“I’d be happy to fetch you some ginger ale from the bar to settle your stomach, Mrs. McClare,” Devin offered, and Andrew promptly popped up.
“Excellent suggestion, Dev, but no need, I’ll take care of it.” Hand on her shoulder, Andrew leaned in, worry edging his tone. “Do you need anything else other than ginger ale, Cait—crackers, perhaps, or a bromide?”
“Ginger ale would be lovely, Andrew, thank you so much.”
“Coming right up,” he said with a knead of her shoulder, and then promptly wove his way through the crowd to the bar.
“Sorry about the shrimp,” Logan said at her side, nudging his untouched water goblet toward her, “but then I’m sorry about a lot of things when it comes to you, Cait.”
She drew in a deep breath and slowly released it again, fiddling with the napkin on her lap. So am I, Logan, more than you’ll ever know . . .
“You never answered my question,” he continued, voice low while he pushed his appetizer plate away. “Am I forgiven—for my outrageous behavior over Andrew?”
Her gaze lifted to meet his. “Yes, forgiven,” she whispered, “always.” Her eyes flicked past him to Jean, who was laughing over something with Jamie and Jess, and a horrendous ache cramped in her chest. But, regrettably, never forgotten . . .
As if reading her thoughts, he exhaled slowly, his voice private and low. “I wasn’t planning on attending, as you know, but Jamie needed an extra escort,” he said quietly.
She attempted a smile and failed, wishing she could offer a casual response, but jealousy rose like bile, tainting her tongue. Loathe for Logan to read her pathetic response, she snatched his water goblet and took a fast drink, fully aware she had no earthly right to feel this way. She and Logan were friends, nothing more, and for goodness’ sake, it was just the favor of an escort for one single evening. No more than a courtesy to Jamie so his family could attend, both his sister and his mother. Her eyelids flickered closed.
The mother of Logan’s child.
“Cait.”
Exhaling a quivering breath, she glanced up, desperate to convey an air of nonchalance despite the racing of her heart. She forced a polite smile. “Yes, Logan?”
His eyes bore into hers with an intensity that laid low her mask of calm, stripping her bare with a whisper that literally pulsed with emotion. “You need to know, Cait, that you are the only woman I have ever loved, and that will never change.”
“Excuse me, miss.”
She startled as a waiter reached to remove her appetizer plate, replacing it with a Caesar salad just as Andrew returned. He placed her ginger ale before her, then leaned close with a look of concern. “How are you feeling, Cait?” he asked.
“Better,” she said with a smile she hoped was convincing, but it was hardly the truth. Seldom had she felt worse. Her hand shook as she reached for the ginger ale, well aware that Logan had returned his attention to Jean. “Thank you, Andrew,” she whispered, taking a quick gulp. “This should help immensely in keeping my nausea down.” Her eyelids flickered closed.
While my heartache, unfortunately, appears to be on the rise . . .
24
So . . . are you enjoying yourself, Bug?”
Meg glanced up at Bram, truly comfortable for the first time all night as he spun her in his arms, the firm hold of his palm against her shoulder blade more potent than laudanum in settling her nerves. Breathing in a calming breath, she smiled up at him, wishing she could stay in his arms for the rest of the evening rather than just this one dance. She was quite sure Abraham Hughes was not only one of the most gentle and caring men in the room, but certainly one of the most handsome. She’d always thought so from little on, but tonight he seemed especially so—completely dashing in his charcoal double-breasted waistcoat with tails. His crisp white shirt with high-necked collar and white satin bow tie were the very height of fashion, which made Meg smile all the more. For a man who didn’t seem to care about society, he sure knew how to dress well. “I am now,” she said with a tremulous grin.
One sandy brow jagged up, his wide smile unable to hide the crinkle of concern at the bridge of his nose. “Why, Megan McClare—are you practicing your wiles on me, the oldest friend you have?”
Her cheeks warmed. Not likely, for all the good it would do. She tipped her head to study him, smile ebbing when she realized they might not always be able to share this deep friendship they had. Her gaze flicked to Devin and Amelia just a few feet away, and the same dull ache she’d experienced when she’d first met Bram’s date struck again, clouding her good mood.
“What’s wrong?” Bram’s quiet question brought her eyes back to his, and she fought an involuntary shiver, yearning for one of their private games of chess right now where she could spill all the trouble brewing in her soul. Instead, she had only this one dance with her best friend before returning to the company of a man whose subtle flirtations made her downright nervous. She swallowed hard. While her best friend returned to a woman who did much the same.
She braved a tenuous smile. “Oh, I’m just being silly, Bram, don’t mind me, truly.”
Their eyes connected with a familiarity that told her he would not let her off so easily, and halting mid-dance, he promptly ushered her toward the terrace door. “I could use some air,” he said with a flat smile, “and so can you, apparently.”
Before she could utter a word, he’d whisked her through the crowd outside to a stone terrace lined with palms and people, where he promptly seated her on a wrought-iron bench. Settling in beside her, he faced her, the casual lay of his arm over the back of the settee belying blue eyes now dark with concern. “What’s the problem, Bug?”
She nodded, feeling all of thirteen again and more than a little foolish. “It’s silly, I know, but being with Devin makes me nervous, unsettled somehow.”
“Because . . . ?” He tilted his head, calm tone coaxing her to confess.
Her gaze dropped to her lap where she picked at her nails. “Because . . . I think he may be, well, flirting with me, and I’m not sure I trust him.”
“Perfectly understandable, given your history, but he seems like a nice enough fellow from the conservations we’ve had.” He lifted her chin with his finger, voice brimming with affection. “And of course he’s flirting with you, Bug—you’ve grown into a beautiful woman, and he’s a man. That’s a natural progression, I think.”
She glanced away. Except with you . . . “Well, you see, he’s been hinting that he’d like to . . .” Her throat parched dry at the very thought of becoming close with any man but Bram.
He skimmed a wisp of a curl away from her face. “To what?”
Her bodice quivered with a shaky breath. “Well . . . you know . . . to date.”
A shadow of a frown flickered before he quickly covered it with his usual serene composure. “Hinting? Or asking outright?”
She peeked up. “No, not asking outright or even blatant hinting, I suppose, but subtleties that make me nervous all the same.”
Exhaling slowly, he tipped his head with a tender smile, his gaze meeting hers. “Well, there’s no need to worry yourself with this tonight, is there? How ’bout we tackle your concerns over a game of chess tomorrow and just try to enjoy the rest of the evening?”
Oh, that I could! Offering a slow nod, she lowered her gaze lest he see the truth in her eyes. But I’m not with you . . .
“So . . . is that all that’s bothering you, then?”
She peeked up. No, but if I bring up Amelia, you’ll think I’m a spoiled brat. “Well, I suppose I am a bit concerned about Mother,” she said quietly. “She doesn’t seem herself tonight either, and I’m concerned she’s feeling awkward being with Andrew while Uncle Logan’s right beside her.” She expelled a heavy blast of air. “Not to mention how Uncle Logan must feel.”
He nodded, lips compressing enough for her to notice. “I have to admit, I was surprised when Logan changed his mind about coming to escort Jamie’s mother, but Jamie was thrilled, natura
lly, and of course none of us thought we’d all be sitting at the same table.”
“No, I suppose not.” She paused to stare at him with fondness, embarrassed at the wetness in her eyes. “Thank you, Bram, for always being there for me. I honestly don’t know what I would do without you.”
He squeezed her hands, his solid touch infusing her with strength. “Well, hopefully, you’ll never have to—”
“Pardon me, Meg, but Amelia has been looking for Bram.”
Meg all but jumped, eyes round at the sight of Devin not ten feet away, his manner stiff despite the smile on his face. When his eyes flicked to the clasp of Bram’s hands with hers, she shot to her feet, her stomach taking a tumble. “Oh . . . yes . . . of course, Devin, thank you.” She spun to face Bram, fingers quivering as she fumbled with the lace of her gown. “You should go.”
Bram rose slowly, gaze fixed on Meg while directing his comment to Devin. “Thank you, Devin. If you’d be kind enough to tell Amelia I’m on my way, I’d be most grateful.”
Devin didn’t respond, and Meg stole a quick glance, mortified at the stony look on his face. She bit her lip. “No, Bram, really—”
Despite the patient smile on Bram’s face, his tone carried an air of authority. “We won’t be a moment.”
Devin gave a gruff nod and turned on his heel, stealing Meg’s wind. “Oh, Bram, I’m so sorry—”
“No, Bug.” His look was gentle despite the arch of his brow. “I am not letting you go back in there frazzled, and that’s all there is to it. Now . . . both you and I have enough faith in prayer to know that everything will work out, both in your situation with Devin and between your mother and Logan, right?”
She nodded, so very grateful her mother had raised her with a deep faith.
“Good girl. Always remember, Meg, with faith, we’re not in this alone.” He sighed and took her hands in his, lowering his voice. “Now close your eyes and take a deep breath, then let it out slowly, repeating several times.”
After she did, he gave her a brief hug, pulling away as if to assess her mood. “Feeling any better, I hope?”
She peered up, realizing that she actually did. “I think so.”
“Good. Exactly what I wanted to hear.” He offered his arm. “There are some things that are just more important than parties and dances,” he said with a quirk of a smile, “and the well-being of friends is definitely one of them. Ready?”
“With a dear friend like you by my side? Always!” She took his arm, holding on more tightly than she should, expelling the softest of sighs. Always, indeed.
And God willing . . . forever.
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. Logan’s smile was melancholy as he listened to Henry St. George Tucker III, esteemed president of the bar association, introduce the newest members of the bar. Watching his own flesh and blood standing on the same platform where he himself once stood as a newly graduated attorney so many years ago, made this evening one of the best of his life.
And one of the worst.
Eyes trained on Jamie, Logan leaned back with arms folded, keenly aware of the presence of two women on either side of his chair who, in the light of his son’s glowing success, only reminded him of his own dismal failures. He’d been a vain and selfish young man who wasn’t half the man his son had turned out to be. A stark truth accompanied by grief over the blunders he’d made, neatly colliding with the joy of his most grievous mistake—a son who filled his heart and his days with more joy and pride than he deserved.
Oddly enough, reconnecting with Jean tonight, if only for Jamie’s sake, had brought both grief and joy full circle in regard to his son. Although conversation had been stilted at first, laughing and joking with Jamie, his sister, and Jean had been good for them all. Somehow it seemed to allow the painful past to quietly slip away while they focused on a future that stirred passion and pride and peace within a not-so-conventional family. Rising to his feet to clap loudly at the mention of Bram’s name and then Blake’s and Jamie’s, Logan knew that despite his initial reservations about coming tonight, God had ordained this evening. Out of the ashes of his mistakes would rise a noble calling that could very well heal them all—a partnership with Jean MacKenna where he could give back to women like she used to be. First by funding her, Jamie, and Jess’s boardinghouse for disadvantaged women. And then through a foundation headed by Jean MacKenna herself to provide training for jobs that would rescue women from the brothels of the Barbary Coast.
From the stage, Jamie smiled their way, and Logan grinned while Jean commenced to weeping. As natural as rain, he promptly slipped an arm around her shoulder while Jess shored her up on the other side, uniting the three of them in a show of solidarity that brought a broad grin to Jamie’s face.
The men returned to their tables, and Logan pumped Blake’s and Bram’s hands as Jean and Jess fawned over Jamie. Bram grinned and nodded toward his best friend. “Not too bad for a pretty boy, eh?”
Logan laughed, his pride chasing all melancholy away. “No, sir, not at all. And I’m feeling pretty smug I snatched the three of you before anybody else could, I can tell you that.”
Henry St. George Tucker III tapped a spoon on a water glass at the podium to recapture everyone’s attention, and Logan turned to shake Jamie’s hand as any employer might do with an employee. Jamie and he had opted to keep Logan’s paternity a secret from everyone except the family. A decision not made lightly to shield Jean MacKenna from scandal. Heart near bursting with pride, Logan finally threw caution to the wind with a bear hug that brought tears to his eyes. “I love you, son, and I couldn’t be prouder.”
Jamie clasped his arm with a stoic smile, his jaw tight as if staving off the same emotion swelling inside of Logan. “I love you too, sir, and likewise, I assure you.”
With a firm clasp of Jamie’s shoulder, Logan returned to his seat, grateful Cait was occupied talking to Andrew.
“Our next order of business is a true highlight for me and the bar association of San Francisco. Tonight we gather to honor our new attorneys, yes, but also the counselor that the committee feels has contributed the most to the betterment of this great city.” His gaze traveled the room, his dark moustache twitching with the motion. “Although only one of our fine barristers will walk away with the Dickherber Civil Service Award tonight, without question, mere nomination is the highest honor and achievement in our profession. So, without further ado, let me offer my sincere congratulations to the following three gentlemen.”
Logan shifted, never completely comfortable with recognition in front of his peers, especially in front of Cait. Henry McEuen, a good friend married to Brittany McEuen, Claudia Marsh’s cochair, had alerted him he was on the short list. He was honored, of course, particularly since his brother Liam—one of the few men he’d revered and respected—had won the award the year before he died. Logan still remembered the glow of pride on Cait’s face. His jaw inadvertently tightened. But there was no way he deserved such recognition in her eyes, not compared to his brother. He massaged the back of his neck. Not when one considered the failings of one of the most notorious members of the Board of Supervisors.
“I will list the gentlemen in alphabetical order, and I’d like to ask each to stand if they’re here.” The president cleared his throat. “Mr. Richard Barrows.”
Applause broke out throughout the room as the president continued.
“Mr. Logan McClare.”
Jamie and Bram applauded louder than anyone, and Logan couldn’t help but squirm.
“And, finally . . . Mr. Andrew Turner. Let’s give a hand to each of these extraordinary counselors, and I’d like to commend each of them for many tireless hours devoted to this city.”
The room erupted in applause, and Logan extended a hand to Andrew, keenly aware of Cait’s gaze. Exhaling, he sat back down, palm twitching as it cupped the edge of his chair.
“And, now, the moment we’ve all been waiting for—this year’s Dickherber Service Award goe
s to . . .”
Logan startled at the touch of Cait’s hand, lighting discreetly over his on the seat of the chair, his heart clutching at the gentle press of her palm. Their eyes locked.
“Logan McClare!”
A thunderous ovation rose to the glass ceiling as everyone stood to their feet, eyes fixed on him. But all he could see was the love and pride in green eyes that bore a sheen of tears when Cait squeezed his hand. “Oh, Logan, I’m so very proud, and I know Liam would be too.”
“Mr. McClare,” the president boomed, “if you’ll kindly make your way to the stage, I believe we have a plaque with your name on it, sir.”
“Go!” Cait prodded with a swipe of her eyes, standing to join the others in their clapping and cheers.
Generally a man of the utmost confidence, Logan had never felt more awkward. This was something every attorney in this room aspired to and yet, it shocked him just how shallow it felt reaping men’s praises when it was no longer the most paramount thing in his life. Accepting the plaque, it pained him to stand by while the president lauded his accomplishments—his work on the Board of Supervisors and his philanthropy to Cooper Medical, Lane Hospital, and Stanford. He cited Logan’s leadership on the city’s Civil Progress Committee—which to him, in the face of all Liam had accomplished—paled in importance.
Never more eager to escape the limelight, Logan bolted for the table the moment the president shook his hand, declining to give a speech other than a quick heft of his plaque and a hoarse thank-you. Blake was there with Jamie and Bram, the three of them taking turns shaking his hand and slapping him on the back while Meg vaulted into his arms, clinging with all of her might.
“Congratulations, Logan,” Andrew said, offering his hand in a show of friendship. “Well deserved, my friend.”
Logan shook his hand, the sincerity in Andrew’s eyes giving him pause. “Thanks, Andrew—I suspect with all you’ve contributed to this city, the next one is yours.”