Face in a scrunch, Logan’s eyes narrowed the barest amount. “How on earth did you get so smart?” he whispered. “And how on earth am I not paying you more?”
“You’re paying me plenty,” he said quietly, tone soft but intent sharp. “Especially if you return to the family and love Mrs. McClare the way she deserves.”
Logan flinched before he looked away. “You don’t pull any punches, do you, Hughes?”
“Not when it comes to people I love, sir, among whom you are paramount, I assure you.”
A faint smile curved on Logan’s lips as he bowed his head, gaze fixed on the floor. Several moments passed before he finally nodded. “I will, Bram—soon.” His eyes flicked up with a dry slant of his mouth. “When I can do it without spitting in Turner’s eye.”
Bram gave the arms of his chair several pats and rose, feeling the pull of a grin. “Well, then, my work here is done.”
Logan’s eyes narrowed, belying the ghost of a smile on his face. “Not yet, counselor—I refuse to do this alone,” he said with a pointed look that told Bram loud and clear Logan McClare was asking for prayer. “You and I have talked prayer and forgiveness before, and I thought I had a handle on it then, but I was wrong.” His smile faded as his gaze trailed into melancholy. “I never meant to turn on Cait like I did,” he whispered. “I thought I was bigger than that, stronger, especially since your and my last talk.” He glanced away, but Bram didn’t miss the moisture that glazed in his eyes. “But bitterness and anger took hold, and I . . .” His Adam’s apple jogged. “I hurt her, and everyone else in the process.” Expelling a weary breath, he looked up then, a quiet resolve sharpening his features. “I’ll need God’s help and your prayers,” he said with a deep draw of air, slowly releasing it again in one long, tenuous sigh. “And some more time and prayer on my own to prepare for the toughest trial of my life.”
“You have it,” Bram said quietly.
“As do you, my friend.” Logan rose to extend his hand across the desk, their grip one of solidarity and faith. “Thanks, Bram.”
“You’re welcome.” He nodded toward the wrapped sandwich on Logan’s desk, hoping to dispel their sobriety with a touch of humor. “Tuller’s pastrami—your favorite.” With a casual salute, he headed toward the door before flashing a few teeth over his shoulder. “And I’d take it if I were you, sir, ’cause you’re going to need all the sustenance you can get.”
29
Eyes closed and face lifted, Meg breathed in the crisp sea air of San Francisco Bay while she lunched on the veranda of the San Francisco Yacht Club. The summer music of seagulls and lapping waves harmonized with the gentle squeaking of weathered docks that bobbed in the salty breeze, and for once she was grateful to spend a rare Saturday afternoon with her family rather than volunteering at the Barbary Volunteer Legal Services. A contented sigh floated from her lips as she sat back in her chair on the upper terrace of Sausalito’s most prestigious venue, full from the lobster she’d just finished with her family, Nick, and Bram. A gust of wind billowed the sentry of flags overhead, causing the gentle snap of material to punctuate the laughter and chatter of diners below. Her eyes flicked to the blue of the sky where not a cloud could be found earlier, and her mood dimmed somewhat at the darker haze on the horizon. The threat of thunderclouds, most likely, portending gloom. The smile on her lips suddenly lagged. Not unlike in my family, she reflected with a tug of her heart, barely aware that ridges now furrowed her forehead.
She startled at Bram’s touch. “You all right?” he asked, the crimp in his brow no doubt matching her own. “You’re not seasick, are you?”
“No, of course not,” she said softly, gaze dropping to the nautical napkin on her lap while she absently toyed with the nubby seam of its edge. “I was just thinking of Uncle Logan, that’s all.” Her solemn gaze flicked up. “You know, about how he’ll feel when he finds out.”
“Mother needs to tell him soon.” Alli’s quiet statement across the table stilled everyone’s chatter, all laughter dying along with the breeze to leave the air suddenly sticky and hot. “The last thing he needs right now is to learn from someone else that she and Andrew are engaged.”
“A little hard to do when they haven’t spoken to each other in almost two months.” Cassie hurled her napkin on the table, the hard bent of her jaw suggesting a rare frustration with both her aunt and her uncle. Her green eyes narrowed on Bram. “I thought you said Uncle Logan agreed to come back to family dinners soon? That was over two weeks ago.”
Bram rubbed the back of his neck, fatigue quickly edging his tone. “Yes, that’s what he implied, once he gets his anger under control, that is, which I imagine is considerable given how long he’s stayed away.” His lips went flat. “Which means his ‘soon’ may not be the same as ours.”
Alli slammed the water glass she’d just guzzled back on the table. Her green eyes seemed to churn as much as the foam slapping against the rock-embedded seawall that meandered the shore. “Well, if Mother doesn’t tell him soon, I’ll . . . I’ll . . .”
“Hit her with a stick?” Nick volunteered, obviously trying to lighten the mood with a lazy smile, referencing the countless times she’d whacked him with a stick when they first met.
She grinned, breaking the tension at the table. “No, but I’d like to, trust me.”
“Me too,” Cassie said with a slump of shoulders, chin in hand. Her lips quirked as she peered around the table through slitted eyes. “I suppose a cattle prod is out of the question?”
Alli fluttered her lashes. “You mean it still works? I thought you broke it on Jamie.”
“Funny, Al.” Jamie pushed away from the table to stretch arms high as he gave Cassie a wink. “Might have thought twice about marrying into this family if I’d known the women were so violent.”
“I could have told you that,” Blake said, his manner casual as he tossed the last of Alli’s dessert in his mouth. “But I wasn’t about to let that cat out of the bag because face it—misery loves company.”
“You are such a mooch!” Alli slapped his hand.
“Hey, you gave me a bite before.”
Alli popped him lightly on the back of the head. “No, you helped yourself to a bite as I recall, you little brat. I swear, Blake, give you an inch, you take a mile.”
Jamie flashed a grin. “In more ways than one.”
Blake gave him a drop-jawed smile. “Now there’s the rogue calling the rake a flirt. You had enough rope and cattle-prod injuries to qualify you for the burn unit at Cooper Medical.”
“Ha! Irrefutable evidence to strengthen my case,” Jamie said. “You just proved my point, counselor, that McClare women can be hostile.”
Cassie gave him a quick kiss. “Only when provoked, darlin’. Besides, Meg’s not violent.”
Bram grunted as he retrieved his wallet. “You’ve obviously never played chess with her,” he quipped, mentally calculating the bill before he tallied the tip.
“Uh, it appears correct,” Meg said softly, enjoying teasing Bram with her knack for numbers.
“Of course it is, showoff.” He slid her a sideways smile that put heat in her cheeks, then tossed money down to pay for the lunch, waving Nick, Jamie, and Blake off. “My treat, gentlemen—I invited you to go sailing, remember?” He glanced at his watch, then peered at Jamie across the table, who was taking his time with the rest of Cassie’s uneaten torte. “Better head back soon if you all have dinner and the theatre tonight, so make it snappy, Mac.”
“Hey, one does not rush dessert, Padre—it’s a sin.”
“So is eating everyone’s dessert.” Alli sent Jamie a smirk. Leaning in with a contented sigh, she folded her arms on the table. “It’s been a fun day, Bram, so thank you for both sailing and lunch,” she said while everyone echoed her sentiments. The sparkle dimmed in her eyes. “But I wish you were coming with us tonight, and Meg too.” She managed a pout that came off with the barest hint of a smile. “This was supposed to be a group event tonight if Devin’s
parents hadn’t invited Meg for dinner and Amelia’s parents hadn’t invited you.” She sighed, her voice forlorn. “Why do families have to change so much?”
Cassie hooked an arm to Alli’s waist. “Families growing because of love is never a bad thing, Al, so we just need to adapt and enjoy.” She focused her attention on Bram, steering the subject in a teasing direction as she was often prone to do. “And, yes, Mr. Hughes, to answer your prior question, I have played chess with Meg.” Her nose scrunched in an impish grin. “She just lets me win all the time because she likes me better.”
Bram eyed Meg with a mock glare. “Is she saying that half the wins I accrue are simply at your mercy?”
Meg battled a grin, grateful for the banter that helped chase her prior melancholy away. “Uh . . . why, no—”
“Yes!” Everyone shouted.
“Face it,” Alli said with a wink, “Meg’s a marshmallow genius—too sweet and soft to trounce anyone in games of skill or mental acuity, although we know she can do it in her sleep.”
“Except Devin Caldwell,” Cassie said with a dance of brows.
“Speaking of which,” Alli continued, “is it my imagination or have you been letting that poor boy win at chess now that you two are not sparring anymore?”
Meg felt sunburn on her cheeks that had nothing to do with the sun. “Maybe . . . but it’s more likely to keep the peace while we’re working so closely on Andrew’s special project.”
“How’s that going, by the way?” Cassie asked.
Adrenaline surged through Meg like the billowing breakers against Sausalito’s shore. “Oh, worlds better than I expected,” she said with a delighted giggle, the progress she and Devin were making in building a case against the Marsicania exceeding her wildest expectations. She sent Nick a grateful smile. “Thanks to invaluable help from my truly talented partner in crime, Chief Detective Burke—a veritable wealth of information.”
Alli peered up at Nick, smile gaping. “My Detective Burke? The man whose jaw I have to pry open to talk about his day?”
Nick gave her a lidded smile out of the corner of his eye as he slowly sipped his coffee. “Murder and mayhem are not exactly what I want to talk about when I’m with my fiancée, Princess.” He finished the last of his cup and nudged it away. “Not that I’d have the chance.”
Alli poked his arm with her utensil. “Are you saying I talk too much, Nicholas Burke?”
Snatching the fork from her hand, he tossed it on the table and pulled her close, his lips hovering. “Am I going to have to hide the silverware as well as the sticks once we’re married?” he whispered, voice husky while his gaze fused to hers.
“Naw, she’ll just talk you to death,” Jamie said with another bite of dessert. “Everybody knows Alli always has to have the last word.”
“I do not,” Alli said with another open-mouth smile, still locked against Nick’s chest. “For your information, Mr. MacKenna, I am a drama teacher, so allocution is my profession, and one, I might add, at which I am quite good.”
Nick bent to graze a lingering kiss to the side of her neck, effectively silencing her with a soft gasp of air. “I happen to think you’re pretty good at quiet too,” he whispered.
“Speaking of ‘quiet’ . . .” Jamie pushed the empty dessert plate away and rose. “I agree with both Nick and Bram.” He tugged Cassie to her feet, locking her in an embrace with a wicked smile. “I’d like a little quiet time right about now.”
Blake slid Jamie a sly grin. “I’ll tell you what, Mac, marriage sure hasn’t slowed you down.”
Jamie latched an arm to Cassie’s waist as everyone headed for the door. “Nope, it’s downright criminal how fun it can be, Rake—you oughta give it a whirl sometime.”
Blake shivered as he clunked down the creaky wooden steps. “Bite your tongue.”
A shrill whistle pierced the air, signaling the next ferry to San Francisco, and Meg whirled around, halting Bram while the others continued ahead. “I know everyone else has to get back, but Devin’s not picking me up till seven. What time is your dinner at Amelia’s?”
Bram studied her, as if sensing she had something to discuss. “Seven-thirty. Why?”
“Maybe one more sail to Angel Island and Alcatraz?” she whispered. “Since we won’t be together tonight?” Her brows sloped in a gentle plea. “Please—there’s something I’d like to talk to you about.”
He glanced at the horizon where the sun peeked through mounds of gunmetal clouds scudding the sky, and his lips curved in a slow smile. “You guys go ahead,” he called to the others. “Meg and I’ll take the last ferry home.”
They waved as they filed on to the ferry, and she grabbed his hand, as giddy as if she were celebrating her birthday. “This is a first, you know—you’ve never taken me sailing by myself.”
He grinned, the sparkle in his blue eyes matching the gleam of sun in his summer-streaked hair. “Then, I’d say it’s about time, don’t you?”
She squealed with a clap of her hands. “Oh, this will be so much fun!”
His laughter, warm and low, made her dizzy with delight as he ushered her back to where he moored his sloop. “Just one sail to the islands and back, all right?”
He had them out on the water in no time, an experienced sailor who’d competed in a number of San Francisco Yacht Club sailing events, and Meg thrilled at watching him man the sails. Her heart fluttered along with her hair in the briny breeze when he stripped off his jacket and tie and tossed them aside, unbuttoning his shirt to further loosen the collar. Mist molded his rolled-sleeved shirt to hard muscles that bulged and strained with every move. He trimmed the sail until the front edge stopped luffing, and she saw his body finally relax when the vessel stayed its course, his hand steady on the tiller. All at once, he turned to give her a wink, white teeth flashing in a chiseled face tanned to a golden brown. Comfortably propped on the rim of the boat, he motioned with his head for her to come closer, long legs stretched out as he manned the tiller.
She slowly picked her way to where he sat, plopping down when he spread his jacket for her across the wooden bench. “So, what’s on your mind, Bug?” he asked, those piercing blue eyes warming her as much as the sun before it ducked behind a tumble of steel-tipped clouds.
You, Bram . . . always you . . . She quickly looked away, grateful for the wind that whipped her hair against her face, obscuring the burn in her cheeks. She closed her eyes and lifted her chin to the leaden sky, drinking in the beauty of the day. The pungent scent of the sea, the gentle swoosh of the water, the plaintive call of the gulls overhead—a longing in their cry that seemed to match her own. She breathed in deeply, chest swelling and dipping like the waves, wishing this moment could last forever. Her exhale was lost in a sudden gust of wind, sweeping her wishes away with a bluster of reality as cool as the spray of seawater chilling her skin.
Bram is committed to another.
And Devin is committed to me.
Her reluctant gaze rose to meet Bram’s. “Devin has asked to court me,” she said, so softly she thought he mightn’t have heard except for the sudden pallor in cheeks so ruddy before. “And I don’t know what to do.”
He looked away, squinting at the ashen sky where sooty clouds slithered and surged like a serpent sulking on the horizon. “Do you love him?”
No, I only love you . . . “I certainly enjoy his company,” she said slowly, hoping to convince herself as much as him, “and we have so much in common, especially if I pursue the law.” She stared at his profile, the duck of his Adam’s apple drawing her eye to his open shirt where wisps of blond hair fluttered against gilded skin. “And I do care for him . . .”
He faced her again, his demeanor clearly in mentor mode—wise eyes, kind manner, and scalpel-precision comfort to heal whatever ailed. Only now the healer was the wounder, and oh, how it would wound him if he ever knew . . .
“Can you see yourself spending the rest of your life with him, Bug, as man and wife . . . ?”
Sh
e closed her eyes to ponder the question, but all she saw was the gentlest of men, a friend and mentor who had never left her side from the moment he’d tucked her in a hug at the age of seven. A man who would certainly make the most caring of husbands and a tender lover . . .
Her eyelids popped open and she turned away, horrified he might read that brazen thought in her eyes. She focused on his question. Could she see Devin as the man she’d love for the rest of her life? Live with? Grow old with? Her heart stuttered. And have children with? The very thought was not unpleasant and even stirred at the memory of that “almost” kiss in the conference room at work that one day. Over the last month they’d dated, she’d found herself growing more comfortable, more attracted than she ever expected. He seemed to work hard to put her at ease, keeping his word and his distance with only occasional chaste kisses on the cheek despite the desire she saw in his eyes. “I think so,” she said quietly, knowing that was what he needed to hear even if it wasn’t what she wanted to say.
“Is he a prayerful man, Meg? A man who reveres God as much as you?” As always, Bram’s voice was steady and strong, in direct contrast to the rolling waves that matched the turmoil in her stomach.
“Rest assured, if it means lighting candles until kingdom come, Megan McClare, I will pursue the Almighty until both you and He agree to say yes . . .”
“I believe he is,” she said with a faint curve of her lips, the memory of his humble ardor that night making her smile.
“Well, then, do you trust him?” Eyes intent, he posed a question she couldn’t have said yes to before. But in the last month, Devin had proven his allegiance, his credibility, his restraint.
She peered up, realizing that the impossible had finally happened—she was learning to trust Devin Caldwell, of all people, the very one who had robbed her of trust and confidence all those years. A trace of a smile flickered on her face, along with a tiny flame of hope. That was certainly a beginning, wasn’t it? The smile grew. “I do, actually, something I never thought I’d say. But he’s a good man, Bram, and I think I could grow to care about him a great deal.”