Surprised by Love

by Julie Lessman

  He felt her tremble when she clutched him tentatively like the little girl she used to be, her voice a fragile whisper. “So it’s true then—you’ve been courting Amelia Darlington?”

  The very name jolted him all over again, reminding him his life was no longer his own, but a gift of restitution to the father he’d wronged. “Not courting exactly, Bug, at least not yet, but a commitment all the same that prevents me from following my heart in any other direction.” He pulled back, his heart bleeding at the sadness in her eyes. “Do you . . . understand?”

  She nodded with a soft sniff, and the little girl he’d fallen in love with claimed his heart all over again.

  “Oh, Meg.” He swallowed her up in another hug, pressing his lips to the silky touch of her hair. The clean scent of violets and Pear’s soap took him back to when their relationship was wholesome and safe and a refuge for them both. He kneaded the nape of her neck like the big brother he needed to be, desperate to protect a friendship threatened by feelings he had no business entertaining.

  Ever.

  “I miss our friendship, Bug,” he said quietly, “and I want it back.”

  “Me too,” she whispered, the gentle pat of her fingers on his back easing the ache in his soul. She pulled away with a tremulous smile, eyes glossy with resignation that both soothed and saddened. “So it would appear, Mr. Hughes, that both of us have some adapting to do.”

  He managed a smile. “Agreed, Miss McClare, and since you have proven to possess great intellect and insight over the years through umpteen victories at chess and cribbage, perhaps you can enlighten me as to how we should navigate this new friendship between two adults.”

  Dispensing a final pat, she sat back against the seat with a pert lift of her chin. “Quite simply, Mr. Hughes. Now that we’ve established that friendship is to be our happy fate, you will continue to be my hero and champion as big brother and friend, and I will continue to fine-tune your humility with impossible bouts of chess.”

  Bram laughed, unable to resist a tug of her ear. “And what makes you think I won’t be fine-tuning your humility, young lady?”

  Meg scrunched her nose in a sassy manner that both surprised him and made him grin. “Because you, Abraham Joseph Hughes, are a sheer marshmallow when it comes to the feelings of others, so I suspect lessons of humility are something you go to great lengths not to impart.

  He arched a brow. “Are you saying I let you win in chess all these years, Miss McClare?”

  “As a matter of fact I am, mostly,” she said, the sparkle in her eyes matching the gleam of a perfect smile. “But that’s about to change because I’ve been tutored for the last year by none other than Dr. Harold Rousseau, chess expert extraordinaire.”

  The sound of his deep laughter caused the boys to look up from their game of marbles as Bram hopped to the sidewalk with a grin. Shaking his head, he rounded the vehicle to assist Meg from the car. “Ah-hah—this new phase of our friendship promises challenge at last.”

  “You haven’t seen challenge,” she quipped, rising to allow Bram to help her down from her seat.

  His husky chuckle filled the air, buoying his spirits. Challenge, oh yes. Hands to her waist, he whisked her to the street, her slim body a mere wisp of a feather despite ample curves.

  She peered up with a disarming smile, convincing him that her statement bore more truth than he liked—his challenge was, indeed, just beginning. With a sassy tilt of her head, she gave him a look that was pure imp. “So if I were you, my friend, I’d prepare to surrender.”

  Prepare to surrender? Smiling, he offered his arm to escort her to the door, his manner light but his resolve as heavy as the guilt that weighted his shoulders.

  Not in a million years.

  10

  Hadley eased the Packard up to the curb in front of the Hall of Justice on Kearney Street, and Meg prayed her breakfast would stay put. Her eyes scanned up the imposing pink clock tower soaring high above the elaborate brick-and-terra-cotta building that held court over Portsmouth Square. Just like the district attorney’s office held court over the crime in the city. A knot jogged in her throat as she stared at her future, the bleating of autos and sounds of children’s laughter in Portsmouth Square barely audible over the pulse pounding in her ears.

  As if sensing her trepidation, her mother reached to squeeze Meg’s hand. “The district attorney’s office is going to love you, darling, I promise.”

  “And you already know Mr. Turner, Megs, so it’s not like everyone will be total strangers.” Alli patted her knee.

  Hadley opened the door and stepped aside, waiting to help Meg alight.

  She gulped, suddenly not all that sure. “But there’s so little I know about law, Mother—what if I’m a hindrance instead of a help?”

  “Oh, boo,” Alli said with a thrust of her chin. “You have a brilliant mind, Megs, so hold your head high and teach them a thing or two.”

  Her mother stretched across Alli to press a kiss to Megan’s cheek, her voice soft and low. “You’re going to shine, Megs, you mark my words. Just remember our prayer this morning, darling, that the Lord goeth before thee and will be with thee. He will not fail thee nor forsake thee, so fear not and neither be dismayed.”

  At her mother’s words, Megan closed her eyes. The tension in her stomach slowly uncoiled as she breathed in deeply, filling her lungs and her mind with the calming peace that only came from a rock-solid faith. Lashes lifting, she expelled all anxiety with a slow exhale, the smile on her face brimming with a quiet confidence and hope. “Thank you, Mother.” She stroked her mother’s cheek, eyes misting at the love she saw in her eyes and Alli’s. “I love you both so very much, and I’ll be praying we all have a wonderful day.”

  She blew a kiss to each of them, then took Hadley’s proffered hand to step down from the car, excitement replacing her fear. “Thank you, Hadley,” she said with a light squeeze of his gloved hand. “Wish me luck.”

  The barest of smiles shadowed his lips as he closed the car door behind her, turning to offer a slight bow of his silver head. “Pardon me if you will, young miss, but luck is not paramount for one who possesses such intelligence and faith.”

  “Oh, Hadley!” Meg lifted on tiptoe to kiss his weathered cheek, his kindness bringing a sheen of tears to her eyes. “You are such a blessing to us all, you dear man.”

  “As are you, young miss.” He nodded toward the steps that led to an arched doorway. “And in there as well. Godspeed, Miss Megan.” With another short bow, he rounded the vehicle and started the car, allowing her one final wave before the Packard chugged away.

  Spinning on her heel, Meg adjusted the wide lapels of her navy linen walking suit, its Eton jacket open at the bodice to reveal a silk pleated shirtwaist with high-neck collar. The crisp white blouse was a perfect complement to the white piping on her floor-length hem and slim cuffs. She brushed her damp palms down the smooth lines of her gored skirt, still not used to the soft swell of slim hips that gently curved beneath her tiny waist. Inhaling deeply, she drew in air laced with the sweet scent of gardenias from a row of bushes lining the walk. “Okay,” she whispered, releasing a wavering breath as she scaled the steps, “ready or not, here I come.”

  The marble lobby pulsed with activity like Meg’s body pulsed with anticipation. The notion she’d be working shoulder-to-shoulder with the district attorney and his team raced her heart more than her sprint up the stairs, her drawstring reticule bouncing as much as she. Two flights up, she stopped short at the sight of a bubbled glass door emblazoned with the circular Seal of the City and County of San Francisco. A rich and glorious emblem, the seal boasted a miner and a sailor on either side of a steamer entering the Golden Gate while a Phoenix proudly perched above in a bed of flames. Pride swelled in her chest over the rich heritage of her city, a formidable city, Uncle Logan always said, built on commerce, agriculture, and mining.

  Her gaze trailed to the gold letters that thickened her throat.

  District Atto
rney Offices of San Francisco.

  Her eyes flickered closed. Fear not and neither be dismayed. The Lord goeth before me and will be with me . . .

  The door flew open and Megan jumped with a little squeak as a tall man barreled out, sending her hand flying to her chest along with her reticule.

  “Oh, pardon me.” Andrew Turner stood in the doorway with an attaché in one hand, as startled as she. His clean-cut Nordic hair boasted a hint of silver at the temples, providing a distinguished frame for light-blue eyes and a chiseled jaw. “May I help you, miss?”

  Megan’s pulse stuttered when she realized Mr. Turner didn’t recognize her. “Good morning, Mr. Turner—I’m Megan McClare, and I can’t thank you enough for this incredible opportunity to work in your office this summer.”

  “Meg?” A slow smile worked its way across his handsome face as he surveyed her head to toe, mouth dangling open in a smile. “Well, I’ll be. Cait told me Paris was good for you, but I had no idea just how good.” He pulled a pocket watch from his gray pinstriped waistcoat and grinned. “And thirty minutes early? I like that in an intern.”

  Hooking her arm, he ushered her into a large but stark reception area with scuffed hardwood floors and wooden chairs, its dirty white walls sporting faded photos of the city. The room seemed oppressive despite the glare of an overhead light and large window, where a yellowed shade completely blocked out the sun. Laughter drifted from somewhere down a wide hall that opened in the center of the room, spilling sunlight from a row of offices on both sides.

  Mr. Turner angled to face a shy, bookish girl hunched over an antiquated desk, her stooped shoulders and awkward manner instantly striking a chord. About Alli’s age, the young woman wore a severe and tightly pulled bun at the nape of her neck and horn-rimmed glasses that greatly magnified eyes the color of fresh caramel. The owlish effect lent a studious air to a skinny frame that appeared quite tall. Her lenses were even thicker than Meg’s own, which prompted an immediate kinship. Somehow Meg suspected she, too, had been the object of ridicule among her peers, much like Meg herself.

  Bracing a hand to Megan’s back, Andrew offered his receptionist a smile that prompted a blush, highlighting beautiful cheekbones Meg hadn’t noticed before. “Bonnie, I’d like to introduce you to Miss Megan McClare, who is interning with us this summer.” He turned to slip Megan a wink. “Megan, this is my right hand, Miss Bonnie Roof, whose talent for organization and stenography is second to none.” Andrew leaned close, his whisper loud enough to elicit a shy smile from the blushing girl on the other side of the desk. “Bonnie is my secretary and the most important person in this office who all but carries me, but don’t spread that around.” He winked at Meg. “I need this job.”

  Bonnie rose and extended a hand to Meg, her lanky frame rising to a height that surpassed Meg’s five foot three by a head. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss McClare—Mr. Turner has spoken highly of you.”

  “Thank you, Miss Roof,” Meg said, shaking the girl’s hand. “And, please—my friends call me Meg, so I hope you will too, since I’m sure we’ll be good friends.”

  Surprise flared in Bonnie’s eyes before a genuine grin slid across her face, revealing a lovely smile with perfectly white teeth. “Thank you Miss Mc—” She nodded. “I mean, Meg.”

  “Bonnie, will you call Howard and tell him I’ll be up shortly for our meeting—I want to introduce Meg to the rest of the team before I go.”

  “Yes, sir.” Bonnie reached for the receiver of a candlestick phone, offering Meg a final smile. “Welcome, Meg—I’m glad you’re here.”

  Laugher and male voices rose in volume as Mr. Turner led Meg down the hall, identifying his own spacious office overlooking Portsmouth Square before he stopped in front of a much smaller office just beyond. At his presence, all chatter ceased while three pairs of legs tumbled to the floor from where they’d been perched on a disheveled desk, clunking so loudly Meg had to stifle a smile.

  “Ah, your taxes hard at work, Miss McClare,” Mr. Turner said with a jovial tone that indicated he was anything but a hard taskmaster. “Allow me to introduce my very capable staff—when they’re working, that is.” He extended a hand toward a towering young man behind the desk whom he introduced as George Crane. Meg couldn’t thwart a grin over the suitability of Mr. Crane’s name. He was a scholarly looking man who resembled one of her favorite literary characters—Ichabod Crane from The Legend of Sleepy Hollow. A ruddy shade of red crept up his pleasant face, causing a very pronounced Adam’s apple to bob furiously in his throat.

  “George is my executive assistant district attorney or second-in-command, overseeing daily activities, supervision of specialized divisions, hiring staff, and prosecuting some of the larger crimes within our jurisdiction.” Mr. Turner nodded to Meg, eyes scanning the other two gentlemen who stood stiff as soldiers on either side of Mr. Crane’s desk. “Gentlemen, this is Miss Megan McClare, valedictorian of St. Vincent’s and our intern for the summer as well as future lawyer in this office, I hope.” He hooked a protective arm over Meg’s shoulder. “Not only is Megan like family to me, but her mother is president of the Vigilance Committee, which is also an important part of my life, so I’m hoping you’ll provide any assistance she may need.”

  “Absolutely,” all three men agreed, their voices cracking in unison.

  Mr. Turner cleared his throat in what appeared to be an attempt to suppress a grin, turning his attention to the two men who stood on either side of Mr. Crane. “Mr. Theodore Burkle is my senior assistant attorney,” he said, extending a hand at a rather rotund young man with carrot red hair the same color as Meg’s before she applied the darker henna rinse. “Which only means he’s been here longer than the next guy in line.” The buttons on Theodore’s silk vest seemed ready to pop, the blush on his plump cheeks barely obscured a sea of freckles across a kindly face with gentle brown eyes. “We call him Teddy, not in honor of the president, mind you,” he said with a twinkle in a gaze warm with affection, “but because he’s so gentle and large, he reminds us of the president’s namesake—the teddy bear.”

  “Aw, boss . . .” All freckles disappeared with a gorge of blood to the poor man’s cheeks, tingeing his ears pink.

  “Sorry, Teddy, but Megan needs to know who she can go to if our junior assistant district attorney there gives her any problems.” He nodded at the other man who was standing beside George’s desk with hip slacked and hands in his pockets. Easily the most attractive of the three, he delivered a slow smile that transferred some of the heat from Teddy’s cheeks to Meg’s. “Meet Conor O’Neil, junior assistant district attorney and office rogue, so stay away from him or your mother will have my head.”

  Conor gave her an easy nod, his thick dark hair the exact shade of shuttered ebony eyes that pierced hers in spite of a lazy smile. “Definitely my pleasure, Miss McClare.”

  Meg offered a weak smile, averting her gaze to George and Teddy. “I’m looking forward to assisting in any way I can and please—call me Meg.”

  “Then I’d say work just got a great deal more appealing, ‘Meg,’ ” Conor said with a wink.

  “See what I mean?” Mr. Turner nabbed her arm with a low chuckle, steering her back into the hall. “Conor’s a bit of a ladies’ man, so just ignore him and he’ll be fine, all right?”

  Meg nodded, fighting a gulp while Mr. Turner tugged her to a larger cubbyhole area right off the conference room. More of a galley kitchen than an office, the room featured a sink, a small icebox, and a coffee percolator. A pretty brunette sat typing at a compact desk in the corner, fingers flying in front of built-in shelves that boasted neatly stacked supplies. The moment Andrew moved into the cozy space, heavy lashes lifted to reveal hazel eyes caught by surprise while a smile curved on full lips. “Good morning, Mr. Turner—I didn’t expect to see you till this afternoon due to your meeting.” She patted the back of her perfectly coifed pompadour, offering a coy tip of her head.

  Andrew glanced at his watch, brow furrowing in a wince. �
��Good morning, Linda Marie, and yes, I have a meeting this morning with Mr. Tepper, but I wanted to introduce our new intern for the summer before I left.” He cupped the back of Meg’s neck, making her feel like a little girl in front of a sophisticated woman whose smile seemed to fade a tad when her eyes lighted on Meg. “I’d like to introduce Miss Megan McClare, who will be interning with us this summer.” He tweaked Megan’s neck before resting his hand on her shoulder, a subtle implication of a casual relationship that thinned Linda Marie’s smile considerably. “Megan, Linda Marie Finn is our all-around secretary—research, typing, proofing, ordering supplies, and filling in for Bonnie when she needs it.” He gave Linda Marie a wink. “And she makes the best coffee I’ve ever tasted, bar none.”

  Eyes narrowing a degree, Linda Marie offered a smile Meg’s way that seemed as stiff as her starched white shirtwaist, its snug fit accenting an ample bodice. “What exactly will Miss McClare’s duties be, Mr. Turner?” she asked sweetly, the steel edge of her tone not lost on Meg.

  “Meg has aspirations to work in this very office as a lawyer someday, so her experience here will be to that end. Which means she’ll work closely with George and his team in any legal capacity they need, including maintaining and organizing briefs, conducting legal research, and drafting documents.” He braced her arm, giving it a paternal pat. “Megan is a lawyer in the making, Linda Marie, not a secretary, and it’s my hope this internship will give her a leg up. I’ll need you to help her get settled if you don’t mind—personal paperwork, directions to the restrooms, general introductions to departments in the building, especially Mrs. Beata Andrianova in the district court clerk’s office. Then that will get Meg off to a good start, all right?”