Surprised by Love

by Julie Lessman

  “Sweet thunderation, Megs, you really and truly got on a motorbike with a complete stranger?” Cassie’s sagging jaw matched Meg’s mother’s.

  “Not exactly a stranger,” Alli piped up, eager to redeem herself, “a friend of the Rousseaus named Pierre.” She glanced at Meg with a sudden gleam of mischief in her eyes. “Apparently he was one of several smitten young men who asked Megs to marry him.”

  “What?” Uncle Logan was on his feet in a heartbeat, face ruddy with shock. “Megan Maureen, you best tell me there is nothing going on here, young lady—”

  “Nothing is going on, Uncle Logan, truly.” Meg offered a conciliatory smile, her gaze darting to where Bram was actually frowning—a most infrequent occurrence—before she returned to her uncle. “Pierre is Dr. Rousseau’s colleague’s son, and a dear friend of the Rousseaus, but I assure you, he and I are only friends.”

  “So, tell us, Bug,” Bram said, hunkering down on the table with a fold of arms, the lazy bent of his smile at odds with the slight narrowing of his eyes. “Exactly how many hearts did you break in Paris?”

  “More than I ever have, I can tell you that,” Alli said with a wink, shimmying in to prop her chin in her hand. “So tell us about riding the motorbike, Megs—was it exciting?”

  Meg’s gaze flitted to Alli with a mischievous grin that made her feel alive, as if she were coming out of the shadows for the very first time. “Oh, yes, very much so! The wind in your face while your hair whips behind you, free and unfettered.” She stole a glance at Bram, wishing his disapproval didn’t bother her so. “And I didn’t ‘break’ any hearts,” she said softly, “just the mold of who the old Meg used to be.” She scanned the table from her mother at one end to Uncle Logan at the other. “Please don’t worry—I did nothing you wouldn’t expect Alli to do, I promise. It’s just that I’m Meg, the shy and withdrawn bookworm, so it comes as more of a shock, I suppose.” She settled on Bram with a tender look she hoped conveyed how deeply his opinion mattered. “I’m still me inside,” she said quietly, “only a little braver, a little happier, and a little more excited about life than ever before.”

  For several beats of her heart, he just stared, and then his chest rose and fell while the planes of his angular face softened into the same warm affection that had always been oxygen to her soul. The blue eyes held a hint of a sparkle while the almost imperceptible curve of his lips told her he cared—had always cared—as a friend, a mentor, a brother. Her own mouth tipped in shy response, gratitude welling that she was still the only woman in her best friend’s life. She knew from her brother’s letters that he saw other women from time to time and one in particular of late, the daughter of a friend of the family. And yet, at the ripe age of twenty-eight, his heart belonged to no one, for which Meg felt both relieved and a wee bit guilty. Quickly reaching to sip her water, she shifted her gaze to Alli. “So, yes, Alli, the motorbike was quite exciting, although it scared the wits out of me, I must admit. But you would absolutely love it.”

  “Don’t give her any ideas,” Uncle Logan groused. “We have enough trouble reining her in as it is. And speaking of reining her in . . .” He peered up at Alli. “Where’s Nick?”

  “Surveillance duty,” everybody at the table said in unison.

  Uncle Logan’s mouth compressed along with his eyes. “Why is it that I’m the last one to know anything in this family?”

  “What’s surveillance duty?” Maddie asked.

  “It means Mr. Crankypants has to work tonight.” A sigh drifted from Alli’s lips. “Which bodes a lot better for us than it does for the crooks he’s after, I suppose.”

  “Oh . . . he has to shoot people,” Maddie said casually, as if shooting people were an everyday occurrence. She dove into the remains of her pie.

  “Madeline Marie McClare, Nick does not go around shooting people, for goodness’ sake.” Her mother’s stern tone was offset by a squirm of a smile. “He’s the chief of detectives for the Barbary Coast and merely carries a gun for self-defense, to ward off anyone who might be a threat.”

  “Like Alli.” Jamie shoveled in his last bite of pie, shooting Alli a wink.

  Ignoring the chuckles that ensued, Caitlyn took a sip of her coffee, gaze sweeping the table. “Would anyone like more dessert?”

  As if reading Caitlyn McClare’s mind, their spunky, sixty-seven-year-old housekeeper Rosie barreled through the swinging door with a tray of additional desserts while Hadley followed on her heels with a fresh pot of coffee. A study in contrasts that afforded no end to the humor found in the McClare household, Mrs. Rosie O’Brien was as devoted to Caitlyn McClare as she was annoyed by Uncle Logan, a disdain she had once also attached to Hadley, Uncle Logan’s butler from youth. A tiny woman with dark chignon heavily sifted with silver posed a stark contradiction to Hadley’s tall and dignified demeanor, his regal bearing crowned with a glorious head of white most likely earned from working with Rosie. Where Rosie’s steel-blue eyes and sharp tongue could whittle Uncle Logan down to size, Hadley’s ever-calm expression and patient manner offered a tranquil buffer when needed. Like now, when the lovably deaf and near-blind manservant proceeded to Uncle Logan’s end of the table to pour coffee.

  “Hadley!” Rosie paused the butler mid-tilt, her scowl softening into a smile while she addressed him in a loud voice. “I said to serve Miss Cait first,” she enunciated sweetly, eyes narrowing in Uncle Logan’s direction. Her voice lowered to a mumble. “Not the worst.”

  “Very good, miss.” Hadley tipped the pot upright and moved to the other end.

  “Really, Cait?” Lips flat, Uncle Logan arched a brow, ignoring the titters that circled the table.

  “Now, Rosie . . . ,” Caitlyn said softly, her affectionate tone hardly an admonishment to the former nanny who was like a second mother after Caitlyn’s own had passed away. She offered Uncle Logan a smile of apology. “I don’t care for any more dessert, but I believe Mr. McClare might. Would you like more pie, Logan?”

  “Does it matter?” he grumbled, glaring at Rosie as she plopped a second piece of pie on Caitlyn’s plate.

  “Chocolate cream is one of your favorites, Miss Cait,” the housekeeper groused, “and heaven knows you could use a little meat on your bones.” Rosie divvied out the rest of the pie till it was all gone, then paused on her way to the door, giving Logan a smirk. “Uh-oh, fresh out, but I’ll fetch you some five-day-old pound cake if you want. It’s passable if you cut off the mold.”

  “No, thank you,” Uncle Logan said in a clipped tone that mellowed when Hadley poured him a fresh cup of coffee. “Thank you, Hadley.”

  “My pleasure, sir.” One eye on the swinging door through which Rosie had just departed, the butler produced a generous piece of pie from behind his back, setting it before Logan. “Compliments of Miss Cait, sir,” he said with a faint smile.

  Logan glanced up, meeting Cait’s tender look from across the linen-clad table. “Thank you, Cait. I suppose this is the next best thing if you won’t rein your attack dog in.”

  “You’re welcome, Logan,” she said with a gentle smile before clinking a spoon against her water glass to draw everybody’s attention. “All right, everyone—I have good news to share.”

  “Rosie’s retiring?” Logan muttered.

  Ting. Ting. Ting. Caitlyn tapped her water goblet again, excitement fairly shimmering in her eyes as she smiled at Meg. “In addition to the good news of having Meg back home, I also have some very good news for Meg.”

  Meg blinked. “For me? What kind of good news, Mother?”

  “Well . . .” Caitlyn paused, cheeks flushed with excitement. Her eyes darted to Uncle Logan in a hesitant smile before returning to Meg with a raise of her glass. “I’d like to propose a toast to Megan McClare—our prospective lawyer who has been awarded the honor of a brand-new internship this summer in the district attorney’s office.”

  Cheers and applause broke out as Meg stared at her mother, hardly daring to believe what she’d just heard. “M-mother, are you
s-serious?” she stuttered, hand to her chest. “The district attorney’s office?”

  Caitlyn nodded, her smile blooming into a grin. “I’d mentioned to Andrew your aspirations to become a lawyer, and would you believe he told me he’d been considering an internship program for some time now? Said he figured the district attorney’s office was the perfect opportunity for aspiring young lawyers such as yourself. And the best part? It’s a scholarship internship, Meg, awarded to the candidate with the highest grades, so when he heard you were valedictorian of your class, that cinched it. Congratulations, darling.”

  “Yeah, Meggie, great job!” Blake raised his glass in a toast. “I knew being the smartest one in the family would pay off someday.”

  Stock still, Meg finally grinned, a tiny squeal slipping through the fingers pressed to her mouth. “Oh my goodness! When do I start?”

  “June 20th, darling.” Her mother paused. “Of course, you do understand it’s not a paid internship—the district attorney’s budget can’t afford that.”

  “Oh, Mother, I don’t care!” The district attorney’s office? The dream of every lawyer longing to make a difference? Her heart thudded in her chest. And I start in almost three weeks? She clasped hands to her chest, pulse taking off in a sprint. “I am beyond thrilled!”

  Uncle Logan grunted as he downed the rest of his water. “If it’s an internship you want, sweetheart, why didn’t you talk to me?” He slammed his glass down a little too loudly, lips in a scowl. “I’d rather have you in our firm than working for the DA. And I’ll pay you.”

  Meg’s heart skipped a beat, not wanting to hurt her uncle’s feelings, but not wanting to miss this golden opportunity either. “Oh, Uncle Logan, thank you so much, but Mother knows I’ve had my heart set on the district attorney’s office for a while now—hopefully to work there after I graduate law school.” Her eyes beseeched his. “You see, I hope to provide legal assistance to the residents of the Barbary Coast, especially the women and girls trapped in the cycle of poverty.” She worked her lip. “Goodness, I can’t do that in a prestigious law firm like yours.”

  “You sure, Megs?” Jamie latched an arm over Bram’s shoulder. “Blake, Bram, and I can teach you an awful lot. Especially Bram—he’s the firm’s golden boy.”

  Heat crawled up Megan’s neck, braising her cheeks as she avoided Bram’s eyes. “I’m sure you can, Jamie, and thank you, Uncle Logan—so much, but I need to start from the ground up, and the DA’s office sounds like the perfect place.” Noting her uncle’s scowl, she rose with a cheery smile, hoping to change the subject. “But what I would love to do is challenge you counselors to a card game my friend Lily taught me in Paris, with tricks just like whist. Any takers?”

  Blake rose and tossed his napkin on the table, shooting a smirk at Bram. “Count me in—I’m all for tricks, especially if I can play ’em on the Padre here after the beating he gave me in chess.”

  “Yeah, what’s this game called, anyway?” Jamie asked. He extended a hand to help Cassie up. “I’m always looking for new ways to humiliate Blake and Bram as well.”

  Meg smiled. “Tours Royales, which means Royal Tricks, and there’s a card known as the fool, which turns out to be a good thing rather than bad.”

  “What’s a fool?” Maddie asked with a blink of blue eyes.

  “Someone who acts like your brother,” Jamie said with a grin, slapping Blake’s shoulder.

  Bram stood and upended his water before nudging his chair in with a chuckle. “The boy does seem to have a talent for it, so it’s good there are games in which he can excel.”

  Blake sauntered to the door with a devil-may-care grin. “Hey, Hughes, I’ve taken you down in your own game of chess once or twice, so we’ll just see who makes a fool of himself, shall we?”

  “Lead away.” Bram scooped Maddie up on his shoulders, then made his way around the table to offer Meg his arm with a crooked smile. “And let the games begin, right, Bug?”

  “Right,” Meg agreed, heart racing as she, Maddie, and Bram followed the others from the room, leaving Mother and Uncle Logan to finish their coffee. She released a languid sigh, her smile pure contentment.

  And my new life as well . . .

  4

  A satisfied sigh slipped from Caitlyn’s lips as she cradled her cup in her hands, the warmth of her coffee seeping into her fingers like peace had seeped in her soul the moment Megan stepped off the train. Her daughter, home! Oh Lord, thank you—my family together again. Savoring her coffee, she couldn’t help but smile while Logan silently polished off her piece of pie, his gaze focused on the dessert before him with the same intensity with which he did everything—whether acting as the consummate lawyer, the doting uncle, or the brother-in-law who took great pleasure in annihilating her at cribbage.

  And the man who can buckle my knees with the touch of his lips?

  Heat flashed at the unbidden thought, the memory of how close she’d come to courtship with Logan McClare last year—for a second time—stealing the shine from her good mood. Oh, how she had longed to be his wife—badly—but the issue of trust still stood in the way. It had taken years to get over his betrayal from their first courtship at the age of seventeen, a heartbreak so devastating, it sent her sobbing into the arms of his older brother. Dear Liam had been a loving friend who provided comfort and then marriage, leaving her bereft when she’d become a widow four years past. Since then, Logan had won her over, slowly restoring her confidence until she’d been ready to finally trust him with her heart once again. Her hands shook as she sipped her coffee, the taste suddenly as bitter as the memory of six months ago when she’d learned the brother-in-law with whom she was in love had lied to her once again.

  Pushing the painful memories aside, Caitlyn was grateful they’d been able to resume their close friendship despite Logan’s initial anger over her refusal of courtship. She slowly placed her cup in the saucer before patting her lips with her napkin. Although marriage with Logan was never to be, having him in her life as her dearest friend provided the strength and solace she needed, and for that she would always be grateful. Heart full once again, she offered him a teasing smile. “So, Mr. McClare . . . are you ready to finish me off in our game of cribbage?”

  He peered up, and instantly her stomach tightened at the cool look in his eyes. Pushing his plate away, he rose, lips compressed while he adjusted the sleeves of his jacket—a habit indicating he was peeved—and one with which she was more than familiar. “Sorry, Cait—not in the mood. I have a big case to prepare for this week, so I think I’ll just head on home.” He shoved the chair in hard enough to shiver the table before turning to go. “Thanks for dinner.”

  “Logan—wait!” She jumped up and followed him to the door, restraining him with an urgent touch of his arm. “You seem angry—why?”

  He turned, his jaw like rock. “I have to spell it out?”

  A lump ducked in her throat as she stared, absently rubbing her arms from the chill of his tone. “Honestly, Logan, if you’re upset about Rosie—”

  His gray eyes glinted like the silver vase in the flickering candlelight. “Blast it, Cait—this has nothing to do with your pit bull. That woman has chewed on me for years now, thanks to your indifference, but have you once ever seen me react like this?”

  She picked at her nails, peering up beneath sloped brows as she attempted a sheepish smile, hoping to tease him out of his poor mood. “Well, actually, Logan, I seem to recall a wide range of responses, from boyish pouts to withering scowls.” She gently grazed his sleeve. “I just assumed Rosie triggered that Irish temper you’re so good at keeping under wraps.”

  “This isn’t funny, Cait,” he hissed, flicking her hand away. “I’m going home.” He stormed from the room, his back rigid as he strode into the foyer.

  “Logan, stop—please!” Her voice rose several octaves as she ran after him, halting him with a clasp of his arm. “I’ve obviously angered you in some way, but I honestly don’t know how.” She darted a nerv
ous gaze into the parlour where laughter and good-natured teasing could be heard before her eyes sought his again, begging him to stay. “Can’t we discuss this—please? In privacy, out on the study veranda?” He paused, and her fingers captured his in a gentle squeeze. “It breaks my heart thinking I may have hurt you. You’re my dearest friend, Logan, you know that.”

  A muscle twitched in his cheek, every inch of his six-foot-two height shimmering with a silent fury she seldom saw in a man who’d learned long ago to contain his emotions. His powerful shoulders rose and fell as he gouged the bridge of his nose. Without a word, he stalked into her library, leaving her to follow as he jerked the French doors open to step outside.

  She sucked in a deep draw of cool air, the summer night filling her senses with the scent of the sea and the trill of tree frogs. Desperate for privacy, she clicked the doors closed behind her as a salty breeze wisped tendrils of her hair. The groan of foghorns blended with the clang of cable car bells while the faint music of steam pianos could be heard from dance halls in the Barbary Coast. A knot ducked in her throat as she stared at Logan’s back, his suit coat straining over broad shoulders while he leaned on the marble balustrade, palms flat on either side. Moving to stand beside him, she placed a tentative hand on his arm. “I ache inside, Logan, that I’ve hurt you in some way. Please,” she whispered, voice hoarse with regret, “tell me what I’ve done?”

  A nerve pulsed in the granite line of his jaw as he stared out into the night, his chiseled profile strong and taut. “Megan is my niece, Cait,” he bit out, “my blood, and yet you chose to seek Turner’s help over mine.” He angled to face her, intimidating her with his height while he loomed over her like a shadow, fist clenched on the marble wall.