Dare to Love Again (The Heart of San Francisco Book #2): A Novel

by Julie Lessman

  Her mother’s voice was soft and low as she soothed Alli’s back with a gentle massage. “I think, Alli, the answer may be . . . by not trusting yourself to fall in love with the right man, but trusting God instead.”

  “But that’s just it!” Alli clutched her mother’s arms to hold her at bay. “I did pray about Nick—over and over—with Cassie and on my own, but God let me down.”

  Sorrow etched her mother’s face as she caressed Alli’s jaw, voice bleeding with empathy. “No, darling, life lets us down, with all its sin and sorrow at the hands of humanity, not a loving God who died to redeem us from it all.” She pulled Alli close, cheek pressed to her daughter’s as she whispered a Scripture Alli had heard from her lips many a time before. “ ‘In the world ye shall have tribulation,’ He told us, ‘but be of good cheer for I have overcome the world.’ ” She lifted Alli’s chin, gaze tender. “He’s overcome it, Alli, so that we can overcome it too, and you will.” Her lips trembled into a sad smile. “As will I—the two of us together.”

  Alli swiped at her eyes, brows in a bunch. “What do you mean, Mother? Are you talking about your heartbreak over Father? Over losing him?”

  ———

  Yes, darling . . . and over his brother. Caitlyn stared at her daughter, almost grateful she could share Alli’s grief in a tangible way, like she had with Cassie a year ago when Jamie had broken her niece’s heart and her trust. Her eyes drifted closed. Just like Logan had broken mine. A shiver skittered her spine. And now he’s done it again . . .

  “I’m sorry, Andrew, but the truth is Logan and I have decided to court . . .”

  The shock in Andrew’s eyes earlier tonight had calcified. “The truth? Really, Cait—and you have no qualms about marrying a man who doesn’t have a clue what that is?”

  The truth. The one thing she craved more than anything to shore up her trust in Logan McClare . . . and the one thing he couldn’t seem to give.

  “Open your eyes, Cait,” Andrew had whispered. “Jamie MacKenna is Logan’s son.”

  She hadn’t moved . . . breathed . . . blinked for several heartbeats, and then with a ragged rush of air, she’d listed to the side, hand to her eyes to hide a new tide of tears. A fresh wound over Logan’s betrayal those many years ago. In the flesh. A betrayal all the more grievous given his sworn defense no intimacies had been involved.

  “It was just an innocent flirtation, Cait, I swear,” he’d told her at the time, “a minor indiscretion and nothing more.”

  No, not innocent, Logan—a deep-seated character flaw that will always stand in our way.

  “Mother? Please—tell me what’s wrong.”

  Caitlyn’s eyes snapped open, Allison’s frantic words shaking her from her painful reverie. Love compelled her to smile despite the excruciating ache in her heart and the tears in her eyes. “Nothing, darling, truly, that God can’t overcome if we let Him.” Desperate to hide her pain and deflect her daughter’s concern, Caitlyn fluffed the pillows and lay back, drawing Allison to rest her head on her chest. “You can do this with His help, my love,” she whispered, her voice strong and sure as she stroked her daughter’s hair, her words shoring up her own spirit as well. “You can reap blessing from this betrayal of the heart and be set free at the same time.”

  “How?” Allison’s voice quivered, frail and scared like when she’d dream of monsters in the attic as a little girl. “I love him, Mother, but I worry that my love will harden into bitterness and hate and fear before I can be set free.”

  Caitlyn’s eyes blurred, the muscles in her throat constricting at the harsh reality of her daughter’s statement. She now battled her own shock and bitterness over Logan’s betrayal in lying about his son, and possibly Jamie’s as well, denying her a truth she had every right to know, as did the family. Body numb, her mind still reeled from his deception. A deception that had slashed not only her heart, but any trust she might have developed for Logan despite the deep love that she bore, bleeding scarlet though it be. Eyes drifting closed, she knew that very love could harden and imprison her as well, and fighting a painful shudder, she held her daughter close, her whisper strong for all their frailty of heart. “ ‘I hold that love, where present, cannot possibly be content with remaining always the same.’ ”

  Allison peered up. “I don’t understand, Mother—what does that mean?”

  Caitlyn drew in a deep breath. “The words of Teresa of Avila, darling, a very wise woman with a true passion for God. It means, Allison, that true love—the unconditional kind God has called each of us to through His Son—must flourish. Whether it is met with joy or pain, it must grow and ripen into His love,the only kind of love that will ever satisfy.” Her eyes lapsed into a faraway stare, fully aware that her love for Logan—her attraction to this man who haunted her soul—must transcend her own hurts and desires to achieve God’s. A wispy sigh trailed from her lips. “The only kind of love that will change us for the better. Which means, darling girl,” she palmed Alli’s face with a tender smile,“that even this—a heartbreak so agonizing that it has stolen all peace and joy from your soul—God can use for your good . . . and Nick’s.”

  Allison blinked, eyes glossy as she stared at her mother, echoing back to Caitlyn the very words she’d spoken to her children so many times. “ ‘And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God . . .’ ”

  Caitlyn swallowed hard, water slipping from her eyes. “Precisely.”

  Allison shook her head, her body shivering with the motion. “I don’t know, Mother, I have no idea how God can bring good from something so painful.”

  “No, but I do. Because I’ve done it before and I will do it again, only this time we’ll do it together.” Caitlyn sat up against the headboard, prompting Allison to follow. She looped an arm to her daughter’s waist, tugging her close. “We’re going to use this very love that has wounded us so deeply to heal our hearts and those of the men over whom we grieve. And it all begins with one of God’s most powerful precepts—‘to pray for them which despitefully use you.’ We’ll pray for God to bless them, heal them, and bring them to Him. Then we’ll pray for God’s grace and strength to forgive and love them as He does—unconditionally—expecting nothing in return except to see the touch of God in their lives.”

  “We?” Allison took her mother’s hand in hers, brows tented in concern. “I don’t understand, Mother—why would you need to forgive Daddy? He didn’t mean to die.”

  Caitlyn felt the chill of a single tear as it slithered her cheek, bleeding from her eye like her joy was bleeding from her heart. “No, not Daddy.” She squeezed her daughter’s hand, her smile bittersweet at best. “His brother,” she whispered. “Your uncle Logan.”

  Nick paid the carriage driver double fare, scarcely aware of the man’s effusive thanks. His gaze lifted to the stone mansion before him—a house as cold and deceptive as the woman who resided within, the fiancée he’d deserted after she sold her soul to the devil.

  “You’re crazy,” DeLuca had railed. “They’ll gun you down before we even pull the trigger.”

  Not if I pull first. Nick’s jaw compressed as he slowly mounted the steps to the carved wooden door, its arched entryway a focal point for the columned veranda where he’d once proposed to Darla Montesino. The rage carefully hidden for the last year pumped anew for the woman who’d made him bleed with her betrayal. He tugged at the collar of his camelhair coat, palm casually sliding his chest to feel the holstered Smith & Wesson. Well, now it was her turn to bleed—along with Lucifer’s second. The family friend Nick had known nothing about.

  Aiden Maloney.

  Acid gurgled in Nick’s gut along with two boxes of animal crackers that had no effect whatsoever on the hate that churned inside. Finger pressed to the brass doorbell, he waited, sweat slicking his hands while he adjusted the sleeves of the sack suit beneath his coat, where a Remington 1866 Derringer was also stowed, ready to extract revenge. The seconds ticked by like eons while memories flashed in a blur—Mo
m and Pop chatting with customers during happier days while Nick stacked the shelves with his buddies, the promise of penny candy watering their mouths. Or the twinkle in pretty Emmaline Heimann’s eye as she worked with Mom behind the counter, her shy looks always directed his way. Weekends spent at his uncle’s Edgewater estate, swimming, canoeing, building sand castles on the beach. Wonderful memories, all snuffed out by a fire and a Colt .45. Nick’s eyes burned with vindication long overdue as the door opened wide, the woman he’d loved welcoming him home with open arms.

  “Darling!” Darla shot into his embrace without a moment’s hesitation, the scent of lilac water hitting him hard. Her body molded to his in that intimate way that had once roused his senses, quickened his pulse, satin-clad arms encircling his waist. Lifting on tiptoe, she brushed her mouth against his. “Oh, I’ve missed you so much—where on earth have you been? I’ve been a bundle of nerves since you called.”

  Jaw stiff, Nick carefully pried her arms from his waist and prodded her into the marble foyer with a none-too-gentle push. “Let’s take this inside, shall we, Miss Montesino?”

  She whirled around as Nick closed the door, a vision in lace and lavender satin, her honeyed hair glinting from the crystal chandelier overhead. Hurt furrowed her brow. “I don’t understand—why are you angry? I’m the one you deserted for over a year.”

  “Don’t play innocent, Darla.” His tone was gruff as he scanned past the dimly lit library up the curved staircase to the darkened landing above, the house conspicuously empty. He took in the warm glow of the parlour where a fire crackled in the hearth, then seared her with a hard look. “You know exactly why I left, but what you don’t know is why I came back.”

  “To marry me, I hope,” she said with a strained smile. Preceding him into the parlour, she rubbed her arms as if she were cold.

  To marry you? No, Miss Montesino, to bury you—and Aiden Maloney.

  Ignoring her comment, he slipped off his overcoat and tossed it on a chair as he entered the room where he’d once indulged in chess with her father and cribbage with her mother. A tic flickered in his cheek. And courted their debutante daughter. He straightened the sleeves of his jacket, the weight of the derringer as heavy as his heart over the pain he would cause her parents, two people he’d respected and admired. Jaw stiff, he made his way to the candlestick telephone atop the cherrywood desk. He picked the receiver up and held it out. “Call Aiden Maloney.”

  “B-but . . . I don’t understand.”

  “Now, Darla.” The harsh tenor of his tone caused a lump to duck in her throat as she slowly made her way to where he stood, phone in hand.

  Fingers trembling, she took the receiver and attempted to dial, fumbling the numbers several times before she got it right. Tears welled in her eyes while they waited for someone to answer, her gaze pleading with his. “He made me do it, darling, I swear—”

  “I know.” He steeled his resolve when tears trailed her cheeks.

  She jolted at the sound of a voice on the line, her own fractured and frail. “Yes, M-miss Darla Montesino c-calling for Mr. Maloney, please.”

  A shiver traveled her body as she lifted her gaze. “I loved you, I swear,” she whispered.

  “Yeah.” His lips clamped in a flat line. “Just not as much as an old family friend.”

  “Darla?” Maloney’s voice came through loud and clear. “Everything go as planned?”

  “Not exactly, Uncle Aiden,” she said with a crack in her voice. “He wants t-to t-talk to you.”

  Nick snatched the phone, voice curt. “Hello, Aiden, missing any gorillas from your zoo?”

  “As a matter of fact, I am—maybe you can tell me where they are?”

  “Six feet under, Maloney, right where you’re going to be when I’m through with you.”

  A malevolent laugh iced Nick’s skin. “I think you have it backwards, Mr. Barone—you’re the one in grave danger, pardon the pun, who will pay dearly.”

  “I’ve already ‘paid dearly,’ you bucket of slime. First with the fire at my parents’ store and then with my uncle—another ‘favorite employee’ if I’m not mistaken.”

  “Ah, yes, my trusty lawyer, who turned my deepest secrets over to you. Not a smart thing to do, now was it?”

  “Not when it earned him a bullet in the head, compliments of Aiden Maloney.”

  The laughter on the other end of the line turned Nick’s stomach. “Indeed it did, and I would have gladly pulled the trigger myself had I not henchmen for that very mundane task.” His sinister tone became amused. “But at least it was my money that put him in the ground.”

  “And my parents?” Nick’s teeth clenched so tight, he could have ground them to dust. “Who did your dirty work there, Maloney?”

  Evil incarnate crackled over the line. “Ah, yes, now that was my handiwork, I’m happy to say—a pipe bomb hand-delivered to educate your father that nobody defies Aiden Maloney.”

  Blood gorged Nick’s face. “I’ll see you strung up for this, you worthless sack of dung.”

  “Not before you, I’m afraid. If I’m not mistaken, two of my ‘gorillas,’ as you so rudely call them, should be waiting for you now.”

  Nick whirled around, sleet slithering through his veins at the sight of two of Maloney’s henchmen at the door.

  “Good night, Nick—or perhaps I should say . . . goodbye?”

  The receiver clicked before it went dead, paralyzing Nick to the spot. His blood froze at the cock of a gun. One of Maloney’s thugs sauntered over while the other fixed him with a slit-eyed stare behind the barrel of a Luger pistol. “Hands up, mister, nice and slow.”

  Nick did as he said, gut clenched when the one hoodlum frisked him and lifted his Smith & Wesson, cracking it against his head so hard, Darla screamed. Nick’s vision blurred while the lowlife tucked the gun into the belt of his trousers. “Not real smart, mister,” he said with a wicked laugh. The goon resumed frisking Nick, bypassing his wrists with a quick slide along the outside of his arms to pat down his legs. “He’s clean, Roy.”

  Darla stood by the fire, arms tucked to her waist and face bleached white. “Uncle Aiden p-promised you wouldn’t k-kill him,” she whispered. “Just make sure he wouldn’t talk.”

  Blinking to clear his vision, Nick kneaded his jaw, now sticky with blood.

  Roy grinned. “Yes, ma’am—we’ll make good and sure, won’t we, Neil?” He pulled a length of rope from inside his jacket and tossed it to his partner. “Truss ’em up tight—don’t want him giving us any trouble afore we teach him a lesson, eh?”

  Neil snatched the rope and turned, and in one violent thud of his heart, Nick unleashed a frontal kick to the man’s groin that doubled him over. Body-slamming him to the carpet, he jerked his gun from Neil’s trousers and rolled to fire at Roy, winging his shoulder. A blood-curdling howl echoed in the foyer along with the clatter of Roy’s gun as it skittered across the marble floor. Nick flinched at movement out of the corner of his eye, and pain seared him when Neil’s foot bludgeoned his arm. Nick’s gun careened against the wall with a loud crack. Deflecting a second kick, he yanked Neil’s shoe, slamming him hard on his back. He jerked the derringer from the sleeve of his coat and aimed it at Neil’s head. “Say your prayers, lowlife,” he muttered, rising to his feet.

  Click.

  His heart seized at the cock of Roy’s gun. A blast of fire scorched through him, and his derringer dropped to the floor when he slumped to his knees, a metallic smell filling his nostrils. His groan gurgled as he collapsed in a pool of blood. Allison, forgive me, please . . .

  And the last image he saw was her face, before everything faded to black.

  28

  It had been a long, long time since Logan had felt this way—like a boy in college again, heart racing over the prospect of seeing his best girl. A grin spanned his face as he eased his Mercedes Phaeton up to the curb in front of Cait’s house. My girl—Caitlyn McClare! Turning the engine off, he hopped out of the car whistling a tune and bounded up t
he steps two at a time. Sweet heavens, how he’d missed her in the week he’d been gone. He grunted as he rang the bell, his smile compressing a degree. Week? Try his whole sorry life. But . . . that was about to change, and the very thought curled his lips once again.

  “Top of the evening to you, Hadley,” he said when the butler opened the door, striding into the foyer like he lived there himself. The very notion caused him to grin all over again, a perpetual state, apparently, since Cait had agreed they could court. Handing his former butler his fedora, he shuffled out of his overcoat and draped it over Hadley’s arm, cuffing the man’s shoulder with affection. “Rosie treating you all right these days, I hope?”

  A faint smile shadowed Hadley’s mouth as he carefully hung Logan’s coat and hat on the brass coatrack. “Most assuredly, sir. You might say the woman has had a change of heart.”

  “So . . . ,” Logan asked with a broad grin, “she actually has one?”

  A twinkle lit Hadley’s eyes, barren of the umpteen eyeglasses Cait had purchased for the man. “It appears to be a well-kept secret, sir.”

  Logan laughed, palming a hand to his hair. “Well, she’s certainly kept it from me.” He squinted in the foyer, brow furrowing when he didn’t see Cait. “Mrs. McClare home, I hope?”

  “Yes, sir. She’s resting at the moment, but she asked me to let her know when you arrived and to inquire if you’ve eaten?”

  Resting? Logan glanced at his watch, a wrinkle wedging his nose. At eight o’clock in the evening? “Yes, Hadley, I had a bite at the hotel, thank you.” He cocked his head. “There’s nothing wrong as far as you know, is there? Mrs. McClare’s not ill or anything?”

  “Oh no, sir, not at all.” With a nominal glance up the stairs, Hadley leaned forward a hair, the barest of smiles lining his weathered lips. “Although Miss Cait did mention she’d been having trouble sleeping this week, a comment coinciding with your absence, I believe, sir.”