Surprised by Love

  She blinked, her jaw slack as she took a step back, hand to her chest. “I . . . don’t understand. We discussed this weeks ago, you and I, after Andrew made the offer, and you never voiced any objection, so I just thought—”

  “Trust me, Cait,” he ground out, gray eyes as black as night, “if you’d mentioned Turner, I would have remembered. You know how I despise him and yet you go behind my back—”

  “No!” Her chin lashed up. “I would have never agreed to Andrew’s offer without consulting you first, you know that!”

  “No, Cait, I don’t. I knew nothing about Turner’s offer until your announcement tonight, when you soundly humiliated me in front of my family.”

  She shook her head, hand to her temple as she tried to remember, desperate to recall the night she’d told Logan over their game of cribbage. It had been the one night she’d had a rare win, unleashing his competitive nature, that insatiable need for control. She peered up, fingers kneading the onset of a headache. “But I told you that Meg was questioning her calling to law, I know I did. That working with Dr. Rousseau over the last year had sparked her interest in medicine as well. You don’t remember that?”

  “Of course I remember that!” he snapped. “Meg’s my niece—I remember everything about everyone I love, but you did not mention Turner, of that I am certain.”

  Panic stabbed when she realized Logan must have misunderstood somehow, so absorbed in his game, perhaps, he obviously hadn’t fully comprehended her meaning. Her stomach cramped at the thought, and she laid a shaky hand to her throat. “Oh, Logan,” she whispered, her hand clutching his as it lay tense on the wall, “I always avoid mentioning Andrew’s name directly because I know he upsets you so, but when I mentioned an internship at the district attorney’s office, I just assumed you understood Andrew was involved. I will admit, I was surprised you took it so well, but I honestly thought you were in agreement because you never objected. You even said an internship was a wonderful idea, giving Meg the option both at Cooper Medical and the DA’s office to help her decide which direction to take, did you not?”

  He slipped his hand from hers to fold his arms, his posture stiff despite the barest softening of his tone. “Of course I did, and I even offered assistance in procuring both, if you recall, but for the love of family, Cait, I thought you meant after Meg pursued college, not now, at which point I hoped Turner would be long ousted from the DA’s office.”

  “Oh my,” she whispered, heart aching over the hurt she’d caused this dearest of friends. Eyes misting, she cradled his face with her hand, voice reedy with regret. “Please forgive me, Logan—I truly thought you understood.” She tipped her head, intent on assuaging his wound. “You must know I care about you deeply and would never, ever deliberately hurt you like this.”

  Chest expanding in a heavy exhale, he covered her hand with his own, the spark of anger she’d seen earlier tapering into that slow smoldering heat with which she was all too familiar. “Do you, Cait?” he said quietly. “Love me deeply?” The warmth of his palm shimmered through her as his thumb slowly skimmed the sides of her fingers. His voice turned husky while his eyes lowered to her lips for the briefest of moments, but it was more than enough. Heat curled in her belly so strong, her body convulsed in a silent gasp.

  No! Her rib cage tightened at the tenuous danger she faced. Her refusal of courtship six months ago had almost severed their friendship—a friendship as critical to her as the very breath in her lungs. Yes, she was in love with Logan McClare, but she couldn’t trust him as a man any more than she could do without him as a friend. Unwilling to risk either, she flung herself into his arms, gripping so tightly, she could feel his heart pound with hers as she lay her head on his chest. “Oh, Logan, I do.” Her eyelids drifted closed at the haunting scent of lime shaving cream and the starch of his crisp white shirt, well aware her next words could resurrect his wrath. “You are the dearest friend I’ve ever had,” she whispered, clutching all the more when the mention of friendship stiffened his body. “And I would be lost without you, truly. But please,” she whispered, her voice no more than a rasp. “Be my friend and only my friend.”

  ———

  She may as well doused him with ice water—all desire coursing Logan’s veins froze at the sound of her plea, reminding him once again that putting a gold band on Caitlyn McClare’s hand would be no easy task. Bide your time, the thought came, and he issued a silent grunt, wondering just how long a man like him could wait for the only woman he’d ever wanted to love. A man used to squiring women and breaking hearts. Only this time, it was his heart that had been broken by a widowed sister-in-law who refused to marry a man she was always meant to love. It was almost two years since that fateful stolen kiss in Napa, when he’d nearly ruined any chance he’d ever had to make Caitlyn his wife. Since then he’d vowed to win her heart through friendship—giving up other women to focus only on her—a plan that had succeeded well, culminating in Cait’s consent to allow him to court her. His eyelids weighted closed. Until she’d discovered a secret he’d kept for over twenty-six years. A secret he’d had every intention of telling her at the right time. Only the right time never came, thanks to the man who had foiled his chances with Cait not once, but twice. Acid churned in his gut as his jaw calcified to rock. District Attorney Andrew Turner.

  “Am I forgiven?” Her whisper was soft, muffled against his chest as she held fast, the twist of his heart and the warmth of her body a painful reminder of just what was at stake.

  Drawing in a calming breath, he carefully released it and laid his head against hers, the tension in his muscles relaxing enough for his arms to slip into a tender embrace. “I’m in love with you, Cait,” he said, punctuating it with a noisy sigh of surrender, “what choice do I have?”

  She squeezed him so fiercely, it prompted a reluctant chuckle from his lips. “Oh, Logan, I don’t deserve you, but I thank God every day for you in our lives.”

  He pressed a kiss to her hair, his smile slanting at the irony of the very God to whom she’d reintroduced him taking His sweet time to answer Logan’s prayers. Come on, God, I’m only human, he countered, wondering just how long the Almighty—and Caitlyn—would make him wait. Holding her in his arms like this, he could feel the race of his pulse and the throb of blood in his veins, blatant proof of all he’d given up for this woman.

  He closed his eyes and breathed in the intoxicating scent of lavender and clove, well aware few women could reform a rogue like him and turn him to God. A high price to pay for a notorious womanizer. The faintest of smiles edged his lips as he bundled her close, knowing two things for dead sure.

  One—Caitlyn McClare was definitely among the few.

  And two—she was worth any price he had to pay.

  5

  Plodding into the McClares’ conservatory, Bram glanced at his pocket watch and sighed, dropping into the plush floral pillows of the wicker love seat. He rested his head on the back cushion while he stared at the steamy panes of glass overhead where a haloed moon glowed, as hazy as his mind at the moment. The calming scent of mulch and loam and flora did nothing to soothe the knot in his stomach—an absolute first in the McClare household.

  He sucked in a deep breath of clean air, barely seeing the bright splash of bougainvillea that meandered up the sides of the greenhouse, perfectly at home in a lush jungle of ferns, ficus, palms, and orchids. He was almost grateful for the headache that throbbed, which allowed him to duck out of Meg’s game of Tours Royales without question. He and Meg had partnered on the last few rounds and had lost miserably. He expelled another heavy sigh. Primarily due to his discomfort around a little girl he’d once nurtured and adored, now a woman who provoked unsettling feelings.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so off your game before, Hughes,” Jamie had ribbed, giving Meg a wink that had sent a hot burn clear up Bram’s neck. “Even Megs can’t save you.”

  “Sorry, Bug,” he’d said with a tight smile, well aware everyone knew the
loss was all his. A child prodigy of genius proportions, Meg could handily win any game she wanted, although she seldom did, opting to spare the feelings of those she loved. He glanced at Alli as he rose. “Mind taking over while I scrounge up some aspirin powder? I feel a headache coming on.” By the name of Megan McClare.

  Grunting, Bram settled into the chaise and kneaded the bridge of his nose, his discomfort around Meg making him feel downright silly. What was wrong with him, anyway? This was Meg, his little shadow since she was seven, and he didn’t like having this uneasy feeling around her—like she wasn’t Meg at all. He huffed out a noisy blast of air and propped his feet on the wicker coffee table, glancing at his watch again before he closed his eyes. Eight o’clock. Too early to go home.

  Memories of the shy little bookworm Meg used to be invaded his mind, and a sad smile lined his lips. She’d been the perfect replacement for the little sister he’d lost when he was eleven, someone to protect and care for like he used to take care of Ruthy. Gentle and sweet like Meg—except with a hint of the dickens—Ruthy had brought so much joy to Bram’s family, the warmth of the sun to elderly parents who all but idolized her. It had crushed them all when God had taken her away, destroying Bram’s faith and leaving a silent tomb of a home he longed to escape.

  And escape he did—straight into the arms of rebellion—thwarting God and his parents at every turn. Shame shivered through him. Until he’d destroyed their trust, their hope, and their dreams . . . along with so much more. His eyes snapped open to ward off the guilt, his breathing shallow and raspy from memories he wanted to forget. Memories that Caitlyn McClare and her daughters had helped to put behind him with their deep faith in God. And healing memories when Logan, Blake, and Jamie had given their invaluable friendship and support. The McClares had shared with him a close bond of love like he’d once shared with Ruthy and his parents, and Bram had thrived in their midst, their family restoring both his faith in life and in God.

  Especially Bug . . . the little girl who’d healed his heart over the loss of a dear sister, making him feel like the doting big brother he wanted to be. Bram’s throat went dry when the face of a beautiful stranger intruded into his mind. Stifling a low groan, he hunched over and mauled his face with his hands, alarmed and dismayed at the attraction he felt for a woman who was only a friend and little sister. Until tonight. The realization caused his headache to pulse even more, and he gouged the socket of his eye to help relieve the pain. God, please—restore what we had before . . .

  “I hope you don’t mind,” a soft voice said from the doorway, causing Bram to jolt straight up on the chaise before he jumped to his feet. His throat convulsed as Meg—or the beauty who used to be Meg—moved into the conservatory like an apparition, her manner timid like the Megan he used to know. Head slightly bowed, she glanced up beneath heavily fringed lashes, fingers fiddling with a pleated ruffle on her shapely gold dress. “As we both know, Alli’s a little too competitive to suit, so I thought I’d see how you’re feeling instead.” She peered up, a pucker of worry above a perfectly shaped nose that once sported a riot of freckles. “Did Rosie give you the aspirin powder?”

  He expelled a breath and managed a half smile while he kneaded his temple. “Yes, she did, so hopefully this headache will be gone soon.”

  Her beautiful smile caused a lump in his throat, doing absolutely nothing for his blasted headache. She offered a jerky gesture toward the chaise. “May I join you?”

  “Of course,” he said with a rapid step back, intent upon sitting in the separate wicker armchair rather than on the chaise with her. He waited for her to sit before he settled on the edge of his chair, striving for a casual air with a relaxed fold of hands.

  “Bram?”

  He managed a smile. “Yes, Bug?”

  Her gaze skittered to the empty cushion beside her before she peeked up, teeth tugging at impossibly full lips he’d never even noticed before. “Other than Christmas, I haven’t really spent time with you for almost a year. It’d be so much easier to talk if you could sit here.” She patted the seat beside her with a gentle smile. “Do you mind?”

  Completely. “Of course not,” he said quickly, claiming the other half of the settee. Butting up to the far side, he angled to face her, arm draped over the back in a comfortable pose he hoped would mask his unease. “So, tell me, Bug—what was your very favorite thing about Paris?”

  Her face lit up, and glimpses of the old Meg shined through, twisting his heart. “Oh, Bram, without question my favorite part was accompanying Dr. Rousseau on his rounds at the various clinics he attended. I always hoped to be a lawyer like my father and Uncle Logan, and you, Blake, and Jamie, of course—to defend those with no funds to defend themselves. But when I saw those poor souls Dr. Rousseau treated in the Pigalle district—mere girls and young women forced into prostitution, bodies ravaged by disease . . .” Meg pressed a shaky hand to her chest, her features pinched with pain as water welled in her eyes. “I just knew I had to do something to help those in the Barbary Coast who are afflicted in the same way.”

  Bram’s heart softened at the compassion he saw in her face, a compassion birthed long ago in a little girl who’d been hurt by the taunts of others. A glimmer of the easy rapport they’d once shared eased the tension at the back of his neck, and he couldn’t resist giving her hand a light squeeze. “I always knew God had big plans for you, Meg. He gives tender hearts to those He’s called to serve, and never have I met anyone with a more giving, loving nature than you.” He sat back and folded his arms, studying her with the same fascination he had when she was a child, wondering just where her keen mind and boundless compassion would lead her. Certainly the sky was the limit for someone with her remarkable intellect. “So it’s a battle between medicine and law, eh?”

  She nodded with enthusiasm, drawing his gaze when a wispy strand of auburn hair bounced against the creamy skin of a perfectly chiseled collarbone. “Which is why the internship in the district attorney’s office this summer is such a blessing. I’ve been so confused as to the direction I should take, so internships in both fields seem like the ideal solution.” Her eyes sparkled with an excitement and passion Bram had seldom seen in the little girl he’d known. “And Uncle Logan has assured me he can procure an internship at Cooper Medical next summer as well, so I’m excited to see which path God wants me to take.”

  Both relief and a sense of pride purled through Bram’s chest at Meg’s mention of God, grateful her newfound physical beauty hadn’t altered the beauty he’d always seen inside. Never once in their countless spiritual discussions about life’s cruelties and pain had he ever known Meg to be anything but beautiful—gracious and kind, never holding a grudge. “That sounds like a perfect solution, Bug,” he said with a warm smile. He paused, anxious to pursue a conversation more familiar to their prior relationship, where deep conversations and intense games of chess were the norm. “So what was your least favorite part of Paris?”

  In a blink of green eyes, she tilted her head, brows sloping with a hint of sadness he’d seen far too many times. Her voice lowered to a whisper. “Missing you.”

  In the past, that statement would have warmed his heart instead of his neck. But now, uttered from lush lips that only distracted, the effect was akin to a face on fire from a day of sailing too long in the sun. He cleared a frog from his throat and managed a smile as stiff as his body in a chaise suddenly way too small. “I missed you too . . . Meg.” For a man notoriously easygoing and relaxed, his words came off annoyingly stilted and for one selfish moment, he wished the old Meg were back, sweet and stout and scattered with freckles.

  And so very easy to love and hold.

  “You know it’s odd, Bram,” she said quietly. “I missed our friendship more than anything and yet . . .” The faintest of shivers traveled her body, shimmying the silk of her dress. Traces of the hurt little girl shadowed her eyes. “Right now—this very minute—never have I missed it more.”

  Her words paralyzed him fo
r the briefest of moments before his heart cramped. Suddenly he was painfully aware that despite ready smiles and surface banter, he had distanced himself from a young girl who all but idolized him, wounding her as thoroughly as anyone in her past.

  “Aw, Bug . . .” Ignoring the race of his pulse, he swallowed her up in his arms, eyes shut to picture the little girl who’d been so needy for his love. “Forgive me,” he whispered, his voice gruff against the soft scent of her hair. “I’m an idiot, and you and I both know I’ve never been too fond of change.”

  Her sweet chuckle made him smile before she pulled away. “I suppose I should be grateful it only took you hours to come to your senses tonight instead of the months you refused to play chess when I first obliterated you.”

  He laughed, the sound all but chasing his tension away. “Obliterated?” he said with a jag of his brow. “Hardly, Miss McClare. I was as close to a win as the former freckles on your nose, young lady, and if I hadn’t been deluded into thinking a twelve-year-old couldn’t master her teacher, it would have been checkmate.”

  Her head tipped in an impish tease she’d obviously learned in Paris. “It took you three months to forgive me, you know, and finally start playing with me again.” She scrunched her nose in a mischievous manner far more reminiscent of Alli than her. “Which kind of makes Alli and Jamie look like the good losers in this family, wouldn’t you say?”

  “I do believe you’ve picked up some sassy tendencies,” he said with another fierce hug, ignoring the scent of violets to focus on the sweet satisfaction of hugging his “Bug” once again. “And if you let that information slip to anyone, our friendship is over.”

  “Never!” She clutched all the tighter, and Bram marveled at how delicate she felt in his arms, the feel of a woman instead of a little girl. Releasing her hold, she kicked her shoes off and snuggled like she used to, tucking her legs beneath her skirt while she rested against his side. Out of sheer habit, he drew her close with an arm scooped to her waist, remembering all the times he’d held and comforted her during all the tragedies of her life. Contentment swirled through him when she emitted a wispy sigh. “Although I must admit I worried I’d already jeopardized our friendship by the shock in your eyes tonight.”