“Yes, sir.” It was hard to miss the cool tenor of Linda Marie’s tone, although Andrew didn’t seem to notice.
“We’ll let you get back to work then,” he said with a smile.
“It’s nice to meet you, Linda Marie,” Megan said with a soft duck of her head, praying the woman’s dour welcome was not an indication of the type of relationship they would have.
With two friendly taps on her arm to signal their departure, Andrew guided her out and into a conference room that surely spanned the entire length of the hallway, boasting a beautifully crafted cherrywood table with burlwood insets along an oval edge. Sunlight streamed through a bank of tall windows along the outside wall, giving the room a warm, welcoming feeling despite its large size. “This is where you’ll spend a lot of your time, Meg—observing depositions, plea-bargain negotiations, client meetings, staff meetings, research, what have you.” He indicated the far side of the room where an entire wall offered a floor-to-ceiling library. “The bright lighting and extensive law library makes this the ideal spot for research since you can spread papers and books to your heart’s content. And, of course,” he said with a wink, waving toward cherry-paneled walls resplendent with gilded-framed artwork, “it’s relaxing in here with high-class decor that helps intimidate the defense attorneys when needed.”
He steered her back into the hall and then into an office across from Linda Marie’s, nudging her with a palm to the small of her back. “This is the spare room we use for interns, specialty attorneys, or extra help when needed, so for now, this will be your office.”
My office! Meg’s pulse sped up, the good-size room lending a cozy air with two desks and a wall of file cabinets along one side. Brass lamps and framed maps and pictures of the city graced the walls, evoking a comfortable, businesslike feel. The entire wall behind the side-by-side desks was filled with volume after volume of rich leather books, infusing the cozy room with the sacred scent of a fine library. “It’s perfect,” she whispered, breathing in the wonderful smell of leather and lemon oil while she skimmed her fingers across a freshly polished desk.
He chuckled. “Yes, well we can’t have our visitors and interns working out of a storeroom, now can we?”
She whirled around, a sheen of gratitude blurring her eyes. “Oh, Mr. Turner, I am so very grateful, sir, and will do everything in my power to be a credit to your fine department.”
“I have no doubt, young lady,” Andrew said with a kind smile. “You possess the same quiet strength and intelligence I see in your mother, Megan, two attributes that will serve you well, both in your chosen career and in this office.” His smile eased into a sheepish grin as he scratched the back of his neck. “Of course, it’s no secret I’d do anything for her or her children.”
No, none at all . . . Meg smiled. “I assure you, Mr. Turner, her gratitude is as boundless as mine, and I honestly don’t know how I can ever thank you for this incredible opportunity.”
He checked his timepiece again and then snapped it shut with a teasing wink. “Well, you could always throw in a good word for me with your mother.” His offhanded tease warmed her cheeks, Andrew Turner’s interest in her mother an uncomfortable subject. “I’m gone for most of the day, but get acclimated to your new surroundings, Meg, then Linda Marie will run you through the paces with general office orientation before George assigns your first task, all right?”
“Yes, sir.”
He gave her a quick salute before leaving her alone to ponder her fate.
Linda Marie will run you through the paces.
Meg gulped, the sharp tap-tap-tap of a typewriter all too loud from across the hall. “Yes,” she whispered, placing her reticule on the desk with shaky fingers. She sucked in a deep breath. “I’m quite sure.”
11
Thank you, Lord, for this food and the hands that prepared it . . .” Caitlyn’s tone was reverent as she said grace, offering a peek of a smile at Rosie and Hadley while they stood at the kitchen door, hands clasped at their waists. Her gaze strayed to Logan at the other end of the table, head bent and eyes closed like the rest of her family, and her pulse skipped a beat. “And please, Lord, bless our evening with laughter and fun, peace, and harmony . . .”
Especially harmony, she thought with a tiny tumble of her stomach, well aware Logan’s last two dinners with the family had been marred by impromptu visits from Andrew. Once for Vigilance Committee business and a second time to discuss his desire to throw Meg a homecoming/internship celebration at the brand-new St. Francis Hotel. It was bad enough Meg was interning for Andrew instead of Logan, but she was certain that Logan would see the dinner at The St. Francis as just another of Andrew’s ploys to upstage Logan with his family.
The Palace Hotel—where Logan lived in a penthouse suite—had been the crème de la crème of San Francisco society since 1875, but by seven o’clock on the evening of March 21st, 1904, that all changed when The St. Francis opened its doors, boasting a line of carriages and automobiles that stretched three blocks. The new darling of high society, The St. Francis was now the place for Nob Hill nobility to see and be seen, and Caitlyn suspected Andrew was anxious to show off his new apartment suite. Which would drive Logan crazy when she finally got the nerve to tell him. But not tonight—the week of his birthday. She was determined to soothe Logan’s ruffled feathers with a wonderful evening with family where she doted on him and praised his sure win at cribbage. Picking at her nails beneath the linen tablecloth, she silently beseeched God to quell this growing unease Andrew seemed to be causing between Logan and her. With a silent sigh, she finished saying grace and looked up with a smile. “Amen.”
At her nod, Rosie and Hadley disappeared into the kitchen while Caitlyn placed her napkin in her lap, sending a bright smile to where Meg sat mid-table, chatting with Bram on her left. “So, Meg darling, I for one am most anxious to hear about your first day of internship,” she said, wanting to get the subject out and over with so the family could ask their questions and move on. Before Logan’s mood soured.
Meg glanced up, the twinkle in her eyes a key indicator it had been a very good day. “Oh, Mother, it was absolutely more than I ever dreamed,” she gushed, cheeks abloom with excitement—a response that Caitlyn noticed put a crimp between Logan’s thick dark brows. “Mr. Turner absolutely couldn’t have been nicer, and his assistant district attorneys either. Oh, and I feel like the head secretary, Bonnie, and I really hit it off.” She expelled a sigh as contented as the smile on her face. “I just know we’re going to be good friends, which is just icing on the cake.”
“Mmm . . . ,” Alli said with a grin. “Any ‘delicious’ prospects as far as the male variety on this so-called cake?”
Meg laughed, diving into her salad with gusto. “Actually, yes, because they are all very ‘sweet,’ as a matter of fact, especially Mr. Turner’s chief assistant George Crane, who, I might add, is a dead ringer for Ichabod Crane.”
Cassie elbowed Alli’s arm with a chuckle. “Not so good, I don’t think, especially if he’s holding a pumpkin.”
Chuckles echoed around the table as Meg continued, ignoring the quirk of Bram’s brow when she exchanged her darker roll for his lighter one. “Goodness, George spent the entire afternoon explaining procedures, legal terminology, what have you. He’s extremely knowledgeable.”
“All right, all right,” Alli said with a wild wave of her knife, “let’s move on from Mr. Pumpkinhead, shall we? Any other handsome prospects?”
Meg ducked to avoid the knife, consequently bumping Bram’s arm. He blinked when the tomato on his fork plopped into his water goblet with a splash, tugging a smile to Caitlyn’s lips.
“Uh-oh.” Meg giggled while Bram fished the tomato from his glass with a spoon. “Sorry, Bram,” she said, hiding her grin with a hand to her lips, “but Alli made me do it.”
He popped the tomato in his mouth, eyeing Meg and Alli through narrow eyes. “You ladies are a liability at the dinner table, but all is forgiven if you keep your mitts
off my food.”
“Hear, hear,” Jamie said with a grunt, slapping Cassie’s hand away when she tried to filch an olive from his salad.
“Anyway, to answer your question, Al . . .” Meg paused, a blush tingeing her cheeks as she peeked at her brother with a sheepish smile. “Yes, one of the three assistants is particularly handsome, but he reminds me of Blake in that he’s a bit of a flirt.”
“Hey, that doesn’t have to be a bad thing,” Blake muttered, dousing his salad with pepper.
Bram chuckled while he buttered his roll. “Only if your nickname is Rake.”
“Anyway,” Meg continued, “he’s actually very nice although he does like to play the devil’s advocate with poor Theodore Burkle, a dear young man everyone calls Teddy. And the name certainly fits because he’s as sweet and cuddly as a teddy bear and just as softhearted.”
“The ‘devil’s’ advocate, you say?” Jamie slapped Blake on the back. “Hey, Rake, he’s sounding more like you all the time.”
Caitlyn bit back a grin, hoping to steer the conversation into safer waters. “Any other females in this male bastion of law?”
Meg sighed. “Only another secretary,” she said with a scrunch of brows. “She’s very pretty and about Alli’s age, but she doesn’t seem to like me.”
“Nonsense, sweetheart.” Uncle Logan nodded his thanks when Hadley offered iced tea. “Who could possibly not like a sweet, bright, beautiful girl like you?”
“Mmm, maybe a jealous female?” Alli ventured, offering Meg a conciliatory smile.
Meg absently grated her lip. “Maybe. It’s possible she resented Mr. Turner’s fawning over me like he did because after he left, she wasn’t a bit nice. And the way she looked at him, it almost seemed like she had a crush on him.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Cassie said with a roll of her eyes. “Mr. Turner is certainly handsome.”
Logan scowled.
“So, do you think you’ll enjoy the job, darling?” Caitlyn said quickly. Anything to steer the conversation away from Andrew.
Meg pursed her lips, as if considering all facets of the job. “I really do, Mother. Mr. Turner couldn’t have been nicer, but it’s really his staff that gives his office a warm, cozy feel, as if they’re a tight-knit team, so I’m anxious to become a part of it.”
Rosie and Hadley arrived with the main course, and Caitlyn expelled a silent sigh of relief, grateful when Jamie and Bram embarked on a ribbing campaign regarding one of Blake’s latest cases. When dessert had been delivered and devoured—apple pie, one of Logan’s favorites, no less—Caitlyn thanked Rosie and Hadley for a wonderful meal and rose. Easing her chair in, she smiled at Logan as he leaned back with a satisfied look, deftly unbuttoning his silk vest. “Don’t get too comfortable, Mr. McClare,” she said with a hint of jest, “you still have to battle me in a game of cribbage, you know.”
Her stomach fluttered when he peered up beneath a shuttered gaze, wine glass in hand and head resting on the back of his chair. “Comfort isn’t even an option, Cait, when I’m matching wits with you,” he drawled, obviously relaxed from the rare glass of wine she’d allowed in honor of his birthday.
“Pity,” she said with a secret smile as she rounded the table, ruffling Blake’s hair. “I do so want you to be comfortable and unaware when I put you in your place.”
He rose and tossed his napkin down while he eyed her with a faint smile, pushing his chair in before offering his arm. “Where’s that, Mrs. McClare—the winner’s column, as usual?”
“Oooo, sounds like a challenge to me,” Blake quipped, patting his hair back down.
“And you should know.” Jamie rose and pulled out Cassie’s chair. “Because everything’s a challenge to you.” Both he and Cassie tousled Blake’s hair as they passed.
“Hey, what’s with the hair tonight?” Blake groused, smoothing it back as he rose from his seat. “Just for that, MacKenna, I challenge you to a card game of your choice—if you’re brave enough.” He sent Caitlyn a smirk. “And Mother—for starting trouble? I hope you lose.”
Caitlyn shot Blake a serene smile as Logan ushered her from the room. “Of course I’ll lose, son, it’s your uncle’s birthday—it’s part of my gift.”
“Ha!” Blake and Logan said in unison.
“Oh, and Blake,” Caitlyn said over her shoulder, “comb your hair, darling—it’s a mess.”
“My, my . . .” Logan slid her a crooked grin. “Aren’t we feeling our oats tonight.”
She tipped her head to give him a playful smile. “As well we should, Mr. McClare—this is a very special and remarkable birthday week in this household.”
His eyes softened. “Thanks, Cait,” he whispered, then tossed Megan a wink. “But I’d say ‘special and remarkable’ in this household is when you beat me at cribbage.”
“Goodness, Uncle Logan,” Meg said, the tease in her tone matching the twinkle in her eyes, “don’t you know ‘pride goeth before the fall’? Just ask Bram.”
“I beg your pardon.” Bram tweaked Meg’s neck on their way to the parlour, the rest of the crew following with banter and chatter that warmed Caitlyn’s heart. Releasing a contented sigh, she smiled up at Logan as he seated her at the cribbage table while Bram and Meg settled in for a game of chess. Maddie’s giggles rose when Blake tossed her over his shoulder to follow Cassie, Alli, and Jamie to the card table Logan had given them for Christmas. Although the parlour was a good size, Caitlyn had argued that two game tables—one for chess and one for cribbage—were more than enough, but Logan had insisted on yet another. Extravagantly carved with wooden claw feet and plush leather chairs, the circular table boasted a green felt top with burlwood edging and looked suspiciously like a poker table. Of course, Logan quickly informed her that felt topping merely aided in the shuffling of cards for games of a more innocent nature, so she’d finally consented. And now she had to admit she was grateful for a cozy room in which everyone could enjoy their game of choice.
Settling into her padded needlepoint chair next to the hearth, she leaned in with arms folded on the table, watching Logan while he commenced to shuffling the cards. “You did reserve Saturday night for your birthday dinner, I hope? The children begged to celebrate at the Cliff House, so I thought a family dinner would be lovely in one of their private parlours after browsing the art and photo museums.”
The cards fanned together in a perfect whoosh before he slapped the deck in the center of the table with a grin. “Sure—I can always use a little culture. Never have seen the displays.”
Caitlyn’s jaw dropped into an open-mouthed smile. “Logan McClare, are you telling me with all the Cliff House functions you’ve attended over the last eight years that you have never once stepped foot into Adolph Sutro’s fabulous galleries? Have you no culture?”
“If not, it’s your fault,” he said with an off-center grin, his nod at the deck of cards indicating she should take the first cut to determine the deal. “How many times have I asked you to accompany me to the opera or poetry readings at Montgomery Block, only to be turned down cold?” His lip quirked. “At the Block’s Adolph Sutro library, no less?”
Her cheeks warmed as she focused on cutting the cards, avoiding his eyes. “You know very well I make it a rule to never go out without my children.”
“Yes, I do, Cait, better than anyone. And if you recall, I invited the children on each and every occasion, but they were less than enthused about a wonderful evening with either Puccini’s Madame Butterfly or essay readings by Mark Twain.”
A smile twitched at the edge of her lips despite the discomfort of the conversation as she remembered with perfect clarity her children’s moaning and groaning when Logan had invited them along. Almost as much as she’d moaned silently over missing two productions she had very much wanted to see. But an evening alone with Logan that might be misconstrued as a date by either her family or high society had not been her idea of a “wonderful evening.”
He won the cut and proceeded to shuffle
the deck again. “And I know for a fact that both Puccini and Twain are strong favorites of yours, Mrs. McClare, which means it’s unequivocally your fault if I lack in culture.”
She peeked up beneath a veil of lashes, cheeks still hot. “I’m not the only woman in San Francisco, Logan—I’m certain the list is quite long of those who’d be delighted for an evening of culture with one of the city’s most eligible bachelors.”
His gaze never strayed from her face as he laid the deck down for another cut, his faint smile at deadly odds with the sobriety in those piercing gray eyes. “I already told you once, Cait, that I haven’t been with another woman since Napa, and as far as you not being the only woman in San Francisco, I beg to differ.” She made the cut and he dealt six cards face down to each of them, his penetrating stare all but searing her face. “You are for me.”
“Awk, awk, ace in the hole, ace in the hole . . .”
Never had Caitlyn appreciated Miss B.’s poker squawks more than at that exact moment, and she took full advantage, head jerking to glance at the game table where Blake was dealing a deck of cards. She hefted her chin in a show of mock displeasure. “Are you instigating a poker game, Blake McClare, because so help me if you are . . .”
Laughter circled the card table where Blake rallied with a good-natured scowl. “We’re playing pinochle, Mother, and Cassie was taunting about having an ace in the hole as a figure of speech. But I’d like to know why you always assume I’m the one to blame?”
“Because you and your uncle are the only two troublemakers in this family, young man, when it comes to the corruption of poker and games of chance.”
“Hey, that’s not true,” Blake argued, scrubbing Jamie’s black curls till they stood up on end. “Cassie took a chance on this joker here, and if that’s not a gamble, I don’t know what is.”
Cassie chuckled while she arranged her cards. “He does have a point.”