Love at Any Cost (The Heart of San Francisco Book #1): A Novel

by Julie Lessman

  His mother patted his back, tone fraught with worry. “I didn’t want to ruin your weekend—you seldom have any time off, son, and I knew you’d be home tomorrow.” Her voice was nasal, as if she were struggling with tears. “Before this happened, we had a lovely day, tea on the back porch and all, and she was feeling so good, better than she had in years.” Her voice faltered as her fingers twitched at his waist. “She’s been drifting in and out of sleep since then, which is good because the pain has been particularly . . .” He felt her fingers spasm, as if to take the place of the word she couldn’t say. “Dr. Morrissey says it will take months to put this behind . . .” Her silent heave shuddered his arm. “If at all . . .”

  He clenched till nails bit into his palms. “I shouldn’t have gone.” His whisper was harsh.

  “You have a life, Jamie, you’re young—of course you should’ve.” She cupped his fist, her fingers as cold as the dread scaling his stomach. “You’re a good brother,” she whispered.

  “I could be better,” he said, his voice a hiss. His jaw ground till it ached. “I will be better,” he swore, knowing full well what he needed to do. He was running out of time and patience, and if Cooper Medical wouldn’t consider pro bono surgery for his sister, then that left no alternative but to pay for it. And pay for it he would—at a price that would cost him his all.

  He’d marry it.

  21

  Caitlyn sat in her wicker love seat in the conservatory, head resting on its muted floral pillows while her arms hung limp at her sides, eyes as glazed as the steamy panes of glass overhead. Hadley had obviously misted the jungle of plants this morning and now the late-afternoon sun coaxed earthy smells of mulch and loam and flora that usually brought a sense of calm to Caitlyn, not unlike an herbal tonic.

  Except for today.

  She closed her eyes, and two languid tears trickled down her cheeks like the humidity on the glass, allowing the room and the woman to weep together. But the tears from the glass walls nurtured and fed the bounty of palms and ferns that thrived all around her while her own only served to bleed her soul dry. Of peace and joy and certainly hope, and for one reason alone.

  Logan.

  Her eyes opened as if doing so might banish his image, but all she saw was the love in his face when he’d handed her the ring, a love and gesture so potent it had weakened her at the knees. She’d seen glimmers of regret and fear and finally resignation until she’d done the unthinkable and rushed to embrace him . . . her gratitude so strong, she’d felt compelled to give him a kiss on the cheek.

  The kiss of death. For her and certainly for him, given the desire that had flamed in his eyes, the warmth she’d felt from shallow breaths as his mouth hovered so close to hers. A proximity that had paralyzed her, unable to move or breathe or think of anything but the hypnotic skim of his thumb as it grazed at her waist, the scent of lime and wood spice that disarmed like an opiate as it had so many years ago. Her heart had pulsed like that of a doe caught in the crosshairs of the hunter, powerless to escape and stricken with fear. And something even more deadly . . .

  Desire.

  For the first time since she’d taken Logan’s engagement ring off almost twenty-six years ago, she’d wanted him to kiss her, to feel the throb of blood in her veins once again, the hot rush of adrenaline coursing her body—coaxing, caressing like his touch seemed to do. She should have bolted at the danger she’d seen in his eyes, fled at the leaning of her traitorous limbs, but she had not. Oh, no—she had closed her eyes and willed him to taste her lips, and he had.

  Oh my … how he had, awakening longings she’d tried so hard to ignore the last eight months, shoving them deep as if they didn’t exist. But they did. Oh, Lord help me, they did . . . each and every one now entangled with shame.

  A violent heave crumpled her body as she sagged over the arm of the love seat to weep, trembling at the thought that one safety barrier had fallen—Logan now knew she was attracted to him—but another had been erected. She had rejected him outright and wounded his pride immeasurably, to the point of unleashing his rage. “You’re attracted to me and love me, yet you turn me away because my faith isn’t up to snuff?”

  “Oh, Lord, what have I done?” she whispered. Not only had she damaged their friendship and family in the process, but the hopes of the Vigilance Committee as well. And all because of a single moment of lust—the very thing of which she accused him, further proof that Logan McClare was poison in the realm of love. She could not trust him and now, to her dishonor, she could no longer trust herself. The magnitude of what she’d done overwhelmed her, and a broken sob wrenched from her throat.

  The gentle touch of a hand startled her and she jerked up to see Rosie studying her with misty eyes, concern deepening the soft age lines etched in her face. The nanny who was more like a mother sat beside her, and instantly Cait fell into her arms, swallowed up in the cocoon of her youth when Rosie had stepped in after Mama passed away. “Oh, Rosie,” she whispered, voice nasal and hoarse, “I miss Liam so very much.”

  “Aw, darlin’, sure you do.” Rosie stroked her hair while her soft brogue lulled Cait’s eyes closed. She paused. “But I’m thinkin’ that’s not what brought you home from Napa so early, now is it?”

  Cait’s lashes lifted over Rosie’s shoulder, her pulse slowing. Rosie’s vendetta against Logan was already bone deep, and Cait didn’t want to add to it. She hesitated, her words shaky. “I didn’t sleep well,” she confessed, “and today I feel like I may be coming down with something . . .” Her eyelids lowered.

  Terminal heartburn . . .

  Rosie’s pause was longer this time. “That skunk upset you, didn’t he, Miss Cait?”

  Her gravelly hiss actually prompted a near-smile to Cait’s lips, proving conclusively that she’d never been able to hide her true feelings from her beloved nanny. “Yes, Rosie, the skunk did. But I provoked it.” She pulled away to caress Rosie’s hair, her smile breaking free at the scowl on the housekeeper’s face. “Now, Rosie, you know good and well you’re going to have to forgive that skunk someday, don’t you?”

  Rosie’s face bore no humor. “Not likely when he’s poised to break your heart again.”

  Cait’s smile dissolved. “What do you mean?” she whispered, her hands falling away.

  Grief welled in Rosie’s eyes. “I mean he’s getting to you again, isn’t he?” she said softly. “Charming the socks off you just like the first time.”

  “No, of course not . . .” But it was no use. Cait could see in Rosie’s face what she felt in her own—a numb awareness of the truth: she was falling in love with Logan McClare. Unwillingly, perhaps, but effectively all the same, and the fear she saw in Rosie’s gaze mirrored that which thickened her throat, stifling her air. Hand to her eyes, she sagged into a sob while Rosie gathered her up in thin but sturdy arms, soothing her with a low croon.

  “Shh . . . it’s all right, Miss Cait. God won’t let us down, now will he?” The tiny woman rocked her like when Cait was a child, whispering with the barest roll of a brogue while she rubbed Cait’s back.

  Cait nodded against Rosie’s shoulders, reflecting on words she knew to be true. Her eyes drifted closed while she considered the God who held her in the palm of his hand every day of her life and every dark night as well. Peace suddenly welled like a river of grace, meandering through her life with its clarity and calm. Yes, Logan abandoned her for other women once and even Liam, unwittingly, had done the same through his death, but God never would, and the very thought infused her with the strength she needed to go on. The strength to know she need never fear betrayal or abandonment again—God would always be near. Drawing in a cleansing breath, she released all her fears in a whisper of a sigh.

  Rosie held her at arm’s length, the semblance of a smile curling on weathered lips. “Now that’s a good girl,” she said with a gentle pat of Cait’s cheek. “Even a scalawag like Logan Beware can’t get past the defenses of prayer, now can he?” She fished a hankie from the pocket o
f her apron and tenderly wiped the tears from Cait’s eyes. “Because first that no-good scoundrel has to get past the Almighty, don’t you know.” She lifted her chin, giving Caitlyn a sassy smile that quickly slid into a battle mode. “And then, God have mercy on his sorry soul—past me.”

  Cassie’s eyes flitted to the clock for the umpteenth time, her stomach a scurry of nerves.

  “Uh . . . it’s your turn, Cass. Again.” Alli leaned in, a touch of the imp in her eyes. “Mmm . . . a little preoccupied, are we?”

  Heat broiled Cassie’s cheeks, making her grateful it was almost eight—the time Jamie arrived for book study. “Not at all,” she said with a jut of her chin, her faint smile belying the truth. She feigned a yawn. “Just bored silly beating you at dominoes. Again.”

  Alli chuckled. “Not as interesting as Pilgrim’s Progress, I suppose,” she said with a wink, “or a handsome ‘pilgrim’ who’s undoubtedly made great ‘progress.’ ”

  Face blazing like a furnace, Cassie shot a nervous glance at Aunt Cait who read a book instead of playing cribbage with Uncle Logan while he played Go Fish with Maddie and Meg. Maddie won for the third time, and her uncle swooped her up in a mock threat, spinning her till giggles bounced off the walls. Cassie’s gaze flicked back to Alli, her words sharp with warning. “Will you hush, please? No one’s supposed to know.”

  “Ha!” Alli said with a wicked grin. “Everybody knows how he feels about you—the man couldn’t be more obvious.” She jiggled her brows. “Nor you, dear Cuz, with that pretty blush in your face, a sure-fire indicator you prefer games of midnight to dominoes.”

  That did it. Cassie lunged across the table to threaten Alli with a tickle—something she knew her cousin deplored. “So help me, Allison McClare, I am going to tickle you senseless, which shouldn’t be too hard since you’re already ninety percent there—”

  “Ahem.” Hadley interrupted Alli’s wild shriek, his stoic figure impeccable as always in black tails and tie, and his manner and tone as starched as his crisp white shirt. “Mr. James MacKenna to see Miss Cassidy. May I show him in, miss?”

  Cassie shot up as if coil-sprung from her chair. “Yes, Hadley, please,” she said, near breathless, “but in the conservatory, if you will—for our book study.”

  “Very good, miss—in the study. Would you care for refreshments?”

  Chewing the edge of her lip, Cassie pushed in her chair and raised her voice several levels. “Lemonade would be lovely, Hadley, thank you, but in the conservatory, if you will.”

  “Ah, very good, miss.”

  The butler disappeared, and Cassie nervously patted her hair, avoiding all eyes as she hurried to retrieve a Hershey bar—Jamie’s favorite—from a small chest Rosie kept filled on the coffee table. Striving for nonchalance that didn’t exist, she straightened her shoulders and slowed to a leisurely stroll in a sad attempt at exiting with decorum.

  Aunt Cait’s voice followed. “Cass, will you ask Jamie how his sister is doing, please? I’ve been quite worried since Blake said she took a fall.”

  “Certainly, Aunt Cait,” Cassie said over her shoulder. Once across the threshold, she bolted for the powder room, locking the door to assess herself in the gilded mirror, stomach twirling more than Maddie in Uncle Logan’s arms. Her pale-green eyes blinked back, registering a heady mix of excitement and anticipation that made her woozy and just a wee bit scared at what lay ahead in a courtship with Jamie MacKenna. Pinching her cheeks to heighten her color, she smoothed her loose updo one more time and adjusted the lavender gossamer dress Jamie complimented once before. “Lord, help me not to faint,” she muttered before making her way to the conservatory at the back of the house. She paused at the door to catch her breath, her nerves doing cartwheels at the sight of his broad back and narrow hips in a charcoal business suit while he stared out the open French doors. The pink and purple hues of dusk filtered through the glass panes overhead to bathe the room in an ethereal glow, while a briny breeze fluttered a stray curl of his ebony hair. She attempted to calm herself with a deep draw of air, infusing her senses with the tang of the harbor, the earthy scent of moss . . . and Jamie.

  “How is your sister?” she whispered, suddenly shy with this man with whom she’d shared the most intimate of kisses.

  He spun around, eyes caressing head to toe in a single glance that warmed both her cheeks and her belly. “S-she’s . . . fine,” he stuttered, oddly ill at ease for a man so prone to confidence. He closed his mouth, its compression almost imperceptible.

  Almost.

  Cassie took a step forward. “Are you . . . sure?” she asked, prickles of concern nettling.

  His mouth twisted into a tight smile. “Sure, Cass, if one can be considered ‘all right’ writhing in pain day in and day out.” His clipped tone stung before he turned away to knead the bridge of his nose, shoulders rising with a heavy inhale. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I don’t mean to take it out on you, truly. It’s just that . . . ,” he turned to face her, his trademark sparkle painfully absent, “I can’t stand to see her suffer any longer,” he said with a bitterness she’d not heard before. “And I need to do everything in my power to stop it.”

  Her heart squeezed, his pain becoming her own. “Jamie, I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her approach hesitant. “Would you like to pray—”

  “No!” Shock fused her to the spot at the violence of his tone. Ruddy color mottled his face as a tic pulsed in his neck, muscles taut as if to contain a temper. “No, thank you,” he said in a strained voice that came off curt. “I don’t need charity from anyone, especially a God with a deaf ear.”

  “Oh, Jamie, no—” She started toward him.

  He paralyzed her with a look. “No, Cass, I don’t want to hear any defense of your God.”

  His words snatched the air from her lungs. “He’s your God too, Jamie,” she whispered, voice hoarse as she moved in close, stopping mere feet away. “If only you’d give him a chance.”

  She flinched when he stabbed a finger in the air. “I gave him a chance,” he hissed, “and guess what? My sister is still in agony.” His jaw flickered as he stared, hands taut on his hips. He shook his head, gaze shifting to the carpet. “It’s not going to work,” he whispered.

  The blood iced in her veins. “What’s not?” she breathed.

  He avoided her eyes while a nerve pulsed in his temple. “God . . . this . . .” His Adam’s apple jerked in his throat. “Us.”

  The blood seeped from her brain, making her more lightheaded than the summer she’d passed out in that Texas heat wave when people and cattle were dropping like flies. “What?” Her voice was a shallow whisper, her next words barely audible. “But, why?”

  Seconds passed before he looked up, and when he did grief glazed his eyes. “Because it’s really quite simple, Cass,” he said quietly. “I can’t meet term number four.”

  The memory of her courtship conditions swirled in her brain, making her dizzy, and her eyelids fluttered closed as she swayed on her feet. Not the euphoric “dizzy” of Jamie’s kisses. Oh no, this was a white-blinding dizzy that forced cold sweat to bead on her brow. “Because I need to know, Jamie, . . . that if we become one as man and wife, we’ll also be one in our faith.”

  “I’m sorry, Cass—I know this is a shock . . .”

  Shock? No, this is a total broadside. Bile crawled in her throat while fear sank to the pit of her stomach, cramping into nausea, spinning the room. Oh, God, no, please—not again . . .

  He caught her the moment her knees buckled, sweeping her up in his arms to lay her on a white wicker couch amid myriad palms. “Cass, forgive me, please . . . ,” he whispered, his voice as far away as the feel of his fingers as they tenderly buffed her arms, stroked her face. Her mind and her body seemed to be whirling, an eddy of stun and stupor and pain that threatened to dispel the contents of her stomach as thoroughly as his words had disgorged the joy in her heart.

  He had befriended and bewitched her, then pursued and pleaded until he had w
on her heart. “I’ve never wanted any woman like I want you,” he’d said, and now that he had her, he was throwing it all away. Throwing her away.

  Just like Mark.

  Her breathing was raspy and shallow as she struggled to sit up, eyelids flickering open to face a man she never wanted to love, a man who’d badgered and broken her defenses until she was wholly his. An icy cold slithered through her body. Only she wasn’t, and never would be . . .

  He squatted before her, voice urgent as he massaged her hand, the same pain etched in his face that she felt in her gut. “Cassie, I wish there was some way I could tell you how sorry I am.”

  Sorry. He was sorry. Fury rose within like a sleeping giant, sloughing off the hurt and betrayal and sick feeling inside. She would not let a man do this to her again, she would not! He may have stolen her heart, but he would never, ever rob her of her pride.

  Tears pricked, but she refused to let them fall, rising up on the couch with battle in her bones. Meeting his gaze with a steady one of her own, she slowly slipped her hand from his and rose, legs wavering, but resolve firm. “Oh, but there is, Jamie,” she said quietly, her voice as cool as the relationship they now shared. “You can leave me alone and never come back.”

  Drawing in a deep breath, Jamie could feel the sweat at the back of his neck as he knocked on Logan’s office door, dreading the need to ask his boss for a favor. Logan McClare was a self-made man at a relatively young age, parlaying a good-size inheritance into a massive fortune that wielded power on every front, be it politically, socially, or financially. The last thing Jamie wanted was to appear weak or needy in front of the one man he admired more than any other, and yet he had no choice. His sister’s life was wasting away, and whatever it took, he was bent on securing a surgery that would end her pain. Whether it was asking Logan McClare to use his clout with Cooper Medical or courting Patricia Hamilton to curry the influence of her senator father, either way, Jamie would find a way. And when he did, one thing was for dead sure—it would not be charity. The muscles in his throat tightened as he adjusted his tie, thinking how Jess had paid for his mistake with years of pain and ridicule. Well, now it was his turn. He had no choice. His mistake, his debt. And he would pay for it. At any cost . . .