Dare to Love Again

by Julie Lessman

  “Yes, sir,” the butler said with a secret smile. “I thought that might be a welcome report. Can I get you anything, Mr. Logan—coffee, tea?”

  “No thank you, Hadley, just the lady of the house, if you will.”

  “Right away, sir,” he said with short bow, shoulders erect as he ascended the stairs.

  Entering the parlour, Logan rubbed his hands. His smile expanded at the sight of Cassie and Alli playing chess while Maddie drew at the cribbage table with the new Crayola crayons Logan had bought for her birthday. “So, who’s winning?” he asked the two older girls, pretty sure it wasn’t Alli, given the scowl on her face.

  “Uncle Logan!” Maddie launched off her chair, squealing with delight when he swooped her up in the air and whirled her around. “We missed you!” she shouted, squeezing his neck.

  “Did you, now?” He gobble-kissed her neck. “And how about your mother—did she miss me too?”

  “I think so,” Maddie said with a giggle. Her little nose scrunched as if she smelled something bad. “Although she’s been crabby this week.”

  Logan laughed. “Good to know—I’ll watch my step.”

  “Madelyn McClare!” Cassie jumped up to give Logan a hug. “Aunt Cait doesn’t have a crabby bone in her body.” She planted a kiss on his cheek. “She just wasn’t herself, that’s all, a little quieter than usual. But I suspect that’ll change now that you’re home, Uncle Logan.”

  Home. “One can only hope,” he said with a chuck of Cassie’s chin. He reached inside his jacket to produce a box of Cracker Jack that he tossed in the air, giving Maddie a wink. “Look what I found in L.A., young lady, but you’ll have to share them with your cousin and sister.”

  “Gee whiz, Uncle Logan, that’s swell!” Maddie tore into the treat. “I’ll save some for Mama too, ’cause she ate half the box last time. Maybe then she won’t be so crabby.”

  “Welcome back, Uncle Logan.” Alli rose to give him a hug, her tone almost melancholy.

  His breath hitched at the lack of sparkle in her eyes, prompting him to tease her gloom away. “Speaking of crabby—you aren’t letting this Texas cowgirl whip you at chess again, are you? Where’s your competitive streak?”

  Alli sighed, looking up through doleful eyes that pierced Logan’s heart. “I’m afraid it left when you did.”

  His eyes softened as he gently kneaded her shoulder. “You’ll get it back, Al, I promise.”

  “I sure hope so,” Cassie said with a smirk, obviously attempting to lift her cousin’s spirits as well. “It’s like playing pool with Jamie—no challenge at all.”

  Logan grinned. “You need to show that boy some mercy sometimes, Cass, and throw him a bone. You know, just so he feels like a man.”

  “Sorry, no ground given before the vows are exchanged, Uncle Logan—the boy’s hard enough to handle now, this close to the wedding.” Cassie plopped back into her seat, eyeing the board with a slant of her lips. “Can’t imagine how cocky he’d be if I let him beat me at pool.”

  “Come on, Cass, have a heart,” Logan said with a tweak of her neck. “Throw him a game of pinochle at least. I hate to see a grown man weep.”

  “Awk, read ’em and weep, read ’em and weep . . .”

  “Logan McClare—are you discussing poker with my children again?”

  He spun around so fast, Maddie giggled. “Cait!” Heat blasted his cheeks as a boyish grin stole across his lips. “No, ma’am—God’s truth.”

  At his comment, the tease faded from her eyes, and his heart stuttered. Her gaze shifted to her daughter. “Maddie darling, it’s almost bedtime, but I think Rosie has milk and cookies in the kitchen before you head up.”

  “Whoopee!” Cracker Jack in hand, Maddie darted out as soon as Logan set her down.

  He grinned at Cait. “Don’t suppose I can compete with that,” he said on his way to the door, face softening as he gave her a tender look. His voice faded to a whisper for her ears alone. “Except hopefully with you . . .”

  His breath stalled when she avoided his eyes, quickly turning toward the foyer. “Do you mind if we speak privately in the study?” she said quietly, face angled in profile.

  “No, not at all.” He followed her into the study, pulse jumping when she stepped aside to close the door and lean against it. He turned. “Cait . . . is everything all right?”

  She appeared stiff, palms to the wood as if she needed its strength to hold her up. Her eyes focused on the paisley carpet at her feet. “No, Logan, it’s not.”

  “What’s wrong?” He took a hard stride toward her before her head shot up, the warning in her eyes fusing him to the spot.

  “Not another step,” she whispered, warding him off with a shaky palm. “Please.”

  His blood chilled. “Cait—tell me what’s wrong. Why are you acting like this?”

  He saw her chin tremble as tears welled, and he took another step forward.

  “If you come any closer, Logan, I will ask you to leave.”

  He swallowed, heart pounding like a jackhammer. “Cait, I . . . I don’t understand. Before I left, you kissed me—you led me to believe you love me as much as I love you and you said we could court. Was that all a lie?”

  She shook her head, voice hoarse while rivulets of water trickled her cheeks. “No.”

  “Then why are you acting like this?” He leaned in, voice gruff and pulse erratic.

  Her fingers trembled as she grappled to retrieve a handkerchief from the sleeve of her blouse. “Because I’ve had a change of heart,” she said quietly, avoiding his gaze while she dabbed at the moisture that glistened her face. “About courting.”

  She may as well have slapped him—the effect was no less startling. “You can’t be serious,” he whispered. “I love you, Cait, with every breath in me, and I want to marry you more than I want anything in this world, and you’re saying no? You’re denying the love between us?”

  A muscle shifted in her throat as she stared at the carpet. “I’m not denying the love, Logan . . .” Her voice broke before her watery gaze rose to meet his. “I’m denying the marriage.”

  He stared, heart racing at a hazardous rate. “For the sake of all that’s holy—why?”

  Her chin lifted as she blinked several times, voice frail. “Because I don’t trust you.”

  A harsh word hissed from his lips before he could stop it, and he spun around, fingers taut as they gouged at the back of his neck. Head bowed, he forced himself to calm down with a kneading press at the bridge of his nose, chest pumping with ragged breaths. Reining his temper in, he turned to face her again, facial muscles stiff with a semblance of composure. “All right, Cait.” He exhaled a heavy blast of air and bowed his head, hip slacked and hands moored loosely on his thighs. “I have kept the bonds of friendship for well over a year now since my awful blunder in Napa, and as God is my witness, I have not touched another woman since that night. I attend church with you and your family every single week, and my faith in God has been tried and tested until—like you—it’s become a critical part of my life. I love your children like my own—they have my blood in their veins—and I all but worship their mother.” He expelled another heavy breath, a nerve flickering in his temple while he seared her with a heated gaze. “So tell me please, Cait, if you will—what more can I possibly do to convince you that you can trust me?”

  “Oh, Logan,” she whispered, her body almost listing against the door as she clutched folded arms to her waist. “You could have told me the truth.” More moisture spilled from her eyes as a trembling hand quivered to her mouth. “You could have told me Jamie was your son.”

  Paralysis claimed every muscle in his body as he stared, all blood siphoning from his face. “What?” His eyelids sank closed with the weight of his guilt, voice barely audible as he lowered his head, hand to his eyes. “Who told you?”

  “Andrew—after I told him you and I were planning to court.”

  Fury snapped his head up. So help me, I’ll kill him . . .

&nb
sp; “He recognized Jamie’s mother when he came to your office one day,” she continued in a nasal drone, “claims you treated him abominably—”

  “For decency’s sake, Cait, the man is slime.” He paced to the hearth, dread crawling within while his hope incinerated before his eyes, as dark and cold as the ashes beneath the flue.

  “He’s a brilliant attorney, Logan.” The hint of defense in her tone infuriated him further. “He put two and two together.”

  He slammed a fist on the mantel, rattling the Venetian vase he’d given her for Christmas. “Blast it, Cait, he’s nothing more than a toadying snoop, desperate to steal you away.”

  “No, Logan, he simply cares about me,” she said with a firmer tone than before, as if defying another derogatory word. “Not unlike you with Alli and Nick Barone, I suppose.”

  Stomach sick, he shielded his eyes with a splayed hand, massaging his temples with forefinger and thumb. “Cait,” he whispered, his voice a hoarse croak before his sorrowful gaze rose to meet hers. “I swear—I was going to tell you soon. Before Cassie and Jamie’s wedding.”

  More tears sluiced down her cheek, sinking into the crevice of the shaky fingers at her mouth. “And how am I supposed to believe that? You lied about your ‘minor indiscretion’ years ago, an ‘innocent flirtation’ you called it, leading me to believe the most sacred of intimacies never took place.” Her body shuddered as her head bowed in a near-silent sob, hand twitching when it slid to cover her eyes. “And then to harbor that same sin in silence all these years, denying your own flesh and blood for the sake of a lie—”

  A painful heat scalded his neck. “No—I did not deny Jamie, I swear! I sent a monthly stipend until his mother married, even though I never believed he was mine.”

  Her eyes laid him bare with the depth of their sorrow. “And yet another lie,” she said in a quiet voice laced with sadness. “You forget I know you, Logan—the shrewd businessman, the definitive lawyer—you would have never paid a cent if you truly believed Jamie wasn’t yours.”

  The truth of her statement stabbed at his very core, where a wellspring of guilt and shame lay buried for far too many years. He hung his head, moisture stinging his nose, voice barely a whisper. “I was nothing more than a boy, Cait, a cocky kid too full of his own self-importance and lust to do the right thing and too shallow of faith to even want to.”

  She nodded, swiping at her eyes. “I know . . .” Her words trailed off.

  “I’ve made amends with Jamie and we are well on our way to the father/son relationship I’ve craved since I fully realized he was my son at the age of twelve. He’s forgiven me, Cait, and please know that both of us had our reasons for secrecy.” He took a step forward, his agony over losing Cait’s trust embedded deep in the furrowed ridge of his brow. “But I need you to forgive me too,” he said, a plea bleeding into his tone. “Because I’m no longer that man.”

  “I know that too.” Her words, as soft spoken as a thought, instilled a flicker of hope that halted the breath in his lungs. Her smile was sad. “And because of God, Logan—I do forgive you.”

  “Oh, Cait . . .” The muscles in his throat convulsed as he started forward.

  Her raised palm halted him as effectively as the wall she seemed to have erected around her heart. “But I cannot marry you.”

  Her statement stunned like a blow, rendering him motionless for several shallow breaths before a horrendous wave of panic hit so hard, he felt like he was falling from the sky.

  “Please forgive me,” she whispered. “I know this is a shock . . .”

  Shock? He stared, seeing nothing but the demise of his dreams. No, Cait, this is the extinction of every hope, every breath I’ve taken for the last year . . .

  “Please know that I will always be your friend, Logan,” she said quietly, “because I love you deeply, I do. But love like that must be gilded with trust—and an unwavering faith in God—in order to have the kind of marriage I hope to have.” She paused, desolate eyes seeking his while she absently wrung the handkerchief in her hand. “Do you . . . do you understand?”

  He shook his head, voice as listless as his gaze as it lagged into a cold stare across a paisley rug he barely saw. “I understand that you are a hard taskmaster, Cait, one whose trust I can never satisfy no matter what I do.” His eyes rose to meet hers, an edge of anger creeping into his voice. “I guess I should be grateful it’s only my heart that’s captive and not my soul, lest I be a man lost forever.”

  “Oh, Logan—” She took a step in.

  “Is that it then, Cait?” he said, cutting her off. “Your final word?” He rose to his full height with shoulders square, his shock giving way to an expanse of anger needed to walk away with his pride intact. “Marriage will not be an option—ever?”

  “I . . . don’t know,” she whispered, brows puckered in pain, “but . . . certainly not in the foreseeable future.”

  A muscle jerked in his cheek. “I see.” He adjusted his sleeves out of nervous habit, jaw stiff as he made his way to the door. “Well, you’ll forgive me, Mrs. McClare if, in the ‘foreseeable future,’ I stay away to lick my wounds from a distance.”

  “Logan, please—”

  He towered over her at the door, anger fairly shimmering off his body. “Please what, Cait? Smile and go on as before as if my heart hasn’t been ripped out? Laugh and talk and dine with you and your family as if my hopes haven’t just been crushed? Give you a lifeless peck on the cheek each time I leave when all I really want to do is make love to you night after night in a bed we share as man and wife?”

  A flush swallowed her whole.

  “No, thanks, Mrs. McClare,” he said, bypassing her to fist the knob of the door. “You may have the power in dictating friendship over marriage, but I reserve the right to adapt in the only way I know how. Please tell the children I’ll be tied up until the wedding, working on a difficult case, but I’ll pick them up for dinner each Wednesday wherever they want to go.” He opened the door, not even sparing her a glance. “Good night, Cait.”

  ———

  Cait’s heart shot to her throat, cutting off all air when she realized just how much she’d wounded this man that she loved. Panic clawed in her chest at the painful thought of losing his friendship, his love … “Logan—wait!” She clutched his arm before he could leave, her words fractured by broken heaves. “Don’t do this, please! My children need you here and I . . . I n-need you too . . . in m-my life . . . as m-my friend.”

  A nerve flickered in his cheek as he bowed his head, eyelids closed and jaw tight. “And I need time to regroup, Cait . . . and get over my anger.”

  Her sob forced him to look up while grief trailed her cheeks with tears. Listing against the door, her body quaked from the anguish searing her soul, her every syllable trembling at the prospect of losing this soul mate and friend. “God help me, Logan,” she whispered, “but I’d b-be so very lost w-without you . . .”

  His eyelids shuttered closed and in two ragged beats of her pulse, she heard his weary expulsion of air. “Blast you, Cait,” he muttered, and when he turned to face her, she shot into his arms, clinging as if her very life depended upon the safety of his hold. Her body shuddered against his and as natural as breathing, his arms swallowed her in a crushing embrace, head tucked to hers as he eased the door closed. “Shhh . . . it’s okay, Cait—I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered, stroking her hair. His gentle touch and familiar scent calmed her body, eased her pain like the laudanum Rosie kept on the top shelf of the pantry.

  With a gentle kiss to her hair, he led her over to the sofa and sat down, bundling her close while she wept against his chest. Her heaves finally faded into frail whimpers as he gently kneaded the nape of her neck.

  Oh, Logan, I do love you and maybe someday . . . With a watery sniff, she pulled away to dab at her nose, her handkerchief as limp and soggy as she. The faintest of shivers traveled her body as she peeked up to meet his eyes, ashamed over her outburst of emotion . . . and ashamed just h
ow much she needed him so. “Please forgive me for hurting you, Logan, because heaven knows that’s the last thing I want to do to someone I love. And I do love you, you know, far more than I should.” Her gaze was tender as she lifted a shaky hand to caress his jaw, her words quivering as much as the water that now welled in her eyes. “And I need you,” she whispered, her voice frail and low, “far, far more than I should. I need your presence in this family and in this house. I need your affection, your wisdom, your strength . . .” Her voice faded to near nothingness as she studied his handsome face. “And above all, I need your friendship,” she finished quietly, heart aching at the wounded love she saw in his eyes. She reached for his hand to entwine it with hers, a plea in her tone and an urgency in the press of her fingers. “Will you forgive me for hurting you, Logan? For dashing your hopes? And will you … somehow—” she swallowed hard, the fear of losing him thickening her throat, quivering her stomach—“find it in your heart to still be my friend?”

  ———

  Friend. The very thought slammed so hard, he was tempted to break down and cry right along with her. Not courting, not engaged, not married. He exhaled slowly, most of his anger finally siphoning out on a surrendering sigh. Friends and only friends. The unwavering rock of friendship in every storm of her life. Like now—when fear had her in its grip, too paralyzed to proceed into a marriage that was always meant to be. And all because of her fear of betrayal. His heart constricted for surely the hundredth time over the damage he’d done to this woman he loved. God, forgive me . . .

  And that’s when it hit him. Caitlyn McClare was a strong and beautiful woman, undaunted and unafraid in most areas of her life—with her children, with the Vigilance Committee, with her faith. But when it came to him, she appeared to be that same tremulous and wide-eyed little girl he’d fallen in love with, starry-eyed at times, terrorized at others. And although he’d managed to put some of the stars back in her eyes over the last year, there loomed a fear so large—fear of his betrayal once again—that he realized she couldn’t see past it to the future he was certain they were meant to have.