“Ah, yes—the McCarron case,” Jamie said, ambling in with hands in his pockets, his overly casual tone not boding well for Bram’s peace of mind. “I remember it well. The case Logan turned over to you since he needed a cool and steady hand.” He plopped into the chair in front of Bram’s desk, hazel eyes locked on his best friend with a faint smile.
Bram expelled another heavy breath and hiked his shoes up on his desk. “Only because the case was too personal for you and you know it. It would be difficult for anybody to calmly defend a sleazy bigwig accused of murdering a Barbary Coast dance-hall girl, much less a man whose own mother was forced at the age of fifteen to work in one.”
“Difficult, yes, but not for you.” Jamie’s half smile faded into admiration and respect, laced with more than a little affection. “Everybody knows that other than the partners, you’re the best lawyer in this firm.”
“Second best, my friend,” Bram said with matched loyalty, his friendship with Jamie MacKenna one of the few things that kept him sane of late. Lunches in Jamie’s office or his when they were too busy to go out. Workouts at the Oly Club gym where Jamie always bested him in boxing. The occasional evenings out with both Jamie and Blake. Or dinners and pool tournaments at the McClares’? Bram ignored the niggle in his gut. Yes, except for lately . . . Shaking the thought off, he folded his arms and studied his best friend. “You’re the one who’s tallied more wins than me, Mac, even as a newlywed with other things on his mind.”
Jamie grinned outright. “Good point, but you’re the one who’s snagged some pretty high-profile wins lately, along with some very impressive headlines.”
“Which apparently go hand-in-hand with late hours and no social life.” Bram rested his head on the back of his chair, the fatigue of the last few weeks causing his facial muscles to sag along with his smile. “It’s almost seven—what are you still doing here anyway? Cassie finally wise up and throw you out?”
The grin was back. “Nope, that cowgirl is hog wild about me, Padre, no question.” He winked. “Can’t keep her hands off me, which makes for a very happy home.” He laid his head back like Bram while the humor dimmed in his eyes. “Unlike the McClare household at the moment.”
Bram’s stomach clenched. Here it comes. Striving for a casual pose, he braced hands behind his neck, tone suddenly as serious as Jamie’s. “Why? What’s going on?”
“Well, as you know, it’s no secret there was a hint of tension between Logan and Cait last time you came to dinner, when she announced Meg won that internship in the DA’s office.”
The bridge of Bram’s nose puckered. “Yeah, but they seemed fine later in the evening while they were playing cribbage,” he reasoned, grateful the subject steered clear of Meg.
“Yes, well, you weren’t there for the next dinner, I might remind you, when Andrew Turner showed up unannounced. Trust me—the tension was high.” Jamie paused, eyeing Bram through pensive eyes. “Then of course, there’s the upset over you avoiding Meg.”
A groan escaped Bram’s lips as his eyelids weighted closed, hand splayed over his eyes to massage temples with forefinger and thumb. “I am not avoiding Meg, for pity’s sake.” The lie slipped out before he could stop it, and he groaned again, finally huffing out a sigh as he faced Jamie head-on. “Okay, maybe I am somewhat, but the main reason I couldn’t go last week nor this week is because I’m swamped and you know it.”
Jamie pierced him with a painfully honest stare, the kind that had marked many a discussion over the years when Bram would try to talk to his best friend about God. “I know that, Bram,” he said quietly, “but I also know you haven’t been the same since Meg came home, and to be honest, it worries me—for both you and for Meg.” He hesitated, as if he knew what he was about to say would not be easy for Bram to hear. “Alli told Cassie she found Meg crying in her room after dinner last week when you didn’t show.”
Bram’s heart cramped as his eyelids lumbered closed. Aw, Meg, no . . .
“Excused herself after dinner, a headache, she said, but when Alli went up to check on her, the poor kid was sobbing her heart out, convinced your friendship with her was over.”
The moan that left his lips was painful, causing a physical ache that matched the one in his gut. He mauled his face with his hands. “Heaven help me, I’m an idiot.”
“Actually you’re not,” Jamie said softly, the depth of feeling in his voice assuring him that he understood. “You’re just a very good friend who’s confused over something he never expected—attraction to a little girl you nurtured and loved as a sister. Am I right?”
Bram’s answer stuck in his throat, cracking his voice when it scraped past dry lips. “Yes,” he whispered. He sucked in a deep breath and raised his gaze to Jamie’s. “Is it that obvious?”
Jamie’s smile was edged with sympathy. “Only the coat-hanger smile and mime mode when Meg’s in the room, but don’t worry—I covered for you when you left to nurse your headache, telling everyone you’re under the gun on a big case.”
“I am such an idiot,” he repeated, shaking his head while his eyes lapsed into a dazed stare. “She must hate me.”
“Nope, she loves you, Bram—always has. You’ve been her guardian angel since she bloodied her knee at the age of seven on the terrace of Logan’s Napa estate. You swooped her up so fast and carried her around the rest of the night, forging a bond unlike any she’s ever had.”
A soft smile shadowed Bram’s lips. “Yeah, I know,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. He fought the moisture that threatened his eyes. “She reminded me so much of Ruthy, Mac, I couldn’t help but love her.”
“She needed you, Bram—everybody knew it. Alli’s the fun and dramatic older sister and Maddie took over as the baby of the house. That left Meg in the middle as the awkwardly shy and very insecure sister who would have faded into the woodwork except for you.”
Bram nodded slowly, his thoughts straying to the painfully shy little girl who’d been so in need of a champion, someone to shield her from the blows of the world like God had done for him. “She did need me,” he said softly, “and I sensed it so strong back then, like God whispering in my ear.”
“She still needs you, you know.” Jamie perched on the edge of his chair, eyes locked with Bram’s. “Maybe now more than ever.”
A muscle jerked in Bram’s throat and he looked away. “Maybe, but I’ll be honest, Jamie—I’m having trouble with it, with my physical attraction to a girl I’ve seen as a sister all these years.” He glanced up, his body weary from the stress of it. “I’m not sure I’m comfortable with a close friendship with this new Meg.”
Jamie studied him with that unblinking confidence that won many a jury’s vote. “I’ve never known Bram Hughes to put comfort before friendship,” he said quietly.
A grunt rolled from Bram’s lips. “Yeah, well, you’ve never known me to be this conflicted before either. I’m the calm, steady one who never gets ruffled, remember? Only this time, I’m in over my head, Mac, I can sense it. It’s bad enough I have to fight my own feelings of attraction for an innocent young girl I have no business thinking of that way, but now there’s a complication. I have the will and stamina to be her friend and stay removed from anything more, but Meg is a naïve young girl who alluded to similar feelings that night, and to be honest, that scares the daylights out of me.”
“Why?” Jamie cocked his head, a hint of challenge in his tone.
“Why?” Bram stared, the hinges of his jaw giving way. “Because Meg is vulnerable right now with this possible infatuation she may have with me, and I can’t allow that. For pity’s sake, MacKenna, she’s like a little sister, not to mention I’m ten years older than her.”
Jamie squinted. “Neither of which would hold up in a court of law, counselor. In case it’s slipped your mind, Meg is not your sister and to be honest, the way you’re acting right now—like a tongue-tied adolescent? I’d say she’s way older than you.”
Bram’s legs flew off the desk, hitting t
he floor with a thump while he grabbed a pen and paper, dismissing Jamie with a rare show of temper. “I don’t have time for this right now, MacKenna,” he growled, jerking several briefs forward, “so why don’t you just mosey on out and give them my regrets.”
“Now there’s an appropriate word.” Jamie stared him down, never budging an inch. He hesitated, and the worry that threaded his tone made Bram feel like dirt. “What’s going on, Bram? I’ve never seen you this irrational before, so out of sorts, reclusive.”
The pen dropped from Bram’s hand with a clunk as he rubbed his face, “regrets” mounting by the moment. “I’m sorry, Mac,” he whispered, expelling a shaky rush of air. “These awkward feelings I’m having toward Meg just came at a bad time, that’s all.”
Jamie squinted. “Because you’re swamped at work?”
He shook his head, too tired to be angry, too resigned to debate. “No, because I have no right to have these feelings toward her, much less act on them.”
“Why? Because you think she’s too young or you see her as a sister even though she’s not?” Jamie leaned forward, hands clutching Bram’s desk with the same intensity that shimmered in his eyes. “Did it ever occur to you that loving Meg as a woman might be the very progression God intended all along?”
Bram’s heart thudded in his chest. “No.” His Adam’s apple dipped. “At least not until the other night when I saw her again. Suddenly she was no longer my little Bug, but this woman who triggered my pulse, and frankly, Mac, I just didn’t know how to deal with that.”
“So you ran.” A trace of a smile shadowed Jamie’s lips. “I’ve never seen you run from a situation in your life, so you must really be scared.”
“You’re bloomin’ right I’m scared.” He gouged fingers through his hair, indifferent to the neat and clean-cut style he so meticulously maintained. “Between my feelings and Meg’s, this is a vulnerable situation where I could end up hurting her even more, and I refuse to do that.”
“I don’t get it, Hughes—Meg’s one of the most important people in your life and you already love her, for pity’s sake. Now it seems you’re both attracted to each other and for the umpteenth time, the woman is not your sister. So how on earth would you end up hurting her?”
Bram peered up, throat convulsing several times while sweat beaded at the back of his neck. He supposed now was as good a time as any to reveal the secret that had been eating a hole in his gut for the last six months. He expelled a weighty sigh. “By marrying another woman,” he whispered, the very words jolting him as they left his lips.
“What?” Jamie’s dark brows cinched in a frown. “What the devil are you talking about? We’re as close as brothers, Bram, and the most serious I’ve seen you with a woman is when you flirt with Stella, the seventy-five-year-old waitress at the diner we go to for lunch.”
Bram actually smiled, the thought of the spry little grandma who gave him extra portions lightening his mood. He drew in a cleansing breath and blew it out, sobriety settling in once again. “I wish it were as innocent as flirting with sweet little Stella, but I’m afraid it’s more serious than that. I’m committed to Amelia Darlington.”
Jamie squinted. “I knew your parents strong-armed you into occasionally escorting her to high-profile fund-raisers, but you barely know the woman.”
“That’s because up to now, it’s only been as a courtesy to my parents since they and the Darlingtons have become good friends.” Exhaling loudly, he cuffed the back of his neck. “Unfortunately, both my father and Amelia’s have developed the gleam of merger in their eyes, both with their companies and their children.”
“So, don’t do it,” Jamie said, a pinch of annoyance between his brows. “This is the twentieth century, Bram, not the Old World where marriages were arranged.”
“It’s not that easy,” he said quietly. “My mother accidentally let it slip that this merger is important to my father. Since then, I’ve discovered through a friend at his bank that Pop’s company is on the verge of bankruptcy, so he needs Darlington’s money. And Darlington apparently needs Father’s stateside connections, international expertise, and his once-lucrative contracts overseas. Not to mention our bloodline, Mother suspects, since Darlington is, and I quote, ‘nouveau riche’ and snubbed by the old money in society. To make matters worse, Darlington is dead set against Amelia marrying some duke she took a shine to on her Grand Tour, who apparently has turned out to be a penniless fraud.” Bram rubbed his jaw with the side of his hand, the sandpaper feel of his late-day beard as abrasive as his mood. “So Darlington is making the merger contingent upon our marriage, which sews it up rather neatly that I can’t risk Meg developing deeper feelings for me.”
“Why?” Jamie demanded, the same steely glint in his eye as when he took on an opponent in a boxing bet at the Blue Moon.
“Why?” Bram reached into his bottom drawer for the aspirin powder his doctor prescribed for the onslaught of headaches over the last six months. “I just told you why.”
Jamie stood and slanted forward, palms flat on Bram’s desk. “No, why do you have to sell your soul and future to the devil for the sake of a business merger that will probably happen anyway without your blood sacrifice?”
Blood sacrifice. Bram froze, memories of the day he almost lost his father crashing into his mind, when he’d found him bleeding on the floor of his study, face down in a pool of blood.
“Bram!”
He sucked in a sharp breath as Jamie blurred back into focus, then swallowed hard, his voice hoarse with regret. “Because I owe him, Jamie,” he whispered. “It’s as simple as that.”
Jamie paused, his jaw shifting almost imperceptibly, clear evidence he was grinding his teeth to contain his anger. “So . . . have you prayed about it?”
Bram blinked. “What?”
“This laying waste of your life for the sake of money or guilt or whatever else is putting this gun to your head—have you asked God what He wants?” Jamie folded his arms, mouth flat as he seared Bram with a challenging glare. “That’s the nail you’d always pound in my coffin whenever I was pinned to the wall about something. So tell me, Bram—was that just rote advice you give to your friends or is it something that applies to you too?”
Heat singed Bram’s collar along with a touch of anger. “I already know what God wants, Jamie—honor your father and your mother, remember?”
Jamie leaned on the desk again. “I’ve never met a man who honors his parents more than you, but you do not owe them your life—”
Bram shot to his feet, a nerve flickering in his jaw as he thrust a thumb to his chest. “That’s where you’re wrong, MacKenna. Because of me and my rebellion, my father almost lost his life thirteen years ago, so yes, I do owe him my life, as a matter of fact, and nobody’s going to change my mind on that, counselor, so case closed.”
The tick of the clock on the credenza seemed deafening as Jamie rose to his full height. “All right, Bram, I’ll leave it be—for now. But that won’t stop me from praying that you come to your senses before you make the biggest mistake of your life.” He turned to go.
Bram slashed his fingers through his hair, feeling like he’d just gone several rounds with Jamie in the ring. “Mac, look—I’m sorry, but don’t worry about me, please. I’m fine with this.”
“Sure, Bram, but let me ask you a question.” Jamie paused at the door, eyes narrowed in a contest of wills. “How fine would you be if it was me in your shoes instead of you?”
Blood drained from Bram’s face, the truth hitting dead center. If it were Jamie, he’d hound him until he saw the folly of his ways, insisting on praying whether Jamie wanted to or not. If? Dash it—he’d done just that when Jamie was bent on marrying another woman despite loving Cassie.
“I thought as much.” Jamie shook his head, lips leveled in a grim smile. “You know, Padre, other than Logan, there isn’t a man alive I respect more than you. I’ve always admired your careful deliberation, your cool head, and your solid faith.”
His dry smile was a half grunt. “But I guess nobody’s perfect.” He gave a casual salute. “Which means after all these years of you bailing me out with the Almighty, the shoe’s finally on the other foot. Because as sure as McCarron is guilty, you can bet I’ll be praying you come to your senses.”
A soft chuckle broke from Bram’s lips. “About time, MacKenna—I’m tired of carrying you. It’s your turn to carry me.”
“Don’t think I won’t.” He cocked his head, his smile tempered by unspoken warning. “All the way to the McClares’ for dinner next week, if I have to.”
Exhaling slowly, Bram nodded. “I’ll be there.”
“Good.” Jamie glanced at his watch. “I’ll cover for you this week, but after that, you’ll have to deal with Meg on your own, telling her the truth so you can get your friendship back on solid ground. She deserves that if nothing else, agreed?”
Bram nodded. “Agreed.” He watched Jamie leave, the sound of his footsteps echoing down the hall while his words echoed in his brain.
Friendship, yes. A knot of regret jerked in his throat.
But that and nothing more . . .
8
Swoosh! A mushball flew by Meg’s face while Bram stood on the pitcher’s mound in the McClares’ backyard, grinning a little too broadly.
Male cheers erupted into a brilliantly blue sky while Meg blinked, the cool breeze from the sixteen-inch softball doing nothing for the heat in her cheeks.
“Strike one!” Smug confidence fairly rang in Bram’s tone as he stood, hip cocked and a gleam of challenge in his blue eyes. The sweet scent of fresh-mown grass and Mother’s cottage roses permeated the June air, merging with the sounds of catcalls and laughter to remind Meg of joyful summers of the past. Summers spent matching wits in tournaments of mushball or croquet with her family, where she and Bram were always a team. She blew a stray hair out of her face, gripping the bat all the tighter. Now they were on opposing sides . . . in more ways than one.
The sleeves of Bram’s normally pristine shirt were tightly rolled to reveal muscular arms tan from his love of sailing while he bent to retrieve a second ball at his feet. He tossed it from hand to hand with a lazy flash of white teeth while little Maddie returned the other ball, red curls bouncing from excitement at being able to play mushball with the grown-ups. Vest shed and draped over the wrought-iron settee on the patio where Mother and Uncle Logan watched the game, Bram seemed far more relaxed than he had at her homecoming dinner over two weeks ago. His suspenders and loosened tie lent an almost reckless air while the sea breeze toyed with loose strands of his wheat-colored hair. Although he hadn’t spoken directly to her yet other than pleasantries over a picnic lunch Rosie provided on the patio, he seemed more like himself today, boding well for the private discussion she hoped to have with him later.