Bram paused, watching him closely. “It means she’s gone, Jamie.”
The Dr Pepper curdled in his stomach the exact moment the air left his lungs, Bram’s guarded look not boding well for this conversation. “What do you mean ‘gone’?”
A sigh escaped Bram’s lips. “I mean gone, Mac—left, called it quits, hightailed it home, you know—vamoose in Texas vernacular.”
The soda turned to sludge in his system, obstructing his windpipe. Cassie? Gone? “Why?” It came out as a croak.
Bram studied him over the rim of his glass. A mix of sympathy and frustration shone in sky-blue eyes that darkened to the same stormy gray of San Francisco Bay during a squall. “Well, Blake said she went home to help her mother teach at a reservation school, but judging from the look in Alli’s eyes when I played tennis with her over the weekend? I’d say it’s something more.”
Jamie tossed a hefty swig down his throat, the pop burning as much as his conscience. “What do you mean ‘more’?” he whispered, gaze focused on the bottle on Bram’s desk.
“Well, let’s put it this way, Mac. When I asked why Cass left so suddenly without saying goodbye to you or to me, Al muttered something I obviously wasn’t supposed to hear, but I managed to catch the tail end . . .”
Jamie peered up, the knot in his chest getting tighter all the time. “Which was . . . ?”
Sympathy radiated from his best friend’s eyes. “Sounded an awful lot like. . . ‘pretty-boy fortune hunters.’ ”
All blood drained from Jamie’s face.
The edge of Bram’s lip crooked. “Right before she unleashed the most wicked swing I’ve ever seen. Could have peeled the flannel from the ball.”
Jamie’s eyelids lumbered closed as a silent groan rose in his throat, heart constricting at the thought of Cassie ever finding out why he’d chosen Patricia over her. He put a hand to his eyes, his breathing shallow. “How could she possibly know? You’re the only one I’ve ever told the whole truth to. I only told Cassie part of it, that I couldn’t meet her demands of faith in God and nothing more, which was certainly true, especially after God socked me in the gut with the news that her family was poor.” He gouged a hand through his hair, stomach wrenching at the prospect of causing Cassie such pain. He glanced up, the same panic he felt in his gut bleeding into his voice. “We were fine at Blake’s party, I swear. She was resigned to just being friends—she told me so. So what on earth happened between now and then?”
Bram shook his head, setting his drink back on his desk. “I don’t know, but if it’s true, I can’t imagine the damage it did, first getting jilted by a fortune hunter in Texas, then by you . . .”
The reality of Bram’s words sliced through him, and he slammed his drink down and angled in, eyes itching hot and fists clenched on the desk. “I am not some callous fortune hunter!” he shouted, the very word making him feel dirty. “I’m just a man taking care of my family because God won’t, and blast it, Bram—I have every right to court whomever I please.”
Expelling a weary sigh, Bram leaned against the leather headrest while his hands draped over the arms of the chair, eyes wary. “Yes, you do, Jamie, but the truth is, if money and influence are your governing motives, well, I’m afraid you have a difficult defense, counselor, convincing anyone the title doesn’t fit.” He paused, voice fading to soft. “Especially Cassie.”
Jamie stared while ragged breaths pumped from his lungs, the truth exposing him in his mind’s eye for the very first time, forcing him to see himself through Cassie’s eyes instead of his own. Branding him for what he truly was—a man who used his charm and looks to prey on wealthy women, no matter the rationale. His heart cramped in his chest. He’d always told himself the end justified the means, that he was only taking care of his family the best way he knew how. Trying to convince himself—and Bram—that if he planned to marry anyway, he may as well marry rich. But Bram had warned him once he would fall in love with whom God chose, not him, and sometimes a fortune didn’t come with it. A painful truth Jamie learned all too well.
He sagged back in his chair, eyes wandering into a glazed stare. He’d convinced himself as long as Cassie was a part of his life, as long as they remained friends, he could do this, sell his soul to the highest bidder. But suddenly her absence and the pain he’d caused left a gaping hole, not only stripping away his pride, but his joy and hope as well. “She must hate me,” he whispered, the glow over the potential surgery as stone cold as Cassie’s feelings for him.
“I doubt it,” Bram said quietly. “She’s hurting, certainly, but she cares about you and she cares about God, which means she’ll do what he asks her to do—she’ll forgive you.”
Jamie put his head in his hands, despair sucking the life from his soul as surely as it sucked the air from his lungs. “But can I forgive myself? I wounded her, broke her trust . . .”
“Yes, you did, Mac, but keep in mind her trust isn’t in you anymore—it’s in God—where it belongs.” His chair squealed, and Jamie looked up, almost desperate enough to listen to his best friend’s prattle about God for once, anything to alleviate this suffocating feeling. Bram bent forward, arms folded on his desk and eyes intense. “Because Cassie knows no matter the pain or situation, God’ll see her through . . . just like he’ll do for you, Jamie, if you’d let him.”
“And how would he do that, Bram?” His voice was hollow, echoing the hopelessness he felt inside. “He hasn’t been there before, what makes you think he’d be there now?”
Bram’s eyes softened. “He’s been there, Jamie, you just never acknowledged it before, but think about it. You’re a kid from the Barbary Coast, poised to become one of the best lawyers in the city and a legislator down the road.” Bram hesitated. “Do you really think you did that all by yourself?”
Jamie blinked, fully aware of the near-impossible task he’d accomplished. It was unheard of for a boy from the slums to ever finish school, much less graduate Stanford Law with honors. His eyes weighted closed and suddenly he remembered all the breaks that had come his way—the men on the docks taking a liking to him, his aunt sending his mother funds after his father died, jobs that had been so plentiful when he needed to earn money, not to mention the doctor’s discounts for Jess’s medicine. Realization pricked like a pinpoint of light through a dark, damp fog of despair. Could it be true? Did God actually care about him? About his mother and Jess?
As if sensing Jamie’s train of thought, Bram slanted in, the fervor in his tone matching that in his eyes. “If God has taken care of you all these years without your consent, Mac,” he said quietly, “just imagine what he could do if you let go and gave him free rein . . .”
Jamie’s eyes flicked up. “Free rein . . . ,” he whispered, wishing more than anything he could do just that, shift the burden of worry off his own shoulders onto those of some invisible Being, to be finally set free from the guilt that gnawed at him day in and day out. To trust someone other than himself. He shook his head. “Trust me, Bram, there’s nothing I’d rather do than turn this mess I’ve made of my life over to God or anybody, but there’s too much at stake.”
“Yeah, there is, Mac—your happiness, Cassie’s, and your family’s. Right now, you’re barely one for three. Do you really want to trust the people you love to that kind of record?”
Jamie kneaded his temple with the ball of his hand, frustration roiling in his gut. “No, but you don’t understand—I don’t have a choice. Believe me, I’d give anything to be courting Cassie instead of Patricia, you know that, but I need the senator’s influence.”
“And his money?”
Pretty-boy fortune hunter. Jamie winced, hand to his head. He paused, taking too long to answer. “I thought so, but now I’d give anything just to have Jess well and Cassie by my side.”
“Anything?”
Jamie seared him with a look, vehemence in his tone taking him by surprise. “Anything.”
The faintest glimmer of a smile played on Bram’s lips. “How ’bou
t that stubborn pride, then, MacKenna? Laying it down to let God have his way? After all, faith can move mountains, you know—be they granite . . . ,” the smile edged into a grin, “or pigheaded pride.”
As if in a trance, Jamie lapsed into a cold stare, jaw shifting the barest amount while Bram’s statement rolled around in his head. He finally looked up. “What if God’s way doesn’t include a surgery for Jess?” he whispered, the tension in his neck seeping into his tone, clipping his words. “And she has to live in pain the rest of her life?”
“Tell me, Mac—do you love your sister?” Bram asked quietly.
“What kind of stupid question is that, Hughes—I’d give my life for my sister.” A scowl tainted Jamie’s lips. “Blast it, I am giving my life for my sister!”
Bram sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Then, it’s no different with God. He loves you and he loves Jess—so much that he gave his life for you both. If you want the very best for your sister, Mac, then do it his way, not yours. And ‘his way’ says to ‘commit your way unto him, trust him, and he shall bring it to pass.’ ”
Jamie shook his head. “You have no idea how much I wish I could believe that, Bram, but I’ve come too far in helping my sister. I can’t risk throwing it all away now because I wish things were different—I can’t do that to Jess.”
“And what about Cass?” Bram whispered, her very name twisting Jamie’s gut.
He closed his eyes, seeing her face, missing her so much, it was a physical ache. The pinprick of hope flickered briefly and then faded to black, sealing Jamie’s decision. “Jess’s health has to come before anything I want, even my love for Cassie.” He downed the rest of his pop. “That’s just the way it’s gotta be.”
“For now,” Bram said softly. “I know you don’t understand this, but God’s Word says not to lean unto your own understanding. Tells us to acknowledge him in all our ways, and he will direct our paths.” He slid his empty glass across the desk. “That’s how I plan to pray for you, my friend, that you’ll relinquish control and let God lead the way to your future and Jess’s.” He paused, a measure to his words. “And I’m asking you to do the same. Will you?”
Jamie peered up with a half smile. “Me? Pray?”
Bram grinned. “Yeah—you. I get real sick of hauling your sorry life out of the pits all by myself, you know that?”
A chuckle escaped Jamie’s lips, easing the tension in his jaw. “Yeah, I do.” Collecting the bottle and glasses, he rose to his feet, not sure if the warmth he felt was from the Dr Pepper or the comfort of words from a man he trusted. “And I will,” he said on his way to the door. He raised the bottle in a mock toast. “Because it sure in the blazes can’t hurt.”
27
Soooo, young lady . . .” Virginia McClare doled out a Texas-size piece of peach cobbler for her daughter in the cozy, candlelit dining room where Cassie had eaten many a holiday meal. Her mother topped it with a scoop of homemade ice cream, then sailed it across the polished oak table now graced with a crystal vase of Mama’s yellow tea roses. “You’ve filled us in on everyone in San Francisco except for that nice young man you always talked about in your letters.” She looked up with a smile. “Jamie, was it?”
Coffee pooled in Cassie’s mouth. Oh drat, why had she written so much about Jamie in her letters to her parents? Um . . . because I was falling in love with the mangy, flea-infested mongrel? She swallowed her coffee in a thick gulp while she reached for the cobbler, scrambling for an answer that would satisfy a woman who could read her daughter’s mind like the front page of the Humble Gazette. It was bad enough the low-down, mealy-mouth weasel of a womanizer invaded her thoughts on a daily basis, but the last thing she wanted was to ruin her welcome-home dinner with talk of a skunk named Jamie MacKenna. Talk about indigestion!
“I was sure I detected a spark of interest on your part, darling,” she continued, cutting cobbler for herself, “which is why I was surprised you wanted to come home.” Her mother eased into her seat to partake of dessert, assessing Cassie with an innocent stare that was anything but. Knowing her mother, she wanted details, and Cassie would have killed for a peach pit to choke on, anything to keep from talking about Jamie. “So, why the rush to come home, Cass?”
Why the rush? Because another yellow-bellied, dirt-sucking snake of a man slithered into my life to steal my heart, that’s why. “Goodness, Mother, I swear even Rosie can’t touch your cobbler, and peach no less—my very favorite.”
Shoving his empty plate away, Quinn McClare folded burly arms on the table, his penetrating gaze more deadly than her mother’s. As handsome as his brother in a laid-back flannel kind of way, her father was every bit as shrewd as Uncle Logan, parlaying barren farmland into one of the biggest cattle spreads in East Texas before debt and disease took its toll. And, like his political brother, an influential force in Humble government. That is, until his oil investments veered south, bleeding his assets—and his reputation—as dry as a Texas drought. Green eyes darker than her own studied her with an unflappable air of calm that typified her daddy, grounding her with the stability to come clean with the two people she loved most.
He cleared his throat and reached for a toothpick. “Side-stepping the question isn’t going to fly in this neck of the woods, Sweet Pea. Both your mama and I can sense you’re not right, so you may as well spit it out, ’cause none of us are getting up from this table till you do. Something happened in San Francisco to steal the roses from your cheeks, darlin’, and we aim to know what it is.” His jaw set while the toothpick rolled around the corner of his mouth. “Now . . . just who is this Jamie character and what’s your relationship with him?”
A groan escaped on the wave of a blustery sigh. She dropped her fork on the cobbler and pushed her plate aside, sagging back in her chair. She’d forgotten how prying two parents who loved her could be. “Jamie is Blake’s best friend and a lawyer in Uncle Logan’s firm and practically family, so we became friends.”
“Just friends?” The furrow in his brow was so like Uncle Logan’s that Cassie’s heart cramped in her chest, suddenly homesick for San Francisco.
“At first,” she whispered, avoiding his eyes while she toyed with the handle of her fork.
Her mother leaned in, eyes tender but smile wary. “You’re in love with him, aren’t you?”
She should have expected it—her parents’ keen intuition when it came to her happiness, but still the question shook her to the core, water filling her eyes like a flash flood. With a shaky nod, tears spilled down her cheeks and instantly they both shot from their chairs, Daddy tugging her up in his arms while Mama hovered close with a gentle hand to her back. “I . . . n-never int-tended t-to, but h-he p-poured on the charm and I . . . I . . .”
Her voice broke on a sob, and Daddy cradled her shoulder to usher her into the next room with its hewn wood beams and simple oak furniture while her golden retriever Gus trotted behind. Tucked between her parents, Cassie sagged back on a rough-sawn wood couch Daddy had built and Mama upholstered in hues so earthy and vibrant, like the hill country of Texas. With liquid brown eyes as sorrowful as Cassie’s own, Gus plopped down in front of her, sinking against her with a comfort as warm as the two people beside her. “What happened, Cass?” Daddy whispered with a stroke of her hair, and suddenly Cassie knew she’d done the right thing in packing her bags to head home. Pulling away with a sniff, she took the handkerchief he offered and blew her nose while Mama soothed with a steady caress of her back.
“I didn’t like him at first because he reminded me so much of Mark—too good-looking for his own good and more charm and blarney than a Dublin peddler convention.” She drew in a wobbly breath and released it again, dabbing her eyes with the cloth. “But he wouldn’t take no for an answer, you see, and kept pressing to court me.”
“Did you say yes?” Mama asked, tucking several flyaway hairs behind Cassie’s ear.
“No, he has no faith in God, Mama, and Aunt Cait warned me about that.”
Dad
dy squeezed her waist. “Good girl. Aunt Cait’s a wise woman in matters like this.”
Giving a nasal sniff, Cassie looked up. “I know, she told me—with Uncle Logan.”
“She told you that?” Mama said, eyes wide as she bent forward.
Cassie nodded. “We became very close, Mama—Aunt Cait’s a lot like you, you know.”
“So what happened with this boy, Cass?” Quinn McClare was apparently in no mood to dally when it came to the welfare of his daughter.
A sigh withered on Cassie’s lips. “He said he would do anything to court me, Daddy, so I told him the only way I would even consider courtship was if his faith in God matched mine. I made a deal that if he was willing to remain friends while he went to church with me and discussed Pilgrim’s Progress once a week, I might reconsider.”
“And?” Mama shifted to face her.
“He did and so I did.” A heave bubbled in Cassie’s throat and she blew her nose, her voice trailing off into a weak sob. “And then he said he only wanted to be friends . . .”
“Aw, Pumpkin.” Daddy swallowed her up in a bear hug that smelled of pine and leather and hay. “Why would that scalawag say something like that after tracking you like a coyote?”
“B-because of God, he said. Claims we don’t think the same way and he wouldn’t meet my expectations.”
“The boy has a point, darling,” Mama said quietly.
“B-but that wasn’t the real reason, Mama,” Cassie said with a quiver in her throat. “I found out from the girl he’s courting now that it was because she’s rich and I’m not.”
“What?” Quinn McClare sat straight up, fire in his eyes that could have singed his brows. “The polecat’s already courting somebody new and he’s a fortune hunter? Does Logan know?”
“No, Daddy, and I don’t want him to, please. Alli is the only one I told, and all I want to do is forget that I ever met Jamie MacKenna.”
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