Surprised by Love

by Julie Lessman

  Eugene Schmitz and Abe Ruef.

  The mayor and his political boss.

  Bile rose in her throat as shock waves rolled through her body. The mayor of San Francisco and his political boss—investors in the most evil scourge on the city.

  Clang, clang, clang!

  Meg’s thoughts jolted back to the frigid cable car, gaze darting out the window while her mind strained to determine just exactly where she was. “I have to tell somebody,” she whispered, heart hammering as she stumbled to her feet. She yanked the cord with all of her might while her chaotic thoughts crystallized into only one.

  I have to tell Andrew!

  Clutching the book to her chest, she flew down the step while the car still slowed on the rails, running blocks until she had a stitch in her side. Muscles twitching, she stopped to catch her breath, lungs about to burst. She peered down the next block where the pink and purple shadows of dusk were just beginning to cloak Portsmouth Square. Please, God, let Andrew be there . . . She picked up her pace and sprinted hard, gaze glued to the second window on the second story of the Hall of Justice, where a dim light shone. With a final burst of energy, she took the front steps three at a time, bolting into the lobby to where the elevator stood open. Despite the chill of the day, sweat beaded the back of her neck as she rode up to the second floor, and when the doors parted, relief flooded at the glow of a faint light beyond the bubbled glass door. Gasping for air, she turned the knob and groaned when it jiggled in her hand.

  Locked!

  Palms damp, she fished a key from her purse, the one Andrew had given her and Devin for the nights they worked late. She held her breath as she eased it in, grateful when the door wheeled open. The light from the kitchen area beckoned and she darted down the hall, skidding to a stop before Andrew’s closed door. A muffled groan sounded, and ear to the wood, alarm coiled in her belly at the rasp of another. She had visions of Andrew sick or even bleeding on the floor from an accidental fall. Her pulse throbbed in her ears as she banged on the door, hysteria all but strangling the words in her throat. “Andrew? Are you all right?”

  Ice slithered down her spine at the hiss of a curse, and heart in her throat, she heaved the door wide, eyes squinting to adjust to the shadowy light. “Andrew? Where are—”

  She froze with a violent heave as if she’d been shot.

  No air.

  No pulse.

  No sound save the ragged breathing of two people on a couch. Shirts untucked and clothes disheveled.

  “Meg . . .” Her name issued forth on a broken groan. “What are you doing here?”

  She couldn’t speak or move, her mind in a stupor while Linda Marie fumbled to straighten her blouse. Tears of horror swelled in Meg’s eyes and her muscles began to jerk, limbs like boulders as she slowly backed away.

  “Meg, wait!” The male voice was gruff, rattled.

  But she didn’t. She couldn’t.

  More curses rent the air as a flurry of motion ensued—someone grappling to put on his shoes, button his shirt. And then Meg—running for her life, stumbling down the stairs, blinded by tears as she bludgeoned through the building’s front doors.

  Gashes in new-fallen frost followed as she fled across the lawn, and this time, she didn’t even feel the stitch in her side. Shades of sunset whorled through the blur of her tears, a macabre kaleidoscope, where betrayal bled within from shards of broken glass. Like a woman who had lost her virtue, Portsmouth Square suddenly changed, the soft blush of day seduced by the sinister hues of night as dusk had its way.

  Just like Devin.

  “No other girl makes me feel the way you do . . .”

  She heard his frantic shouts as the cable car pulled away, and then in a whir of the cables, he was left behind, the specter of a pale, broken man growing smaller and smaller in the street until it was all gone, completely stolen away.

  Just like her confidence . . .

  Not good enough for Devin Caldwell as a child, and apparently not as a woman either.

  “For once I’ve met a girl whose beauty on the inside is so powerful and deep, the surface beauty is almost secondary . . .”

  Almost. Meg sobbed. Not nearly close enough.

  The cable car jerked and jostled as it climbed the hill to home, and for the first time since she found Devin entangled with Linda Marie, she drew a breath that soothed rather than seared.

  Home. Where betrayal didn’t exist and virtue shone with the peace of God.

  Mother. She caught her breath. And Andrew? Oh, dear God, please, yes!

  Her frozen fingers suddenly burned beneath the papers in her hands, their feel light, but their truth heavier than Devin’s betrayal.

  “True confidence blooms in the soil of relationship with God, in following His path rather than one’s own, pursuing His truth rather than the world’s.”

  Mrs. Rousseau’s words seeped through her mind like healing balm, their warmth thawing the icy shackles around her heart until it burned with the only thing that really mattered.

  God’s truth.

  Her pulse leapt at the sight of Andrew’s car parked in front of her house, and with a frantic jerk of the cable-car cord, she hurdled the lone step and hit the pavement hard, streaking up the brick steps to her house as if Satan’s demons nipped at her heels.

  And maybe they were, because when her foot sank into the familiar crevice of that lone loose brick, her body took flight with a stunned cry, scattering her and her belongings across Mother’s slate porch.

  And that’s when she saw it.

  The final sheet of the book, infested with demons wrought by hell. But only one name wrenched the air from her lungs.

  A. Turner.

  33

  Arms clutched to her waist, Caitlyn stared out the weeping windowpanes of the conservatory, every piece awash with endless rivulets of water much like the tears that slithered down her face. All around her, the palms and ficus seemed as stoop-shouldered as she, their limp fronds and leaves drooping with an unrelenting grief as heavy as that which poured from the bleak granite sky.

  Hardly a day to celebrate Thanksgiving, she mused, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief that was now as soggy as the puddled backyard.

  And yet, so very much for which to be grateful . . .

  A shiver pebbled her skin that had nothing to do with the plummeting temperatures outside, and she tucked her arms closer to her body even yet, praying that the laudanum she’d given Meg to sleep last night would keep her abed, still peacefully slumbering like the sun apparently, on this truly desolate day. A painful desolation that could hardly be blamed on the weather. No, this desolation would be laid at the foot of something far more unpredictable.

  Betrayal.

  Bitterness soured her tongue, the taste of betrayal all too familiar. First in the past with Logan, and now in the present with Andrew. Her lips compressed with a rare stab of anger. A man now relegated to her past as well.

  Buffing her arms, she absently wandered the conservatory, wondering why the end of her relationship with Andrew didn’t bother her more than it did. In the brief span of two days, she would have been his wife, helpmate, and lover for the rest of her life. And yet, despite her deep feelings for him—or the man she’d believed him to be—and the attraction that had certainly been real, she was almost . . . relieved. She paused at the revelation, stunned at how close she’d come to marrying the wrong man.

  Again.

  Her eyelids fluttered closed as the breath thinned in her lungs, thoughts of her daughter’s pain foremost on her mind. Oh, Meg! The gentle and innocent daughter who deserved far more than a man who would lie and cheat. Ire boiled in Cait’s chest like a crater about to erupt, few things able to spark her mild temper like someone inflicting pain on her children. No, Meg deserved someone who loved and cherished her, a man who’d protect her all the days of her life. Cait’s eyelids lifted with resolve while her lips tamped down.

  Someone like Bram.

  “Cait? What on earth are
you doing back here? It’s freezing outside.”

  She spun around, warm chills replacing cold ones at the sight of Logan standing in the door, his handsome face still ruddy from the nasty weather. “Oh, thank God you’re here!” she whispered, rushing to give him a brief hug before quickly stepping away. “I’m sorry to disturb you so early, but thank you for coming at the crack of dawn.”

  His gaze sharpened, flicking from her tear-mottled face to the sodden handkerchief limp in her hand, and in two powerful thuds of her heart, he stood before her, gripping her arms. “What’s wrong?”

  Peace instantly purled through her body, as if the warmth of his hands possessed the power to heal all of her hurts and those of her children. “It’s Meg,” she said, her words quivering despite the calm of his touch. “She found Devin,” her voice cracked, “. . . in the arms of another woman.”

  A questionable word hissed from his lips, and he slashed fingers through the damp hair at the back of his head. “I’m sorry, Cait, but blast it, how is it that my nieces attract so many charlatans and cads who wreak heartbreak and despair?”

  Cait battled the tug of a smile, heart swelling as always for this man who loved her children as if they were his own. “Jamie and Nick aren’t charlatans and cads,” she said softly, taking his arm to lead him to the settee, “although Cassie and Alli certainly met their fair share in the past.”

  Logan grunted, allowing her to prod him to sit. He hunched on the edge of the seat with that lovable scowl she adored, loose hands clasped over his knees. “I’d say that’s an understatement,” he muttered, exhaling loudly before he peered at her out of the corner of his eye. “How is she?”

  “Heartbroken and in despair, as one would expect.” She paused, shifting to face him while she picked at her nails. “But . . . not over Devin.”

  His gaze narrowed. “What do you mean?”

  Cait bit at her lip, praying that between Logan and she, they could find some way to heal her daughter’s hurting heart . . . and Bram’s. “I mean that after a long bout of tears last night,” she said carefully, unwilling to divulge just yet that some of those had belonged to her, “Meg confessed that it’s actually Bram she has deep feelings for, not Devin.”

  Logan’s jaw went slack. “Holy thunder,” he said, his tone almost reverent. “You mean Meg’s in love with Bram as much as he is with her?”

  Cait blinked. “How did you know Bram is in love with Meg? Why, Meg herself only suspected it since the boat accident when he implied—”

  “Implied nothing,” Logan said, underscoring his response with another grunt. “The man is certifiably head over heels because he told me so himself.”

  The drop of her jaw was at least equal to Logan’s. “When?” she breathed, ashamed she’d dismissed suspicion about Bram’s true feelings the day he visited Meg after the accident.

  Logan’s lips took a twist. “After you told me you were planning to see Andrew and I stayed away to lick my wounds.” His look was sheepish before it veered into dry. “Bram was delegated by your children to guilt me into rejoining the family, as I recall, and in the process I discovered his true feelings for Meg.”

  Cait pressed a hand to her mouth, Logan’s playful barb unleashing a twitch of a smile. She shook her head, the absurdity of the situation confirming her motive for asking Logan to come by before work at the unholy hour of six a.m. It was one thing for Bram to suffer through an arranged marriage to save his father’s company, as Meg had woefully explained. But knowing Bram loved her daughter as much as she loved him, well, that was just too heartbreaking to bear. For Bram, for Meg, and for her mother! Steel fusing her spine, Cait sat up with a stiff fold of arms. “Well, I for one cannot sit idly by while two people I love are kept apart by something as vile as money. Something has to be done, Logan, to amend this unfortunate situation.”

  Easing back, he appeared relaxed for the first time, arm draped over the back of the settee. “I agree,” he said with a faint smile, head cocked as he studied her through pensive eyes. “Which is why I am now primary shareholder in Hughes Shipping.” He gave her a sly wink. “Fifty-one percent, a sight better than old Darlington was willing to go, I can tell you that.”

  A family of flies could have set up house in the gape of her mouth. “B-But . . . but . . .” She swallowed her shock, the dawn of a smile slowly rising on her lips. “Merciful Providence—Meg implied Bram’s father was nearly bankrupt, so that had to cost you a fortune!”

  He feigned a scowl. “Well, what else could I do when I was so rudely informed phase two would jeopardize my investments?” He folded his arms. “I sold and reinvested elsewhere.”

  Her jaw took another tumble. Good heavens, the man may as well have informed her he’d decided to enter a monastery! She blinked, eyelids flickering so fast, she felt the chill of a breeze. “Oh . . . oh . . .” Unable to form a coherent thought, she simply flung herself into his arms. “Oh, Logan, I don’t deserve you . . . !”

  His chuckle blew warm in her hair. “No, you don’t,” he said with a gentle knead of her back. He pulled away and cupped her cheek, his tender gaze suddenly devoid of all humor. “You deserve a man you can trust,” he whispered, “a man who’ll cherish you for the treasure you are.”

  “Oh, Logan . . .” She bit on her lip to keep it from trembling.

  With an awkward pat of her shoulder, he quickly distanced himself to the other side of the settee, throat working while he reached in his coat. “I have to head to the office, Cait, but I have something to give you first.” Eyes averted, he handed her a small velvet pouch. “A wedding present, if you will,” he said in a gruff tone, “and a symbol of the trust I hope to inspire as your friend.” A nerve pulsed in his cheek as his gaze rose to meet hers. “And only your friend.”

  The bag trembled at her touch as she removed the contents inside, a frail gasp parting from her lips. Her fingers quivered as much as her stomach when she held up a man’s gold ring emblazoned with a lion and Celtic cross over black onyx—the signet ring passed down from centuries old to the McClare family heir. The very ring Liam had given her when they’d married. Her heart stuttered. And the one she’d pried off her finger when Liam died, reluctantly returning it to the rightful heir. The gleam of gold swirled into glittering black when tears blurred in her eyes. Shaking her head, she handed it back. “No, Logan, this belongs to you—”

  His chest expanded with a shaky draw of air before he released it again. “Yes, it does, Cait,” he said, taking the ring from her palm. Piercing her with a solemn gaze, he slipped it on her right index finger before she could retract her hand. “But unfortunately for me, my heart belongs to you, so if I can’t grace your left hand with my love, then I’d like to grace your right with a friendship just as deep.”

  She fought the rise of a sob while tears pooled in her eyes like the rain in the yard. “No, Logan, please . . . save this for your wife . . .”

  “There won’t be a wife, Cait. At least not for a long, long time.”

  Her rib cage tightened as visions flashed in her mind—Jean in his arms at the Barrister Ball, Jamie’s joy over strides his parents were making together on behalf of the poor. She gave a jerky shake of her head, attempting to remove the ring. “No, Logan, really—save it, please. For J-Jean, perhaps? Why, the children tell me you two have been spending quite a bit of time together, and I couldn’t be—” the word tripped on her tongue—“h-happier.” She tugged on the ring to no avail. “Oh, drat! I can’t imagine why it’s so tight—it used to swim on my finger.”

  Logan stilled her agitation with a firm fold, the gentle cup of his palms engulfing her hands in a dangerous heat that traveled her body. “I had it sized and polished for you, Cait,” he said with careful deliberation. The command of his tone softened while he fixed her with a solemn stare. “I gave you this ring that night in Napa, when I was too much of a fool to know what I had. Too much of a fool to know that I needed God. So I’m giving it back—not as a pledge to marry this time, but to love yo
u as a friend.” A muscle twitched in that strong, chiseled face—a face she had both kissed and slapped too many times to count. With a shift in his throat, he forced a smile, the intensity of his eyes revealing the true depth of his love. “I adore you, Cait, and by the grace of God, I will be the best friend you have ever had, beseeching Him forever to give you the marriage you deserve.”

  She slumped into a sob, heart aching over the way it had to be. “B-But . . . Jean . . . ,” she whispered. “J-Jamie said you make quite the pair, that he’s never seen her happier . . .”

  He shoved a handkerchief in her hand before skimming her tear-slicked face with his thumb. “That may be, Cait, but I’m not the one putting the smile on her face.”

  She paused mid-heave, her confusion punctuated by a hiccup. “I . . . I don’t understand . . . Jamie says she’s laughing and humming all the time, so I just assumed—”

  His mouth tipped as he snatched the handkerchief from her hand and blotted her tears. “Thunderation, Cait, assumptions would end my career as a lawyer.” The tease in his eyes turned tender. “How many times have I told you they’ll just get you in trouble?”

  She blinked, feeling like a little girl as he dabbed at her eyes. “So you’re not . . . seeing her?”

  He issued a grunt as he pocketed the handkerchief. “And risk the ire of my head contractor who’s renovating our boardinghouse? I don’t think so. The man is dangerously smitten, and I’m pretty sure Jean is taken with him as well.” He leaned in with a conspiratorial smile. “But don’t tell Jamie—I think she wants to wait till Bruce actually makes a move.” Logan shook his head. “Whenever that is. When it comes to construction, the man is a bullet, but with women?” He winced. “Let’s just say the old Logan could teach him a thing or two.”

  The old Logan. Her pulse took off in a sprint. Not nearly as dangerous as the new!

  He rose. “Gotta go, Cait—Jeremiah’s coming to the office at eight to set his son free, and I have a few preparations yet to do. Then I have to convince Bram that marrying my niece is better than losing his job.” He tweaked her neck and made his way to the door. “See you at six.”