Surprised by Love

by Julie Lessman

  “I love you, Bram,” she’d said, just like she’d said a million times before. Only this time, the declaration came from the lips of a woman, unnerving him all the more.

  “I love you too, Meg,” he whispered, the words rising in the air like the steam drifting skyward, as out of reach as his dreams to always be there for one lost little girl. He exhaled a silent sigh. “More than you’ll ever know.”

  28

  Loosening his tie, Bram glanced over his shoulder at the gold antique clock on the credenza in front of his window, the ominous black of the night sky confirming the late hour of eight-thirty. He mauled his face with his hands, wishing he were out with Jamie or Blake or home with Mom and Pop rather than staying late at the office for one of the hardest things he’d ever had to do.

  Confront Logan McClare.

  Certainly a task too difficult to do at the family dinners Logan now held at The Palace and to which Mrs. McClare was never invited, or even throughout the day when the man worked like a fiend. But in the silent hours of the night when everyone else had gone home? Oh yes, of late one could always find Logan bottled up in his office till the wee hours of the morning. Bram’s mouth compressed as a heaviness settled like the dense fog over the bay. “Bottled” being the operative word, it seemed—at least these days—for a man who’d all but abstained from liquor over the last two years.

  Exhaling a weary sigh, Bram rose and skirted his desk, the silence of the dark hallway only accentuating the deafening thud of his heart. He ducked in the kitchen area to retrieve two cups of the coffee he’d just made along with the half sandwich he’d saved from dinner. Uttering a quick prayer, he sucked in enough oxygen to hopefully fortify him for an encounter with a man who’d bitten off everyone’s head in the office at least twice over the last month and a half.

  Steaming cups in one hand, he tucked the paper-wrapped sandwich under his arm and knocked on Logan’s cherrywood door, a thin slice of light bleeding beneath the wood threshold like all the joy had obviously bled from Logan’s life.

  “Who isss it?” a voice snapped on the other side, and Bram didn’t miss the slur that indicated Logan was already well into the bottle.

  “It’s Bram—can I come in?”

  “Go away—I’m busy.”

  Bram expelled a weighty breath and opened the door, his eyes scanning from Logan’s rumpled shirt and loosened tie to the disheveled dark hair sifted with gray. Sullen circles beneath glassy eyes testified to sleepless nights and a daily bout with the bottle, restricted to after-hours so no one would know. “I can see that, sir—misery can be a full-time job.”

  “What the devil are you still doing here?” Logan said, his fatigue dissipating somewhat when he sat up to singe Bram with a glare.

  Bram strolled in and set the cups of coffee on the desk, sympathy warm in his eyes as he tossed the sandwich to Logan. “I’d ask you the same thing, sir, but I think I already know.” He nodded toward the coffees and the sandwich. “Figured you could use something warm in your belly and sustenance that doesn’t come from a bottle.”

  Issuing a grunt, Logan snatched a half-empty bottle of Chivas and replenished his drink with a sneer, the golden liquid swirling into the glass like unease swirled in Bram’s gut. “Sorry, Bram, but this is the only sustenance I need right now, so you can just pack up your good intentions and take ’em on home.”

  “That’s just it, sir—it’s not just good intentions,” he said quietly. “There’s a great deal of respect and admiration involved, along with a heavy dose of compassion and love.”

  Logan spun around to stare out of the window, but not before Bram saw the flash of moisture in his eyes. His words came out hoarse and low. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, Bram, really I do, but I’m just not ready to talk about this yet.”

  “I understand, sir. What’s going on between you and Mrs. McClare is a very private and obviously very painful situation, and normally I would honor that.” He slowly perched on the edge of the leather chair in front of Logan’s desk, muscles tight despite his casual clasp of hands. “But I’m afraid the pain extends much farther than just to you and Mrs. McClare, and your family has asked me to talk to you.”

  A harsh laugh erupted from Logan’s throat as he gouged a trembling hand through his hair. “Yes, I’m sure there’s more than enough pain to go around, but I’m afraid it can’t be helped right now.”

  Bram hesitated, girding himself with another deep swell of air. “Well, pardon me, sir, but I think that it can.”

  Logan turned, his eyes glittering like slivers of black diamonds. “Really.” Acid coated his tone. “Well, tell me, Bram—have you ever had your hope shattered into a million pieces? The light in your life snuffed out in a single night? Your heart so battered that it’s bleeding raw?” He bludgeoned the desk hard with his fist, spilling the coffee. “Well, have you?”

  Meg’s image lighted in his mind, the same image that haunted his dreams every night since she’d returned from Paris, a festering ache deep inside over a woman who would always possess his heart, but never be his. His sorrowful gaze locked with Logan’s, and he suddenly realized that at this very moment, he needed Logan every bit as much as Logan needed him. “Yes, sir, I have,” he said quietly, “not to the extent that you have after loving Mrs. McClare for so many years, I realize, but then pain isn’t particularly partial to either time or depth, is it, sir?”

  Logan stared, confusion softening the hard planes of his face. “Who?”

  Bram swallowed hard, unwilling to put voice to his feelings for Meg. “Let’s just say as much as I respect Amelia Darlington, she’s not the woman with whom I long to spend the rest of my life.”

  The fog in Logan’s eyes seemed to clear. He more than anyone was aware of Bram’s commitment to his father in honoring a marriage forged over a fortune. “Meg?” he whispered.

  Bram exhaled and nodded, the very sound of her name causing his heart to cramp. His gaze lagged into a distant stare. “You see, I owe my father a heavy debt, sir, one of which he’s not even aware and one that I can certainly never repay.” He glanced up, the resolve in his gut as keen as the determined look in his eyes. “But you understand, sir—I have to try.”

  All fight seemed to leave Logan as he sagged forward, facial muscles slackening into grief while he put a hand to his eyes. “I’m sorry, Bram—I’ve been so focused on my own problems that I never realized you cared for Meg in any way other than as a friend.”

  “Quite frankly, neither did I, sir, until she came home from Paris.” He expelled a ragged breath of air while he massaged his temple with the heel of his hand. “But I believed it was just an initial attraction to the new Meg, one that would surely right itself once we returned to the safety of our close friendship.” He glanced up in somewhat of a stupor, a little dazed himself over the full extent of his reaction to Meg’s statement the other night that she was considering dating Devin. He released a cumbersome sigh. “So I’ve just worked hard to bury any attraction, which is difficult, but doable.”

  Logan dropped back in his chair, watching Bram beneath heavy lids, his gaze dark with sympathy. “So . . . tell me then—how do you do it? Spend time with Meg like you do when you know friendship is all you can ever have? Especially since she told me at dinner at The Palace last night that she has a date with Devin this weekend.”

  Bram winced, unaware of this latest development since he and his family attended dinner at the Darlingtons’ last night. “I didn’t realize that, sir, although she’d told me she’d prayed and decided to start seeing him in a more . . .” His Adam’s apple ducked hard. “Personal way.”

  Logan was silent for several seconds, assessing Bram through pensive eyes. “So, how long have you been in love with her?” he asked quietly. “And I don’t mean in a brotherly way.”

  Heat suffused Bram’s cheeks, and suddenly he didn’t want to pursue this conversation any more than Logan did, but apparently he had little choice. “I didn’t say I was in love—”


  Some of the rancor returned to Logan’s tone. “Don’t mince words with me, son. You just implied my niece is the woman with whom you long to spend the rest of your life, did you not?”

  Bram’s throat constricted as he tried to swallow, hoping to mask the bitter emotion that tainted his tongue. Hearing the statement out loud was like being gut-punched, and almost as agonizing as knowing he could never have her. He was a man who preferred to face things head-on, be it in business or in his personal life, but these deeper feelings for Meg had broadsided him. He’d known he was attracted to her that first night home, certainly, but the thought had been so preposterous—and so utterly impossible—he’d pushed the feelings away. Traitorous feelings buried deep inside, just lying in wait.

  His gaze dropped. “Since shortly after she came home from Paris, I suppose,” he whispered, stunned at the words coming out of his mouth. “Meg and I have always shared a closeness, a respect and regard, but I saw myself as a mentor, sir, a brother and dear friend who’d protect and cherish her for the beautiful person she was.” He glanced up, revelation piercing his very soul. “I swear, sir, I never intended for this to happen.”

  Logan looked up, a wistful smile on his face. “None of us do, Bram. There’s not a man alive I know who falls in love on purpose. Affairs of the heart have a way of sneaking up on you, taking you by surprise.” He mauled the back of his neck while a bitter laugh tripped from his lips. “Trust me, my love for Cait took me by surprise when I first laid eyes on her twenty-nine years ago, and then it knocked me upside the head when she broke our engagement and married my brother.” His gaze veered off as the smile dissolved on his face. “But the biggest surprise of all was how it lay dormant all these years until the day my brother died, and then it reared up and kicked me right in the gut.” He kneaded his temple and released a heavy sigh before his gaze met Bram’s, a rare sense of defeat in his eyes. “The blasted woman has ruined me for any other, Bram, and for the first time in my life, I really don’t know what to do.”

  Bram sat forward, eager to help alleviate Logan’s grief. “Logan, you want to know how I do it—spend time with Meg when I know friendship is all we’ll ever have? I never really thought about that until you asked the question just now . . .” A sheepish smile slid across his face as he scratched the back of his head. “Okay, truth be told, I never really allowed myself to think about how deep my feelings for Meg really were until the shock of the other night when she told me she was thinking of dating Devin.” He peered up beneath a furrowed brow, his manner reflective. “But now that I’m fully aware of the situation, the only option I can employ—and the only one that will really work—is a directive from the Bible I call the Abraham Factor.”

  Logan squinted, the tug of a smile on his lips. “You’re telling me you have a biblical directive named after you?”

  Bram laughed. “Hardly, but he is my namesake.” He sat back with hands on the arms of the chair, fingers limp over the edge. “I’m speaking of Abraham in the Old Testament, of course, the father of the Hebrew nation and proclaimed ‘friend of God.’ The man of whom God required the sacrifice of his only son on an altar in the region of Moriah. It’s not a comfortable story by a long shot, but an important one for two men faced with heartache such as you and I.”

  He propped his elbows on the arms of the chair and steepled his hands, staring out the window over Logan’s shoulder, the gloom of night the perfect backdrop for the subject he broached. “You see, I’ve learned the hard way that when it comes to the most precious things in my life, the safest place to keep them is in God’s hands. To trust Him to do for them and me the very best thing.” His eyes met Logan’s. “No matter what that is.” He expelled a weary sigh. “Because if I love someone—really and truly love them—I’ll always want to give them God’s best, not my own.”

  Rising from his chair, he nudged Logan’s cup of coffee toward him before he picked up his own. “Abraham loved his son fiercely, waited decades for God to honor His promise to give him a son in the first place. And then one day, God—Abraham’s ‘friend,’ mind you—asks him to lay that precious son on the altar and give him up. Sacrifice him—just like that. And you know what?” Against his will, tears glazed Bram’s eyes as his gaze locked with Logan’s. “That man didn’t balk or miss a beat. Nope. Because Abraham’s trust in God was so strong, he actually told his traveling companions to ‘abide ye here and I and the lad will go yonder; and we will worship, and come again to you.’ ” Bram shook his head, overwhelmed as always at the strength of Abraham’s faith, the certainty that somehow, some way, God’s best would prevail. “And you and I both know what happened, Logan. God stayed the knife in Abraham’s hand, giving him his son back because of his remarkable trust.”

  “Trust,” Logan whispered in a low drone, “the very reason I’ve lost Cait.”

  Bram nodded, his tone quiet but sure. “And the very thing that will help you find God in a way you’ve never experienced Him before. He wants you to trust Him, Logan, to put your love for Mrs. McClare on the altar where God can do with it what He wills for your good and hers. And whether He stays your hand or not, your sacrifice of obedience will be rewarded with more peace and joy and hope than you ever believed possible.”

  Logan’s brows dipped, the deep wedges indicating his skepticism. “And you really believe that?”

  Bram smiled, remembering his own lack of faith before God had proven it true. “I do. And I not only believe it, I’ve experienced it firsthand after my sister died. As you know, she and I were very close because I’d waited for a sibling for a long time. I know now that it had been a heart’s desire of mine, so to speak, so I was pretty angry with God when He took her away. Even rebelled for a season, of which you are all too well aware. I’d been raised to have a strong faith, so basically, I resigned myself to God’s will like Job had. You know, ‘The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away’?” His gaze drifted past Logan again, mind wandering back to the pain of his loss. “Only I missed something very important in all of that. The next line Job speaks is, ‘Blessed be the name of the Lord.’ I realized then I had only resigned myself to God’s will, not accepted it.”

  “What do you mean?” Logan asked.

  Bram glanced up, offering a silent prayer he could reach Logan like God had reached him. “I mean that I discovered there’s a huge difference between acceptance and resignation—one is positive, the other is negative. Acceptance opens the door of hope wide, while resignation slams it shut. One says God is good and loves us, and the other says He is harsh and doesn’t care. Abraham chose to ‘accept’ God’s will, knowing full well that God loved him and not only wanted the best for him, but knew exactly what that ‘best’ would be. Neither is easy when it means relinquishing the desires of our heart, but ‘acceptance’ promises that God will bless our obedience with a greater good. ‘Resignation,’ however, can sever our relationship with God, which leaves us on our own, resulting in darkness and despair.”

  Bram breathed in deeply, then released it in one long, steady sigh. “Once God revealed the lesson of the Abraham Factor, I learned to put my trust in Him despite Ruthy’s death—no matter how painful it had been. I chose to believe God loved me and would bring good from it, even replacing my heart’s desire.” He smiled, the warmth of his gratitude seeping through his body to chase the chill of his past away. “And He did—through Meg and your family, both of which have given me more love, peace, and joy than I ever dreamed possible.”

  Logan tilted forward, eyes homing in on Bram with a new clarity. “So, let me get this straight. If Cait is the desire of my heart and I lay her on this altar, God may or may not give her back to me, but either way, I’ll be happy—lousy with love, peace, and joy, so to speak.”

  Bram grinned. “Not the word I would have chosen, but yes, eventually you would be ‘lousy with love, peace, and joy’ in this situation.”

  A grunt rolled from Logan’s lips. “Yeah, well ‘lousy’ is something I seem to have a t
alent for, at least in the past.” He eyed Bram with the same do-or-die look he wore in their weekly strategy meetings. “So, since you’re the experienced one here, counselor, just how exactly does one go about implementing this Abraham Factor?”

  Bram grimaced while rubbing the back of his neck. “It won’t be easy, but it’s certainly possible, especially with lots of prayer.”

  Logan’s lip took a slant. “ ‘Easy’ has never been my style, so I’m up to the task, but I need a game plan.”

  “Well, for starters, we both need to put our money where our mouth is regarding those we love, meaning we love them unconditionally, not selfishly, putting their best interests before our own.” He hesitated, well aware his next statement might further fan the flame of Logan’s fury. “Which for me is being there for Meg as a friend and big brother as long as she needs me, no matter what or no matter whom she marries. And for you?” His gaze flicked to Logan’s and held. “It means coming back to the family, being there for them no matter what or no matter who is in Mrs. McClare’s life. It’s knowing that your feelings have to come second to those you love, choosing their happiness over your own.” He leaned in for emphasis, making sure he had Logan’s full attention. “And let me be clear here, sir—their happiness depends on you being a vital part of the family, because right now I’ve never seen a more miserable lot of people, including Mrs. McClare.” His mouth tipped. “And I can’t be sure, of course, because one can never really tell with Rosie, but it seems to me she’s been somewhat crankier too.”

  Logan actually grinned. “Good. At least something positive has come out of this.”

  Bram chuckled, the sound and feel of it releasing most of the strain at the back of his neck. His smile ebbed. “I mean it, sir—it’s not the same without you, and although you think you can’t be happy while Mr. Turner is in Mrs. McClare’s life, the truth is, you will be far more miserable without her friendship and so will she.”