Love at Any Cost (26 page)

“How is your sister?” she whispered, suddenly shy with this man with whom she'd shared the most intimate of kisses.

He spun around, eyes caressing head to toe in a single glance that warmed both her cheeks and her belly. “S-she's . . . fine,” he stuttered, oddly ill at ease for a man so prone to confidence. He closed his mouth, its compression almost imperceptible.

Almost.

Cassie took a step forward. “Are you . . . sure?” she asked, prickles of concern nettling.

His mouth twisted into a tight smile. “Sure, Cass, if one can be considered ‘all right' writhing in pain day in and day out.” His clipped tone stung before he turned away to knead the bridge of his nose, shoulders rising with a heavy inhale. “I'm sorry,” he whispered. “I don't mean to take it out on you, truly. It's just that . . . ,” he turned to face her, his trademark sparkle painfully
absent, “I can't stand to see her suffer any longer,” he said with a bitterness she'd not heard before. “And I need to do everything in my power to stop it.”

Her heart squeezed, his pain becoming her own. “Jamie, I'm so sorry,” she whispered, her approach hesitant. “Would you like to pray—”

“No!” Shock fused her to the spot at the violence of his tone. Ruddy color mottled his face as a tic pulsed in his neck, muscles taut as if to contain a temper. “No, thank you,” he said in a strained voice that came off curt. “I don't need charity from anyone, especially a God with a deaf ear.”

“Oh, Jamie, no—” She started toward him.

He paralyzed her with a look. “No, Cass, I don't want to hear any defense of your God.”

His words snatched the air from her lungs. “He's your God too, Jamie,” she whispered, voice hoarse as she moved in close, stopping mere feet away. “If only you'd give him a chance.”

She flinched when he stabbed a finger in the air. “I
gave
him a chance,” he hissed, “and guess what? My sister is
still
in agony.” His jaw flickered as he stared, hands taut on his hips. He shook his head, gaze shifting to the carpet. “It's not going to work,” he whispered.

The blood iced in her veins. “What's not?” she breathed.

He avoided her eyes while a nerve pulsed in his temple. “God . . . this . . .” His Adam's apple jerked in his throat. “Us.”

The blood seeped from her brain, making her more lightheaded than the summer she'd passed out in that Texas heat wave when people and cattle were dropping like flies. “What?” Her voice was a shallow whisper, her next words barely audible. “But, why?”

Seconds passed before he looked up, and when he did grief glazed his eyes. “Because it's really quite simple, Cass,” he said quietly. “I can't meet term number four.”

The memory of her courtship conditions swirled in her brain, making her dizzy, and her eyelids fluttered closed as she swayed on her feet. Not the euphoric “dizzy” of Jamie's kisses. Oh no, this was a white-blinding dizzy that forced cold sweat to bead on her brow
. “Because I need to know, Jamie, . . . that if we become one as man and wife, we'll also be one in our faith.”

“I'm sorry, Cass—I know this is a shock . . .”

Shock? No, this is a total broadside.
Bile crawled in her throat while fear sank to the pit of her stomach, cramping into nausea, spinning the room.
Oh, God, no, please—not again . . .

He caught her the moment her knees buckled, sweeping her up in his arms to lay her on a white wicker couch amid myriad palms. “Cass, forgive me, please . . . ,” he whispered, his voice as far away as the feel of his fingers as they tenderly buffed her arms, stroked her face. Her mind and her body seemed to be whirling, an eddy of stun and stupor and pain that threatened to dispel the contents of her stomach as thoroughly as his words had disgorged the joy in her heart.

He had befriended and bewitched her, then pursued and pleaded until he had won her heart.
“I've never wanted any woman like I want you,”
he'd said, and now that he had her, he was throwing it all away. Throwing
her
away.

Just like Mark.

Her breathing was raspy and shallow as she struggled to sit up, eyelids flickering open to face a man she never wanted to love, a man who'd badgered and broken her defenses until she was wholly his. An icy cold slithered through her body. Only she wasn't, and never would be . . .

He squatted before her, voice urgent as he massaged her hand, the same pain etched in his face that she felt in her gut. “Cassie, I wish there was some way I could tell you how sorry I am.”

Sorry. He was sorry.
Fury rose within like a sleeping giant, sloughing off the hurt and betrayal and sick feeling inside. She would
not
let a man do this to her again, she would not! He may have stolen her heart, but he would never,
ever
rob her of her pride.

Tears pricked, but she refused to let them fall, rising up on the couch with battle in her bones. Meeting his gaze with a steady one of her own, she slowly slipped her hand from his and rose, legs wavering, but resolve firm. “Oh, but there is, Jamie,” she said quietly, her voice as cool as the relationship they now shared. “You can leave me alone and never come back.”

Drawing in a deep breath, Jamie could feel the sweat at the back of his neck as he knocked on Logan's office door, dreading the need to ask his boss for a favor. Logan McClare was a self-made man at a relatively young age, parlaying a good-size inheritance into a massive fortune that wielded power on every front, be it politically, socially, or financially. The last thing Jamie wanted was to appear weak or needy in front of the one man he admired more than any other, and yet he had no choice. His sister's life was wasting away, and whatever it took, he was bent on securing a surgery that would end her pain. Whether it was asking Logan McClare to use his clout with Cooper Medical or courting Patricia Hamilton to curry the influence of her senator father, either way, Jamie would find a way. And when he did, one thing was for dead sure—it would
not
be charity. The muscles in his throat tightened as he adjusted his tie, thinking how Jess had paid for his mistake with years of pain and ridicule. Well, now it was his turn. He had no choice. His mistake, his debt. And he
would
pay for it. At any cost . . .

“Come in.” The voice was all business—brusque, no-nonsense with almost an edge.

Jamie opened the door and popped his head in, grateful Logan offered a semblance of a smile despite the piles of legal briefs on his desk. “Excuse me, sir—do you have a minute?”

Logan tossed his fountain pen on the desk and leaned back, peering at Jamie over wire-rim reading glasses that made him look more like a meek scholar than one of the city's most intimidating legal and political figures. “Sure, Mac, what can I do for you?”

Venting a slow exhale, Jamie closed the door and took a seat in one of two leather arm chairs, easing back as Logan had done to convey an air of confidence he didn't quite feel.

“The appellate brief on the Dunn case was stellar work,” Logan said, approval warm in his eyes. “You're a quick study, counselor.”

Heat ringed Jamie's collar, both from the outright compliment and the warm glow it provided, coming from a man whose respect he desperately wanted. He nodded. “Thanks, Mr. McClare—it means all the more coming from a legal mind of your caliber, sir.”

“How long have I known you, Mac?”

Jamie paused, the question taking him by surprise. “Eight years, sir, since that first day I waited on you at the Oly Club.”

Logan nodded slowly, his eyes reflective. “That's right. I remember being impressed with any kid from the streets who would work three jobs to put himself through college. You were a rare kid then, Mac, and you're a rare man now, still impressing me with your drive and hard work.” A half-smile flitted on his lips. “That said, don't you think it's time you call me Logan?”

Jamie blinked, his words stumbling. “Y-yes sir . . . if that's your preference.”

“It is, at least after business hours, which . . . ,” he squinted at an exquisite antique grandfather clock that graced his far wall,
“it's well beyond. You're Blake's and Bram's good friend and mine too.
And
unless my eyes have deceived me,” he said, smile shrewd, “I believe you're chummy with my Texas niece as well, at least until the last few weeks when we haven't seen hide nor hair of you at family dinners.”

The heat from his collar fired all the way up his neck. “Yes, sir, Cassie and I are very good friends.” He swallowed hard. “But regrettably, the Dunn case has kept me quite busy.”

“Well, don't be a stranger, Mr. MacKenna,” Logan said with a formality that indicated he'd made his point and was ready to move on. “You had something on your mind?”

“Yes, sir,” Jamie said, spine stiff. “I think you may be aware my sister sustained a hip injury at the age of two that has hindered her life.”

He nodded, concern shading eyes that studied him keenly.

“I've been saving for a surgery down the road, of course, but after a recent . . . ,” Jamie faltered, a sudden flash of fury in his throat, “
fall
. . . her pain has escalated considerably, so it's more critical than ever before that I . . . escalate the process of obtaining a surgery. I'm not sure if you're aware or not, sir, but I've spent countless hours over the last six months petitioning Cooper Medical School on her behalf.”

“To what end, Mr. MacKenna?”

Jamie fortified himself with a deep inhale. “To procure a medical procedure on a pro bono basis, which as you know, the college will periodically provide.” So intent on stating his case, he shifted to the edge of his seat, forging on before Logan could utter a word. “You see, I've done a fair amount of research on a fairly new procedure called a hip cheilotomy introduced by a Dr. John Benjamin Murphy of Mercy Hospital in Chicago. Surprisingly, it's a relatively simple surgery to alleviate pain in damaged hip
joints such as my sister's. Consequently, I've left no stone unturned in attempting to secure such a surgery for Jess.”

Logan nodded. “Yes, I've heard of it. I understand they've met with good success.”

“They have, sir, based on my research, which is why I've been relentless in pursuing this course of action for my sister.” The walls of his throat thickened. “My sister's lived with pain all of her life, and although she's been some better recently, she had an accident over the Fourth that jarred her hip and left her bedridden much of the time.” He swallowed hard, working to keep his tone calm and his emotions in check. “Of course Jess is the type of person who bears it all without a single complaint, but to be honest, sir, I don't know how much longer I can.”

A muscle flickered in Logan's jaw and he nodded. “I understand. And you've exhausted all avenues, I suppose—letters of recommendation, medical contacts, political contacts?”

“Yes, sir, all dead ends except for one I'm still pursuing,” Jamie said quickly, hoping Logan's curiosity would not venture into Jamie's plan to court Patricia.

“I see.” Logan retrieved his pen to absently twirl it, jaw taut as he considered Jamie's problem. He finally heaved a weighty sigh and placed the pen down, fingers resting on the arms of his chair. “I do have an old fraternity brother on the funding committee for Cooper, but—” he glanced up with regret in his eyes—“unfortunately we butted heads in college over a girl and haven't spoken since. Also the surgery wait list is long and the opportunities, few, so I don't want to get your hopes up, but . . .”

With a tight nod, Jamie waited, the air fused to his lungs.

Pausing for several seconds, Logan glanced up over his specs, the barest of smiles curving on lips clamped tight. “I'll see what he can do, Jamie, but I can't guarantee anything.”

Euphoria exploded in his veins, and he jumped to his feet with a grin, hand extended. “I understand, sir, and I can't thank you enough for your willingness to try.”

Gray eyes capable of being as cold and tough as pewter when battling in a courtroom now glinted with a hint of affection that warmed Jamie's soul. “My pleasure, Jamie. As inseparable as you, Bram, and Blake are, I think of you as family.”

More heat braised his cheeks, and he nodded.
Oh, that I were . . .
“Thank you, sir. Good night.” He turned to go.

“Jamie.” Logan's words halted him at the door.

“Yes, sir?”

Empathy radiated from the older man's eyes that Jamie hadn't expected from someone so skilled at guarding his emotions. “I'm sorry about your sister, son,” he said quietly, “and for what it's worth, if she's a tenth the fighter her brother is, she's gonna lick this thing.”