Love at Any Cost (38 page)

No!
Cassie's lips clamped down on the word she wanted to spit in Mark Chancellor's face as he gave a slight bow, nearly a head taller than every other man dancing at the Bluebonnet Ball. He was dressed in a stylish gray sack suit that deepened the blue of his eyes. His gaze flitted from her to her partner. She hadn't wanted to come to the ball in the first place, but her parents had badgered until she'd accepted Zane's invitation, not to mention White Deer and Morning Dove insisting she needed to give Mark some of his own. But at this particular moment, she didn't want to give Mark Chancellor anything except distance. Staring hard at Zane Carter, she forced a tight smile she hoped would convey her thoughts loud and clear.
No, no, no!

Zane offered Mark a stiff nod and to Cassie's horror, turned her over to the man who had ripped her heart out and stomped on it for good measure. The sound of “Ain't Dat a Shame” drifted through the crowded ballroom of Humble's most prestigious hotel, and Cassie couldn't agree more as Mark whirled her away.
So much for mind reading
 . . .

“Tell me, Cass,” Mark whispered, his voice husky as the scent of Bay Rum stirred sour memories. “Were you always this beautiful, or is it just absence making the heart grow fonder?”

Cassie pursed a smile. “Nope, pretty sure you can rule out the absence theory.”

He chuckled, blue eyes sparkling. “Nobody bottom-lines it like Cassidy McClare.” He spun her around, eyes suddenly serious. “I've missed you, Cass—I was a fool to let you go.”

Her smile was painfully polite. “Well, at least we agree on something.”

The impossibly blue eyes went into hypnotic mode, a shuttered gaze that had always tumbled her stomach. “Trust me—I won't make that mistake again.”

Sealing her eyelids, she held her breath and waited for the flutter sensation he always evoked.
One second . . . two seconds . . . three seconds . . . nothing!
The air whooshed from her lungs in blatant relief. Her lashes flipped up with a patient smile. “I know, and neither will I.”

His smile never faltered as he nodded to an arched opening at the far end of the room that led to a garden she knew all too well. “How 'bout some fresh air? We need to talk—about us.”

She released a weary sigh. “Mark, we have nothing to say to each other, and if memory serves, there is no ‘us.' Now, if you'll excuse me—” Turning on her heel, she left him—and his sagging jaw—on the ballroom floor, the feeling of payback surprisingly flat. She threaded her way through the crowd to the ladies' room, stopping short at the sound of a voice.

“Cassie?”

She turned. Zane ambled forward with a grim smile. “I owe you an apology, it seems. I would have never turned you over to that dandy had I known. Your parents just informed me Mark was the man who broke your heart.” His gaze was gentle. “Will you forgive me?”

She stared, his words suddenly registering.
The man who broke my heart.
Water welled in her eyes.
No, you're mistaken—he's still in San Francisco.
She gave him a wobbly smile. “Of course I forgive you, Zane, and I was bound to run into him sooner or later, so no apology needed.”

He shifted as if her sudden blur of tears made him uncomfortable.
“Cass, if you'd like to go home, I'd be happy to take you.” His tender smile confirmed he'd like nothing more. “If being here gives you bad memories, I say we hightail it to the ranch to make new ones, maybe with a game of pinochle?” His eyes twinkled. “You know, just to see if I can actually win?”

She chuckled, dispelling her melancholy somewhat. “I'd like that, Zane.”

He twined his fingers in hers, and his look didn't bode well for a woman not high on romance. “I'll tell your parents we're leaving, then meet you in the lobby.” He squeezed her hand. “I care for you, Cass, and I'd like to help chase your heartbreak away . . . if you'll let me.”

If I'd let him.
She released a quiet sigh, assessing Zane Carter through wary eyes. He was a good man who was helping her father reclaim his fortune, and she knew her parents liked him. His faith in God was strong, and deep down, she sensed she could trust him. With a smile and a quiet nod, she turned to enter the ladies' room, thoughts of Christmas foremost on her mind. The question wasn't trusting Zane Carter to help her get past the heartbreak of Jamie. Her heart fisted. No, the question was—could she trust herself?

 31 

S
wallowing 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.”