“All right, Cait,” he whispered, his anger suddenly nowhere in sight. “Friends it is.”
She pulled away, face swollen and mottled with tears, and yet still the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. “You’ll stay, then?” Hope flickered in her red-rimmed eyes like it was beginning to flicker in his soul. “You won’t make me suffer by staying away?”
He took the crumpled handkerchief from her hand and tenderly wiped the remains of her tears. “No, Mrs. McClare, but be warned—I will make you suffer in a game of cribbage, where I vow to methodically grind you into dust.”
She lunged into his arms again, clutching so hard, a silent groan lodged in his throat. “Oh, Logan, thank you so much! You’re the dearest friend I have, and I never meant to hurt you.” She stroked his jaw. “I love you,” she said with a gentle smile, “and I’ll make it up to you.”
Oh, you bet. His lips took a slant. But not on my timetable, apparently. He rose and tugged on his coat, offering his hand to help her up. “Good. And you can start right now by letting me teach you how to play poker.”
She balked, heels digging into the carpet as he attempted to usher her out. “Oh, no you don’t—I abhor gambling and you know it.”
A grin surfaced on his lips as he all but dragged her along. “I do, but seems to me this friendship has just shifted to my terms, wouldn’t you say?” He latched a firm hand over her arm as he led her to the door. “Which means you’re gambling already, Mrs. McClare, but just to put your mind at ease—we’ll play with Cracker Jacks instead of with money.”
She halted midway, eyes flaring with interest. “Cracker Jacks, you say?”
He patted the left side of his vest. “Yes, ma’am—the very box intended for the woman I had hoped to marry, but since she’s nowhere around, you will have to earn it.”
Her eyes narrowed, the barest touch of tease in her tone. “You’re taking advantage of this friendship, Logan McClare.”
“You bet I am—get used to it.” He turned the knob, his grin stretching as wide as the door as he prodded her through, deciding that maybe his hopes to marry Cait had not been obliterated after all, only stalled by a brick wall as stubborn as the woman herself. A wall that friendship and time and careful planning could certainly bring crashing down if he played his cards just right. He issued a silent grunt. And she could bet her bottom dollar the gamble wouldn’t be for popcorn and peanuts this time. He steered her into the parlour, his resolve as firm as his grip. Nope—it will be for your heart and your hand, Mrs. McClare, he thought with a tight smile. And winner takes all.
29
Alli, can I open just one present—please, please?” Maddie glanced up as she lay on her tummy beneath the ceiling-high Christmas tree in the parlour. Stubby legs wagged in the air while the twinkle of tinsel and colored tree lights sparkled as much as her eyes.
Alli gave her a sideways squint as she arranged the nativity scene amidst a mountain of presents, reaching to tweak her sister’s neck. “Madeline Marie McClare,” she said with mock horror, “Christmas is still a week away, you little minx. Of course not.”
“But I’ll die if I have to wait that long,” Maddie groaned.
“You better not, you little stinker. Can’t open my presents and yours too.” Alli pounced and tickled unmercifully, unleashing a peal of little-girl giggles. “You’ll just have to be patient.”
“And this from the woman shaking every package under the tree this afternoon,” Cassie called from the game table where she and Jamie were playing pinochle with Bram and Blake.
“Not to mention the brat who snuck downstairs at midnight at the age of five to open all the presents, including mine.” Blake threw down a trick and shot Alli a wink.
“So I’m curious—file a lawsuit, why don’t you?”
Bram chuckled. “Sorry, Al—Blake can’t handle the workload he’s got now.”
Jamie tossed a trick down with an evil grin. “What are you talking about, Hughes—Blake can’t handle work, period.”
“You two are a regular vaudeville act, you know that?” Blake leaned back in his chair, studying his cards with a crooked grin.
“Up with you, Miss Maddie—your bath awaits.” Rosie stood at the door, hand extended.
“But I’ll miss Meggie coming home,” she groaned, lumbering up with a tortured face.
Rosie’s mouth edged up, her gaze narrowing on Blake. “At least you won’t smell like sour milk sprayed from your nose when your sister arrives.”
Blake grinned, offering a shrug of his shoulders as he gave Rosie a wink. “Come on, Rosie, can I help it if I’m so charming I make all the girls laugh?”
“Especially behind your back,” Jamie said with a chuckle, tossing a trick down.
“Humph—oughta make you give her a bath,” the housekeeper said with a mock scowl, snapping her fingers at Maddie who trudged forward with a heavy sigh.
“Gee, Rosie, I’m not sure he knows how.” Cassie wrinkled her nose, giving Blake a sniff.
“Great—I’m playing pinochle with a bunch of clowns.” Blake shook his head when Rosie actually cracked a smile on her way out the door.
“Yeah, but at least we smell good,” Jamie said with a proud lift of his chin.
Laughing, Bram glanced at his watch. “So, when is our girl supposed to be home?”
“Any minute now,” Alli muttered, strolling over to the front window to peer out into the dark. Meg’s return was one of the few things that actually cheered her up since Nick Barone had disappeared from her life almost three months ago. Of course being surrounded by family at Christmas helped a lot, as did Jamie and Cassie’s wedding two days away. And certainly her mother’s advice to forgive and pray for the man who’d broken her heart had eased the malaise hovering over her life like a damp fog over the bay. Her gaze wandered into a glossy stare that blurred the street lamp into a surreal glow, reminding her that although she’d forgiven Nick Barone with the help of God, forgetting him was something else altogether.
Oncoming headlamps jolted her attention, and she blinked hard to stem her tears. “They’re home!” she shouted, pulse jumping when Uncle Logan’s Mercedes eased up to the curb. With a swipe of her eyes, she rushed into the foyer to fling the door wide, bounding down the steps to where Uncle Logan was helping Meg from his car. “Meggie—you’re home!”
Glancing up, Meg shot into Alli’s arms. “Oh, Alli, I missed you so much!” She pulled away with a worried look in gentle green eyes. “Are you doing okay?” she whispered.
“Better now that you’re home.” Alli hooked an arm through her sister’s and flashed a smile over her shoulder. “I vote we have Cassie hog-tie her so she can’t leave us ever again.”
“Sounds good to me,” Uncle Logan said with a heft of suitcases. “I don’t cotton to my nieces being far away. Besides, Frisco is known as the Paris of the west, Megs, so we’ve got everything they do and more.”
“Including a delinquent uncle who persists in teaching bad habits,” her mother said easily, looping an arm through Meg’s on the other side. Her lips squirmed with tease. “Like poker, for instance.”
“News flash, Mrs. McClare . . .” Uncle Logan followed them up the steps, his tone dry. “Poker is a universal game enjoyed all over the world, even in Paris monasteries, no doubt.”
Alli giggled and gave Meg an extra squeeze as she and their mother ushered her through the front door. “So, tell me, Megs, was it really as wonderful as your letters say?”
“Oh, Alli—more!” Meg’s eyes sparkled as much as the cut-crystal tear drops in the chandelier overhead, her cheeks dewy with a blush that enhanced her soft, peaches-and-cream complexion. “The Rousseaus are so warm and wonderful—just like I’m one of their own, and Lily and I have gotten closer than ever. And, oh my—the sights I’ve seen!”
Alli bumped Meg’s hip with her own, a devious smile tipping her lips. “Mmm . . . any of them tall, dark, and handsome, I hope?”
“Alli!” A pretty shade of pink promptly dust
ed Meg’s full face as she slipped off her wrap, her shy grin displaying glints of gold from wire braces that matched her gold wire-rimmed glasses. She giggled while Uncle Logan hung her cape on the rack by the door, cheeks flaming to rose. “Well . . . maybe one or two,” she whispered shyly, “but I think they may like Lily.”
“Don’t be too sure,” Uncle Logan said in a brusque voice, swallowing her up in a hug. “That settles it, Cait.” He cinched an arm to Meg’s waist, gripping her to his side. “She’s not going anywhere I can’t keep an eye on her.”
“I second that.” Bram strode into the foyer ahead of Cassie, Jamie, and Blake, literally snatching Meg from Logan to hoist her up in the air in a joyous spin. He put her back down and stepped back. “Sorry, Bug, we’ve taken a vote—you’re barred from leaving the city ever again.”
“Oh, Bram!” Meg launched right back into his arms with tears in her eyes. “You have no idea how much I missed you!”
“Doesn’t sound like it,” he teased, voice gruff as he pressed a kiss to her hair.
“Hey, what am I—chopped liver?” Uncle Logan tickled Meg’s neck, prompting a giggle.
“Perhaps,” her mother quipped with a smirk, offering Uncle Logan a patronizing pat on the back. “After all, chopped liver is an acquired taste.”
He slid her a thin gaze. “And considered a delicacy, I might point out, Mrs. McClare.”
Everyone laughed when Caitlyn gave him an uncharacteristic pinch on his cheek. “Point out all you like, Mr. McClare, just don’t make any of us eat it.”
“Hey, don’t hog the French girl,” Jamie groused, nudging Bram out of the way to give Meg a hug. “Welcome home, kiddo—now maybe Bram won’t be such a grouch.”
“Ha! You ain’t seen nothing till she leaves again after Christmas.” Blake stole her from Jamie to press a kiss to her cheek, arm draped over her shoulder. “Thank God you’re home—we need a little sunshine around here. I don’t know who’s been the bigger stick-in-the-mud—Bram or Alli—but we definitely missed your smile, kiddo.”
“I’ll say.” Cassie gave Meg a tight squeeze. “Jamie and I can certainly attest to that.”
“Oh, please, as if you even noticed anyone else is alive.” Alli smirked, Meg’s return lifting her spirits so much, she actually felt like teasing again. “These two have had their heads so far up in the clouds with the wedding so close, they don’t know anyone else is in the room.”
“Maybe that’s because certain ones in the room have been a wee bit dull lately,” Cassie said with a loop of Meg’s waist, “but that’s about to change with Meg home for the holidays.”
“Hear, hear,” Bram said with a grin.
“Speaking of the wedding.” Her mother scooped Meg’s waist, a slight pinch in her brow. “Have you lost some weight, darling? I’m worried your dress for the wedding may need to be altered.”
A pretty shade of pink flushed Meg’s cheeks as she nibbled on her lip. “Maybe a little, Mother, but only because the Rosseaus keep me quite busy, trekking all over the city. Certainly not enough to alter my dress, I’m sure.” Her gaze roamed the foyer, settling on each and every one with a glow of love in her eyes. “Thank you, everyone, for such a wonderful welcome.” She inclined her head to peek into the parlour. “But where’s Maddie?”
“Upstairs wrestling with Rosie over a bath.” Alli chuckled. “And Blake’s next.”
“Thank God,” Uncle Logan said, strolling toward the parlour with a wry grin.
“All right, everyone, let’s move the celebration into the parlour, shall we?” Mother’s voice rose over the laughter, “ Alli, darling, do you mind helping Hadley bring in the coffee and tea while I assist Rosie with Maddie? And, Meggie, we have a special dessert Rosie made just for you, sweetheart, and then you can tell us all about Paris.” She kissed Meg’s cheek before she made a beeline for the stairs. “We won’t be long, so don’t start without us, all right?” Her gaze flicked to Uncle Logan, humor sparkling in her eyes. “And I’d appreciate you keeping them busy in a respectable manner, Logan, until Maddie and I come down, if you will.”
Uncle Logan rubbed his palms together with a decadent laugh. “You bet, Cait. Ante up!”
“Awk, ante up, ante up!”
“Don’t you dare, Logan Beware!” Her mother whirled on the bottom step with a firm jut of her brow, but her lips twitched, indicating the threat of smile. “I do not want my children to gamble, is that clear? It’s a vice we could all do without.”
“Whatever you say, Cait.” Uncle Logan shot her a wayward smile that belied his consent, striding into the parlour like a man who intended to do exactly what he wanted to do.
“May I escort you in, mademoiselle?” Bram extended his arm to Meg.
“Oui, monsieur,” she said with a giggle.
Alli smiled, the lilting sound of her sister’s chuckle buoying her mood. She watched her family file back into the parlour and released a wispy sigh. It had been so long since she’d felt any joy that Meg’s homecoming—no matter how brief—was truly a blessing. A family like hers was a buffer against the heartaches of life, she suddenly realized, and moisture swelled in her eyes.
“Thank you, Lord, for the blessing of family,” she whispered, her thoughts suddenly straying to a crotchety Italian she had hoped would be one of their own. Nick’s absence left a gap so wide there were times she didn’t know how she could hold on. Laughter filtered out from the parlour, prompting happier tears. But I know now. She turned toward the kitchen, gratitude thick on her lips despite the gaping hole in her heart. Her mother was right—gambling was a vice, especially for someone like her, so unlucky in love. But when it came to the love of family? She pushed through the kitchen door, promptly giving Hadley the soggiest of smiles.
She was the luckiest woman alive.
Signing the final letter with his usual scrawl, Logan handed it back to his young receptionist, his lips crooking into an affectionate smile. Without question, Patience Peabody was appropriately named. The shy granddaughter of one of the senior members of the Board of Supervisors had barely uttered a peep when he’d hired her as a favor two years ago. Today, she handled three senior partners, six associates, and two executive secretaries with nary a complaint. “Thank you, Miss Peabody, for typing these letters in Margaret’s absence—excellent job.”
“Thank you, Mr. McClare.” A haze of pink braised her cheeks as she gave him a timid smile. Her classically pretty features reminded him of a grown-up Meg, which is probably why she evoked such a protective instinct in him. His smile inched into a grin. That and the fact she was totally immune to Blake’s blatant efforts to entice her into any kind of relationship.
Letters in hand, she tipped her head in a playful pose he seldom saw, her usually reticent manner giving way to a twinkle in her eye. “So this is it, then,” she said with a quick glance at the grandfather clock that registered five o’clock sharp, “the beginning of the weekend when Mr. MacKenna becomes a nephew as well as an employee.”
Yes . . . and a son as well as a nephew. “Indeed,” he said with a tight smile, shuffling a stack of papers into a manila file folder. “So now if I dock his pay, I answer to my niece.”
He grinned at Miss Peabody’s husky chuckle, which offered a rare glimpse into a private, young woman who was as professional as she was pretty. And smart enough to stay away from rogues like Blake. He released a silent exhale as he turned the folder over to her, his grin taking a wry tilt. Like I used to be.
“Goodness, Mr. McClare, I can’t imagine how much fun it would be in your family, sir.” She clutched the file to her chest with a hint of longing in her eyes. “With such colorful characters like Mr. MacKenna, Mr. McClare, and Mr. Hughes, you all must laugh quite a bit.”
“We do.” He reached for the family photo on the credenza, thumb grazing the polished cherrywood frame as he studied it with deep affection. Except possibly tonight. He felt an immediate twinge in his chest over the dinner he’d planned at the Palace before the wedding tomorrow. The o
ne where he’d reveal to Cassie’s parents—his brother Quinn and his wife—that their daughter was not just marrying one of Logan’s employees, but his illegitimate son as well. The forbidden union of two blood cousins, saved only by the fact that Cassie was adopted, without a drop of McClare blood in her veins. He glanced up, holding the picture frame aloft with a proud smile. “Tomorrow we’ll have a new picture taken, and for better or worse, Mac will be in it.”
“Definitely better,” Miss Peabody said with a gentle smile. “Given the work ethic of Mr. MacKenna, Mr. McClare, and Mr. Hughes, I’d say you have a knack for hiring excellent staff.”
“Present company front and center, Miss Peabody, I assure you.”
The blush returned. “Thank you, sir. Is there anything I can get for you before I go?”
Yes, a bottle of Chivas Regal would be lovely, to steel my nerves. “No thank you—I’ll be leaving shortly myself, so you have a good weekend.”
“Thank you, sir, you too.” Her smile was warm as she quietly closed the door.
“I certainly hope so,” he whispered, wheeling around to stare out the window, the picture slack in his hand. Cait certainly hadn’t taken the news of Jamie’s paternity well, but then she had good reason. Jamie represented a twenty-six-year-old lie in the flesh, a betrayal of her love, and Logan bitterly regretted he hadn’t told her sooner. It had been a stupid mistake, a moral error on his part, and a total lack of judgment. But his reluctance had been motivated by fear rather than insight and common sense, something that almost never happened, and he’d give anything if he could just take it back. If he’d learned one thing through all of this, it was that fear distorted wisdom every single time. Fear that she would have never given him a chance. He exhaled a weary sigh. And the same fear that kept her from trusting him ever again. He stared at the picture with Cait on one side of the family and him on the other, and a dull ache thumped in his chest. He had hoped by this time to be standing by her side in all pictures taken, but he knew now that it would be a good, long while before he could ease her toward the altar again. He set the photo back on the credenza, gently grazing her face with his thumb. But he’d do it—if it took every ounce of charm and prayer in his arsenal.
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