“I can’t believe Uncle Logan’s taking off work just to drive me to the station.” Cassie hefted her bag with a grunt. “He’s way too busy for that.”
Aunt Cait retrieved Cassie’s hatbox. “Well, it’s Logan’s firm and the man can do what he wants.” Her lips twisted. “And usually does.” She paused to sear Cassie with a mock glare. “Put that suitcase down this instant, young lady—Hadley will carry it down, you hear?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Cassie drew in a deep breath and dropped her bag, giving the room a quick scan. “Well, that’s it, I suppose. Ready?” She linked arms with Aunt Cait to head downstairs, wishing she didn’t have to run away from those she loved to heal a heart twice broken.
“All set?” Uncle Logan stood in the foyer, fedora in hand and face so somber, it prompted more tears in Cassie’s eyes. He and Aunt Cait were certainly an unconventional family, but family nonetheless, and Cassie ached at the prospect of leaving. All at once Uncle Logan swallowed her up in his arms, and her heart ached at the hoarseness in his voice. “You tell your parents I want you all here for Christmas, understood? My gift, no argument.”
She nodded against his chest, the scent of lime shaving soap and the barest trace of wood spice tugging her heart. Oh, how she would miss them all!
“Humph . . . you gonna hog her like you hog the best chair in the parlour?” Rosie darted down the hall from the direction of the kitchen to shove a cylinder tin against Logan’s chest. She yanked Cassie from his grasp to crush her in a strong hug that was nothing short of remarkable given the housekeeper’s petite form. She pulled away to cup both of Cassie’s cheeks, a squint of a warning in blue eyes as firm as the woman’s backbone. “Now, so help me, lass, if you care a whit about this big lug uncle of yours, you and your family will be here for Christmas or I will make his life so miserable, he’ll hightail it to Texas himself.”
“Miserable?” Logan grunted. “Don’t you mean ‘more’ miserable?”
Rosie patted Cassie’s cheeks as she sent Logan a scowl. “You haven’t seen miserable,” she muttered, “except in the mirror.” She snatched the tin and handed it to Cassie. “Here—your favorites—snickerdoodles for the train. For you, not him, you hear?”
“Oh, Rosie, I’m going to miss you so much,” Cassie said with a fond embrace. She leaned close to the old woman’s ear. “And Uncle Logan really is wonderful, you know.”
“Humph—matter of opinion. Gotta get back to the kitchen—don’t want to burn the roast.” She turned to hurry down the hall, tossing a thin smile over her shoulder. “Rump roast,” she said, searing Logan with a look. “Because somebody invited him to dinner.”
“Come on, Cass,” Uncle Logan muttered, “before I ruffle the feathers of a cranky old bird.” He opened the door. “And I’m not talking Miss B.”
Hadley arrived with Cassie’s suitcases in hand and affection in eyes that belied his usual stoic manner. “You will be sorely missed, Miss Cassidy.”
“Thank you, Hadley, and the feeling is more than mutual, I assure you.” Cassie gave the butler a tight squeeze, leaning close to his ear. “Don’t let Rosie bully you, you hear?”
The makings of a grin inched across his lips. “No, Miss, I shan’t.”
“Hadley!” Rosie poked her head out the kitchen door. “I need you to snap the peas, lickety split.”
The butler clicked his heels. “Yes, miss, tap the bees—honey coming right up.”
“Peas!” Rosie screamed.
“Very good, miss,” Hadley said loudly enough for Rosie to hear. He gave Cassie a wink.
Uncle Logan braced Cassie’s shoulders. “It’s time to go,” he whispered, nudging her to the door. She leaned into him all the way down the steep marble steps lined with boxwoods to the cobblestone street where his black Mercedes Double Phaeton glimmered in the August sun. The others followed as Hadley and Logan placed her things in the backseat.
Aunt Cait tugged her into her arms. “Oh, Cassie, how I wish this had turned out differently, darling. My heart breaks for you . . . and for all of us.”
Wetness pricked Cassie’s eyes, and she was grateful no one but Al knew of Jamie’s true motives in turning her away. As far as Aunt Cait, Uncle Logan, and Meg knew, she cared for Jamie so deeply that friendship was too painful an option to stay. She pulled back, attempting a grin she hoped would deflect the grief in her eyes. “Well, like Daddy always says, ‘keep all skunks, bankers, and lawyers at a distance’—and I reckon this way, I’m doing two of the three.”
“Ready?” Uncle Logan helped Cassie into the front seat while the others crowded around.
“Bye, Cassie—we love you!” Maddie’s little fingers pinched tight on Uncle Logan’s car, and it was all Cassie could do to keep from bawling.
She stroked her cheek. “Love you, too, shortcake,” she whispered.
Alli hefted Maddie up in her arms, blinking the gloss from her eyes. “So help me, Cass, the next time I see MacKenna, I have a good mind to slap him alongside the head for being so blamed stupid. I swear, the boy’s so slow, he couldn’t catch a cold.”
“Just give me the word, Cass, and I’ll dock his pay.” Uncle Logan rounded the car, the humor in his tone at odds with the sobriety in his eyes.
Aunt Cait’s chuckle seemed forced. “Well, as difficult as it may be, I suppose it’s best if we all try to forgive and forget. Come Christmas, Cassie will be back and it’ll all be behind us.”
Cassie sighed while Uncle Logan started the car, the rumble of the engine drowning out all farewells. One can only hope, she thought as the automobile veered away from the curb, the family she loved slowly fading from view. “Forgive and forget,” Aunt Cait had said. The sea breeze cooled the tears on her face while Jamie’s memory lingered in her mind. Forgive? She swallowed hard, painful emotion clogging her throat. Most certainly. But forget? Uncle Logan gave her hand a gentle squeeze and more moisture pooled in her eyes.
Oh, not for a long, long while.
So this is what it feels like . . . a child leaving the nest. Caitlyn stared blankly out the open French doors of her study, gaze fixed on the cobblestone street where Cassie said goodbye not twenty-four hours ago. Last night the house felt like a tomb—no cousins giggling or whispering secrets, no laughter from games of whist, no playful gibes between Rosie and Logan. A sad smile edged her lips. Even Miss B. seemed blue, her raucous squawks noticeably absent.
Caitlyn sighed and wandered aimlessly into the foyer where the early-morning light peeked through the glass of the lead-crystal front door. The noisy clatter of pots and pans in the kitchen confirmed Rosie’s grumpy mood as she prepared for another day as somber as the house in Cassie’s absence. Caitlyn paused with a hand to her eyes, heart heavy over the grief of her niece’s departure, certainly, but also the painful circumstances that precipitated it. Few things weighted a heart more than loving someone you could never have, and all at once Jamie’s image merged into Logan’s. Perhaps that was part of the reason she was taking Cassie’s departure so hard—her niece and she shared a common bond that had knit them close—loving two men who didn’t share their faith and were now estranged from them both. Thank goodness Cassie would have the strength of distance to help ease her pain. Unlike me, Caitlyn realized, the polite chill of Napa between Logan and her growing cooler all the time. Which was exactly why she’d sent her resignation to Walter a few days ago—clearly her feud with Logan made her an albatross around the committee’s neck, especially in light of their proposal being denied.
The front door opened and Hadley stepped through with a newspaper under his arm, distinguished as always in his crisp white shirt with black tails despite the sprig of juniper in his hair. A smile played at the corners of Caitlyn’s mouth as she stared at her beloved butler, his craggy face especially handsome with the absence of his new glasses. “The paperboy missed again?” she asked loudly enough for him to hear, plucking the juniper from his silver hair.
“I’m afraid so, miss,” Hadley said with his usual calm, a smil
e shadowing lips that never voiced a complaint. “I do believe the young ruffian relishes the thought of me rifling through the brush each morning. But I don’t mind. Rather like a trek through the jungle, if you will.”
She stood on tiptoe to graze an affectionate kiss to the old butler’s cheek. “Perhaps because you’ve misplaced your glasses again, Mr. Hadley?”
His eyes actually sparkled. “At times I find life to be more of an adventure without them, miss,” he said with an imp of a smile, “especially where Mrs. O’Brien is concerned.”
Caitlyn chuckled. “I do believe there’s a scamp beneath that regal pose, dear Hadley.”
He smiled. “Well, with Mrs. O’Brien, miss, one finds his pleasure wherever he can.”
The doorbell rang, and she startled, glancing at the beveled glass door where the image of a man shone through along with the sunlight. She heard Rosie’s shouts for Hadley to answer the door and patted his arm. “I’ll get it, Hadley,” she said with a grin, “and I’ll leave Rosie to you.”
“Very good, miss,” he said with a click of his heels, but she noted humor in his eyes.
Peering through the thick glass, she sighed, grateful for something to do other than lament a niece who was more like a daughter. She opened the door to the disgruntled look of her dear friend, Walter Henry, and instantly unease churned over the resignation she’d tendered. “Walter,” she said with more enthusiasm than she felt, “what a pleasant surprise.”
His lips flattened into a wry smile. “Come on, Cait, we both know my visit is neither a surprise nor pleasant, judging from the pallor of your face.” He removed his hat and nodded toward the foyer, sparse head gleaming with silver. “You plan to invite me in or do you want to duke it out here in the street?”
The blood that drained from her face upon Walter’s arrival now whooshed back, heating her temper along with her cheeks. She opened the door wide, motioning for him to enter, but her knuckle-white grip on the crystal knob was a key indicator he wouldn’t get far.
He marched past and turned mid-foyer, the pinch of his hat in gnarled fingers as taut as the clench of his jaw. “Resignation denied,” he snapped, one bushy white brow jagging low. “Never figured you for a quitter, Cait.”
Her anger seeped out on a weary sigh as she carefully shut the door. “I’m a liability, Walter,” she said quietly, “and the Vigilance Committee will achieve far more if I’m out of the way.” She reached to take his hat. “Would you like some lemonade to cool off?”
He snatched his bowler away. “The only thing that will cool me off, Mrs. McClare, is your retraction. And you’re wrong—we’ll achieve far more with you presiding over this board.”
Her lips curved into a gentle smile, her affection for this friend as deep as if he were the doting father he always appeared to be. “Dear Walter,” she said with a look of tenderness that eased the furl in his brow, “if I had misgivings about accepting the position before, I certainly have them now when my very presence has jeopardized the committee’s most critical vote, and this after tireless months of work to even bring it before the Board. I just think it’s best if—”
“It passed.” The glint of anger became a twinkle as a smile crooked his weathered lips.
She blinked, her mouth still open from the statement he had so effectively halted. Shallow breaths wisped forth. “Pardon me?” He knew as well as she that the resolution had been defeated six to five after the meeting, including Logan’s negative vote. “I don’t understand,” she whispered, barely able to speak. “The vote was taken—we lost.”
The twinkle in his eye turned mischievous. “The preliminary vote, yes, Mrs. McClare, but the final vote debated behind closed doors?” He winked. “We won six to five.”
“S-someone c-changed his v-vote?” Her mind scrambled to envision the faces of each and every board member. She recalled Logan’s granite scowl while she’d taken the floor, and knew this would only deepen the divide of any civility they shared. “Who would do that?” she whispered, too stunned to be fully impacted by the victory they’d won.
Walter raised up on rolled heels as a satisfied smirk curled the edge of his lips. “Why don’t you ask your brother-in-law?”
She blinked. “Excuse me?”
He grinned. “The deciding vote was his, Cait, although no one is supposed to know that.”
With an audible gasp, she listed against the glass door, utterly speechless.
Walter’s low chuckle prompted a blush to her cheeks. “You and I both know, Caitlyn, there’s only one reason why a man with a vested interest in keeping the Coast as is would change his mind.” He winked. “And she’s standing before me right now.” He grasped her hand to graze a soft kiss to her fingers. The warmth of his laughter tickled her skin. “So you see, Mrs. McClare, if you are a liability, it’s to the opposition, my dear, not us.”
“I . . . I c-can’t believe that.” Her voice was a rasp caught in her throat, the shock of Logan’s actions effectively stealing her wind. And then in a rush of giddy air, laughter rolled from her lips in a little-girl giggle that brought a wide grin to her friend’s face.
“Believe it, Cait—as you know, the closed-door vote is supposed to be secret, but I have it on good authority as to the board member who changed his mind.” He lifted her gaping jaw with a gentle finger. “But you didn’t hear it from me, understand?” The tenderness in his eyes was matched by his look of paternal pride. “There’s only one person alive who could have changed Logan McClare’s mind on that vote, male or female, and we need that person’s influence on this board.” He gave her chin an affectionate tap. “We need you, Cait.”
“But—”
Head cocked, he held up a hand, the stiff bent of his mouth evidence he wouldn’t take no for an answer. “No ‘buts,’ young lady. I expected at least a year’s commitment from you, not a mere month, and besides, your position on this board can only assist in your plans to open a school for the poor in the Barbary Coast, can it not?”
The breath caught in her throat. The Hand of Hope School—her dream to bring hope to an area so badly in need—could certainly be served by her influence on this board. The moment Walter uttered the words, Caitlyn knew he was right. She drew in a calming breath and squeezed his hand. “You’re a wily one, Walter Henry,” she said with a tilt of a smile. “I may have the board chair, but it’s a certain gentleman who garners the influence.”
“Ah, yes, my dear, but when it comes to Logan McClare?” He leaned close with a sparkle in his eyes. “I’m not the one who has his ear, now, am I?”
Caitlyn shook her head, giving Walter a scold of a smile. The realization of what Logan had done suddenly spread through her chest like embers aglow that seeped all the way up to her cheeks, warming her blood. No, Walter, not his ear. Her stomach did a little flip. Nor his heart . . .
26
Thank you, God!” Replacing the telephone receiver, Jamie shot up from his desk with a shout before realizing God had nothing to do with it whatsoever. Nope, the credit for this was entirely Jamie’s.
Regrettably, Logan hadn’t been able to garner any influence, but Senator Hamilton was as good as his word and now Jess was on the docket of pro bono surgeries to be voted on next week. Adrenaline pumped through Jamie’s veins as he glanced at the clock on his desk, grateful it was only six and Bram would still be here, no doubt preparing to assist Logan in court tomorrow. Jamie reached into his bottom drawer for two glasses and a bottle of his precious Dr Pepper, the last of a case Logan had given him for Christmas last year from the Dublin Dr Pepper Bottling Company in Waco, Texas. He usually reserved it strictly for special occasions, but this was clearly one. He needed to celebrate, and no one knew better than Bram the obstacles he’d overcome—most of which his friend approved, some he didn’t. He thought of Bram’s anger over his courting Patricia and hoped this news would soften his stance.
“Toss that witness list aside for the moment, buddy boy, we have serious celebration at hand.” Jamie kicked Bra
m’s door closed with the heel of his shoe and carried the Dr Pepper and glasses into his best friend’s office, clunking both down with an ear-to-ear grin. “Jess is on the docket,” he said, not even a bit embarrassed by the sheen of moisture that sprang to his eyes.
A grin that mirrored Jamie’s inch for inch eased across Bram’s lips despite the look of fatigue on his face. “No kidding?” He took the quarter glass of Dr Pepper Jamie poured and held it aloft like it was aged whiskey, clinking it with Jamie’s. “That’s great news, Mac,” he said, belting his drink back as his friend did too. “So, who gets the credit—Logan, you, or the senator?”
Jamie dropped into the chair and poured a second round for them both with a laugh that sounded more like a grunt. “I think it’s safe to say I had absolutely no clout in this whatsoever, counselor. The credit goes to the senator who not only legislated funding for Cooper Medical in the past, but just so happens to be golfing buddies with several key members of the board.”
Bram let loose a low whistle. “I knew Hamilton had political influence, but I didn’t know he had social pull too.”
“Yep.” Jamie crossed his legs on Bram’s desk, swirling the dark liquid in his glass. “Which is why Patricia was my first choice right out the gate.” He took a deep draw of his soda pop. “I’m just lucky she’s smart and beautiful too.”
“Yeah . . . lucky.”
Jamie glanced up at Bram’s sour tone, eyes in a squint. “How many times do I have to tell you—I had no choice.”
A heavy exhale vented from Bram’s lips. “Yeah, well, neither did Cassie, I guess.”
Jamie’s lips thinned along with his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
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