Rats shouldn’t be this hard to forget . . .
Eyes sinking closed, she found she was no longer interested in the sights along Montgomery that once fascinated her so. But that was the key problem with rats. Not only did they break your heart, they robbed you of the very essence of life itself—the passion to live it, the spirit to explore it, and the ability to enjoy it.
Her lips took a sad tilt. And the hope that true love would ever happen at all.
She sucked in a deep breath, and a whiff of body odor assailed her along with the idea that perhaps she wasn’t meant to marry. Perhaps the Hand of Hope School was to be her husband and focus for the rest of her life. Surprisingly, the idea held appeal. At least she wouldn’t have to go through this awful heartbreak again. Opening her eyes, she jutted her chin in resolve, deciding that the good her mother insisted God would bring from this unfortunate incident could well be the independence for which she’d always longed.
“Washington Street!” the grip man called, and Alli jolted to attention, determined to make the most of today’s adventure on the cable car. Her eyes scanned up the fifteen stories of the Merchants Exchange Building, a brand-new skyscraper that now reigned as San Francisco’s tallest building, stirring Alli’s pride over the progression and beauty of her city.
Clack-clack-clack. The cable car groaned to a stop, admitting a number of passengers before it continued to chug along. The whir of the cables suddenly merged with the wheezing of some poor soul who sounded like he’d just sprinted all the way from Los Angeles. Fearful of eye contact with any man on the cable car, Allison peered straight ahead, ignoring a hulk of a person shuffling her way. He sat beside her, and she attempted to inch away without notice, his huffing and puffing worse than a cable car climbing Hyde Street with a cargo of elephants.
“Uh, I think you took a wrong turn, lady,” a low voice intoned, its winded quality making it more of a rasp. “High tea is at The Palace.”
For a split second she froze, body adhered to the bench like the varnish on the red-painted seat. And then with a gasp of air that literally choked in her throat, she whirled around, the hinges of her jaw sagging more than the cable.
“Out slumming again, I see,” Nick Barone huffed, the green tinge of his face a nice holiday complement to the shiny red bench. He put a fist to his chest as if to ward off the rise of his lunch, then fixed her with a glassy-eyed stare that was more of a plea. “Can we get off this infernal thing to talk? I think I’m about to be . . .” He heaved, cheeks puffing with air as if to stop whatever wanted to come up. He swallowed hard, his face a tinge greener than before. “Sick.”
She vaulted to her feet and jumped back, both to steer clear of the man and the contents of his stomach, her tongue unglued and ready to fire. “Ohhhhh . . . ‘sick’ will be the least of your problems, mister, if you think I am going to go anywhere with you!”
“Alli, please,” he groaned, lumbering up to grasp her arm, “two minutes is all I need . . .”
She whopped him with her purse, disgusted that the rat even looked good in a green face peppered with stubble. “Two minutes?” she shouted, backing toward the exit. “I’d like to give you two decades, you pinhead—in Alcatraz!” Spinning around, she spotted a police officer strolling the sidewalk and quickly gripped the pole by the step, raising her voice over the clank of the rails. “Next stop, please.”
The cable car jerked, and Alli glanced back, satisfied that the lurch of the car had left the rat staggering and slow. When it came to a halt, she hurdled the step in a near leap, making a beeline for the officer a half block away.
“Alli, wait!”
Darting a nervous gaze over her shoulder, she started to run. “Officer, please—I need your help.” She panted to a stop in front of the gray uniform and pointed toward Nick, who was striding forward with a clamp of his jaw. A ruddy shade of Mr. Cranky Pants appeared to replace the green he’d worn on the cable car. “That man is attempting to accost me,” she sputtered, ducking behind the officer just as Nick approached.
The officer’s hand rested on the nightstick attached to his belt. “This young woman claims you are accosting her, sir—is she correct?”
Nick ground to a stop. “No, I’m not accosting her,” he snapped, “I’m trying to talk some sense into her, which given our prior experience, might take till kingdom come.”
“Prior experience?” The officer fixed Alli with a suspicious stare. “Is this a lovers’ spat, ma’am?”
She faltered back with a hand to her chest, her horror evident in the gape of her mouth. “Good heavens, no! I’d rather be bound and gagged than associate with this . . . this . . .”
“Officer of the law,” Nick supplied, producing a badge from his coat pocket for the officer to study. His gaze narrowed on her. “And it can be arranged, Miss McClare, trust me.”
The officer nodded and returned the police identification. “My apologies, Detective, but do you mind if I ask your business with the lady?”
Nick replaced the badge, eyes locked on Alli. “Yeah, I’m trying to propose to the pigheaded woman, but she won’t stop yammering long enough to hear me out.”
“Propose?” Alli shrieked. “Ha! Right before you skip town again, I suppose.”
The officer took a step back, palms up. “Look, folks, I’m sorry, but unless there’s threat of bodily harm here, it’s against policy to interfere in domestic disputes.”
She glared at Nick. “I assure you, officer, the ‘threat’ is very real.”
“Only if she gets ahold of a stick,” Nick muttered.
Chin high, she continued undeterred. “Because if this snake-in-the-grass felon thinks—”
“Uh, ma’am, a little respect, if you will,” the officer interrupted with a frown. “The detective is an officer of the law—”
“Ha! Law-breaking, is more like it,” she said with a fold of her arms. “The man’s not even a policeman, for pity’s sake, and he probably stole that badge.”
Nick huffed out a noisy sigh and shoved a letter beneath the officer’s nose.
The officer let loose a low whistle. “The D.A. of Chicago, huh? You’ve got friends in high places, Detective.”
“Yeah, enemies too,” he said with a grunt, shoving the letter back into his suit.
Brows crimped in apology, the officer backed off with a tip of his hat. “I’m sorry, miss, but you and Detective Burke will have to hash this out between yourselves.”
“His name is Barone,” she shouted as the officer walked away, volume rising along with her desperation. “And he’s obviously impersonating poor Detective Burke, whoever he is.”
Nick grunted again. “Poor Detective Burke is right,” he said, cinching her arm to lead her in the opposite direction. “And it’s Burke, long e,” he shouted. He blasted out a sigh. “What the devil am I getting myself into?”
“A jail cell, if I have anything to say about it.” She slapped him away, bolting for home before he could weaken her defenses. “And don’t you dare lay a hand on me, Nick Barone.”
“Burke,” he said through gritted teeth, hot on her heels. “It’s Ryan Burke, long e.”
She ground to a halt, pivoting with hands on her hips. “Oh, so you’re not only a thief, murderer, and fugitive, you’re an imposter as well.”
Her breath snagged in her throat when he hoisted her up at the waist, his jaw grinding while her feet dangled in the air. “Wit-ness, Al-li-son,” he bit out, giving her a little shake. “Not fugitive, not imposter, and not a criminal. An officer of the law forced undercover because his life was in danger for turning state witness.”
She blinked. “I don’t believe you,” she said, voice draining along with the blood that coursed from her pale face to the tips of her suspended toes.
He blasted out another noisy sigh and dropped her, leaving her teetering while he reached for the letter again. With an abrupt brace of her arm, he steadied her before shoving it in her face. “Read it.”
Gaze thinning, she s
natched it from his hand, all anger seeping out as she scanned the piece of paper. “Oh, good heavens,” she whispered, eyes blinking wide, “you almost died?”
“Yeah,” he said, jaw clamped until the barest hint of a smile nudged at his lips. “Made sure he threw that in—figured it couldn’t hurt.”
“B-but . . . but . . . is it all true?” she asked, hand to her chest.
His gaze softened along with his jaw. “Yeah, but I couldn’t tell you, Alli, because I took an oath.” He moved in close with hands so massive, they shouldn’t have been gentle, slowly caressing her arms with a touch so soft, she felt light as air. “Forgive me?” he whispered, those lethal gray-green eyes hypnotizing her with a half-lidded plea.
Her heart began to thud, barely able to believe Nick Barone was back in her life. “So you’re not . . . engaged?” A lump bobbed in her throat. “Not a father who abandoned his child?”
A lopsided grin eased across his lips. “Nope—not engaged, not a father, and not a crook,” he said in a husky tone, his smoky gaze bolting her to the sidewalk tighter than the cast-iron streetlamps. He slipped his hands to her waist and drew her near. “Just a man guilty of falling in love against his will . . .” He nuzzled the lobe of her ear, and her eyelids drifted closed, the caress of his mouth all but liquefying the tendons at the back of her knees. “And your uncle’s.”
Her eyes popped open. “Oh, Nick, Uncle Logan will never—”
Her words dissolved into his kiss, strong arms locking her limp body to his. “If you’re going to talk, Allison,” he whispered against her lips, “say something useful like ‘I love you, Ryan Nicholas Burke, and yes, I will marry you.’ ”
“B-Burke?” she stammered weakly. “B-but, but how—”
“It’s a long story, Princess, but then we have lots and lots of time.” He skimmed her jaw to take her lips with his own. “Like the rest of our lives.”
Dazed, her eyelids flickered open. “B-but does that mean you’re Irish instead of Italian?”
He feathered her mouth with soft, little kisses, the scent of animal crackers making her heady. “It does—with a touch of English just to make it interesting.”
“Ohhhh . . . I like that,” she breathed. “Mrs. Ryan Nicholas Pinhead Cranky Pants Burke, long e.” She perched on tiptoe to brush her lips against his. “Has a nice ring, don’t you think?”
He laughed and deposited a kiss to her nose. “Yes, ma’am, it does,” he said with a grin, hooking her arm to usher her home. “And you can bet your sweet stick on that.”
Acknowledgments
To my incredible reader friends—when people ask what’s the best thing about being an author, YOU are the very first answer that comes to mind. It’s a privilege and joy to be both your friend and an author you read.
To Darla Montesion, Erica Hogan, Angi Griffis, Heidi Abbott, Shannon Murphy, Emily Reilly, and Kara Grant—winners of my newsletter contest to have a character named after them in this book—thank you from the bottom of my heart, not only for your boundless enthusiasm and support, but your precious friendship.
To my agent Natasha Kern and my editor Lonnie Hull DuPont—two of God’s many (and most patient) touches in my life—thank you for your faith in me.
To the great team at Revell, true professionals all—thank you for all you do. A special hug to Michele Misiak for her kindness and patience, to Cheryl Van Andel and Jones House Creative for their great covers, and to the best copy editor in the world, Barb Barnes, and her very thorough sidekick, Julie Davis—you guys make editing an absolute pleasure.
To my precious prayer partners and best friends, Joy Bollinger, Karen Chancellor, and Pat Stiehr—I would be lost without you.
To my sisters, Dee Dee, Mary, Rosie, Susie, Ellie, and Katie, for your love and prayers, and to my sisters-in-law, Diana, Mary, and Lisa—family just doesn’t get any better than you.
In loving memory of my sister, Pat, and my mother-in-law, Leona—we love and miss you more than we can say.
To my daughter, Amy; son, Matt; daughter-in-law, Katie; and precious, precious granddaughter, Rory—along with God and my husband, you are my life.
To Keith Lessman, the man I love with every fiber of my being—never in all my dreams of romance did I ever believe I would feel so cherished and loved. I’ve said it before, babe, and I’ll say it again—I don’t deserve you.
And to the God of Love who taught me that love is never a dare when HE is involved—I will love You and worship You all the days of my life.
Award-winning author of the Daughters of Boston and Winds of Change series, Julie Lessman was American Christian Fiction Writers 2009 Debut Author of the Year and voted #1 Romance Author of the year in Family Fiction magazine’s 2012 and 2011 Readers Choice Awards. She has also garnered 15 RWA awards and made Booklist’s 2010 Top 10 Inspirational Fiction. Her ebook A Light in the Window is an International Digital Awards winner, a 2013 Readers’ Crown Award winner, and a 2013 Book Buyers Best Finalist. You can contact Julie and read excerpts from her books at www.julielessman.com.
Books by Julie Lessman
* * *
THE DAUGHTERS OF BOSTON
A Passion Most Pure
A Passion Redeemed
A Passion Denied
WINDS OF CHANGE
A Hope Undaunted
A Heart Revealed
A Love Surrendered
THE HEART OF SAN FRANCISCO
Love at Any Cost
Dare to Love Again
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Dare to Love Again (The Heart of San Francisco Book #2): A Novel Page 38