arms of Logan McClare, the most handsome man in the ballroom of the brand-new Palace Hotel. Even now, the powerful scent of his lime shaving soap merged with the tang of lemon oil from the lustrous oak dance floor, conjuring a memory so strong, her heart swooped in her chest. Her eyelids lifted to see Logan spin Maddie on the dance floor, her daughter’s shin-length taffeta dress ballooning while auburn curls fluttered in the breeze. He gobble-kissed Maddie’s neck, and Caitlyn’s smile faded. She might have been his daughter instead of his niece . . .
“Goodness, you belong on that dance floor, Aunt Cait.” Cassie slipped into a chair next to her, back from the ladies’ room. “I could see your toe twitching from across the room.”
Caitlyn glanced up, lips easing into a languid smile. “I’ll get my chance, Cass. Both Jamie and Bram promised me a dance, so I’m just biding my time.”
Cassie leaned close, mischief in her tone. “You mean Uncle Logan hasn’t asked yet? The way he’s been ogling you, I just assumed you’d be the first name on his dance card.”
“Cassidy Margaret McClare!” Caitlyn grabbed her napkin and promptly fanned herself. “Good heavens, your Uncle Logan is my brother-in-law, young lady, and nothing more.”
Cassie’s chuckle floated in the air. “Maybe nothing more to you, Aunt Cait, but I’ve only been here a little over a month, and already I can see Uncle Logan is smitten, just like Alli says.”
“Alli said that?” Alarm crept into Cait’s tone while heat crept up her cheeks.
Her niece’s grin tipped in tease. “And not just Alli—Meg and Blake joke about it too.”
“Good heavenly days,” Caitlyn whispered, bolting her water down. “Well, it’s simply not tr—” She froze midsyllable, the memory of that night on the veranda halting her air. His tenderness, his comfort over her missing Liam, his unsettling words. “It’s been almost two years, Cait—don’t you think you could use a fresh start too?” It was the first time she’d seen desire so blatant in his eyes, and it had scared her as much as hearing her children had noticed it too. Yes, he’d been more attentive to them all in the last six months, dropping in more than ever before. And heaven knows he could be an outrageous flirt with any woman including her, lavishing attention on any female around, which is all she’d assumed it to be. But now she suspected her uneasiness in his presence wasn’t just the unwanted feelings he awakened in her . . . Her hands shook as she gulped an unladylike swig of water. But am I doing the same to him?
“Simply not true?” Cassie repeated softly with a duck of her head, sympathy edging her smile. She touched her aunt’s arm. “Really, Aunt Cait, would it be such a horrible thing if it were? Uncle Logan is one of the most eligible bachelors in the city—attractive, fun, and crazy about you and your children. Call me a dreamer, but it seems like a match made in heaven.”
“No, not in heaven.” Cait’s whisper was no more than a rasp as her gaze followed Logan dancing with her daughter, eyes closed while he snuggled her close. “Oh, that it were . . .”
“What do you mean?”
Caitlyn looked up, startled that she’d spoken out loud. She stared at her niece, heart thumping, then blinked, her words cleaving to the roof of her mouth. She’d never intended to discuss her past with anyone, and certainly not with her own children, determined they need never know their father was not her first love. But the silence threatened to choke her, and her longing to confide in someone who would understand was growing greater every day. She assessed the deep ridges of concern in her niece’s face and suddenly realized Cassie may well be that perfect someone, a woman badly bruised by a man with no faith in God. And a woman who just may need to hear what Caitlyn had to say.
Body quivering as much as the water in her glass, Caitlyn quickly downed it before leaning close, hand to her niece’s arm. “Cassie, I’ve never shared this with anyone—not my children, my friends, no one. But somehow I feel compelled to confide in you. Not just because I’m tired of carrying this burden alone, but because I believe it’s something you need to hear.” She brushed a strand of hair from her niece’s face, eyes warm with affection and concern. “But first, you must promise this will be our secret and you will not tell anyone else.” Her gaze flicked to the dance floor where Jamie danced with Alli, and Bram with Meg. “Especially your cousins.”
Cassie nodded, her unusual pale-green eyes as wide and clear as a mossy mountain pool.
Filling her lungs with a heavy dose of air, Caitlyn slowly released it again, squaring her shoulders. “Remember the handsome rogue I was engaged to before your Uncle Liam?”
Cassie’s head bobbed in slow motion, her breathing suddenly suspended.
A lump dipped in Caitlyn’s throat while her gaze darted to where Logan was trading partners with Bram. “Well, you see . . . it was your Uncle Logan.”
A gasp popped from Cassie’s lips, the mountain pool swelling to lake proportions.
Cait couldn’t help but smile, her niece’s reaction tilting her lips. “Yes, I’m afraid so.”
A waiter appeared with a sterling pitcher in hand, replenishing Cait’s water glass. “Oh, bless you,” she said, awarding him a warm smile. She took a quick drink and set it back down, fingers absently grazing the cool moisture of the crystal goblet. “In fact, it was in this very room where Logan proposed to me almost twenty-seven years ago.” A frail sigh drifted from her lips as she leaned back in the chair, eyes straying to where he danced with her second daughter. “He was quite the catch in those days, you know, a rogue about town, much as he is now. But we fell so desperately in love and I was so naïve, that I just naturally assumed his wild ways were over.”
Her eyes trailed into a vacant stare, the awful memory still able to constrict the muscles of her throat. “A painful assumption that forced me to grow up quite quickly, I’m afraid. Right after we became engaged, I discovered Logan was having an affair with another woman. An ‘innocent final fling,’ I believe he called it when he begged my forgiveness, but the damage was done. I realized I could never trust him again, not just because of his many indiscretions that I subsequently learned about
, but because I knew deep in my soul he was not a man of God.” Her lips bent in a sad smile. “Something I had conveniently closed my eyes to because I was so much in love.”
Her eyelids slowly lifted. “I have no doubt, Cassie, that God spared you from a less-than-fulfilling marriage with Mark. I believe he spared me from the same through the incredible friendship—and eventual deep love—of your Uncle Liam.” She patted Cassie’s hand. “As much as I care for your Uncle Logan—and I do—it grieves me to say when it comes to other women and God, he hasn’t changed all that much. And if I’ve learned anything from my dear, sweet husband, it’s that I will never—ever—settle for another relationship without God in the center.” She gently cupped Cassie’s cheek, the intensity in her voice bleeding from her very soul. “I love you, darling, and I’m asking you to promise the same. Promise you’ll save your heart for God’s best, a man who loves God as much as you do. Because therein lies a love like no other.”
Moisture glimmered in her niece’s eyes. “I promise, Aunt Cait—you have my word.”
“Mama, Mama—Uncle Logan said we can have an overnight in Napa if you say yes!” Maddie flew into her arms totally breathless, cheeks as flushed as Cait’s, no doubt, as Logan followed behind with a smile that quivered her stomach. “He says he wants all of us to come for Fourth of July—Bram and Jamie too!”
“Is that so?” Cait notched a brow, her demeanor calm even if her pulse wasn’t. She bundled Maddie on her lap. “And just exactly why must it be overnight?”
“A three-day weekend, Mrs. McClare,” Logan said easily, the twinkle in his eye doing nothing for her peace of mind. He offered a slight bow before seating Meg in her chair. “The Fourth is on a Friday this year, so I thought it’d be fun to make a weekend of it, especially since I’ll be tied up for the next month and won’t be able to see as much of the kids. But, by the Fourth, I’ll be at your complete and utter disposal to celebrate with my family.”