15 

Is Cass in there?” Jamie squinted at the ladies’ room door Allison had just exited with a group of society matrons, their brows in a scrunch.

Alli perched a hand to the waist of her pale-green dress where ruffles swept to her hip. She tossed her head back, midnight-black curls shimmering beneath a crystal chandelier as she blew wisps of bangs from her eyes. “Why? You planning on going in?” she asked, a mischievous gleam in piercing green eyes much darker than Cassie’s.

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, the 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.”

“I know.” A sigh quivered from Cassie’s lips.

“Look, Cass, when it comes to falling in love, neither of us have done too well, but together we can be strong.” She stuck out her hand. “Let’s make a pact right now that we’ll keep each other accountable—with prayer and no secrets—so neither of us are charmed into heartbreak anymore, okay? You? By not letting Jamie MacKenna get within an inch of your lips till he turns over a new leaf, a man with faith in God courting you good and proper.”

“And you?” Cassie asked with a teasing grin.

Alli’s lips veered into a crooked smile. “The same with Roger Luepke—if and when I should be lucky enough to see the man in Napa.”

“Deal!” Cassie grinned, feeling as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Adrenaline began to flow as she considered the very thing to divert their attention from two pretty boys who threatened to steal their hearts. She shimmied against the headboard with a contented sigh, hugging the lariat to her chest. “Oh, Al, I can hardly wait to teach at Aunt Cait’s Hand of Hope School—to rechannel our energies into something more productive and worthwhile than just mooning over men. Has she said anything more about the building she’s hoping to buy?”

The mention of her mother’s dream was all it took to spark Alli’s eyes as she shifted to sit cross-legged on Cassie’s bed. “No, just that it’s an old abandoned house on the edge of the Barbary Coast, but Mother says she submitted a petition to the Board of Supervisors docket for next month, so maybe soon. I haven’t seen it, but I do know it was condemned by the fire marshal, which is why she needs board approval. Of course, it needs a lot of work, but Mother claims it’s the perfect size and location and within easy access for so many young girls.” Alli released a wispy sigh. “We’ve already selected a curriculum and spoken to a number of teachers who are just as excited as we are. And Mother’s friend Walter from the Vigilance Committee says the Board’s sure to jump at the chance to rectify the blight of that old house.”

Cassie stared at the ceiling, her thoughts far beyond Jamie MacKenna. “Honestly, Al, I think I could be happy as a spinster for the rest of my days just teaching young women the importance of education and fending for themselves.” Her throat thickened at the thought of Mark’s rejection. “After what Mark did, I never want to be dependent on a man’s love again as if it and it alone is responsible for any happiness I might have. No, siree—I have a mind and I hope to use it to empower young women to make choices in life other than just being subject to a man’s attention.” She grasped Alli’s hand, a fervor in her tone that swelled inside until she thought she might burst. “Oh, Al, just think! To continue the work of women like Susan B. Anthony and Julia Ward Howe, pioneers in the women’s suffrage movement. To help pave the way for a world where women are free to be all that God intends us to be. Goodness, you and I have an opportunity to be a part of that, and what better place than the Barbary Coast where thousands of women are still enslaved in brothels and dance halls?”

“I know!” Alli said, tone breathless. “And we also get to use our talents in the process—you with math and singing, and me with English and drama.” She plopped back on her pillow and stretched out on the bed, ankles crossed and bare feet twitching. “Goodness, I don’t think I’ve been this excited in a long, long while.”

A low chuckle rumbled from Cassie’s chest. “At least not since you saw Roger Luepke,” she said with a tweak of Alli’s shoulder.

Alli grinned. “You may be right . . .” She suddenly paused, head cocked. “Wait—do you hear something?”

Cassie listened, a pucker crinkling above her nose. “Sounds like somebody whimpering.” Holding her breath, she inclined her ear, then jumped up to peek in the hall, heart slamming at the sound of muffled weeping behind Meg’s door. “Al,” she whispered, “I think Meg’s crying.”

Alli jumped up to follow Cassie. “Meg?” Cassie said with a light tap on her cousin’s door, “are you all right?”

The crying stopped, and Cassie knocked again. “Meg, can we come in? Please?”

At Meg’s nasal response, Cassie opened the door . “Oh, honey,” she said, making a beeline to where Meg lay on the bed, curled in a ball.

Alli rushed to sit beside her sister, gently stroking her hair. “Meggie, what’s wrong?”

Loose strands from Meg’s reddish-blonde chignon fell across her face as she wept, her typically creamy complexion now blotchy and red. She looked up with shaky heave, white linen skirt rumpled and green eyes rimmed raw behind gold wire-rims. “D-devin C-caldwell m-made f-fun of m-me at Amanda Rice’s b-birthday p-party . . .” Her voice lapsed into a sob.

Alli hugged her tightly, eyes on fire as she peered up at Cassie. “Oh, so help me, Cass, Devin Caldwell is one brat I’d love to see you string up with your lasso. That twerp has been tormenting Meg since the first grade.”

A hiccup popped from Meg’s mouth as she blew her nose. “Unfortunately, he’s not a ‘twerp’ anymore, which is the whole problem. He’s always been the smartest and most popular boy at St. Patrick’s, but a real runt who made fun of me because I always beat him in the spelling bees between St. Vincent’s and St. Patrick’s.” She sniffed. “Now he’s as tall as Blake and just as handsome and picks on me all the more whenever our schools have joint events.”

“Maybe he likes you,” Cassie said, crouching to tuck Meg’s hair behind her ear with a gentle smile. “Sometimes boys will pick on a girl when they’re smitten.”

A tiny grunt erupted from Meg’s throat that almost made Cassie smile except for the sudden glaze of tears. She shook her head, strawberry tresses quivering with the motion. “No, Devin’s always been mean to me, so he’s not smitten, not with the awful things he says.”

“Like what, honey?” Cassie plunked down beside her to cup Meg’s hands in her own.

Meg sat up, tearstains dotting her glasses. “He calls me tubby and four eyes and wallflower among other things, but usually to my face, not in front of a whole crowd like he did today . . .” Her voice started to bubble again.

“Oh, Meg . . .” Alli embraced her while Cassie caressed her arm. “Then he’s nothing but a pompous, arrogant toad, and if you want, Cass and I can go rough him up—she brought her lasso, you know.”

Meg’s heave tumbled into a giggle, easing some of the ache in Cassie’s chest over anyone picking on her sweet cousin. Removing her glasses, Meg dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. “Believe me, there’s nothing I’d like more than to see Devin Caldwell trussed up with Cassie’s rope, sporting a black eye, but the truth’s more painful than his awful insults.”

“And what’s that, sweetie?” Cassie asked, brushing hair from Meg’s eyes.

Meg drew in a shaky breath and released it again, a cumbersome sigh sagging the shoulders of her pretty ruffled, capped blouse. “I like him. Always have from that first spelling bee in the first grade.”

“Oh, good grief, Meggie, whatever for?” Alli said in a huff. “The boy’s a worm.”

“Yes, why?” Cassie said, shocked that Meg could be drawn to such a pickle-brained pest.

Meg blew on her glasses and wiped them clean, her full cheeks circled with pink. “I don’t know, he’s funny, smart, and very quick-witted, all things I admire.” She chewed on her lip before sliding a sheepish glance first at Cass, then at Alli. “Of course it doesn’t hurt he has gorgeous blue eyes with a bit of the devil in them and enough muscles to make a girl swoon.”

“Humph,” Alli said, “sounds like a cocky buffoon to me, and if there’s anything Cass and I’ve learned in our dealings with men, it’s to stay far away from knotheads like him.”

Meg sighed, twirling a loose strand of hair around her finger. “No problem there—Devin Caldwell doesn’t even know I exist except when he takes a notion to harass me.”

A grunt rolled from Cassie’s lips. “Alli’s right, honey, you want to avoid pretty-boy polecats like him.” Her smile took a slant. “They’re nothing but trouble, trust me.”

Meg tilted her head, offering Cassie a weak smile. “But you and Jamie are the best of friends now, Cass, and I heard you call him a pretty-boy polecat once.”

“Humph—he still is, sweetie, but I’m a glutton for punishment, apparently.” Cassie exhaled loudly, her breath fluttering more strays from Meg’s disheveled chignon.

Meg followed suit, venting with a wispy release of air. “Mama says the best way to deal with someone like Devin Caldwell is to heap burning coals on his head like the Bible says.”

“Oooo, branding—I like that.” Cassie shot Alli a wink. “And cow patties are good too.”

Alli chuckled, and Meg actually grinned. “I agree, but Mama claims heaping coals means returning good to someone instead of bad like they do to you. She says in ancient times, women carried hot coals on their head to light their own home fires and keep their houses warm, so heaping hot coals on someone’s head meant blessing them instead of returning evil. Which is so hard to do with Devin.” A twinkle of mischief lit her green eyes as her teeth tugged at the edge of her smile. “And I do try, believe me, but I have to admit I also work really hard to beat him at all the scholastic competitions between our two schools, and that makes him so mad!” Her giggle was soft. “Don’t tell Mama, but it feels wonderful and so very liberating!”

“Good girl!” Alli gave her sister an affectionate squeeze. “It’s nice to know that as sweet and shy as you are, Megan McClare, there’s still a bit of the dickens lurking inside.”

“I’ll say,” Cassie said with a grin. “Because you’re going to need it in the future when you catch the eyes of pretty boys like Devin Caldwell who want to court you.” Cassie’s lip veered left. “That and a cattle prod.” She blasted out a heavy sigh. “Much as it goes against my grain, I suppose Aunt Cait is right, which means we probably should handle Devin Caldwell the same way I handled Jamie MacKenna.”

Alli leaned forward with a mischievous grin. “What, swoon at his feet?”

Cassie stared her down, eyes narrowed in warning. “So help me, Allison McClare, you are going to get your comeuppance in Napa, you mark my words.” She squeezed Meg’s hand. “Nope, we probably need to pray for the knothead because God knows he needs it.”

“Don’t they all?” Alli grinned, taking her sister’s other hand in hers.

“Oh, yes,” Cassie said with a firm jut of her chin, “but unfortunately . . .” She deposited a kiss to Meg’s cheek before her lips zagged into a droll smile. “Not near as much as us.”

Jamie rammed the receiver on the hook so hard, it actually quivered for several seconds, bobbling the candlestick phone. Crumpling the letter from Cooper Medical, he blasted out a thunderous sigh and slumped over his polished wood desk, with his head in his hands, barely noticing when the balled-up letter slipped from his grasp. An unusually oppressive heat shimmered in from the third-story window of McClare, Rupert and Byington, bringing with it the smells and sounds of rush hour on Market Street in the summer. The pungent odor of horses and manure collided with the smell of gasoline and burnt-wood from the cable-car brakes while horns, whistles, and trolley bells jockeyed for prominence on a street that was a cobblestone zoo.

Dear Mr. MacKenna, we regret to inform you . . . Jamie hissed out a colorful word that crackled the air. “Dash it all, another blasted roadblock,” he muttered, yanking hard at the stiff, tubular collar of his white shirt, wishing he could rip off the silk tie that nearly choked him to death. He kneaded the bridge of his nose, wondering how in blazes he was going to convince Cooper Medical to consider a hip cheilotomy for his sister as part of their charitable surgery allotment. Dr. John Benjamin Murphy of Mercy Hospital in Chicago had already done the hard part, devising this blessedly simple procedure to alleviate pain in damaged hip joints, and now the rest was up to him. Jess had long ago accepted the dull ache that was a daily part of her life, resorting to laudanum when the weather was poor or she walked too much, but Jamie could not. Her limp seemed to grow worse every day, and the guilt burrowed in his stomach like a splinter beneath pus-infected skin, throbbing until he thought he’d go mad.

Dread crawled up his windpipe. What if I can’t help her? What if she has to live in pain the rest of her life? He shoved away from the desk to sink back in his chair, eyes pinched to shut out the thought. No! He couldn’t fail her, wouldn’t! If Cooper Medical refused his request each month, he’d just ask Duffy for more night hours to supplement his salary at the firm while working Sundays at the Oly along with Saturday afternoons. He’d hoped once graduated and working for Logan, he could pare back on his night and weekend jobs, saving for Jess’s operation from his attorney’s salary at an easy pace, possibly in the next two years. And if he married well? Well, then, even sooner. But over the last six months, his sister’s pain seemed to intensify, just as Dr. Morrissey had predicted, and Jamie found his patience wearing thin. He was no longer willing to wait to alleviate his sister’s suffering, and if he had to work night and day seven days a week, he vowed to get the funds. His jaw tightened. Whatever it took . . .

Even turning to God to marry a McClare?

The thought stilled the turmoil in his gut. Yes. Even turning to God to marry a McClare. Taut muscles slowly relaxed at the decision he’d made in the week since Cassie had turned him away at Logan’s party. He needed an operation for his sister and a decent home for his family, in a boardinghouse he owned where he could help women like Millie and Julie. He couldn’t do that on a new counselor’s salary, no matter how generous Logan had been. True, his family no longer lived in the slums of the Barbary Coast, but he wanted more than two rooms in a boardinghouse mere streets away from that seedy part of town. Yes, it was clean and safe and out of the sewers, but it was not near enough for the woman who’d given him her all.

“You know, it’s just a guess, but I’m pretty sure Logan would rather you slept at home.”

Jamie jerked in the chair, the sight of Bram cocked against the door bringing a scowl to his face. His eyes flicked to the mantel clock at the front of his desk before searing Bram with a thin gaze. “It’s long past quitting time, Hughes, for your information. Besides, you call this using your time wisely—harassing exhausted counselors?”

Chuckling, Bram strolled into Jamie’s office and plopped into one of two cordovan leather chairs, fingers tapping on the arms of the seat. His smile inched uphill. “Yeah? Well, try eight hours of depositions with a cigar-smoking thug, a deaf ninety-year-old, and a mother of hyperactive twins under the age of three.” He massaged his temples with the span of forefinger and thumb. “Trust me, my prized globe wasn’t the only thing spinning today—I have a doozy of a headache. Don’t suppose you have any aspirin powder left that the doctor prescribed?”

“You kidding?” Jamie scrounged in his drawer for the tin of aspirin powder he kept for days like this. “Here, a pinch is all you need,” he said, tossing it to his best friend while shoving his half cup of cold coffee across the desk. He grabbed his Phillips’ Milk of Magnesia as well and uncapped the bottle. “Don’t know what I guzzle more—the aspirin or the milk of magnesia.”

He tipped it straight up, throat muscles glugging while Bram gave a low whistle. “Take it easy, Mac—that’s not ten-year-old scotch, you know.”

Jamie replaced the lid with a scrunch of his nose. “You’re telling me.” He dropped the bottle into the bottom drawer before slamming it closed with his shoe.

Bram’s eyes flicked from the crumpled paper to his friend’s face. “Another rejection?”

“Yep.” Jamie expended another weary breath and sank back in his chair. “Their caseload is full and there’s nothing they can do.” He snatched the letter and sailed it into the waste can. “The deuce it is,” he growled, resting his head on the back of his chair. He closed his eyes. “It’s full all right—with Nob Hill favors.”

“So . . . why don’t you call in your own?”

“What?” Jamie peered at Bram through leaden lids. “The only medicine man I’m on favorable terms with is Dr Pepper, and I doubt that’ll get me too far with the bigwigs on the Cooper Medical Board.” His lips pursed in thought. “Although come to think of it, I did meet a Dr. Winterberger at The Palace a few weeks ago.”

“Who says it has to be a doctor?” Bram stretched in his chair, hands propped to his neck.

One eyelid peeled up. “Last time I looked the Cooper Medical Board were all physicians.”

“Yeah, but the funding committee is not.”

Bram’s words oozed through Jamie’s tired brain like warm milk of magnesia, coating his nerves as well as his stomach. With a sharp catch of his breath, he shot up, jaw sagging into a smile. “You are a genius, Hughes, you know that? Why the devil didn’t I think of that? Who do we know on the funding committee?”

Bram’s lips veered sideways. “It’s not who we know, Mac, it’s who Logan knows.”

Jamie’s heart commenced to a slow thud. “Who?” he said, his voice hushed with hope.

A grin split Bram’s handsome face. “Andrew Turner—the committee’s president.”

Jamie gaped, a slow smile curving the corners of his mouth. “The D.A.? No kidding?”

“No kidding—fraternity brother. Want me to talk to Logan for you?”

“No, it needs to come from me, Bram, but thanks.” Jamie rubbed the scruff of his jaw, his thoughts back on his sister.

“So, you ready?” Bram lumbered to his feet, tugging on the sleeves of his gray sack suit.

Jamie’s gaze flicked up. “For what?”

“Dinner at the McClares’ . . .” He paused, one sandy brow cocked high. “You know . . . the pre-Napa dinner? To discuss all the details?”

Jamie groaned, thoughts of his sister eclipsing everything else. “That’s tonight?”

“Yes, but I can extend your regrets.” Bram buttoned his jacket, eyeing him with concern.

Jamie huffed out a sigh. “No, I’ll be there—not for dinner, of course, because I promised Jess chicken from The Corner Bar, but after.” He rose to his feet. “Will you let them know?”

“Sure.” Bram pushed in his chair and ambled toward the door, delivering a knowing smile over his shoulder. “Them? Or her?”

A chuckle rumbled in Jamie’s throat as he cranked at his tie some more, loosening it to cool the sweat ringing his collar. He rounded his desk. “Them. I’ll take care of her.”

“So far, it looks like you’ll be buying your own Dr Peppers for the rest of the year, Mac.” Bram flashed some teeth. “The wager was ‘love’ as I recall, not friendship, so I’m not sure how you’re going to pull that rabbit out of your hat.”

A smug smile slid across Jamie’s lips as he followed his friend into the reception area. “It’s called the old MacKenna magic, old buddy, so I suggest you keep your pockets full.” He opened the outer door, allowing Bram to go first. “Because first it’s friendship where I woo . . .” He slapped him on the back and shot him a wide grin. “Then it’s lovestruck and I do.”