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

by Julie Lessman

Jamie tweaked a loose lock of Alli’s hair. “Sorry, Al, but I promised Jess I’d be home early. We’re finishing up a chess game, and she’s anxious to take me down.” His gaze flitted to Cassie with a swerve of a smile. “A desire I evoke in a number of women, it seems.”

  “How is Jess doing?” Caitlyn’s tone softened at the mention of Jamie’s sister.

  Cassie noted the sudden strain in his jaw. “Her fall over the Fourth took a toll, I’m afraid, but she’s slowly recovering, although not quick enough to suit me.”

  Aunt Cait rose to give him a hug. “We’ll continue to keep Jess in our prayers, and you, as well.” She kissed his cheek. “Give your family our love, and please tell them I’m hoping they can join us for the holidays this year, so please try to coax them, will you? You’re like family, James MacKenna, and that goes for your mother and sister as well, is that clear?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Jamie said quietly. His cheeks colored as he cleared his throat, the invitation clearly uncomfortable. “I’ll certainly extend your invitation, Mrs. McClare, as always, but since Jess’s fall, it seems Mom sticks closer to home more than ever before, so I can’t promise they’ll come.” He quickly squatted to give Maddie a tight squeeze, then rose and drew in a breath, flashing a stiff smile. “Well, good night, everyone.”

  Alli poked Cass with her elbow as goodbyes followed Jamie to the door.

  “I’m going, I’m going . . . ,” Cassie muttered, catching up in the foyer. “Jamie?”

  He turned, and she couldn’t help but notice the hesitation in his eyes.

  She halted several feet away, absently picking at a sliver on nails chewed to oblivion the last two weeks. “I . . . wanted to . . .” She cleared her throat. “No, I needed . . . to tell you something.” Inhaling deeply, she winced when she yanked the hangnail clean off, down to the nub. The pain from her nail coincided with that in her heart over the polite distance in his eyes. She looked down, noting the blood on her finger. “I . . . owe you an apology—”

  “Cass, no—”

  Her head shot up. “Yes, Jamie, I do. You’ve every right to court whomever you please.”

  Lips firm, he averted his gaze, eyes fixed on the floral pattern of Aunt Cait’s foyer rug.

  “True,” she continued, exhale shaky, “you shouldn’t have led me on, especially in Napa.”

  His eyes met hers, and the sorrow she saw plucked at her heart. “Cass, forgive me—I was wrong.”

  “Yes, you were, but so was I.” Emotion bobbed in her throat as she stared at the man who’d inched his way into her heart. Opting to follow Alli’s advice to make amends, she blew out a halting breath, determined to be Jamie’s friend if nothing else. “Over the last few months, I’ve touted faith in God and forgiveness until you were blue in the face, and then when I have the opportunity to show it firsthand, what do I do? I let my hurt and disappointment embitter me to the point that I throw you out on your ear.” She clutched her arms to her waist, chin elevated to keep it from trembling. “My only defense is I was so mad I wanted to spit in your eye, brand you with a red-hot poker, hang you from the highest—”

  He raised a palm. “I get the general idea, Cowgirl.” He slipped his hands in his pockets, a grin tugging his lips. “So I guess I should be grateful you only threw me out?”

  She smirked, the tangle of nerves in her chest slowly unraveling. “You have no idea, Pretty Boy. Mark has a permanent bruise the shape of my boot.”

  His smile faded. “I deserve that and more,” he said quietly.

  “Yes, you do, but to show you I live the faith I tried to drill into that hard head of yours, I’ve chosen to forgo on the bodily harm.” Melancholy crept into her heart . . . as well as her smile. “Because the truth is, Jamie, I value your friendship.” She extended her hand. “So . . . friends?”

  He stared, his words soft and low. “That didn’t work out too well the last time, Cass.”

  “Oh, trust me—this time it will.” She hiked a thumb to the ceiling. “And I have boots and a lasso to prove it.”

  He lowered his head and chuckled, finally peering beneath dark lashes. His smile was wistful. “You’re one in a million, you know that?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do,” she said with a sassy hike of her brow, thrusting her hand.

  He moved in to clasp it, and the quiver in her stomach raced clear down to her toes.

  “Good—friends it is, then,” she said with as much nonchalance as she could possibly muster given the heat creeping into her cheeks. With one firm shake, she eased her grip from his. “Good night, Jamie, and just for the record?” She flicked a loose strand of hair over her shoulder. “I hope Jess grinds you into dust.”

  He laughed. “No worries there. When it comes to chess, my sister makes me look like an amateur.” Affection warmed his tone. “Kind of like you with poker and pool.”

  “And pinochle,” she said with a cocky tilt of her head, “if you’re man enough to try.”

  “Next time,” he said softly, then glanced at his watch. “I better go, but before I do, there’s something I need to tell you as well—as friends.”

  “Yes?”

  He drew in a slow breath and instantly she felt like she was wearing a corset made of steel. “It’s about Blake’s birthday dinner at Cliff House next week,” he said weakly.

  “I do hope you’re coming.” Her forehead creased. “Blake would be upset if you didn’t, and goodness, I’d hate to think you wouldn’t because of what happened between us.”

  “Yes, I’m coming . . . ,” he said, his voice more somber than usual, “it’s just that . . .” He looked up then with a sobriety that stuttered her pulse. “I won’t be alone.”

  She blinked, his statement drifting in her brain like an autumn leaf that had yet to light, but when it did, she was certain it unleashed a burst of scarlet in her face. She opened her mouth to speak, but the words seemed to be fused to her tongue.

  “Blake wants Liddy there,” he said quickly, as if to dispel the awkwardness of the moment, “and Liddy’s father insists Patricia come along, so I offered to escort her.” His pause was painful. “You see, Cass . . .” A muscle jerked in his throat indicating this was as uncomfortable for him as it was for her. But not quite. “Before you, Patricia and I were . . .”

  “Courting . . . ?” It was a whisper that barely cleared her lips, the sound frail and hesitant.

  His eyes softened despite the barest hint of a flinch. “Not officially,” he whispered, “but there were . . . expectations . . .”

  Expectations. Yes, she understood them well. “Of course.” She forced a bright smile she hoped wouldn’t crack on her face. “So you’ve decided to resume seeing her again . . . to pursue c . . .” It wouldn’t come . . . couldn’t come for the hurt clogging her throat.

  “. . . c-courtship, yes,” he said slowly, as if he, too, had trouble saying the word.

  And yet he did.

  Never had she missed the ranch more than right at that moment—the warmth of Mama’s comfort, the security of Daddy’s arms, telling her she mattered to them if not to the men in her life. Tears welled beneath her lids, and she fought them off, desperate for the shield of anger she’d felt before. But it had left when she’d given Jamie over to God, forgiven him and accepted only friendship. Suddenly she was defenseless from the hurt that paralyzed her to the spot. “I . . . need to get back,” she whispered, blinking hard to ward off the moisture that would betray her.

  He took a step forward, her name a rasp of regret. “Cass . . .”

  It didn’t matter his voice sounded as broken as hers or that the faintest sheen of wetness glimmered in his own eyes. All that mattered was getting away before her pride was nothing but a puddle of tears lapping at her feet. “I . . . whist . . . I . . . need to play whist,” she muttered and took several steps back, whirling to head back outside. Only her feet didn’t carry her to the terrace where her family waited and laughed. No, she found herself hurrying to the staircase, the click of her heels dying o
n the carpet as she fled up the steps. “Good night, Jamie,” she called, unwilling to glance back for the tears streaming her cheeks.

  “Cass, wait—”

  But she didn’t. She was done waiting. For men like Mark and Jamie. For love to heal her heart. For happiness to find her in the arms of a man. Blinded by tears, she stumbled to her room and closed the door with a painful heave. Memories of Mark and Jamie bombarded—their charm, their kisses, their relentless pursuit—and she vowed she’d never fall prey again.

  Anger swelled as she marched to her pitcher and basin to repair the damage Jamie had done. She splashed cold water on her face, wishing she could repair her heart as easily, but it would take time. Time and prayer, she decided, but by God, she would do it. Fingers quivering, she patted her skin dry, mouth pinched with resolve. She was through with pretty boys who stole her kisses and then her heart. From now on, she’d wait on God and God alone for one virtuous man, faithful and true. A purebred who would run the race—for her heart and the faith that would bind them together. She powdered her face, a glint of steel in eyes glazed by tears she would no longer allow . . . at least to the world.

  She sniffed. Or to a pretty-boy stallion . . . who was clearly nothing more than a coyote in disguise.

  24

  Assessing her tearstained face in the mirror, Cassie gouged a final hairpin in, wishing she could rip them all out and just go to bed. Heaving a deflated sigh, she stared at her pitiful reflection, not even blinking an eye at the knock on her door.

  “Cass?”

  “It’s open,” she said, tone lifeless and nasal.

  “What are you—” Alli stopped mid-sentence when Cassie turned, red-rimmed eyes apparently giving her dead away. “Aw, Cass,” she whispered, closing the door before she hurried over to wrap her in a tight hug. “What did that little brat do now?”

  Cassie sniffed and plopped on the edge of her bed. “What pretty-boy brats like him do so well, Al—he broke my heart. Again.”

  Alli sat and looped an arm to her waist. “But I thought you agreed to forgive and forget and just be friends?”

  A grunt rolled from Cassie’s lips. “Oh, I did, but I didn’t expect him to make it so blamed easy.” She sniffed. “Or maybe I should say ‘hard.’ ”

  “What do you mean?” Alli asked, appearing ready to take Jamie on with a square of her shoulders.

  Cassie’s gaze wandered into a vacant stare, shoulders slumped. “He’s courting Patricia.”

  “What?” Alli’s back went stiff as a rod. “But he hasn’t looked twice at her since you came to stay, and then there were all those advances he made to you . . .”

  “Which he apologized for,” Cassie said, voice wavering into a sigh.

  It was Alli’s turn to grunt. “Humph—too little, too late, if you ask me.” She shook Cassie’s arm. “I refuse to believe he cares more for Patricia than for you. Why, the man couldn’t keep his eyes off of you, let alone his hands.”

  Cassie turned, lip in a quiver. “Do you think that’s it, Al? That he lost interest when I gave in to his kiss—the night we played midnight? You know, suddenly I was no longer a challenge?”

  “Horsefeathers,” Alli said, tone indignant. “Why, Liddy said she’s caught him with Trish in the past . . .” Her voice trailed off at the sudden tears in Cassie’s eyes. She squeezed her in a fierce embrace. “Oh, Cass, I’m sorry, but knowing Trish like I do, I doubt that’s the reason.” She gently brushed hair from Cassie’s face. “I don’t know why this happened, but I do know Jamie cares for you.”

  A hiccup broke from Cassie’s mouth. “Sure he does—as a friend.”

  Alli sat straight up, the gape of her mouth curving into trouble. “Maybe—maybe not.”

  Cassie’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, no . . . I don’t like that look in your eye.”

  “Great balls of fire, I’ll bet that’s one way we can flush out his true feelings.”

  Cassie moaned. “Come on, Al, his true feelings are obvious—he has no interest in me other than as a friend, and I’ve accepted that.” She sniffed, eyes trailing into a pitiful stare. “Daddy always says ‘every trail has a few puddles,’ but dash it all, Al, I’m tired of getting wet.”

  “Well, then, let’s send a little storm Jamie’s way, shall we?”

  Cassie glanced up, shaking her head. “Oh, no—”

  Alli stared her down. “Look, you may’ve accepted it, but I refuse to allow you to sit there at Blake’s party pretending everything’s hunky-dory while Jamie fawns over another woman.”

  “But what am I supposed to do?” Cassie said with a groan.

  “Maybe a little fawning of your own?”

  “Excuse me?”

  A devious chuckle rumbled in Alli’s throat as she hopped to her feet. She grabbed Cassie’s hand and tugged her to the door. “Blake can invite whomever he likes.” Alli winked. “Especially if they happen to be eligible bachelors.”

  Cassie balked, heels skidding across the polished wood floor. “Oh, no you don’t,” she said with panic in her chest. “I am through with men for the summer and maybe forever.”

  Alli folded her arms. “All right, Cass, if you want to be the only one without an escort while Jamie dances the night away with Trish . . .”

  “I won’t be the only one—you’ll be there.” Cassie crossed her arms right back.”

  “With an escort,” Alli emphasized. “Blake’s been hounding me to meet a friend of his, so I think this party is the perfect place, don’t you?”

  “You wouldn’t.” Cassie felt the blood drain from her face.

  Alli leaned in. “You bet I would, to force you to stand up to Jamie MacKenna? Unless, of course,” she said, brow angled high, “you won’t mind the gloat in Trish’s eyes?”

  That did it. The blood returned to Cassie’s cheeks in force. “But only for Blake’s party, right?” she asked, her nervousness giving way with a chew of her lip.

  “Absolutely,” Alli said, “unless you want it to be more . . .”

  Cassie nodded, swallowing hard. “You’ll ask Blake for me?”

  “In a heartbeat.”

  “It has to be somebody Blake trusts, of course—nice, kind, and a perfect gentleman.” Cassie found another hangnail to punish.

  “Keep in mind this is Blake here, but we’ll do our best.” Alli opened Cassie’s door.

  “And, Al?” Cass stood there, thumb in her teeth.

  “Yes, Cass?” Alli’s gaze was tender.

  “Can you make sure he’s prettier than MacKenna?”

  Alli grinned, hooking Cassie’s waist to usher her down the hall. “For crying out loud, Cass, give me a little credit, will you?” Her smile slid into a smirk. “That’s a given.”

  “Are you crazy? Harper’s a womanizer from the word go!” Jamie ignored the curious glances at the entrance of The Cliff House Dining Room, channeling all his frustration over a bad day at work into upbraiding his best friend, birthday or no. Hands stiff on his hips, he stared at Blake like he’d just arranged for Cassie to go out with an axe murderer. Music and conversation filtered from the palatial dining room where endless rounds of linen-clad tables circled a dance floor filled with beautiful people. Bejeweled matrons of society glittered and glowed like the candlelight sconces throughout the pillared room, creating a fairy-tale setting enjoyed by the darlings of Nob Hill.

  Blake grinned. “So are you, Mac, but I let you come around, don’t I?”

  “This isn’t funny, McClare—Cassie’s too innocent for the likes of that . . . that . . .”

  “Pretty Boy?” Blake patted Jamie’s cheek. “Come on, she handled you, didn’t she?”

  “This is different—I’m your best friend. I care about your family.”

  Blake’s smile went flat. “Yeah? Tell that to Cassie—I watched her mope around the house for two weeks, remember?”

  Heat scalded Jamie’s neck. “I already told you—I’m not religious enough to suit her.”

  Blake chuckled. “You’re not religious at
all, which is one of the reasons I like you, although I wish you’d rub off on Bram instead of the other way around.” He cuffed Jamie’s shoulder. “Come on, MacKenna—lighten up. Brad Harper’s not religious either, so he doesn’t stand a chance with Cass. Besides, I keep telling you—she handled you, she can handle him.”

  Jamie’s jaw ground into a mulish press, remembering with painful clarity how he’d practically seduced Cassie during a game of midnight. No, Blake, she can’t . . .

  “Uh-oh, don’t look now, but the senator’s daughter is heading this way.”

  Jamie groaned, gouging the bridge of his nose with the ball of his hand. Great. First a trying case consumes my whole day and now a trying woman wants to consume my whole night.

  “Here you are,” Patricia said, her long, dark hair swept up in a graceful pompadour that allowed for a single curl trailing her shoulder. She flipped it back, violet eyes a perfect match for a shapely dress that turned every male head in the room, reminding Jamie once again how lucky he was. His lips clamped in a tight line. Too bad he needed reminding, although he’d certainly felt that way once—before Cass. She slipped her arm in his and gave him a dazzling smile. “I believe you owe me a number of dances, Mr. MacKenna.”

  Jamie forced a smile. “I believe I do, Miss Hamilton, an oversight I hope to correct.” He led her to the dance floor and took her in his arms, easing into the heady whirl of a waltz. She chatted away while he listened with half an ear, his mind on his trying day at work until Cassie caught his eye a few feet away. She didn’t possess the beauty of the woman he held, but his heart thudded all the same over powdered freckles she tried so hard to hide and the sparkle in green eyes now focused on another man. The lilt of her laughter cinched his jaw, her off-the-shoulder gown fluttering in the breeze as Harper spun her in his arms. In natural reflex, Jamie’s eyes roved the length of her, cream-colored chiffon flowing down a body that had haunted too many of his dreams.

  “Jamie?”

  His gaze jerked to Patricia, and fire broiled the back of his neck. “Yes?”