31 

Swallowing a knot the size of the brass door knob under his hand, Jamie stared for several moments at the frosted pane of McClare, Rupert and Byington, then opened the door. The ever-pleasant Miss Peabody looked up, and he stifled a grin when the whites of her eyes expanded. Offering a sheepish smile, he greeted her in the same cheerful tone he had for the last five months, hoping it would disarm her enough not to throw him out on his ear. Heat ringed his high-necked collar. Which is exactly what he deserved after his deplorable behavior two weeks ago. Hat in hand, he squared his shoulders. “Good afternoon, Miss Peabody, I trust you’re well?”

The swift rise to her feet was comical, her face nearly the color of her crisp, white shirtwaist while she stuttered a response. “Mr. M-MacKenna—Mr. M-McClare’s not in—”

Covering his embarrassment with an awkward smile, he glanced at his watch, then fiddled with the brim of his Homburg while he kept a polite distance. “If it’s not a problem, Miss Peabody, I’d like to wait.” Her pause was decidedly suspicious, and more heat inched up the back of his neck. “To apologize, of course.”

There was an almost audible release of air from her lips before a smile finally broke through. “Certainly, Mr. MacKenna, I expect him any moment, and you’re welcome to wait.”

“Thank you,” he said with a slow exhale, “I appreciate that.” He paused. “If Mr. Hughes is in and it’s all right with you, I’d like to pop in to say hello.”

Her face eased into a genuine smile. “By all means. Mr. Hughes will be delighted to see you.” She paused, a hint of pink toasting her cheeks. “It’s not the same without you, you know.”

The tension in his neck and shoulders relaxed. He grinned. “Better, I presume?”

Her chuckle warmed his spirits. “Only when the steam is coming from the teapot in the back room, sir, instead of your head.”

He cleared his throat, suddenly too warm in his charcoal gray suit. “Yes, well, about my outburst, Miss Peabody, I . . . well, I’m sorry for barging in and treating you so poorly—it was rude, and I apologize.”

“Apology accepted, Mr. MacKenna, as I imagine it will be with Mr. McClare as well.” Her kind tone diminished the strain in his face. “I’ll let you know when he’s returned.”

Jamie flashed a grateful smile. “Thank you. I’ll be in Bram’s office, no doubt disrupting his nap.” He breathed in a deep swallow of air while her laughter followed down the hall, grateful most of the partners’ doors were closed and Blake was on the phone. Easing Bram’s cracked door open, he cocked a hip to the doorjamb and folded his arms. A wry smile tipped at Bram stretched in his chair with eyes closed and arms crossed, legs propped on his desk. Jamie cleared his throat. “And Miss Peabody thought I was joking about disrupting your nap.”

Bram jerked in the chair before giving him a lazy grin. “Go ahead—begrudge me the only sleep I’ve had in twenty-four hours.”

Chuckling, Jamie closed the door and strolled in, plopping in a chair before tossing his hat on the desk. He hiked his legs up like Bram, arms braced to his neck. “The Miller case?”

“Yeah, the family feud that will not die.” He squinted at Jamie, smile waning. “Everything okay with Jess? Logan said you took time off to spend at the hospital.”

Jamie paused, eyes in a squint. “You mean he didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?” Concern wedged at the bridge of Bram’s nose.

A shudder of air drifted from Jamie’s lips as he studied his best friend, wondering why Logan hadn’t told him Jamie was gone. Had Logan assumed he’d be back, tail between his legs? He sucked in a heavy dose of air to quell the irritation that rose and released it, gaze fused to Bram’s. “I quit . . . the day of Jess’s surgery.”

“What?” Bram shot up in his chair, feet back on the ground. “Why?”

Jamie ground the upper socket of his eye with the pad of his thumb, feeling a headache coming on. “I found out something about Logan that made me blow.”

Bram stared at him, jaw distended. “So you quit your job? Just like that? That’s just plain stupid, Mac. Sure, Logan’s no choir boy, but that’s no reason—”

“He’s my father, Bram.” Although spoken quietly, the words hung heavy in the air like the slack of Bram’s mouth, his facial muscles frozen in shock. Their meaning pierced Jamie’s heart anew, and he lowered his feet to sit on the edge of the chair, shoulders slumped. He put his head in his hands while a strange mix of fury and pride roiled in his gut.

“You can’t be serious . . .” Bram’s strangled whisper broke the silence. The chair squealed as he sagged back, as if Jamie’s statement had siphoned the energy from his body along with the blood in his face. “But how? And how in the devil did you find out?”

Jamie dropped back with a heavy exhale, fingers limp over the edge of the chair. “After Jess’s surgery,” he said, his voice lifeless, “I was so euphoric over what God had done, providing Jess with a pro bono surgery despite my breakup with Patricia, that I just knew he was giving me a second chance with Cassie.” He grunted, eyes lumbering into a lost stare. “Or at least that’s what I thought.” He looked up while a nerve twittered his jaw. “Until my mother informed me of a minor detail she failed to mention over the twenty-five years of my life.” He mauled his face with his hands before dropping them on the arm of the chair. “Seems she fell in love with a law student who frequented the dance hall where she worked when she was fifteen, a real smooth talker. A rich boy who had no problem taking, but wanted no part of giving back to the illegitimate son he sired.” His voice calcified. “To think that all these years he watched me work three jobs just to get through law school, watched my mother and sister and me struggle to put food on the table.” Jamie peered up, his tone edged with disgust. “Stood by and watched while I flirted and kissed and fell in love with my own cousin.”

Bram’s face went pale, accentuating the dark stubble on his jaw. “Holy thunder—consanguinity,” he muttered, the term for blood relationship with common ancestry as shocking as the word “incest” for first cousins forbidden to marry. “Sweet saints, Mac, that never even occurred to me.”

Jamie’s gut wrenched at the mere mention of the horrific word, his blood chilling over the scandal of relatives marrying. He closed his eyes and laid his head back, throat swelling with regret that he craved a woman he would never be able to have. His mouth pressed into a grim line. And all because Logan’s blood flowed in his veins. Forbidden fruit—the taboo of such a union, the medical risks involved, the illegality in various states. Pain slashed in his chest. Not to mention it was forbidden by the Church. He fisted his fingers on the arm of the chair, his anger at Logan resurging. “When I found out, I lost my temper, something I haven’t done in years. Confronted Logan with a fist before I quit and walked out the door.” He deflated with a sigh. “But that was before I found out he was responsible for Jess’s surgery.”

“What?” Bram’s gaping ramped up. “I thought Patricia’s father influenced the vote?”

Jamie’s smile felt sculpted in stone. “He did—but against us, evidently. When I broke it off with Patricia, the senator was so angry, he threatened to kill the vote, so I was certain he would. Then I got the call that the surgery had been scheduled and just assumed he’d changed his mind. But when I probed, I learned the senator was true to his word—Jess was declined.”

“Then how—?”

Jamie peered up, tone tinged with the same shock he saw on Bram’s face. “Logan donated a wing to the hospital. Apparently I wasn’t supposed to find out, but I pried it out of some new nurse on the floor. It seems his ‘anonymous’ donation was contingent upon Jess receiving the surgery and hospital care for the rest of her life, along with my mother and me.”

Bram’s low whistle pierced the air. “Holy blazes, Mac, that’s gotta go a long way in tempering your anger.” He shook his head, slack-jawed at Jamie’s revelation. “Man alive! You—Logan’s son—talk about a high-voltage jolt.”

“Yeah, we’re talking spontaneous combustion,” Jamie said with an edge to his voice. “And trust me—I would have never darkened his door again except for what he did for Jess. Which is why I’m here today—to apologize.”

“And ask for your job back?” Bram studied him with a hopeful eye.

“No, I don’t think so. I appreciate what he’s done for Jess, but he’s never lifted a finger for me when I needed him most—as a dirty-faced kid living in the sewer of the Barbary Coast. He didn’t want any part of me growing up, and now I don’t want any part of him.”

“You’ll have to forgive him sooner or later,” Bram said, “for your sake as well as his.”

Jamie pinched the bridge of his nose. “I know, but it’s going to take a while, I’m afraid. The man denied me as his son and then abandoned my mother and me to the streets, never lifting a finger until now. And I’m sorry, Bram, but that’s just a hard thing to forgive.”

With a fold of his arms, Bram leaned back in his chair, a fist to his mouth as his eyes narrowed in thought. “You know, Mac, I wouldn’t be so all-fired sure of that,” he said slowly, face in a scrunch as if trying to remember something he’d long forgotten. His gaze connected with Jamie’s as realization dawned in his eyes. “I never thought about it before, but if you remember, it was Logan who introduced you to Blake and me at the Oly Club, wasn’t it?” A smile eased across Bram’s lips. “And if memory serves, he also encouraged Blake and me to take you under our wing at Stanford, said we should show you the ropes, if you will.”

Jamie stared, the meaning of Bram’s words crystallizing in his brain. He suddenly thought of the coveted three-year merit scholarship to Stanford he’d been awarded, established to assist needy and worthy students. The air thickened in his throat as his pulse accelerated. Was it possible Logan had used his influence there like he had at Cooper Medical?

“Mr. MacKenna?” Miss Peabody knocked on the door.

“Come in, Miss Peabody,” Bram called.

She peeked in with a tentative smile. “Mr. McClare is in and will see you now.”

Jamie released a heavy breath as he rose to his feet. “Thank you—I’m on my way.” He paused to shoot Bram a wary glance. “This is just between you and me, Bram, all right? You’re always harping about prayer, Padre,” he said with a dry smile. “Now would be a good time.”

“Count on it,” his friend said, and Jamie’s heart stalled. No, he suddenly realized, not just his friend—his cousin. Jamie swallowed hard, the affection in Bram’s gaze infusing him with the strength he needed to face his father again.

My father. Battling the sting of moisture, Jamie made his way to Logan’s office, a jumble of anger and gratitude warring in his mind. Please—give me the grace I need to forgive.

Hesitating at Logan’s door, he studied the man who stared out the window, head on the back of his chair while his arms lay motionless on its sides. The same man who’d gone out of his way to be kind to him at the Oly Club, left exorbitant tips, and suggested he contact a friend at the Blue Moon for a job. Emotion obstructed Jamie’s throat, stifling his air. The very man who’d treated him like a son since the moment he’d met him and the only man alive he’d ever revered like a father. His heart thudded as he stepped through the door. “Thank you for seeing me, sir.”

Logan spun around, looking years older than Jamie remembered, just in two weeks. Clearing his throat, he leaned forward and steepled his hands, elbows stiff on his desk. “You’re always welcome here, Jamie, you know that.” He nodded toward the chair. “Come in, sit down.”

Avoiding Logan’s gaze, Jamie obliged, closing the door before moving forward to sit, rigid in the chair just like his father.

“Bram tells me the surgery was a success,” Logan said, breaking the silence. “I’m glad.”

Jamie looked up, meeting his eyes, seeing himself in Logan’s face in ways he’d never noticed before. “Yes, sir, it was—thank you.”

Logan nodded, ruddy color braising his cheeks as he shifted in the chair. “Well, I care about you and your family, Jamie, so naturally I’d ask.”

“No, sir,” Jamie said with a firm press of his jaw. “I meant ‘thank you’ for what you did to secure the surgery for my sister.”

Paralysis claimed Logan’s features for the briefest of moments before he lowered his gaze, a muscle twitching in his cheek. “That was not for public knowledge.”

“No, sir, it wasn’t, but it was knowledge I needed to know nonetheless.” He hesitated, drawing in a bolstering breath. “In order to forgive you,” he said quietly.

His father’s gaze met his, and the glossy-eyed connection caused the pressure of tears to sting in Jamie’s nostrils. Logan cleared his throat, his voice hoarse. “I love you, son, have from the moment I realized you were mine, on the docks of Meigg’s Wharf.”

Jamie’s rib cage closed in. “On . . . the wharf? When I was . . . twelve?”

Logan nodded with a glaze of moisture that matched his son’s. “Hadn’t seen you since you were born, and like I told you before, you looked nothing like me, so I didn’t believe you were mine.” His eyes clouded, trailing into a fog. “Then one day your mother contacted me after your father died. Begged me to come, just once, she said, because one look would tell me all I needed to know.” Logan swiped at his eyes with the sleeve of his coat. “She was right, of course. I saw this scrappy, little kid who looked like I’d spit him out of my mouth, and in my heart I knew.” He looked up, his gaze locking with Jamie’s. “Knew you were mine.”

“Then why—”

“Why didn’t I claim you? Marry your mother?” A harsh laugh erupted. “Because I was selfish, Jamie. I was a thirty-one-year-old bachelor who liked my freedom and had no inclination whatsoever to settle down with a woman or a kid. Especially a woman like your mother who didn’t want the influence of someone like me in her son’s life. Oh, I made a sad attempt at doing the right thing, I suppose, but neither of us felt anything for the other and your mother saw right through me.” He grunted. “Told me flat out she only wanted one thing from me and that was for you to have a chance at an education, a chance to have the things that she couldn’t give you.”

“So the scholarship was your doing,” Jamie whispered, “not mine.”

The muscles in Logan’s face tightened as he leaned forward, fingers gripped on the edge of his desk. “Understand one thing, Jamie. My money and influence opened doors for you, no question, but it was your drive and intelligence that marked you as a cut above every other candidate vying for that scholarship. Yes, I paved the way, but you earned it, make no mistake.” Logan eased back in his chair, the sheen returning to his eyes once again. “And as God is my witness, I have never been prouder of anything or anyone more in my life.”

Emotion thickened in Jamie’s throat, but he warded it off with a press of his jaw. “A man approached me on the docks when I was sixteen, told me to come to the Oly Club and he’d give me a job.” He peered up, waiting for Logan’s response. “That was your doing as well?”

Logan exhaled and nodded, pinching the bridge of his nose as Jamie was prone to do. “Please understand—I didn’t want to just throw money at you, Jamie, like so many of the snot-nosed elite. You weren’t the kind of kid who would take to charity anyway, so I worked to find ways around it. The job at the Oly enabled me to introduce you to Blake and Bram, which in turn allowed me to spend time with you as well.” He paused, as if gauging Jamie’s reaction. “And, then, of course, I’m part owner of several establishments on the Barbary Coast.”

Jamie’s mouth dropped open. “The Blue Moon,” he whispered, almost to himself. He shook his head. “I always wondered why Duffy never batted an eye over my schedule, making allowances for me he wouldn’t do for anyone else.”

“In the beginning, yes, but it wasn’t long before he recognized your work ethic and unquestioned honesty, saw the caliber of man that you are. And I swear to this very day, Duffy thanks me every time I see him.” Logan drew in a deep breath. “The truth is, Jamie, you made the difference in your life, not me. All the money and influence in the world wouldn’t have made you the man you are today. You did that on your own, son.” He smiled. “You and your mother.”

Jamie nodded, unable to speak for the spasm in his jaw.

Body rigid, Logan leaned in. “Come back to the firm, Jamie,” he whispered, “not just because I need your legal skill, but because I need you—here—by my side.”

Muscles convulsed in Jamie’s throat. “As your son?” he asked, voice gruff.

Seconds ticked by while Logan stared, every tendon in his face as taut as his tone. “If that’s what you want.”

“And what do you want?” Jamie spit out, a flash of fury igniting his temper. “To go on as before, I suppose, doing what you do best—living a lie?”

Logan dispelled a slow exhale, his face a mask despite a flicker of pain in his eyes. “I deserved that, but no—I have my reasons for keeping silent about our relationship, but I will defer to you on this one, Jamie, you have my word.”

Twenty-five years of frustration and anger boiled over, spilling from his lips with such vehemence that Logan winced. “Your word?” Jamie said with a sneer. “And why do I feel that’s as flimsy as your reasons for keeping silent?”

The gray of Logan’s eyes glinted like polished steel, his temper going head-to-head with his son’s. “You may not respect me as your father, son, but you will respect me as your employer—is that clear?”

Jamie shot to his feet. “You’re not my employer, Mr. McClare, any more than you’re my father.” He stormed for the door.

“Jamie!”

He froze, the authority in Logan’s voice stopping him cold. “The McClare men are known for their tempers, but I’ve learned to master mine. I thought you had, too, but maybe not.”

Hand on the knob, Jamie ground his jaw so tight, he thought it might crack. He pivoted slowly, searing his father with a look that burned the walls of his eyes. “I had, but that was before I learned I was abandoned and betrayed by my father.”

A low chuckle rumbled from Logan’s chest as he canted back in his chair. “No question, the melodrama hales from the Kerrs. Sit down, Jamie, and let’s discuss this man to man.”

Heat blasted Jamie’s cheeks. The walls shook as he slammed the door hard, returning to his seat with fire in his eyes.

“Now,” Logan said with a jag of his brow, “every lawyer worth his salt knows the basic tenet of justice is both sides must be heard. That said, it would behoove you, counselor, to hear me out.” He rose and paced to the window, hands clasped behind as he stared into the street below, voice calm as if addressing a jury. “My reasons for keeping quiet are not as you suppose.”

He turned, eyeing Jamie with the same air of confidence he utilized in a courtroom, the barest wedge of sympathy in dark brows tented high. “First of all, it was your mother’s idea, not mine, to keep my paternity a secret. Granted, I was more than willing to go along in the beginning because as I said before, I was—and still am in many ways—a selfish man. But your mother made it perfectly clear she was worried that too much of my influence would insure you’d end up like me as a—and I quote—” a smile squirmed as he stared at the floor, hands clasped to his back, “ ‘a godless man about town who drinks like a fish and takes advantage of women.’ ” He peered up beneath shuttered eyes that held a hint of a twinkle. “Since you’re a man who goes to church with his mother and sister, seldom drinks, and has a mildly dangerous reputation with women that in no way can compete with his father’s, I’d say your mother exercised wisdom.”

Logan paused and drew in a loaded breath that he slowly expelled. The twinkle in his eye suddenly diminished, replaced with concern. “One of the reasons I didn’t fight her on this was the obvious—had I claimed you as my son, your mother’s privacy would have been impaired and her reputation ruined if it were known that Brian MacKenna’s son was, in fact, not only illegitimate, but not his son at all.”

Jamie’s eyes lumbered closed at the truth of Logan’s words, something he had never considered with all the anger seething inside.

“So, you see, Jamie, I didn’t make this decision lightly, I assure you, and to be honest, I now have a reason of my own as to why I prefer to keep this between us—at least for the immediate future.”

Opening his eyes, Jamie studied the man whose blood he shared. “Because I would be a burden?” he said calmly, issuing a thin smile.

“Hardly.” With a fold of his arms, Logan perched on the edge of the sill, regarding Jamie through narrow eyes. “I’m one of the richest men in the city if not the state. The truth is my so-called notorious bachelorhood has lost its appeal and family, quite frankly, has become the only thing that really matters to me anymore.” The edge of his lip lifted in the barest of smiles. “Trust me, claiming you as my son would be a joy, not a burden.”

“What, then?” Jamie asked, his curiosity piqued.

Logan rose and returned to his chair, slanting back to rest both his head and his arms. His chest rose and fell with a deep breath before he pierced Jamie with a starkly honest look devoid of all humor. “I’m in love with a woman I hope to marry, and to be truthful, she simply wouldn’t understand. I plan to tell her someday, of course, but I honestly believe if she knew now, it would ruin any chance I may have.”

Jamie blinked, totally caught off-guard by Logan’s candor. In love with a woman? Logan McClare? His mind scrambled for who it might be, suddenly realizing he knew very little about Logan’s social life. As far as Blake, he, or Bram knew, the man spent most of his time at the McClares’ with his family . . . Jamie’s heart skidded to a stop. No, it couldn’t be. His mouth dropped as he stared, never suspecting the rumors might be true. Alli always insisted her Uncle Logan had feelings for her mother that went well beyond fraternal, but Jamie, Bram, and Blake never believed it, figuring it was just Logan’s way with all women, including Caitlyn McClare. But staring at the blatant humility he saw in Logan’s eyes, Jamie knew Alli was right. He slowly shook his head, lips curving into a faint smile. “You may have to give up poker, sir.”

He smiled, relieving the tension in his face. “Among other things, but don’t think I wouldn’t consider it in a heartbeat.” His eyes sobered. “But the decision is yours, Jamie. I’ll do whatever you want.”

Jamie nodded. “I appreciate that, sir, but I think you’re right. A revelation of this nature would only hurt the people we love.”

“I agree—at least for the time being. But it’s important to me that I be a part of your life, son, as much as possible within the context of secrecy. Which means I’m asking you to come back to the firm.” He paused to draw in a deep breath. “Will you?”

Peering up, Jamie studied his father, the realization of what he shared with this man eradicating all anger for the first time, replaced instead by a sense of awe and longing. He gave a slow nod, not trusting himself to speak.

Logan’s exhale carried across the desk as he bent forward, the intensity in his eyes deepened by the respect and affection Jamie saw. “Good. Because bottom line is, son, you’re my flesh and blood and I love you. And I hope you know I would do anything to make you happy.”

Jamie thought of Cassie, and a sad smile lined his lips as he rose. “Thanks, Mr. McClare.” His voice sounded barren of hope and so very far away—just like his dreams of Cassie. “Trust me, sir—I wish that you could.”

“Jamie, it’s Logan, not Mr. McClare, and all you have to do is ask. Money is no object.”

Absently fingering the stiff felt of his hat, Jamie released a weighty sigh, fraught with regret and longing for a woman he couldn’t have. “I’m afraid money won’t fix this, sir, as much as I wish it could.” He glanced up, painfully aware Logan may well realize his dream of a union with Mrs. McClare, but Jamie would never realize his with her niece. “I’m in love with Cassie—my cousin,” he said with a somber face, “and not even you are powerful enough to change that.”

Logan blinked before a slow, languid smile spread across his face like the sun rising on a new day, his low chuckles reverberating like thunder before they rose to fill the room.

“You think this is funny?” Jamie asked, his frustration bristling all over again.

“A little.” Logan raised a palm to stall while his body shook with laughter. “It would appear we have yet another reason to keep our relationship under the hat.” He rose and circled his desk, irritating Jamie further with his all-too-casual air. “As a man who’s in love with his cousin, I suppose there is something you should know.” Smiling, he gave Jamie’s shoulders a solid grip before tapping his son’s face. “There’s not a drop of McClare blood in her veins,” he said with a crook of his mouth. “Because my brother didn’t just marry Cassie’s mother, mind you. . .” His smile eased into a grin. “But a beautiful widow with an equally beautiful little girl.”