Cassie yawned from the bed. “I’m convinced you’d forgive Lucifer if given the chance, but then that’s one of the things we love most about you.” She blew her nose loudly before giving Meg a tired smile. “Your tender heart.”
“Cassie’s right,” Alli said with a gentle cup of her sister’s cheek. “You’ve always been so gentle and soft, we’ve just naturally circled the wagons to protect you.” She squeezed Meg’s hand, then angled a brow. “And most of the time it was from Devin Caldwell, dear sister, so you’ll forgive us if we have an axe to grind when it comes to the man.”
“And it’s honed to a fine blade,” Cassie said, “so you just let us know if he steps out of line.”
Meg laughed out loud. “Oh, do you have any idea just how much I love you two?”
“I think we do,” Alli said, tugging Meg into a hug. She kissed her sister’s head.
“Meg darling, are you ready?”
Meg spun around, heart clutching at the sight of her mother in the door. “Oh, Mother . . .” Her voice trailed off because never had she seen her mother look more beautiful. “You look . . .”
“Amazing,” Alli supplied, hurrying to take her mother’s hands. She pulled back to survey her head to toe, while all Meg could do was stare. She’d always known her mother was a natural beauty, but this evening she seemed to glow. Her usually flawless skin appeared almost iridescent, a soft blush highlighting graceful cheekbones from rouge she seldom wore. Not one to overly fuss with her hair, tonight the auburn locks had a striking sheen about them, piled higher than usual atop her head in a breathless chignon. Two scarlet curls spilled from the nape of her neck over one shoulder, accentuating the creamy skin of her off-the-shoulder gown.
“You don’t think I look . . .” Caitlyn McClare glanced over her shoulder to tug at the back of her gauzy lavender dress, which fit as snug as the Glacé kid opera gloves that ran the length of her arm. “Too . . . too . . .”
“Attractive?” Alli chuckled as she tugged her mother into the room to show her off. “Goodness, Mother, you’re a vision!” She whirled her around, mouth ajar as she gently patted the lustrous pompadour atop her head. “And sweet heavens, you used a rat, didn’t you?” she said, as surprised as Meg that her mother had resorted to the hair pads she never wore, designed to create the high Gibson Girl style of the day.
Meg grinned. “ ‘Ooh là là, Madame McClare,’ as Lily would say, ‘très belle!’ ”
Her mother’s blush deepened, heightening the dewy effect of her rouge as she nervously patted her hair. “Thank you, girls, but I’m afraid it was Rosie’s idea, all of it—the hairstyle, the pearl-white powder, the rouge, the dress—and I simply couldn’t dissuade her.” A pucker popped above her nose as she attempted to pull up the wispy off-the-shoulder sleeves. “It’s not too . . . revealing, is it?”
A hoarse chuckle rolled from the bed where Cassie lay, a mischievous grin on her face despite her sluggish manner and puffy eyes. “Oh, absolutely, Aunt Cait—‘revealing’ once again that you are one of the most striking women in San Francisco.”
Obviously uneasy with the compliment, Caitlyn rushed to Cassie’s side. “Oh, Cass—all this silly primping has stolen my brain! How you are feeling, darling?”
“Pretty much like I look,” Cassie said, voice stuffy. She punctuated it with a sneeze, which she promptly stifled with her handkerchief. “But I’m hoping the fever will break soon.”
“Bless you!” Caitlyn pressed a kiss to Cassie’s forehead. “It’s down, I think, but there’s still a smidge.” She stroked her niece’s face, eyes soft with regret. “I’m just sorry you won’t be there to see Jamie’s big moment, but we promise to tell you all about it tomorrow, all right?”
Cassie sniffed and blew her nose. “Yes, and I’ll be wanting all the delicious details from both of you, understood? So take notes.”
Looping an arm around her sister’s shoulder, Alli bumped Meg’s hip with her own. “Well, I know one person who’ll take note when Mother walks into the room, don’t you, Megs?”
“Allison Erin McClare!” Her mother’s cheeks bloomed bright red, a shade that rivaled her hair. “For heaven’s sake, how many times do I have to tell you girls that your Uncle Logan and I are dear friends and nothing more?” She seemed flustered as she moved toward the mirror, turning to study the back of her dress with a crimp in her brow. “And he won’t even be there, thank heavens,” she muttered under her breath.
Alli fluttered her lashes. “Why, Mother, how your mind does wander—I was talking about Mr. Turner.”
Plainly choosing to ignore Alli’s remark, her mother hurried over to clasp Meg’s hands, stepping back to scan her daughter’s dress. “Meg darling, look at you—you’re absolutely stunning!” The sparkle of excitement in her emerald eyes was contagious. “Are you nervous?” she said, her shaky giggle hinting at her own butterflies about the evening. “Because it’s nothing to be anxious about, so just enjoy, all right?” She touched the silk rose pins in Meg’s hair, then cupped her face with a sheen of moisture in her eyes. “I’m so very proud to show you off, sweetheart, and so grateful Andrew invited you and Devin.” Voice breathless, she swiped at her eyes and grinned. “This is really an honor, you know, young people such as yourselves attending one of the crème de la crème social events of the year. It’s quite lavish, as I recall, although I haven’t been since . . .” Her voice trailed off while she busied herself with adjusting Megan’s dress, her mood dimming from memories of Megan’s father, no doubt.
“Oh, Mother, you have no idea how grateful I am you will be there too.” Meg gave her a hug, then pulled away, slowly grazing the soft kid leather of her mother’s gloves, voice hesitant. “I know you’ve regretted accepting Andrew’s invitation, not only because of Uncle Logan, but because of Father and the memories the ball evokes. But maybe this can be a special mother-daughter memory between you and me.”
“Oh, yes!” Her mother laughed and gave her a squeeze. “I think that sounds wonderful.”
“And who knows?” Alli said with a joyous clap of her hands. “Tonight could end up being one of the most perfect nights of your lives, like a cloud with a silver lining.”
Meg’s eyes locked with her mother’s and saw the same nervous anticipation she felt, yes, but also the same trepidation that now tightened Meg’s chest. A cloud with a silver lining? A knot ducked in both their throats before each sucked in a deep draw of air, blowing it out at the same time.
As long as it doesn’t rain . . .
Caitlyn blinked, unable to budge. Hand welded to Andrew’s arm, she stood on the two-storied arched threshold of The Palace Hotel’s magnificent Garden Court, as stiff as the ice sculptures scattered throughout the room. She tried to swallow, but nothing worked. Apparently the muscles in her throat were as paralyzed as her feet, which remained rooted to the plush scarlet carpet as if her satin heels were hobbled to the floor. Although they were late and appetizers were just being served, she could barely hear the tinkle of silverware and murmur of voices for the pounding of blood in her ears. Laughter floated above the tables like a specter, as if taunting her for putting herself in this uncomfortable position. The ball was a blur of lush palms, white linen-clad tables, and flickering candlelight, luring Caitlyn’s glassy-eyed stare up seven stories of columned balconies to a massive skylight the full breadth of the room.
Sweet heavenly hosts—what had possessed her to say yes? To agree to accompany a man—one of the most eligible bachelors in the city, no less—to the social event of the season? To all but shout to the world that she and Andrew Turner were smitten? Wooing, even? Her palms started to sweat. Oh, sweet angels in heaven, next it would be courting and then . . . Her eyelids slammed shut, her breathing shallow and fast as the magnitude of what she’d done struck hard. She swayed on her feet, nails digging into Andrew’s arm. Lord help me—I can’t do this . . .
“Cait?” Andrew’s breath was warm in her ear, and she vaguely sensed the gentle kneading of his thumb on her glov
e. “Everything’s going to be fine, Mrs. McClare,” he whispered, the scent of Bay Rum doing nothing for her composure. “Just take a deep breath.”
Oh that she could!
It seemed she had used all her deep breaths up at home, where her frazzled nerves had caused them to be late when she misplaced first her wrap and then her purse, necessitating a duck into the powder room to collect her wits. She gulped. Something else she’d apparently misplaced at the moment . . .
“Mother? Are you all right?” Meg shored an arm to Caitlyn’s waist, and her touch instantly slowed the frantic pace of her pulse. The concern in her daughter’s wide green eyes gave her pause, dosing her with the realization she could ruin this special evening for Meg if she didn’t regain control. Inhaling deeply, she nodded. “Yes, darling, just a wee bit overwhelmed by all the people and splendor, but I’ll be fine.” She forced a shaky smile, swallowing the dread that clogged in her throat.
In about five or six hours . . .
“Andrew! Good to see you again—it’s been way too long.” An elderly gentleman rose from his seat to pump Andrew’s hand while others approached, men eyeing her with interest while ladies offered coy smiles, their unspoken curiosity as loud as the twenty-piece orchestra just tuning up. She nodded and smiled when Andrew made the introductions, head swimming with names and invitations to dinners she was certain she’d never remember. Devin and Meg fetched their table numbers, and Andrew firmly steered her forward.
It was a sea of glittering tables seated with even more glittering people dining on shrimp cocktail and champagne. A watercolor blur of silks and satins and enough diamonds, gems, and gold to feed every downtrodden person in the Barbary Coast for the rest of their lives. Someone stopped Andrew every few feet, and Cait’s face grew stiff with smiles. She wondered if they would ever make it to their table. She breathed a silent sigh of relief when Andrew spotted their number in a prime and cozy location to the right of the stage, where the orchestra played soft dinner music Cait had yet to enjoy. All at once he stopped so abruptly, she nearly plowed into his back, Megan and Devin close on her heels.
“Thank goodness you’re finally here. We thought you decided to sit elsewhere.” Jamie’s voice reached Cait’s ears, and she peeked around Andrew’s broad back, surprised to see him and Bram rising from Andrew’s table, both very handsome in tails and tie. Jamie’s grin sloped uphill. “Figured it was because of Bram.”
Megan sidled around her mother with a gaping smile, gaze immediately zeroing in on the object of Jamie’s tease. “Goodness, we’re all sitting at the same table? I didn’t know that.”
Andrew extended a handshake to both Jamie and Bram with a smile as broad as his reach. “Neither did I,” he said with his usual boyish charm, “but it certainly makes everything nice and cozy.” If he was shocked they were sitting with her family, he never let on, simply greeted everyone at the table with equal grace. “Mrs. MacKenna, Jess—it’s wonderful to see you both again.” His smile was genuine as he seated Caitlyn in the chair designated by her name holder while Devin did the same for Meg.
Caitlyn immediately offered her hand to Jamie’s mother with a warm smile, pleased to see her and Jess here in Cassie’s absence. “Jean, I’m sorry Cassie is sick tonight, but I must say it’s lovely to see you and Jess again, especially on this big night for your son.”
Jean MacKenna gave Caitlyn’s hand a cordial squeeze, the glow of excitement in her cheeks lending a delicate blush to near-flawless skin that belied her age of forty-four. Hazel eyes so like her son’s sparkled with pleasure as she patted his arm, the pride in her voice unmistakable. “Well, I have to admit, I’m feeling a wee bit guilty about Cass home in bed, but I’d be lying if I didn’t say this is one of the happiest and proudest moments of my life.”
Hooking his mother close, Jamie gave her a kiss on the cheek, their dark curls almost identical. “Mine too, Mom, having you and Jess here.”
Caitlyn turned to greet Jess and Bram, eyes lighting on the pretty girl by Bram’s side who appeared a little older than Meg. “Amelia Darlington, I presume? It’s a pleasure to finally meet you—I recognize you from the paper.”
The girl’s smile could have lit up the room. “Oh, likewise, Mrs. McClare,” she said. A bejeweled hand pressed to the pale-yellow bodice of her elegant organza gown, a near match to the flaxen wisps that framed her heart-shaped face. Sequined flowers twinkled in her curly chignon that rivaled the sparkle in wide blue eyes. For all her apparent affluence, she reminded Caitlyn of a starry-eyed little girl anxious to grow up. “Why, you’re an icon in San Francisco society, ma’am,” she gushed, tone tinged with awe, “and I count it an absolute honor to be seated at your table.”
Settling her napkin on her lap, Caitlyn chuckled, cheeks warming as she speared one of the shrimp on her plate with her fork. “Good heavens, an ‘icon’—well, there goes eating shrimp with my fingers.”
“Uncle Logan!” Meg’s voice shimmered with excitement. “I thought Mother said you weren’t coming.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Caitlyn saw a tall tuxedo-clad man bend to buss Meg’s cheek. The shrimp swelled in Caitlyn’s throat, blocking her air.
Logan? Here???
She started to choke, disgorging the half-eaten shrimp in her napkin when a palm slapped firmly on her back. “One bite at a time, Mrs. McClare,” Logan whispered in her ear, the heat engulfing her face hot enough to fry the shrimp. With a casual air, he leaned to shake both Devin’s and Andrew’s hands before claiming the empty seat between Jean and her. “Couldn’t miss a ceremony honoring three of my best counselors, could I?” Shaking his napkin, he placed it in his lap, then slanted a hair closer to Cait with a sideways smile. “Good evening, Mrs. McClare—you’re looking lovely as usual.”
Forging a smile as stiff as the starched napkin she pressed to her lips, she bent near. “What on earth are you doing here?” she whispered, her voice a soft hiss.
His handsome profile shifted slightly her way, their chairs so close she could see the dark lashes hooding gray eyes that sported a hint of a twinkle. “It’s the Barrister Ball, Cait, and I’m a member of the bar, remember?”
Her smile went flat beneath the napkin. “You know what I mean—you implied you weren’t coming and now here you are, and it’s rather . . .”
“Awkward?” he supplied.
She lunged for her water and bolted it half down.
He turned to face her, palm quietly slipping over her hand beneath the table, which was tensely splayed to the seat of her chair. “No, Cait,” he said for her ears alone, “my abominable behavior the night of Megan’s party was awkward, not this. This is merely my clumsy attempt to apologize for losing my temper and trying to bully you around. It was stupid and bullheaded and I’ve already sent my apologies to Andrew as well.” His weighted pause slowly drew her eyes to his while the pleated shirt of his tuxedo rose and fell with a heavy sigh. “But most of all, I’m sorry for erecting a wall between us that should never, ever be.” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Am I forgiven?”
“Andrew, you made it!” Claudia Marsh sailed over to their table with a wispy sweep of pink chiffon flowing behind, her regal bearing marking her as the president of the planning committee for the Barrister Ball. “I hope you don’t mind, but I took the liberty of switching your table seating from the Pembrook table to the McClares’ when I saw who your lovely guest would be.” She extended a gloved hand to Caitlyn, her smile as gracious as the lady herself. “Caitlyn, it’s so very good to see you again—we’ve missed you at all the various functions, I assure you.” Her brown eyes were warm with concern. “How are you, my dear?”
Caitlyn clasped Claudia’s hands in hers, fighting a sting of moisture over the welcome manner of the woman who had been so very kind at the time of Liam’s death. Ever mindful of the needs of others, she had quietly absolved Caitlyn of the many committee obligations she’d carried before grief struck a painful blow. “Wonderful, Claudia, especially now that my family is all toge
ther again and growing.” She nodded toward Meg with a proud smile. “Meg just returned from a year in Paris, and my daughter Alli is engaged to a wonderful man we all adore.” Her eyes glowed with pride as she nodded to Jamie. “And as you’re well aware, my niece married Mr. MacKenna last December, so things are definitely looking up.”
“Oh, I’m so glad, my dear.” A bit of mischief shadowed her smile as she patted a gloved hand to both Andrew’s and Logan’s shoulders at the same time. “And I would certainly say things are looking up, being seated between two of the most influential and eligible men in the room.” She leaned in as if to whisper in Caitlyn’s ear, but her voice carried well around the table, heating Caitlyn’s cheeks. “You’re the envy of every woman in this room tonight, my dear, so enjoy it.” She tweaked the men’s shoulders with a wink before moving toward the next table, but not before tossing a smile over her shoulder. “After all, it’s not often we see Supervisor McClare and the district attorney so cozy outside of the courtroom, eh?”
Cozy? Caitlyn gulped. Not exactly the word I would have chosen. Appetite greatly diminished, she absently poked at her shrimp, smiling and nodding when Andrew asked her a question. She was grateful Logan was engaged in a conversation with Jamie and his mother—
She froze, a shrimp instantly lodged at the back of her throat.
Jamie. His mother. And his father.
Together as a family for the very first time.
Napkin to mouth, she started to hack, mortified when all conversation ceased around the table. Logan instantly tapped on her back once again while Andrew offered a glass of water.
“Mother, are you all right?” Megan asked, the concern in her eyes matching the stares of all those seated.
She nodded, eyes watering. “Yes, dear,” she managed in a hoarse voice before downing the water in one, long unladylike glug. She placed the empty goblet back on the table and took a deep swallow of air, hand to her stomach. “Went down the wrong pipe, I’m afraid, making me a bit nauseous.”