Surprised by Love

by Julie Lessman

  “Logan, wait!” She shot to her feet, legs suddenly as unsteady as her heart, which floundered in her chest like a fish swimming in spirits. Heart racing, she picked at her nails, arms all but glued to her sides, knowing she needed to tell him about Andrew, but terrified where that might lead. She clutched the edge of the settee to steady the sway of her body.

  He turned at the door, eyes in a squint. “Yes?”

  Her breathing accelerated as she stared, tremors skittering through her limbs at the striking figure he cut, framed in the door. His charcoal suit and cranberry tie, broad shoulders and chiseled chin—every bit as handsome as the night he proposed some twenty-eight years ago. No, more so, she realized, because now the man’s heart was as beautiful as his appearance. Fear iced her spine. But could she ever trust him again?

  “Trust your heart, Cait, not your fear. Isn’t that what Liam always tried to drum into our brains, no matter the situation?”

  Logan’s words drifted down like a whisper from God. The very words he’d spoken the night Andrew told her Father Caraher wanted to focus on the Marsicania rather than the Municipal Crib. She knew now that that had been a lie—it was Andrew who’d wanted the Municipal Crib off the table, and he’d probably convinced Father Caraher that it was her.

  Logan shifted in the door, a wedge popping between dark brows. “Cait?”

  She opened her mouth, but nothing came out, her tongue as paralyzed as her mind. Her eyelids fluttered closed while the memory of last week’s homily caused her heart to thud. He that feareth is not made perfect in love.

  “Cait? I’m sorry, but I really do need to go . . .”

  Oh, God, I am so very afraid to make a mistake . . .

  “Cait? You’re starting to worry me . . .”

  My unfailing love is with you, beloved, even as you put your hope in Me.

  Logan slacked a hip. “I’ll tell you what—I’ll come a little early tonight, and you can tell me then, all right?” He turned to go, and her voice finally scraped past the lump in her throat.

  “Stop . . .” It was a frail whisper, strained by a fear she suddenly realized had kept her in chains far too long. And one Logan obviously had not heard. The staccato clip of his shoes faded in the marble hallway, the crisp sound fainter and fainter as he neared the front door. With a panicked clear of her throat, she ran to the door and bellowed a hoarse command that actually hurt her lungs, pulse throbbing over what she was about to do. “I said, ‘stop’—please!”

  He turned, hand on the knob, silence filling the foyer with nothing but the hammer of her heart. They stared at each across the length of the marble hall, his thick brows dipped low. “Look, Cait, if you’ve got something to say—”

  “I will only accept this ring on certain conditions, Logan McClare, and certain conditions only, is that understood?”

  He blinked, gaze thinning as he dropped his hand from the door. “Pardon me?”

  Pulse racing, she moved forward with chin high, peace slowly melting away the very fear that had kept her from what she now knew was God’s will for her life. God’s will—not Logan and Jean, but Logan and her, a path once obscured by so much fear, she hadn’t seen it till now. For the first time since Liam’s death, this felt right—she and Logan together, at the helm of a family they both dearly loved, trusting God while trusting each other. Tears stung. Oh Lord, how can I ever thank You for the freedom You give? Tempering the grin that tugged at her lips, she casually raised her hand to assess the ring he’d placed on her finger, almost giddy over what she intended to do. “I love it, of course, Logan, but I’m afraid it’s been sized for the wrong hand, so that’ll have to be fixed.”

  He stared, eyes in a squint. “All . . . right, Cait,” he said slowly, the barest shade of annoyance in his tone. “For which finger would you like it sized?”

  “If you’ll follow me, please.” She marched into the parlour, battling the squirm of a smile at the look of utter confusion on Logan’s face.

  He followed her in, his tone suddenly more curious than annoyed. “What exactly is going on here?” he asked, arms folded while he slanted against the opening of the burlwood doors.

  “A little patience, if you will, Mr. McClare, and you may just think it’s worth your while.” She moved to the mantel where Andrew had placed the diamond ring she’d returned to him last night after she’d broken their engagement. He’d been stunned, of course, demanding to know why, but all she said was she didn’t feel they were suited for each other. Refusing to accept her decision, he’d insisted she keep the ring, obviously hoping she’d change her mind.

  Not likely. A shiver scurried within as she picked it up, striding to where Logan stood, brows in a scrunch. Tugging at the fold of his arms, she placed the diamond in his palm. “Here, hold this,” she said, issuing little grunts while she attempted to remove Logan’s heirloom ring from her right hand.

  He stared at Andrew’s ring like it was one of those nasty slugs that always invaded her garden.

  “Oh, fiddle!” she said when the heirloom ring wouldn’t budge, and whirling around, she moved to the drawer where she kept the lotion. Dabbing a little on her finger, she worked it beneath Logan’s ring, finally twisting it off before hurrying back to plop it into his palm. She awarded him a bright smile, biting back a giggle at the befuddled look on his face.

  “And what exactly am I supposed to do here?” he asked, nose in a pinch.

  “Really, Logan, it’s not that difficult.” She wiggled her empty ring finger of her left hand, using the same patient tone she might use with Maddie. “Simply size your signet ring according to the measure of Andrew’s ring, all right?”

  He slacked a hip. “Andrew’s ring,” he said, his tone more of a statement than a question.

  She smiled as if he had the wherewithal of one of those awful slugs. “Of course.”

  His eyes shuttered closed for a moment before they opened again to sear her with a piercing gaze. “All right, Cait, I’ll play along.” He bobbled both rings in his hand. “Won’t you need Andrew’s ring for the wedding on Saturday?”

  “Oh, heavens, no,” she said with a shiver, her tone teasing, but the shudder more than real. “I’m afraid you’ll have to get me a gold band instead.” She stood on tiptoe to look closely at the rings in his palm, then picked his up to study it against her finger. “I think this’ll look fine with a wedding band that’s simple and thin, don’t you?” She peered up with an innocent smile, totally unprepared for the hard grip of his arms.

  His breathing accelerated considerably, and his voice was almost a growl. “Don’t toy with me, Cait—what the devil are you talking about? Why was Andrew’s ring on the mantel?”

  Her eyes softened, diminishing the playfulness of her manner. “Because I gave it back to him last night,” she said quietly.

  The blood leeched from his cheeks. “And why exactly would you do that?” His words came out hoarse, and as vulnerable as the pale look in his face.

  Cradling a hand to his jaw, she allowed the full measure of her love to swim in her eyes. “Because he lied to me, Logan,” she whispered, “and I don’t know if you’re aware or not, but I can’t abide a man who lies.”

  Seldom had she seen such moisture in Logan McClare’s eyes, but she saw it now, shining brightly as his Adam’s apple jogged twice in his throat. “And what exactly does that mean for me, Cait?” he rasped, grip tightening and voice as ragged as her pulse. “Speak it out plain—are you getting married or not?”

  “Oh, I’m getting married all right.” He was still as stone as she lifted on tiptoe to brush her mouth against his, her lips an invitation she’d waited years to extend. “Just not to Andrew.”

  One deafening heartbeat thudded before either of them even breathed, and then his mouth took hers with a passion so fierce, it coaxed a frail moan from her throat. Like a man parched from thirst, he drew deeply from the well of her love, the taste of him shimmering her skin with a heat that left her weak and warm. “Oh, sweet God in hea
ven,” he rasped, his husky laughter vibrating against her mouth before he skimmed the length of her jaw to nuzzle the tender flesh of her ear. “As God is my witness, Cait, I will cherish and love you all the days of my life.”

  She gasped when he hoisted her up and whirled around, his deep chuckles making her giggle until he silenced her with a kiss that left her dizzier than the spin. Like a child with a new toy, his mouth explored the wonder of their love, from lips to jaw, temple to lids with such excruciating tenderness that Caitlyn wanted to weep. Gratitude soared in her heart while tears pricked in her eyes. Oh, Lord—the first tears of joy in such a very long time! Wending his fingers into her hair, he held her face in his hands, leaving her breathless with a teasing sway of his mouth against hers. “You are a minx of the highest degree, Caitlyn McClare,” he whispered, his breath warm against her skin, “toying with my affections like you just did with that ring.”

  An impish smile eased across her face. “Oh, I don’t think so, Logan. Heaven knows you’ve toyed with mine more times than I can count.”

  A boyish grin lit his handsome face. “Really?”

  She laughed, her eyes softening as she feathered her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. “I love you deeply, Logan,” she whispered, “and truth be told—from the first moment we met—I’ve never stopped.”

  “Oh, Cait . . .” He crushed her in his arms, the rapturous race of their hearts beating in time till they slowed and melded into a rhythm steady and strong. “I am never going to let you go,” he rasped, and she giggled when he swooped her up and settled her on the divan, taking his time with a barrage of kisses on every inch of her face and throat. With a final kiss to her nose, he settled back in his seat and took both of her hands in his. “Now. I want to know exactly how this happened, because this is an amazing answer to my prayers.”

  She smiled. “You don’t have much time, my love, but I’ll give you the gist now and tell you the rest later.” She quickly relayed everything, from the shocking Municipal Crib ledger that bore Andrew’s name, to Meg finding Devin in Andrew’s office with another woman. “So I put Meg to bed, and then I broke the engagement,” she said with a staunch lift of her chin, earning another passionate kiss from the man who was now nibbling her ear.

  He jerked back, eyes dark with concern. “Wait—you didn’t tell Turner about the ledger, did you?”

  “Oh, heavens no!” She looked at him aghast, stomach clenching at the danger involved if anyone discovered the secrets they knew. “I simply told him I had a change of heart.”

  “And he didn’t question that?”

  Cait grunted in the grand fashion of Logan. “Of course he did, but he had no choice.” She jutted her chin, her anger at Andrew flaring once again. “I was as kind as I could be under the circumstances, telling him as nicely as possible that I felt he’d rushed me into this relationship and I was not a woman to be rushed.”

  His grin resurfaced as he leaned in to nuzzle some more. “I could have told him that.”

  Her eyes languished closed while his mouth suckled the lobe of her ear. “Logan,” she whispered, dazed by the warmth he provoked, “it’s getting late, and I thought you had to go.”

  “I do,” he said with a low groan, his reluctance evident from the smoky look in his eyes. He sighed and brushed several stray tresses from her face, pausing to gently caress her lips. “You are the love of my life, Caitlyn McClare, and all I can say is thank You, sweet God in heaven . . .” A grin slid across his face while his voice rose with a fervor. “And Abraham too.”

  She pulled back, brows in a scrunch. “What does Bram have to do with this?”

  The look he gave her was so potent, a beautiful heat purled through her, making her dizzy. “Oh, you’d be surprised.” His husky chuckle skimmed across her skin while he grazed her lips with his own. “But let’s just say pretty much everything,” he whispered, the warmth of his words melting into her mouth. “Just like you, Mrs. McClare, are to me.”

  34

  Logan couldn’t stop smiling. “Good morning, Miss Peabody,” he said with a grin, presenting her with a warm sweet roll from the bakery across the street. “Thank you for coming in early—I appreciate your help.”

  “Oh, my pleasure, Mr. McClare, and oh my, Danish? Thank you so much.”

  He gave her a wink before tossing his coat over the coatrack in the coffee room, along with his hat. He adjusted his sleeves and straightened his tie as he returned to the reception area. “Your favorite, I believe—peach, right?”

  Her smile was almost as broad as his. “Oh, yes sir—thank you!”

  “You’ve earned it, Miss Peabody, along with a hefty bonus that you’ll find in your next check.” He sailed past her desk and on down the empty hall, chuckling at the look of shock he’d seen on her face. By jove, the woman deserved it and more, coming in early, on Thanksgiving no less, to finish the paperwork for his partnership with Bram’s father.

  For the briefest of moments, he paused with his hand on the brass knob of his door, eyes slipping closed to relive for one glorious moment the sweet taste of Cait’s lips. An almost holy reverence settled while his breath stilled in his chest, making him realize all over again that in a mere two days, his very best friend would become his very own wife and lover.

  The grin returned, so wide he was certain his jaw would ache by the end of the day.

  Thanksgiving Day, indeed!

  By the time Miss Peabody delivered the final papers, he heard the buzz and hum of a busy office, laced with laughter and fun. Excitement was obviously high over the prospect of a rare three-day weekend. “Thank you, Miss Peabody,” he said while he glanced over the papers. “Everything seems to be in order, so just escort Mr. and Mrs. Hughes in when they arrive.” He paused. “Jamie and Blake are keeping Bram busy in his office with the door closed?”

  Normally shy eyes held a glint of a twinkle. “Yes, sir, I believe Mr. MacKenna has challenged Mr. McClare and Mr. Hughes to a do-or-die game of darts—with the door closed, of course,” she emphasized in a conspiratorial tone.

  Logan flashed some teeth. “That’s my boy.”

  Miss Peabody paused, head cocked as if to listen before consulting her watch. “In fact, I believe I hear Mr. and Mrs. Hughes right now.”

  She darted out the door, and Logan grinned again, spinning around to stare out the window. The thought of he and Cait presiding over her family together jolted him all over again.

  One couple. One family. One flesh.

  While a crooked mayor, political boss, and DA get their due without the McClare name ever being mentioned. Logan chuckled.

  Except on the marriage license.

  If possible, Logan’s grin widened while deep laughter rolled off his tongue.

  “Laughing over our devious plot, are you?”

  Logan spun around. “Jeremiah, Martha!” He jumped up and rounded his desk to offer Martha a hug and shake Jeremiah’s hand before escorting them to the cordovan chairs. “I can’t tell you how good it is to see you again. Once a year at Christmas is too far in between.”

  “Agreed,” Jeremiah said with a glow in his face despite the vacant look in his nearly blind eyes. “But hopefully we can resolve that problem in the future, eh?”

  Martha hooked Jeremiah’s cane over the arm of the chair, the flush of her cheeks mirroring that of her husband’s. “Oh, Logan, we’ve been as giddy as children since you called last week, and I can’t thank you enough for telling us the truth.”

  Jeremiah issued a grunt. “Heaven knows that stubborn son of ours wasn’t about to.”

  Martha offered Logan a dry smile. “Oh, and mercy me, wherever does he get it?”

  Logan laughed, reminded of just how fond he was of Bram’s parents. He glanced up at a knock on the door, smiling as Miss Peabody popped her head in. “Ready for Mr. Hughes, sir?”

  “Ready as we’ll ever be, Miss Peabody, thank you.” She nodded and closed the door, giving Logan a few moments to go over his plan. “Jeremiah, I
’ll leave the explanations to you and Martha as to why you’re here today, filling in a few minor details before excusing myself so you can talk to your son.” His gaze sobered. “But let me say, just for the record, your son is—” Against his will, moisture burned in Logan’s eyes, and he quickly cleared the gruffness from his throat. “—one of the finest human beings I have ever had the privilege to know, and a true example of strength and moral character in my own life as well. You should be very proud.”

  Martha nodded, her smile tremulous as she tugged a handkerchief from her reticule to dab at her eyes. “Oh, we are, Logan, more than we can say.”

  “And,” he said with a wink, “if the angels are on our side, we should have a great deal more for which to be thankful by evening’s end.” Logan glanced up at a knock on the door. “Come in.”

  “Miss Peabody said you wanted to see me, sir?” Bram ducked his head in, blue eyes flaring in surprise when his parents turned around. “Mom? Pop? What are you doing here?”

  “Come in, Bram, and take a seat,” Logan said, nodding toward a third cordovan chair he’d placed there earlier.

  Bram kissed his mother’s cheek before gripping his father’s shoulder in a firm hold, his smile more than curious. “So, to what do we owe the honor of Pop skipping out on work?”

  Logan chuckled and shuffled Miss Peabody’s documents into a neat pile. “Well, not exactly ‘skipping out of work,’ so to speak. More like finalizing business away from the docks.”

  A crease furrowed Bram’s brow as he stared at Logan and then at his parents. “I don’t understand, Pop—are you consulting Logan about your legal affairs?”

  “Of course not, son, you’re my counsel, you know that,” Jeremiah said, “which is why Logan suggested you approve all documents before we sign.”

  “Sign?” Bram’s gaze flicked back to Logan. “Sign what, sir?”

  Logan nudged the papers toward Bram, leaning back with a fold of arms while Bram scanned the top page. The crease in his brow deepened. “You’re partnering with my father?” He glanced at Jeremiah. “But why? And what about Darlington?”