Surprised by Love

  Jerking up from a deep sleep, Bram stared for several seconds, eyelids sputtering with shock before he slumped back in the chair. His facial muscles sagged as much as his body. “How is she?” he rasped, his voice creaking like a rusted winch from his boat.

  “Sleeping soundly in her own bed—like you should be.” He braced a hand beneath Bram’s arm and carefully drew him to his feet. “I’ll have Hadley drive you home.”

  “No, I don’t want to leave . . .”

  Logan steadied him with two hands to his shoulders. “That’s not an option, Bram. Your parents will be worried sick—go home. Doc gave Meg laudanum, so she’ll be out till morning.”

  Glassy eyes rose to meet Logan’s, the naked pain in Bram’s face twisting Logan’s gut. “I . . . almost . . . k-killed her . . .”

  “No, you saved her,” Logan emphasized. “And us in the process. Words can’t express our gratitude, nor the deep love and respect we all have for you.” Blinking away the wetness in his eyes, Logan wrenched him into a fierce embrace, finally releasing him with a gruff clear of his throat. “It’s not a suggestion, Bram, it’s an order. I’ll have Hadley drive you home, no argument. Blake will return your car.”

  Bram finally nodded, his restless gaze seeking the object of his affection, the woman that only Logan knew that he loved. With the slow, halting steps of a sleepwalker, Bram made his way to Meg’s side, bending down to graze a light kiss to her forehead before he skimmed his thumb across her bruised cheek. Logan recognized the despair in the hunched shoulders and haunted eyes as Bram moved to the door, not uttering a single word.

  Logan ushered him to the landing and called for Hadley, who immediately appeared at the base of the steps. “Hadley, would you be kind enough to drive Bram home for me, please?” At Hadley’s efficient nod, Logan patted Bram’s shoulder, watching as he hobbled down the steps like an old man, bent over the banister as if to hold himself up.

  “God help him, please,” Logan whispered on his way back to Meg’s room, knowing all too well the hidden heartbreak Bram carried, loving a woman he could never have.

  Heart heavy for both Bram and himself, he reentered the room, and Cait immediately shot up, avoiding his eyes as she grazed a kiss to Meg’s brow. Adjusting her daughter’s covers, she caressed a hand to Meg’s cheek before meeting his gaze. “Can I speak to you for a moment? Downstairs?”

  His rib cage immediately contracted. “Absolutely,” he said in his courtroom voice, the cool and steady lawyer, always in control. Except in love. Placing a lingering kiss on Meg’s head, he turned and followed Cait from the room, silent until the door clicked behind them. “What’s wrong?” he said quietly, grateful he could read her so easily, this woman too honest and transparent to ever cloak her feelings for manipulation or deceit. “Something’s on your mind, and it’s more than Meg and Bram.”

  She managed a skittish look over her shoulder, moving quickly as if she dare not risk his touch in escorting her down the stairs. His gut tightened. Dear God, what now?

  Rosie waited in the foyer, hands clasped to her apron and worry lines etched in her face, looking far older than Logan remembered.

  “Rosie, would you be a dear and bring us some fresh tea, please?”

  The crusty housekeeper gave a curt nod, her steely blue gaze flicking to him.

  He ground his jaw, bracing for verbal assault.

  “It’s good to see you again, Mr. McClare,” she said in a genuine tone that literally halted him halfway down the stairs. Her chin rose, the silver threading her dark hair appearing more pronounced than a mere nine weeks ago. “I whipped up some of those ginger snaps you’re so fond of, so I’ll serve those too, hot from the oven.” Logan fought the drop of his jaw when the woman’s chin began to quiver before she clamped it, shoulders squaring with the motion. “Had to do something to keep this old shrew from going crazy while Doc Miller took his sweet time.” She spun on her heel and barreled down the hall before he could even open his mouth, still grappling with the impossibility of Rosie’s strange welcome.

  “She’s missed you,” Cait said quietly, permitting a shy smile over her shoulder as she entered the parlour. She hitched to a jarring stop so fast that Logan almost ran her over, swiftly shoring her up with a grip of her shoulders. “Andrew,” she breathed, her words hoarse with shock, “you’re still here . . .”

  He was already up on his feet, hat tossed on the sofa behind him as he stared at Cait with a tender look that made Logan sick to his stomach. “I couldn’t leave, Cait, not with all this going on.” A muscle in his throat jerked hard. “I . . . wanted to be here for you.”

  Logan bit back a curse, his eyes all but welding Turner to the spot. Blast it, I’m here for her, Turner—family!

  As if privy to Logan’s thoughts, Andrew faced him with humble respect, a definite apology in his eyes. “But I can see Logan’s here now, so I’ll just head out.” He reached for his hat, then nodded to Logan as he approached Cait. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said quietly, “unless, of course, you’d like me to bring dinner from The St. Francis in lieu of dining out?” She shook her head vehemently, and he nodded, fingering the nubby brim of his hat. “All right then, Cait.” Gaze flicking to Logan and back, he bent to brush a light kiss to her cheek before making his way to the door. “Good night.”

  Neither Logan nor Cait responded, as stiff as ice until they heard the final click of the front door. Bowing her head, Cait put a hand to her eyes, voice raspy with pain. “I’m so sorry, Logan. I thought he had gone.”

  Hands to her shoulders, he gently turned her to face him. “It’s all right, Cait, I’ve had almost two months to accept that Andrew is a part of your life now, as difficult as it’s been.”

  The green eyes welled with tears, and she nodded, allowing him to usher her to the sofa where he sat down beside her. She took the handkerchief he offered and dabbed at her eyes. “I hope you know, Logan, that I never meant to hurt you.”

  “I know,” he said, unable to keep the grief from his tone. “But that’s what happens when two people love each other as much as we do.”

  His heart seized when a sob broke from her lips and she thrust herself in his arms, her body shuddering them both as he cocooned her close to his heart. “Oh, I . . . d-do, Logan . . . m-more than you w-will ever know.”

  A sad smile lined his lips while he stroked her hair, chest cramping at the scent of lavender and clove that evoked a lifetime of memories. Drawing in a deep breath, he braced himself for the words he was afraid to hear. “What’s on your mind, Cait?” he whispered, not really wanting to know and hardly ready to hear, but hoping to purge her pain. He forced a levity he didn’t feel. “Give it to me straight, Mrs. McClare. I’m a big boy—I can take it.”

  She only sobbed all the harder, so he let her cry till she was spent, soothing with a tender caress of his palm against her back. When the weeping slowed, he pressed a kiss to her hair and took the handkerchief from her hand to blot the tears before holding it to her nose. “Blow,” he said with a shadow of a smile, wishing more than anything he could do this forever—comfort her, protect her, be the man who would love and cherish her all the days of her life.

  ———

  Sniffing, Cait took the handkerchief and blew her nose again, quite certain she hadn’t cried this much in twenty-four hours—or ever—since Liam. Her eyelids shuttered closed when she realized no, that wasn’t true. She’d cried for a solid week after Logan had walked out of her life almost two months prior, and she’d been in virtual mourning until she’d accepted Andrew’s proposal mere days ago. With very little effort, he’d convinced her once and for all that theirs was a match made in heaven and that he’d loved her from the first moment he’d seen her all those years ago, a starry-eyed girl on the arm of Logan McClare.

  “Cait—tell me what’s on your mind.” His tone, so gentle and kind and almost paternal, unnerved her, because the last thing she wanted to do was to hurt the man she loved most in the world. The man she would sacri
fice everything for. The handkerchief flew to her mouth as another sob broke from her throat.

  The man I am sacrificing everything for.

  His low chuckle rumbled against her ear when he pulled her back into his arms, hugging tightly before letting go. “As God is my witness, Caitlyn McClare—you are a little girl in a mother and woman’s body.” The smile remained as he tucked a stray curl over her ear, in total contrast to the painful sobriety in his eyes. “I can’t stand to watch you suffer, Cait, so let me make this easy for you.” He took both of her hands in his and exhaled a slow, steady breath. “Andrew has asked you to marry him.”

  Her jaw dropped along with her stomach, which plunged clear to her toes. “You know?” she whispered, palm to her chest to calm the awful thudding of her heart. “But how? Who?”

  His mouth slanted. “Mag Johnson, of course, ever the gossip monger. Cornered me after a board meeting, simply ‘ecstatic’ that Andrew was seen purchasing a diamond ring at Shreve & Co.” The smile went flat despite a twinkle in his eyes. “Apparently she was ‘absolutely thrilled’ to offer congratulations on behalf of my sister-in-law’s pending engagement.”

  Cait covered her mouth with his handkerchief, only this time to hide the seed of a smile. “Oh, Logan, I am so sorry, but you know she’s been dying to get her hooks into you forever.”

  His mouth pursed into a mock scowl. “It’s bad enough I have to lose you to Turner, but now rumors will be rampant that I’m back on the market again.”

  Her heart lurched at his offhanded comment, well aware it might be the answer to her prayers. A dull ache throbbed in her chest. My prayers for him, certainly, but not for myself . . .

  She fought the urge to stroke his unshaven cheek, apparently having caught him at home on a Saturday evening, before stepping out for a late dinner with any one of a hundred willing women. One of which might be Jean MacKenna, perhaps? Her thoughts flitted to the dinner with her children a few days earlier, the one that had confirmed her decision to say yes to Andrew.

  “So . . . ,” she’d asked as she passed a bowl of shredded cheddar cheese to Alli, her tone as casual as the chili Rosie had prepared for her day off, “how is your Uncle Logan?”

  Dead silence ensued before a cacophony of eager conversation erupted around the table, each and every one of her children anxious to talk about the person foremost on their mind.

  “Oh, Mother, you wouldn’t believe what Uncle Logan has done for Jamie, Jess, and their mother,” Alli gushed, obviously hoping to extol her uncle’s praises to a mother she silently blamed for ruining their family. She passed the cheese and swooped into her chili with gusto, more sparkle in her eyes than Cait had seen in a while. “The boardinghouse wasn’t slated to open till after Christmas due to cost and time needed for refurbishing, was it, Jamie?”

  Jamie buttered a Saltine with an off-center smile. “Nope. Not with Blake helping . . .” He popped it into his mouth and grinned. “If that’s what you wanna call it.”

  “Hey!” Blake’s hurt tone didn’t match the mischief in his eyes. “Can I help it if I was born in the lap of luxury where professionals handled all repairs? Besides,” he said with a toss of an oyster cracker high in the air, snapping it with his mouth, “my talents lie in other areas.”

  Alli slapped his hand when he stole a cracker from her plate. “Yes, annoying women.”

  He chuckled and popped the cracker in his mouth. “Come on, Al, you know I prefer the term ‘toy’ to ‘annoy.’ ”

  “Blake doesn’t annoy me,” Maddie said with a slope of tiny brows. “I think he’s fun.”

  “That’s because you and he are the same age, sweetheart,” Bram said easily, “and a lot alike.” He grinned at Blake while he spooned chili into his mouth.

  “Shhh . . .” Cassie covered Maddie’s ears. “You want to scar the child for life?”

  “Blake? With a hammer?” Caitlyn patted the napkin to her lips, resorting to humor to steer the conversation back to Logan without her children knowing how much she missed him. “Does he even know which end is up?”

  “No,” Jamie said with a smirk, “not at the boardinghouse nor at work.”

  “Funny, Mac.” Blake sling-shot an oyster cracker at Jamie with his spoon, slipping his mother a smile that barely deflected the concern in his eyes. “And despite the dig, Mother, it’s nice to see you smiling again—it’s been a little glum around here the last couple of months.”

  Caitlyn blinked, the spoon buried deep in her mouth. She swallowed and sighed. Well, so much for fooling my children. Opting for more cheese, she sprinkled extra on her chili, determined to ignore Blake’s subtle observation. “So . . . what has Logan done for the boardinghouse?” She made an attempt to look as politely interested as possible given the tumbling in her stomach that Logan’s name always produced.

  “Well, for starters,” Meg volunteered, “he’s made it possible for my friend Ruby Pearl to leave her job at the Municipal Crib sooner than we hoped, and all because Uncle Logan paid his workmen around the clock.”

  Cait tried to swallow the chili beans wedged in her throat.

  “And,” she continued unabated, “he set up a foundation that Jamie’s mother will personally oversee, not only to provide job training for needy women but for the purchase and administration of additional boardinghouses as well.”

  “Oh my.” Caitlyn lowered her spoon to her bowl, too overcome to take another bite.

  “Yep,” Jamie said with no little pride. “He and Mom have been working on this for months now, meeting regularly to ensure everything is handled in the most proficient manner.”

  Meg grinned at her mother, her face positively radiant. “Isn’t that wonderful?”

  “I’ll say.” The glow in Jamie’s face rivaled the candles on the table, eyes dancing with excitement like the flames on their wicks. “I’ve never seen my mother happier, laughing and humming all the time. I can’t tell you how grateful I am to my father.” He blinked several times, apparently to ward off the mist in his eyes. “Never have I been prouder of anyone in my life than him, and my mother too, of course.” His grin lit up the room more than the tapers. “They make quite the pair.”

  Yes, Jamie—I know . . .

  “Cait?”

  She caught her breath, Logan’s voice jerking her back to the parlour where the die would be cast and their fate settled forever. “I’m sorry, Logan . . . what did you say?”

  “I said, I need to hear it from you.” There was no humor in the gray eyes now as they laid her bare, blazing with love and the very faintest glimmer of hope. “Did you say yes?”

  Her heart ached inside like it had when she’d lost Liam, as if she were losing Logan too, and she couldn’t fight the need to caress his cheek one more time. A woman in love with a man she could not have. Her fingers trembled as they glided the strong line of his jaw, quivered at the touch of dark stubble that shadowed his skin. With sorrow welling in her eyes, she slowly laid her hands in her lap. “I did.”

  It was as if he’d flinched—although he hadn’t—so strong was the shock in his face. Seconds ticked by like thundering heartbeats before he shifted a few inches away, his demeanor retreating to where they both knew it must. A muscle flexed in his cheek as he straightened, the motion separating them from the safe intimacy they’d always shared in the past. The polite lift of his chin could have been a courtroom maneuver save the cleft that darkened with beard too long from a razor. “So . . . have you set a date?”

  She stared, amazed at his sense of calm when her heart lay shattered in pieces. “No, b-but we’ve . . . talked about the Saturday after Thanksgiving,” she whispered, the words reluctant to leave her tongue. Unable to meet his eyes, she lowered her gaze to her lap while she absently picked at her nails. “He . . . doesn’t want to wait.”

  His heavy sigh broke the awful silence. “Well, whatever faults I’ve laid at Andrew’s door, stupidity has never been one. Congratulations, Cait—I wish you both well.”

  Her gaze jerked
up, her body stunned over his almost casual acceptance of the path she’d chosen. “Thank you, Logan,” she whispered, eyes awash with tears. “You have no idea how very much that means to me . . . and to Andrew.”

  One side of his mouth tipped. “Yes, well, I’m not doing it for Andrew, I’m doing it for you and this family.” He chafed the back of his neck, his smile dry. “And for me, I suppose.” His eyes met hers, suddenly solemn and so very tender. “I can’t live without you, Cait, and if that means loving you as a sister-in-law like I did with Liam, then so be it. This is God’s decision, not mine.” His eyes narrowed while his jaw began to grind ever so slightly. “But if Turner thinks I’m out of your life, he’s dead wrong. We are the very deepest of friends who share an unbreakable bond, and your new husband will just to have to get used to it. In fact . . .” He adjusted his sleeves with a wicked smile before rising to his feet, tugging her up as well. “I think I’ll rather enjoy letting Turner be the one who frets for a change, over how close the woman he loves gets to another man.” His embrace was tender but firm before he released her with a soft kiss to her head, his roguish smile going head-to-head with a wink. “And trust me—he will.” Inclining his head toward the door, he offered his arm. “Shall we check on our girl, Mrs. McClare?”

  Too overcome for words, she nodded dumbly, hardly believing that relief could share a bed with such grief. Taking his arm, she paused, peering up at him with a wonder that bordered on awe. “My heart is broken, Logan, so I don’t know how you’re doing this with such grace.”

  A trace of a smile edged his lips, shadowed with sorrow. “You’re closer to the mark than you know, Cait, because the truth is, without the grace of God, I couldn’t.” With a deep inhale, he cradled her hand on his arm, finally releasing it with a heavy sigh. “But I decided if Abraham could do it, so can I.”

  She halted, squinting up in total surprise. “Bram?”