Jamie’s lip swerved. “No, but she owes me a dance, and I plan to collect.”
“Mmm . . . only a dance?” Tongue in cheek, Alli folded her arms to stare him down.
His collar suddenly felt on fire, and he scowled. “What, does she tell you everything?” he groused, absently gouging the back of his neck.
“Uh-huh, which means I have her ear all the time while you, my good friend,” she said with a pat of his cheek, “only had her lips—once.”
Okay, now his entire dinner jacket was aflame. Hands sweating, he pried a finger inside his collar to release some of the heat. “Aw, come on, Al—have a heart.”
Alli laughed and swallowed him in a tight hug. “You are so adorable when you’re embarrassed, you know that? Just like a little boy caught misbehaving.” She stepped back, bracing his arms while the smile softened on her lips. “You like her a lot, don’t you?”
Jamie plunged his hands in his pockets, feeling every bit of that little boy she’d just accused him of. “Yeah, I do.” He inclined his head, coaxing with a boyish smile. “So . . . you gonna help me steal her heart or not?”
A delicate sigh escaped Alli’s lips as she patted his arms and let go. “I’d like nothing better, Mac, but there’s only so much I can do.” She glanced up, sympathy radiating from her eyes. “She has reservations, Jamie, and they’re good ones. You need to talk to her.”
The sweat beneath his collar glazed to ice. “What do you mean ‘reservations’? Like her lack of trust because of that louse in Texas?”
“Yes, but it’s more than that.” She cupped a hand to his cheek, her voice soft. “Just talk to her, before you get hurt. I care about you too much to see you pursue something you can’t have, especially a relationship with no future.”
Jamie caught her hand and held on, his eyes issuing a challenge. “Oh, we have a future all right, Allison, you mark my words on that, whether your cousin wants to admit it or not.”
Alli assessed him through pensive eyes. “I’d like to believe that, Jamie, I really would. But you have to be prepared to let it go if Cassie says no.”
“She won’t,” he said with a shift of his tie, his confidence as shaky as his fingers as they tugged at the cuffs of his coat. “Where is she—do you know?”
“On the veranda, I think. Left her there not ten minutes ago.”
He bent to press a kiss to Alli’s forehead. “Thanks, Al—wish me luck.”
“I’d rather you ask me to pray, Jamie,” she whispered, “and so would Cassie.”
He eyed her over his shoulder, lips in a clamp. “Sure—whatever works.” Annoyance prickled as he made his way to the door, quite sure it would be his efforts and not God’s that would turn Cassie McClare’s head. Drawing in a steady breath, he reached for the brass knob of the veranda door. A welcome wash of briny air cooled the sweat on his brow as he stepped outside, blinking to adjust to the darkness where a smattering of couples nuzzled here and there. He scanned the marble veranda, gaze searching the stone wall till he spotted her at the far end, tucked away in the shadows. She stood, face to the sky and palms on the balustrade while a breeze fluttered her hair. His throat went dry, and he realized he was already way in over his head. I care about you too much, Jamie, to see you pursue something you can’t have. His jaw molded tight. Oh, I’ll have her, all right, he vowed. Whatever it takes . . .
He approached silently from behind, the chords of “Hello, Central, Give Me Heaven” floating in the air with the scent of lilacs from Cassie’s perfume, and Jamie was almost tempted to pray, so close was “heaven” within his grasp. With a silent exhale, he moved to the wall to stand beside her, casually leaning over the balcony with arms folded and eyes lifted to the sky. “Wishing on a star, Miss McClare?” he said softly, turning to study her in the moonlight.
She smiled, her satin dress shimmering from either a breeze off the bay or a contented sigh. “Something like that.” She peeked up. “That was really nice what you did tonight, Jamie.”
He deflected with an awkward grin. “Naw, ‘nice’ would be boxing the ears of that little hooligan who made that sweet little girl cry.” His humor faded as his gaze returned to the sea, a tic pulsing in his jaw. “Nothing makes me angrier than that—people picking on people, belittling them, ostracizing them, thinking they’re better when they’re not.” He sucked in a sharp breath, suddenly aware of his harsh tone. “Sorry, Cass, but few things grate on me more than that.”
“Sounds like painful experience,” she said quietly, gaze fixed on her hand as she picked at her nails.
He glanced at the nubby beds of her long, slender fingers and smiled. Holy thunder, he even liked that about her, the fact that she wasn’t like every other woman who polished their carefully manicured nails with tinted powders and creams. No, Cassie was as natural and unconventional as the gentle spray of freckles that dusted her nose and shoulders, telling Jamie loud and clear that her beauty was not just skin deep. It was honest and real and true all the way to the bone. He straightened to face her, hip cocked to the wall. “You could say that, I suppose, but I prefer to focus on the pleasurable experiences, such as teaching a cowgirl to dance.” With a slow reach, he tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, lingering several seconds too long. “I seem to remember you owe me a dance, Miss McClare.”
Her pert little chin angled high. “Is that so?” She nodded toward the ballroom. “Then I suggest we remedy that.”
She turned toward the door and he caught her hand, drawing her into his arms for a waltz. “My thoughts exactly,” he whispered in her ear, twirling her before she could object.
“Jamie!” Her voice was a raspy scold. “What are you doing?”
“Teaching you to dance, Sugar Pie, and judging from your progress, I’m pretty good.”
He caught her off-guard with a wide spin, holding her closer than he had inside, and she giggled, body gliding with his as naturally as breathing. “Oh, I have to admit, this is fun,” she said with a heady sigh. She paused, thick lashes edging up. “But . . . were you holding me this close inside?”
He grinned and whirled her in several broad sweeps in a row, hoping she was at least a fraction as dizzy as his heart. “Absolutely,” he lied, unable to resist the slide of his hand to her waist when the music came to an end. He bent close, exercising every sliver of willpower he possessed to keep from suckling the lobe of her ear. “Dizzy?”
———
Dizzy? Cassie closed her eyes, lips parted in shallow breaths. Reeling might be a better word, not unlike the time she’d been bucked by that filly in the county-fair rodeo. Her head spun faster than their palomino weather vane during a Texas thunderstorm, and now her pulse was pumping faster than their oil rigs used to do. Chest heaving, she opened her eyes to Jamie’s half-lidded gaze lingering on her lips, and her stomach looped while her hands began to sweat. She tried to back away, but the press of his palms lured her close.
“Jamie, no . . . ,” she wanted to say, but her body stifled the words, weighting her eyes shut as his mouth hovered close enough she could almost taste the crème brulee he had for dessert.
“So help me, Cass,” he whispered, “this doesn’t feel like friendship anymore . . .”
Her gasp met the caress of his lips, gentle and yet possessive as they nuzzled her mouth, swaying with restrained passion until he relented with a low groan, fingers sifting into the wisps of hair at the nape of her neck. He cupped her head to deepen his kiss, and her hand fisted his shirt, clinging tighter than she had to that filly’s neck on the ride of her life. Bloomin’ saints, she thought, as woozy as if she’d just bolted some wine, make that the second ride of my life . . .
Jamie jerked away, chest heaving and a glaze in his eyes—or maybe it was just her—tenderly framing her face with massive palms while his thumbs feathered her mouth. “I’m falling for you, Cass,” he whispered, the shock of his words icing her skin. Gone was the self-assured womanizer and in his place, a little boy with a hint of puppy-dog eyes, t
he slightest bit of trepidation in his tone. “I love being your friend, truly . . .” The white bow tie and tall winged collar shifted with his Adam’s apple while his voice faded to a whisper. “But I want more.”
“More?” She was too much in a fog to stop her eyes from fluttering closed when he bent to graze her lips with an achingly gentle kiss.
“Yes,” he breathed in her ear, the effect akin to a Texas heat wave. “I want to court you.”
The fog lifted as quickly as her eyelids, which shot up faster than a renegade bronc with a loose saddle of burrs. Merciful Providence—as in marriage?
“Promise you’ll save your heart for God’s best, Cass—a man who loves God as much as you do . . .” Aunt Cait’s words haunted her mind while Jamie’s haunted her heart. She felt the wild thump of his pulse beneath her fingers still embedded in his shirt, and with a harsh catch of her breath, they sprang flat against his rock-hard chest, palms thrusting him back. “J-jamie, no . . . I’m sorry, but I can’t . . .”
Something steeled in his jaw when those hazel eyes locked with hers, penetrating her heart as easily as his kiss had done. “Yes, you can, Cass, because you’re falling for me too . . .”
“No, Jamie, I’m no—” The words died in her throat when his mouth took hers with a fury, unleashing waves of heat that rolled through her body as he delved deeper, chest heaving against hers when he finally pulled away. With a heated gaze, he slowly traced from the quiver of her jaw to the hollow of her throat, grazing her skin with the pad of his thumb. “Your pulse says different, Cass,” he said quietly, the shocking truth leaving her limp in his arms.
Her eyes drifted closed, palms splayed to his chest. “That may be, Jamie, but we can’t . . .”
“Why?” It was little more than a hiss, the first flicker of temper she’d ever seen in the gallant Jamie MacKenna, matching the sudden tension of his hold. “Because of that snake-bellied ex-fiancé who taught you not to trust any man?”
She eased from his grip, distancing herself with a wobbly step back. “Yes, because of Mark,” she said, buffing her arms. “And because I’ve learned I can’t trust just any man. Trust is key with me, Jamie, and it’s the only foundation I’ll settle for in the marriage I hope to have. ”
The breath caught in her throat as he gripped her again, the plea in his tone matching the urgency in his eyes. “You can trust me, Cass—I’ve tried to prove that this last month as a friend, but friendship isn’t enough anymore. And I’m not just ‘any man’—I’m the one who loves you and needs you and wants to make you his wife.”
Slipping from his grasp, she eased away, her heart cramping at the look of hurt in his eyes. “I care about you, Jamie, way more than I should, and you’re a good man, you are. But I need more than a good man.” She paused, almost hesitant to say what was in her heart for the pain it would cause. “I need a good man who needs God as much as he needs me.”
His jaw dropped a full inch while a nerve pulsed in his temple. “That’s what this is about? Because I told you I don’t believe in God?” He wheeled around, slashing shaky fingers through his hair, the mutter of garbled words stinging the air. Pivoting halfway, he glared, hands slung low on his hips. “Let me get this straight, because I want to be sure I understand. You’re falling in love with me and I’m in love with you and I’m already practically one of the family . . . but you’re stomping on my heart because I don’t believe in God?”
She clutched her arms to her waist. “That sounds so harsh when you put it that way . . .”
He hiked a brow. “Oh, it is, Miss McClare, it is.” He gouged the back of his neck, finally facing her head on. “So, where does that leave us, then? You want me to convert, is that it?”
She shook her head, heart sinking. “No, Jamie,” she whispered, “not for me—for you.”
His laugh was bitter. “I’ve done just fine up until now, Cowgirl. I don’t need him.”
A frail breath drifted from her lips. “No,” she said quietly, “but I do.” She rubbed her arms while she avoided his gaze. “And so does the man I hope to trust with my heart someday.” The cool sea air shivered through her. “It’s chilly—we better go in.”
He halted her with a touch of his hand, a tinge of anger to his tone. “So, where are we, then, Cass? Two friends who want more but can’t because God stands in the way?”
“No, just two friends.” Her smile was sad. “Unless you don’t even want that.”
His mouth clamped tight. “No, I can handle it, Miss McClare. How ’bout you?”
She forced a smile, chin high. “If I can trust you to keep your hands to yourself.”
“After that lecture on trust?” Jamie hooked her elbow to steer her toward the door, lips flat and tone even worse. “To borrow a phrase that is spot on, Miss McClare—‘perish the thought.’ ”
“You told him?” Alli paused in front of Cassie’s vanity table, fingers paralyzed on black ringlets atop her head as her eyes flared wide in shock. Perched on the vanity bench in corset and chemise, she stared at Cassie in the mirror. “That you wouldn’t court him? Sweet heavenly days,” she muttered, stabbing several hairpins in with a vengeance before whirling around. Long, black curls spiraled over the satin ribbon straps tied at her shoulders. “Was he hurt?”
Cassie sighed, the lasso in her hands failing to bring its usual comfort as she lay on her bed in a funk, long hair spilling over the pillow. “Devastated . . . before he got angry, that is,” she whispered, remembering the vulnerable look in his eyes when he’d told her he wanted “more” than friendship. She lovingly fingered the twisted hemp, its beloved smell of home unable to penetrate the gloom in her heart. “Said he was falling for me and wanted more.”
Alli abandoned her toilette to hurry over to where Cassie lay, easing down beside her. “Oh, Cass, that breaks my heart.”
“Mine too,” Cassie said with a mournful sigh. “I really care about him, Al, and I’d give anything if it could be different. But I promised myself and Aunt Cait that the man I’d marry would have a strong faith in God, and you and I both know that’s not Jamie.”
Alli blinked, her affection for Jamie evident in the glaze of moisture in her eyes. “Well, you don’t know,” she said quietly, “maybe it could be . . . someday.”
Cassie shivered, Alli’s tears prompting her own. “I can’t risk that, Al, falling in love with a man who may never have faith in God.”
Alli kneaded her shoulder. “But you’re already halfway there, Cass, so maybe Jamie’s worth the risk? Maybe he just needs time to come around, to show him an image of God that could woo his soul like you’ve wooed his heart.”
Fear coiled in her stomach like the lasso in her hands, and shaking her head, Cassie hurled a husk-stuffed leather cow with more force than intended, the one Daddy made for her to practice roping. Lips clamped, she rose up to swing the lariat in a circle overhead, launching it at the cow. “Sorry, Al—I’m still a little too raw from Mark to be a sitting duck for another man right now, even one I’m halfway in love with.” The lasso neatly cinched around the toy’s neck, and Cassie jerked with a snap, landing the fat, little cow back on her bed.
Alli nabbed it, lips in a slant. “Somehow, I don’t see you as the ‘sitting duck,’ ” she said, bobbling the cow in her hand. “More like Jamie as a hapless steer about to be roped when you save him from himself.”
Snatching it from her cousin’s hand, Cassie lobbed it across the room with a grunt. “Yeah, and who’s gonna save me when the steer becomes a bull who tramples my heart?”
Her cousin paused. “Oh, I don’t know . . . God?”
Cassie peered from the corner of her eye. “You sound more like your mother every day.”
Alli tipped her head, offering a teasing smile. “And that’s a good thing, right?”
“Yes,” Cassie relented, venting with a noisy sigh. “Except Aunt Cait made me promise to save my heart for a man who loves God.”
“So, save it,” Alli said, “with a friendship that shows
Jamie what he’s missing—both with you and with God.”
Cassie grunted in the grand fashion of one of Daddy’s cowhands. “Easier said than done.” She whirled the lariat in the air and chucked it at the cow, hooking its neck. “The man can put a lip-lock on me faster than I can rope a steer, and when he does, I’m the one who ends up hog-tied.” She wrenched it back to her lap, staring at its button eyes with a melancholy smile. “Just like he did on The Palace veranda.”
Alli spun to face her, jaw dangling like the rope in Cassie’s hands. “Merciful Providence, Cassidy McClare, he kissed you again and you didn’t tell me?” She snatched the poor cow and flung it away. “That was days ago, and we swore to tell each other everything!”
Sneaking a peek, Cassie tugged at her lip. “I know, and I’m sorry, but I was ashamed.”
“Because of one measly kiss?”
Cassie sucked air through a clenched smile, heat crawling her face. “Actually, it was three, and trust me, they were anything but ‘measly.’ ” She gulped, the memory warming her skin as well as her cheeks. “I swear, Al, the man melts me into a puddle right on the floor.”
“Well . . . don’t-let-him,” Alli said with a firm jack of her chin, enunciating each syllable. She leaned in, eyes sparking like jagged emeralds. “That’s what got you into trouble with Mark, if you recall. Succumbing to his kisses till your heart was too far gone, and frankly, you and Jamie are too important to me for you to botch this up, Cass, so toughen up!”
Cassie’s grin wobbled. “I don’t remember you being so all-fired ‘tough’ with Tom Alt.”
A blush bloodied Alli’s cheeks as she folded her arms. “Yes, and that’s exactly how I know. Mother warned me to keep a clear head, that a man’s kisses can weaken a girl’s resolve, but did I listen? No! And I was crushed when I found out he was a fraud after we’d announced our engagement, just like you when Mark broke it off before the wedding.”