19 

One o’clock, two o’clock . . .”

Tease, taunts, and laughter filled the night as cousins and friends scattered to the far reaches of Uncle Logan’s estate, scurrying to hide while Liddy was “it” in a game of midnight.

Jamie squinted through the dark in the direction Cassie had taken, pulse racing at the thought of sharing a hiding space with Cassie McClare. His jaw compressed. Preferably, one nice and tight. He’d spent the last three weeks doing things her way, trying to woo her with church and book studies, which only succeeded in luring him deeper in love with a woman who wouldn’t admit she was in love with him too. Well, tonight he would woo her his way, hopefully to convince her she needed to say yes. Yes, to the courtship and yes to becoming his wife. Chin firm, he made his way to the hiding place Blake told him about, bent on turning her head—and her heart—in his direction once and for all.

“Eight o’clock, nine o’clock . . .”

He ducked behind a massive rhododendron into her secret crevice, a narrow corridor created by a deep sunporch on the south side of Logan’s estate. Lips easing into a grin, he inched several feet back to where Cassie hid in the shadows with her back to the brick wall.

Even in the dark, he saw the whites of her eyes go round. “What are you doing here?” she whispered, shooing him away. “This is my hiding place, MacKenna—go!”

“Ten o’clock, eleven o’clock, midnight!” Liddy called.

Jamie chuckled. “Too late,” he whispered, sandwiching himself behind her with his back to the wall. He looped an arm to her waist, tightening his hold to quiet her when a flicker of lamplight indicated someone just passed. Heady scents rose to taunt him—lilac water and Pear’s soap mingling with the loamy scent of moss that never saw the light of day—delicious perfumes all, tingling his skin. His smile tipped at the soft absence of a corset that allowed him to feel the tension in her body along with the race of her pulse, evident in the rapid rise and fall of her chest.

Footsteps faded away, and she tried to whirl around, luring a grin to his lips when she got stuck halfway. “Jamie MacKenna,” she hissed in the dark, “what in tarnation are you doing?”

Nudging her back around, he hooked her from behind once again, grazing her ear with a low chuckle. “This is my hiding place, Cowgirl. Can I help it if you stole it first?”

“Yours?!” she whispered loudly, her voice a near-squeak. “This has been my hiding place since I was knee-high to a grape, you pickle-brained polecat.”

“I know,” he said with a grin in his voice. “Blake told me.”

She grunted and wrestled to get free. “Let-me-go! Have you forgotten our agreement?”

“No, ma’am.” He firmed his grip, careful to brush his nose to the soft flesh of her lobe before he breathed warm in her ear. “No kisses are involved, Miss McClare,” he said softly, taking her hand in his. His thumb teased the inside of her palm. “Hugs and hands only, I believe the fine print said.” His fingers skimmed to her wrist, eyes closed to lose himself in the silky touch of her skin, the chaotic sprint of a pulse racing along with his own.

Her shuddery breaths filled the darkened space between them, matched by his own jagged breathing as he buried his face in her hair. “Cass,” he whispered, unable to stop the heat that shimmered his skin. “I’m in love with you . . .”

“Jamie . . . please . . .” Her voice was a shaky rasp that seemed to beg him not to stop, and he had no choice but to succumb, tracing her ear with his cheek, the warmth of his breath caressing her temple. The softest of sounds parted from her lips, and with a surge of his pulse, he grazed the nape of her neck, skin against skin, nuzzling with his nose to drink in her scent.

“Jamie, no,” she whispered, but never had a “no” sounded more like a “yes.” She jerked to face him, lips parted in irregular breaths. “Jamie . . .”

His chest labored as he stared, blood pounding in his ears when her gaze flicked to his mouth. “Cass,” he said, his voice husky and harsh, “I’m in love with you and I want to kiss you, but I can’t unless you say it’s okay.” He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple aching when it ducked in his throat. “Is that what you want too?”

Uneven air quivered from her lower lip as her eyes locked with his, a breathless woman in the crosshairs of decision. She finally nodded, her eyes consenting with nary a blink.

The breath he’d been holding rushed out in a groan, and he lowered his mouth to hers, the sweet taste of her causing his head and stomach to swim. “So help me, Cass, I’ve never wanted any woman like I want you.” He kissed her again, delving deeper until her moan met with his.

“MacKenna!” Blake’s whispered chuckle caused Cassie to gasp. “I’m sure Cass is tired of fending you off, so I suggest you come out separately so nobody’s the wiser.”

Swallowing a low groan, Jamie trailed his fingers down the smooth line of her jaw. “You’re not mad, are you?” he whispered.

“A little.” There was the barest trace of trepidation in her tone.

“But you forgive me?” he asked, gently kneading her neck.

Her nod was as shaky as the sigh that quivered from her lips.

He kissed her forehead, closing his eyes to fuse her scent into his brain. “Good.”

“But this means another talk, you know,” she said, voice quivering.

His lips curved in a grin. “I was hoping it would . . . one where you agree to let me court you true and proper.”

“MacKenna!” Blake’s voice held a note of impatience.

“Coming!” Stroking her face one last time, his voice carried a plea. “My faith is growing because of you, Cass, and I want to court you now, not later—please. I apologize for trapping you, but I needed a little arm-twisting to help you see the light.” He deposited a final kiss to her nose. “I love you, Cass.”

“Get a move on, will ya, Mac?” Blake prodded. “The natives are getting restless.”

Jamie edged his way against the brick wall, quietly easing from the dark, narrow space.

“Took you long enough, Casanova.” Blake’s chuckle was a clear indication he thought Jamie had struck out. He cuffed his shoulder with a wide grin. “How many times does my cousin have to slap you upside the head before you understand ‘no’?” His laughter rang in the night air as they rounded the corner to where the others awaited the next game. “I’ll tell you what, mister. I saved your hide tonight, so you’re ‘it.’ ”

Jamie grinned outright. “I most certainly am.”

“It”—the luckiest man alive.

“Mama, I’m tired.”

Caitlyn glanced up at Maddie on Logan’s lap. Her russet curls splayed on his pin-striped shirt as she lay against his broad chest in front of a fire waning as much as the people around it.

“Goodness, it’s after midnight,” Alli said with a yawn. She lumbered up from her wrought-iron patio chair and stretched, arms high as if reaching for the harvest moon overhead.

Before Caitlyn could clear the chaise, Blake jumped up to bundle Maddie in his arms. “I’ll take her up, Mother,” he said with a kiss to Maddie’s nose, “if Alli puts her to bed.”

“No problem there.” Alli tugged Cassie up. “Come on, Cuz, you can help.” She bussed her mother’s cheek while Cassie and her younger cousins followed suit. “Good night, Mother.”

“Good night, girls. Liddy, Patricia, if you need anything, just let Alli or me know.”

“You up for a game of pool, Uncle Logan?” Blake said, Maddie now draped over his shoulder. “Rumor has it Mac’s been humbled considerably these days.”

Logan chuckled. “So I hear.”

Jamie ambled up from his chaise, eyes following Cassie to the door before zeroing in on Blake with a mock scowl. “Just part of my game plan, McClare, to catch you unaware.”

Blake grinned. “Oh? Something you learned from my cousin?”

Bram chuckled. “I’d say that’s a given. Good night, all.”

“That settles it.” Jamie prodded Blake and Bram through the door. “You’re both going down.” He shot a smile over his shoulder. “Thanks, Mr. and Mrs. McClare, for a great evening.”

Caitlyn flushed at the innocent implication of Jamie’s words. “Good night, boys.”

“At the risk of appearing to be a killjoy, I fear I must turn in as well.” Father Harry rose and slapped Logan’s back. “I’m not as young as I used to be, and neither are you, my friend.” He yawned. “But then I suppose one of us has far more experience with burning the candle at both ends.” He gave Caitlyn a short bow. “A delight to see you again, Caitlyn. Good night.”

“Good night, Father Hough.” Caitlyn buffed her arms, wishing she could just flee to her bedroom as well rather than asking Logan’s support with the Board. She scooted forward to hold her hands to the fire, shaky at the thought of the two of them being alone.

“G’night, Harry.” Logan added another log to the fire, and sparks shot into the summer sky as he squatted to stoke the flames. The fire’s glow burnished his chiseled face, illuminating the dark shadow of beard that bristled his jaw like a pirate.

Caitlyn hugged her arms to her waist, eyes focused on the flames that leapt and popped rather than on Logan, who rose to drape a blanket over her shoulders. “Thank you,” she whispered, the intimacy of fire furling into a sky studded with stars making her feel shy with this man she’d known more than a quarter of a century. He pulled his chair close—too close—and she gulped. At least he wasn’t sharing her chaise, for which she was most thankful.

“So, Mrs. McClare . . . ,” he said softly, hands clasped on parted knees. “Must be important to spend time with me under the stars past your bedtime.”

She peeked up, the words stuck in her throat as she pinched the blanket close.

His husky chuckle warmed her cheeks more than the fire. “Come on, Cait,” he said, “you’ve never been afraid of me a day in your life, so what is it? What do you want?”

She drew in a deep swallow of air, her stomach awhirl from the import of her request . . . and from his presence. “I . . . need your . . . support,” she said quietly.

“You already have that, Cait, you know that.”

Her throat shifted. “On the Board.” Her voice quivered like her body beneath the blanket.

Silent for several moments, he finally sat back to assess her with hands braced behind his neck, studying her through pensive eyes. “What do you want, Cait?” he whispered.

She forged on, absently picking at the nubby edge of the blanket. “Well, you see, the Vigilance Committee . . .” She paused, avoiding his gaze. “Or I should say I . . . have drafted a proposal for the San Francisco Board of Supervisors regarding the Barbary Coast, but I didn’t want to present it to the Vigilance Committee until I . . .” Chancing a glance, she was encouraged by the smile hovering on his lips, giving her the distinct impression he enjoyed the fact that she needed him. Emboldened, she lifted her chin. “Well, it’s an important initiative, you see, and I don’t want to go in blind, presenting a mere piece of paper, so I was hoping to . . .” She nervously clamped the blanket to her chin. “Gird it with some . . . clout.”

“You want my vote,” he said simply, effectively releasing the breath she’d been holding.

The blanket slid to her shoulders. “Oh, Logan, I realize this is highly improper, with you being an influential member of the board, but . . .” She stared at him openly, honestly, without the least bit of guile. “Cleaning up the Coast means everything to me, outside of my family, and I was just hoping . . . well, praying, really . . . that you might . . .” He was watching her with such affection that she caught her breath, suddenly aware that in his own way, this man loved her and would do anything for her and her family. The thought stunned and energized her all at the same time, and with the barest hint of a smile, she stated her plea. “Present my plan to the Board.” The air left her lungs in a whoosh of relief.

“You’re aware I have vested interests in the Coast?” he said slowly, eyes never straying.

She nodded, arming herself with another deep intake of air. “Yes, but phase one of this initiative primarily targets the brothels and opium dens, Logan, not the gambling halls or bars.”

“Yet.”

She gave a little gulp, not to be deterred by his businesslike tone. “Yes, later phases will focus on the dance and gambling halls, some of which, I’m well aware, you hold controlling interests in.” She bent forward, her words as earnest as the plea in her eyes. “But the restrictions I propose will only improve your bottom line, Logan, I assure you, promoting a safer, more upstanding environment that will actually draw the upper class.”

“Might I remind you it already draws the upper class, Cait?” Logan said in a matter-of-fact tone, his statement taking a turn toward dry. “At least the male component.”

The insensitivity of his statement stunned. She sat straight up, fire singeing her cheeks. “I assure you no reminding is necessary, Logan—you proved that long ago.”

It was Logan’s turn to blush, blood crawling up his neck when he realized his mistake too late. He closed his eyes, scouring his forehead with the ball of his hand. “Sorry, Cait, that was a stupid thing to say.” Heavy lids edged up, revealing both sorrow and regret. “And do.”

She released a wavering breath. “My concern is for the future, not the past, which is why I need to know—will you help me?” Dropping her gaze to the fire, she awaited his answer for what seemed like eons, heart pounding. Please, Lord, let him see the good he can do.

“Yes.”

She froze, not fully comprehending until her head lurched up in shock. “You’ll do it? You’ll present my proposal to the Board?”

He smiled. “It’s a sound business decision, Cait, one that bodes well for our city.” He paused, gaze tender. “Of course, it doesn’t hurt you hold my heart in the palm of your hand.”

His words barely registered, such was the excitement whirling in her brain. She rushed on, almost giddy. “And you’ll help me garner votes from other members of the Board?”

The smile slid into a grin. “You’re a beautiful woman—how can I say no?”

“Oh, Logan!” She lunged to give him a tight hug before pulling away with a squeeze of his hand. “I don’t know how to thank you! Honestly, you’re the best friend I could ever have.”

“Friends, yes,” he whispered, eyes dimming. “But we both know we were meant to be more.”

Her mouth opened and closed. Biting the edge of her lip, she tried to ease her hand from his, but he held on tight. “Logan, I—”

“Cait, please—I don’t mean right away. I understand you need more time, but I have to know . . .” His thumb feathered the palm of her hand. “I need to know. Do you think . . . is it possible . . . ,” the chiseled jaw flickered when a knot ducked in his throat, “you could ever love me again? Because I love you, Cait, and the fact is, I always have.”

She jerked her hand free and shot to her feet, taking several steps back. “Logan, I’m sorry, but I’m . . . happy with my life the way that it is . . .”

He rose slowly, his heated gaze welded to hers. “Don’t you ever get lonely, Cait? Miss the touch of human affection?”

“No, of course not,” she said too quickly, hands locked to her body like an emotional straitjacket. “I have my children, my niece, my friends . . .” She attempted a weak smile. “And, of course, I have you . . . a friend who just offered his help for something so dear to my heart.”

He moved in, and she stepped back, closer to the fire, a scorching reminder this man had burned her once, searing her heart with scars that had yet to heal. Her voice trailed to a whisper. “A very good friend.”

———

Logan inwardly winced, “friendship” no longer enough with a woman he craved more every day. He’d spent a lifetime knowing women—wooing them, winning them, making love to them—certainly enough to know when a woman was drawn to him, cared for him. And there was no doubt in Logan’s mind Cait had feelings far deeper for him than she let on. He drew in an empowering breath and gentled his tone. “I’m asking for your help too,” he whispered. He carefully caressed her arms, her shivering apparent even through the blanket. “Help me make amends to someone dear to my heart as well—” His pulse surged, both at the prospect of kissing her and the fear she’d bolt before he ever got the chance. “What about the touch of a man, Cait?” he said quietly, his voice suddenly gruff with desire. “Do you ever miss that . . . ?”

“No!” she rasped, pushing him away. The chin lashed up into battle mode, all gentleness burned away by the fire in her eyes. “How dare you ask such a thing! For the love of decency—I’m your sister-in-law and the wife of your brother.”

“No, Cait—” His whisper was harsh. “You’re the love of my life and my brother’s widow. There’s a difference, you know.” He forced his temper back with a slow exhale of air. “I need you, Cait—more than as a friend.” His jaw tightened. “And I think you need me . . .”

“What I need,” she said with a thrust of her jaw, “is for you to understand that I have no desire to get involved with you or any man. That part of my life is ended, Logan—done, finished, over—so you may as well let it go, because my mind is made up.”

A muscle jerked in his temple. “And your body? Has it made up its mind, Cait? There’s a powerful attraction between us, and I defy you to deny it.”

She heaved a weary sigh and shook her head, her shaky laugh far from convincing. “I’m sorry to break your record, Logan, with the endless hordes of women who fall under your spell, but it’s best you realize here and now that I see you as nothing more than a brother-in-law . . .” She paused to draw in a deep breath and her eyes softened, as if she realized how harsh that sounded. “A brother, really, of whom I am quite fond.”

“A ‘brother’? Really?” He squinted in amazement, hands on his hips. He was torn between laughing out loud or losing his temper. “I never figured you for a liar, Mrs. McClare, but I guess each of us has our vice.”

Even in the moonlight, he could see the blush that tainted her cheeks, indicating he had triggered her anger as thoroughly as she’d triggered his. “Yes, we do, Mr. McClare, but I can tell you most emphatically—you will never be one of mine. Good night.”

“Cait . . .” He stayed her arm, his voice hoarse with regret. “I was out of line, and I apologize. Please . . . don’t leave angry.”

She turned, and the anger slowly seeped from her face while the breath seeped from his lungs. The edge was gone from her voice, replaced by a gentle tone that matched the kindness in her eyes. “Logan, please know you are very dear to me and an integral part of our family. But you need to understand and accept that my heart, my love, will always belong to my husband.”

The words sliced through him deeper and sharper than any blade, and he deflected his hurt with an awkward slide of hands into his pockets, heart aching more than when she’d left him the first time. Because now he knew what he’d lost. He cleared his throat, wanting to make amends for angering her, for hurting her years ago, and for pushing so hard when she obviously still harbored feelings for his brother. “I understand,” he whispered, then swallowed hard, his gut clenching at the idea that maybe this time he was wrong, maybe she didn’t have feelings for him like he’d hoped, and maybe the only attraction that truly existed was his. To her. Head bowed, he lifted a shaky hand to his eyes to knead the bridge of his nose, suddenly aware for the first time in his life, his love for Cait was as deep, if not deeper, than his desire. He sucked in a sharp breath, wanting more than anything to show her his love in a tangible way, to give her back a piece of Liam . . . and a piece of himself.

“I have something to give you,” he said quietly. Hands still in his pockets, his thumb grazed the ring on his finger, knowing full well what he was giving away. Not his heart as he’d hoped, but a piece of his heritage and the only ring he would apparently be able to put on Caitlyn McClare’s hand. He could almost feel the raised gold outline of the lion and Celtic cross against black onyx, the McClare signet ring passed down from centuries past. It had belonged to his ancestors of old . . . on down to his grandfather, his father, and then Liam, who’d never taken it off till Cait gave it to Logan the day Liam was buried. His father’s will delegated ownership to the McClare heir, but it had pained her to part with it, he knew, from the tender way she’d fingered it with such care. Just as I’m doing now. Pulling his hand from his pocket, he removed the ring, thumb gliding against the smooth onyx one last time before he held it out, determined if he couldn’t love her the way he wanted, he’d love her the only way he could. “I want you to have this,” he whispered. “It belongs to you.”

“No . . .” She shook her head as tears pooled in her eyes. “I can’t take it—it’s yours.”

Yes, it is. And it claimed a piece of his heart for so many reasons. The connection to his heritage, his father, his brother . . . and to her. For almost twenty-six years it had grazed her skin when Liam had held her hand, touched the warmth of her body every night when they slept, and when she’d given it to Logan, it was as if she’d given him a piece of herself. A piece he realized he no longer had a right to. Not if she didn’t care like he did. Not if she wasn’t drawn as he was.

“Take it, Cait,” he whispered. “You lived with it for almost twenty-six years—it belongs to you more than me.” He took her hand and placed the ring in her palm, closing his fingers over hers. “And maybe—just maybe—it will give you a touch of Liam, easing your heart like I long to do.”

Her hand trembled to her mouth as tears trickled down her face. “Oh, Logan . . .”

She launched into his arms, clutching him so tightly, it paralyzed him to the spot. Moisture stung and he closed his eyes, resting his head against hers, the scent of lavender invading his senses and taunting his soul. Oh, Cait, I’d give anything to have you love me once more, want me again . . .

She pulled away and swiped at her eyes, her lips quivering into a smile. “You must think I’m crazy, but I’m just so very grateful . . .” Peering up, she gently braced his jaw with her palm, eyes shimmering with gratitude. “I don’t think I’ve ever loved you more than right this moment, Logan McClare. Thank you!”

His heart seized when she pressed a kiss to his cheek, and almost by accident, he turned into her touch, their lips so close he could smell the hint of hot chocolate they’d enjoyed around the fire. They froze in the same split second of time, and his pulse thudded slow and hard as he waited for her to pull away. Only she didn’t, and heat scorched his body. “Cait,” he whispered, barely believing her lips nearly grazed his. He waited, not willing to push for fear she would retreat, but when her eyelids flickered closed, his fate was sealed. “So help me, Cait, I love you,” he rasped, quickly caressing her lips before she could retreat. The moment his mouth took hers, he was a man hopelessly lost, bewitched by her spell. She jolted in his arms as if suddenly realizing her folly, but he refused to relent, his grip at the nape of her neck strong and sure, allowing him a taste of the sweetest lips he’d ever known. A groan trapped in his throat, and he devoured her, delving deeper with a passion stoked by almost twenty-six years of denial and longing. “Cait,” he whispered, voice hoarse as he nuzzled her ear, “I need you in my life.”

He felt it the moment the winds shifted, pulse skyrocketing when her blanket dropped to the ground and she melded in his arms. His mouth explored with a vengeance, the frenzied beat of her heart throbbing beneath his lips as he grazed the hollow of her throat. He skimmed up to suckle the lobe of her ear, and his heart swelled with joy when a soft moan escaped her lips. Blood pounding in his veins, he wove fingers into her hair to cradle her face. “Marry me, Cait, please!”

Her eyelids fluttered open to reveal a glaze of desire so strong, his mouth descended again, dominant and possessive until her lips surrendered to his. “Marry me,” he repeated, his kiss gentling to playful nips meant to coax and tease. “I need you, Cait . . . and I want you.”

In the space of a painful heartbeat, she hurled him away, breasts heaving and eyes wild. “You’re a devil, Logan McClare, always lusting after what you can’t have!”

Sleet slithered through his veins. “No, Cait, it’s not true—I want you because I love you.”

He reached for her, and she thrust back, fury welling in her eyes. “You want me because you can’t have me. And once you had me, you would just throw me away again, returning to your old habits of carousing with women all hours of the night.”

“You’re wrong—let me prove it, please. Marry me.”

She shook her head, an auburn curl quivering against her neck. Her tone trembled with a violence that stunned. “I-don’t-want-you, and I-don’t-need-you, do you hear?”

His anger surged, but he tamped it down with a clamp of his jaw, his words as hard as hers. “Really, Cait? Why don’t you tell that to the woman whose body just responded to mine?”

The lightning force of her slap shifted his jaw clean to the right, the sound of it like a crack of thunder. “How dare you?” she whispered, tears streaming her cheeks. “You forced yourself on me in your usual callous way, and if you ever do so again, it will be the last time you step foot in my house, is that clear?” He didn’t answer, and she took a step forward, her jaw engaged once again. “I said, is-that-clear?”

Gritting his teeth, he turned away. He sucked in a harsh breath and released it again, fighting to keep his temper under control, the only control he apparently possessed with the woman before him. Well, she might hold all the cards and he might lose this hand, but he would not lose the game. With a heavy blast of air, he turned—and stopped—all anger fading at what he’d reduced her to. A quivering mass of tears. God, forgive me . . . He studied her with sorrow in his eyes. “Yes,” he whispered, all of his emotion finally spent, “it’s clear.” She started for the door and he stopped her with a gentle hand. “Forgive me, Cait—I never meant to hurt you. Not then, not now.”

She nodded stiffly and started to leave.

“Cait?” She turned at the door. He plunged his hands in his pockets, no longer a man of the world, but a little boy whose heart was on the line. “I love you, and deep down inside, I think you know that, know I would never cheat on you again.” He stared, his eyes naked with the truth for the very first time. “That said, I need to know why? What else are you afraid of?”

She must have sensed his honesty because the hard plain of her face ebbed into a look of such sorrow, it plucked at his heart. Her voice was gentle and low once again, the Caitlyn he was privileged to love. “I love you as family, Logan, but I can never be ‘in love’ with you again.”

The words stabbed. “Why?” he whispered, his voice no more than a croak.

Her bodice quivered with a burdensome sigh. “Because I don’t trust you.”

“Why? I swear to you, Cait—I will be faithful.”

“No, Logan, you can’t. A man of your habit and ilk can’t be faithful without God.”

“Let me prove it. I can do this.”

“Maybe. But I can’t. I refuse to fall in love with a man who doesn’t share my faith.”

He took a step forward, his eyes intense. “I believe in God, Cait.”

“No, Logan, you believe in yourself first, God after. There’s a difference.”

His jaw sagged in disbelief. “You’re attracted to me and love me, yet you turn me away because my faith isn’t up to snuff?” Fury boiled in his veins, trumping his passion. He chilled her with a look so cold, he saw her shiver. “Even if it means your precious Vigilance Committee?”

The blood leeched from her face. “You wouldn’t,” she whispered, her words laced with shock. “Y-you agreed, and it’s the decent thing to do.”

He moved in, fists clenched and a nerve twitching in his cheek. “No, Cait, the decent thing to do is to forgive the past and admit you’re in love with me.”

Her legs faltered before steel appeared to fuse in her spine. “That’s your price, then?”

He stared, his jaw as rigid as his pride. She loved him, she wanted him, but she wouldn’t have him because of God? Outrage like he’d never known singed his very soul. “It is.”

She winced as if she’d been struck, pain contorting her face while she listed against the wrought-iron chaise. Firelight flickered across her beautiful features, illuminating myriad feelings that tore at his heart. Shock, fear, fury, resolve . . . and sorrow. The same sorrow he saw in himself, a man of missed opportunities. The flames spit and popped behind him, as if portending a fiery future that would ravage both him and the woman he loved.

He watched as the anger slowly siphoned from her body, softening her features, welling in her eyes, and he was reminded once again what a rare woman she was. Prone to gentleness rather than anger, giving rather than taking, others rather than self. Despite the fact he would rob her of something so dear, her eyes bore no retribution or blame, only a sadness that seemed to personify Caitlyn McClare where he was concerned.

“Then it’s too high,” she whispered, the trace of a tear glazing her cheek as she placed his ring on the chaise. She turned away, her voice a broken whisper that prophesied their doom. “Even for my precious Vigilance Committee.”