Love at Any Cost (21 page)

“Yeah . . . ,” he said, his whisper little more than a rasp. He skimmed her arms with his palms, throat convulsing as his gaze strayed to her lips. “I'm in love with a pool hustler . . .”

Her stomach swooped when he lowered his head. “Whoa . . . back off, City Boy!” Cue stick in hand, she slapped it and two hands to his chest, effectively halting his approach. “We agreed to be friends, MacKenna, so get that starry-eyed look off your face right now.”

He ducked away from the cue with a scowl. “
You
agreed to be friends, Cass, not me,” he groused, “and putting my eye out will serve no purpose whatsoever.”

“Oh, I don't know.” She prodded him back with the stick, smudging his white shirt with blue chalk. “It might just get that lecherous look out of your eye.”

Palms raised in self-defense, he softened his stance. “Okay, okay—point taken, Miss McClare.” He brushed the chalk from his shirt. “Have a heart, will you, Cass? I'm just looking to learn some trick shots, not get gouged to death.”

“Trick shots, my eye—trick moves is more like it.”

“Okay, I'm sorry,” he said with a heavy blast of air. “Just teach me the shot, okay?”

“No.” She hoisted her chin. “You lost that privilege when you stepped over the line.”

He rolled his shirtsleeves with an endearing smile that tripped her heart.
And most women's, no doubt.
“Come on, Cass, once more, please? As a friend? Just teach me the shot?”

She folded her arms, cue safely tucked within. “On one condition,” she said, tone curt.

“Anything.” The dimples almost twinkled.

She narrowed her eyes. “You keep your hands to yourself, Jamie MacKenna, or so help me, you'll be tweezing splinters from this cue instead of brushing off chalk. Is that understood?”

Ambling over to rack the balls once again, he actually had the nerve to salute her, his smile ramping up to adorable. “Yes, ma'am—hands to myself. Got it.”

She fought the twitch of a smile with a loud huff and shrugged several times to loosen her shoulders before hunching over the table to take aim once again. He returned to hover mode and she tried to ignore him, squinting hard to mentally gauge the shot. The stick slid through her fingers as if they were greased.
Nice and easy, Daddy always said, like a pig slipping through slop.
On the final pull, she felt the wisp of something warm on her neck, and she squealed, stick and balls flying when she realized it was Jamie's lips. She whirled around, the heart in her throat effectively sealing both her air and her voice.

He winced, giving her a mischievous grin. “Uh, rather not learn that move if you don't mind, Cass—not exactly the one I'm looking for.”

“Oh, really? Well, how 'bout this one, MacKenna?” she said with a purse of her lips, kneeing his left thigh so hard, his grin twisted into a groan.

“Hey, that hurt!” he said, his chuckle threaded with pain. “And from now on, this left thigh is officially off limits, Miss McClare.”

“So is my neck, you . . . you . . . wolf!” She swiped at where he'd kissed her, ignoring the shiver that raced at the thought of his lips on her skin. Hands trembling, she folded her arms,
indignant he was making this difficult. “I told you to keep your hands to yourself—”

“Ah-hah!” he said with an annoying wag of his finger. “Yes, but nothing was said about lips, Miss McClare, and as a lawyer, I'm obliged to follow the letter of the law, so no hands were involved, I assure you.” Playful eyes roved the length of her before braising her cheeks with a wink. “Although it wasn't easy, Cowgirl, I can tell you that.”

She stomped her foot, noting with satisfaction that he took a quick step back. “Friends do not nibble on friends' necks, Jamie MacKenna, and if you persist in this, we will
not
be friends.”

He laughed and loosened his tie, hazel eyes a glimmer as he moved in close. “My thoughts exactly,” he said softly, skimming gentle hands down her arms to effectively cage her in. His smile faded to serious, and the desire in his eyes warmed in her belly. “I already told you, Cass, I don't want to be your friend,” he whispered. “I want more.”

“Jamie—”

“No, listen to me, please—just for a moment?” His voice pulsed with an intensity that halted her while his fingers tunneled into her hair to cradle her head. “I'm falling in love with you, Cassie, and there's no amount of pretending that can change that. I want to court you, so teach me,” he whispered, grazing her cheeks with his thumbs, “not just pool shots, but about faith. Let me see God through your eyes, feel him through your love.” A nerve flickered in the firm line of a jaw that sported just a hint of dark shadow, and his eyes seemed to possess her, so gentle and yet so strong. He bent to brush her brow with his lips and her eyes drifted closed, the very sensation heating her skin. “Because I want you, Cass, and everything you have to offer.”

Time stood still as he caressed each eyelid with his mouth,
weakening her will as much as her knees.
Oh, Jamie . . .
Her eyes jerked open for a brief moment when his lips found hers, only to flutter closed again when he nuzzled with a tenderness that all but melted her in his arms. Stomach quivering, she opened her eyes to the man who was stealing her heart despite her best efforts.
Oh, Lord . . .

“Give me a chance, Cass,” he said quietly, his very touch a kiss as the warmth of his fingers feathered her face. “Teach me to need him like you do.” His gaze dropped to her lips for a shiver of a second before returning to her eyes. “And if he answers the prayer I'm praying right now, you have my word—I will believe . . .”

She swallowed the trepidation coating her throat, his words on The Palace veranda haunting her mind.
“I've done just fine up until now, Cowgirl. I don't need him.”

Oh, Lord, but he does!
A wispy sigh wavered from her lips as she cupped a hand to his face, the touch of his emerging beard pricking her palm as much as his eyes pricked her soul.
Help me, God—is this what you want me to do?
She studied the perfectly sculpted face of a man too handsome to be trusted, the bristled jaw of a rogue used to getting his own way, and knew it was a risk to fall in love with Jamie MacKenna. But then it was too late, she suspected, because she was already halfway there, shifting the danger of risk from that of her own heart to the loss of his soul. Drawing in a fortifying breath she gave him a tremulous smile, knowing there could be only one way she could give her consent. “All right, Jamie,” she whispered.

His trademark grin curved on his lips. “You'll give me a chance? To court you?”

“Partially.” She drew in a shaky breath. “I'll consider courtship if you can oblige by the rules of friendship first, sort of a pre-courtship trial, if you will. But . . . the terms will be mine.”

His slow exhale feathered her face. “Name 'em, Cass—whatever you say.” A boyish smile broke free as he leaned in to attempt a kiss.

He grunted when she halted his approach with palms flat to his chest. “Term number one, Mr. MacKenna—no kissing.”

The blood leeched from his face. “What?”

She bit back a smile. “And let me be clear since you've been known to bend the rules.” She stepped beyond his reach and crossed her arms, her resolve as focused as if she were playing a high-stakes match. “That means no kissing of any kind—not on my lips, my ears, or my neck—is that clear?”

“B-but—”

“Term number two,” she continued, ignoring the gape of his mouth. “This friendship will remain a friendship until I deem it to be more, at which point, I will agree to courtship. Which means, Mr. MacKenna, until then, you will keep your hands to yourself, is that understood?”

“That is not my idea of a courtship,” he said with a gum of his lips.

“Nonetheless, it's the only courtship you're being offered—take it or leave it.”

She heard the distinct grinding of a jaw as he glared. “You're being ridiculous, Cass. So I can't hug you or hold your hand or show any affection?”

Arms folded, she assessed him through cautious eyes, a finger to her cheek while the others rested at her lips, contemplating the ramifications of allowing Jamie MacKenna any liberties at all. She blew out a noisy sigh. “Oh, all right . . . hugs and hand-holding only, but if you so much as step over the—”

“What else?” he snapped, obviously no patience for threats.

Squirming beneath his dagger stare, she turned to make her
way to the loveseat, where she perched on the edge, her hands folded. “What service do you attend?”

“Pardon me?” The deep ridge above his nose told her she was pressing her luck.

“With your family—what church service do you attend, and what time?”

He stared, with a sag of his jaw, hand parked on one hip. “St. Mary's, nine o'clock, why?”

She clamped her lip to stave off a smile. “Wonderful! We attend St. Patrick's at eleven, so that should be perfect.”

“For-what?” he bit out, the tic in his cheek keeping time with the one in his eye.

“Why, to join us, of course, after you take your mother and sister home.”

She could almost hear his jaw drop. “Wait a minute—you expect me to go to church
twice
every Sunday?”

She nodded. “It's term number three. As a show of faith, of course.”

“You can't be serious.”

“Completely,” she said with a tilt of her head. “The question is, Jamie—are you?”

He huffed out a sigh and turned away, gouging the back of his neck. She watched his broad shoulders rise and fall before he put a hand to his head to knead at his temple. “Yes,” he whispered, the sound almost a hiss.

“Good, then we'll meet you in the vestibule.” She paused, chewing at the edge of her lip. “And then there's only one more thing—”

He spun around. “Blue blazes, there's more?”

She gave him a sweet smile. “Term number four. In addition to the times that you're normally here, I'd like to see you another night a week on the day of your choice.”

He exhaled, the tension in his face visibly relaxed. “Finally, something I can enjoy.”

“Oh, you will—
Pilgrim's Progress
is a wonderful read! Can't wait to discuss it.”

The tic was back in his jaw. “You're not making this easy, Cass.”

She sucked in a deep draw of air and rose, approaching him with a sober look in her eyes. “No, Jamie, I'm not, because trusting you or any man is not easy for
me
. You're asking me to trust you with my heart, but first I have to learn to trust you mean what you say, that courting me is not just some frivolous whim to win over one of the few females who probably ever turned you away.” Holding his gaze with her own, she gently squeezed his hand. “I need to know that your desire to win me is greater than your desire to have me, and that I can trust you to do what I ask. Because, Jamie . . .” She placed a gentle palm to his jaw, allowing the love she felt to glow in her eyes. “I have to be sure . . . ,” her voice faded to soft, “that if we become one as man and wife, we'll also be one in our faith.”

A knot shifted in his throat and he gave a stiff nod, turning his head to kiss her palm. He tugged her close, resting his head against hers. “I want you, Cass, so I have no choice.” He pulled away, lips veering into a wry smile. “But I'm going to tell you right now it won't be easy.” His gaze flicked to her lips and back with a hard swallow. “Because I want to kiss you so badly, it hurts.” He stepped back with a hard exhale, turning to retrieve his coat from the chair. He slipped it on with an off-kilter smile that seemed as flat as his mood. “Which is why I'm going home. Good night.”

She blinked, suddenly bereft at the thought of him walking out the door. She took a step forward, a hopeful lilt to her voice as she picked at her nails. “You're leaving already? But don't you want to learn that trick shot on how to break?”

Hand on the knob, he delivered a grim smile over his shoulder. “Sorry, Cass, but I've already learned enough for tonight.” He gave her the same salute he'd given earlier, only this one lacked the humor of before. His smile took a hard slant. “
Especially
how to break.”

 18 

W
hat are you doing here?” Bram asked when Jamie slid on the barstool next to his.

Ignoring him, Jamie signaled Duffy for a drink, then shook his head when the bartender ambled forward with a Dr Pepper in hand. “Not tonight, Duff—I need the hard stuff.”
And bad
, if the spasm in his cheek was any indication. He mumbled his thanks while Duffy poured him a whiskey, grateful the house was jumping tonight. He needed the familiar distraction of the cozy gambling hall that had become a second home since Duffy'd hired him years ago. All of it—the raucous laughter of crowded gambling tables, the snappy sounds of a ragtime band, the comforting smell of Duffy's pot roast mingling with that of bourbon and beer and the intoxicating scent of perfume. And women. Oh, yeah—lots and lots of pretty women to dance with, flirt with, and take your mind off whatever you wanted to forget, and he certainly needed to. He slammed the shot of whiskey to the back of his throat. Forget that his heart had just been hog-tied by a Texas beauty who intended to keep him on a short rope.

“Uh-oh . . . whiskey instead of soda pop?” Bram drew air through clenched teeth, shaking his head. “Don't tell me an innocent cowgirl fleeced Oly's billiard champ two years running?”

“You have no idea,” Jamie said with a grunt. He slapped the empty glass on the bar and shoved it toward his boss, enjoying the burn that crawled all the way to his belly. “Another.”

“Hey, slow down, Mac, or you'll drink your paycheck afore you earn it,” the owner said with a chuckle. He poured more whiskey with a wink. “'Course, you can always earn your keep on this side of the bar in that fancy suit, making the ladies thirsty.”

Jamie bolted his drink and grabbed the bottle with a scowl. “Leave it, Duff, and then leave me alone, will ya? It's my night off, so I'll spend it the way I want.”

“Apparently not,” Bram said with a worried smile, his gaze drilling into Jamie's temple. “Don't tell me the indomitable Jamie MacKenna struck out with a girl?”

“I should be so lucky,” he muttered, staring at the glass in his hands. Huffing a sigh, he waited for the whiskey to calm his nerves. “So, where's Logan and Blake?”

“Logan had one drink and went back to his Palace penthouse, which is good because his mood wasn't much better than yours.” Bram nodded at the roulette wheel across the room where Blake was flirting with the girl manning the table. “The ‘Rake' has been working on Duffy's new dealer since we got here.” He took a swig of his ginger ale, a grin tipping his lips. “Swears he's in love.”

“Again?” Jamie poured more whiskey down his throat, the biting taste finally glazing his mood as well as his mind. “Hang it all, I wish I could fall in and out of love that easily.”
Unbeholden to a woman.
He stared at the amber liquid in his glass, willing it to numb his brain to the fact that he was no longer in control with Cassidy McClare. Oh, no, she was calling the shots, and he hated that his hands were tied as thoroughly as those blasted steers she lassoed and broke, all trussed up until they couldn't move.

Just like him.

Bram cuffed his shoulder. “No, you don't, Mac. Blake has Logan's blood in his veins, so he's not looking to settle down for a good long while, but you? You're looking for that one woman who can turn your head, your heart, and your fortune, remember?”

“Yeah, I remember,” he said, taking another drink. “Although tonight I'm looking to forget.” He closed his eyes to knead the headache searing his temple—the one branded in the flesh by Cassidy McClare. He'd been in control of his own life since the age of twelve, holding the reins, making his own decisions, in charge of his own destiny—until now. He upended his glass.

“So, what happened, Mac?” Bram asked quietly. “I haven't seen you touch the hard stuff since Jess got really sick two years ago.”

Jamie slammed his glass on the bar. “Cassie said I could court her.” He gouged the bridge of his nose. “If you can call it that.”

The concern in Bram's eyes creased into a smile. “That's great, Mac.”

“Yeah, you'd think so, wouldn't you? Only it doesn't feel so great right about now.” Hunched over his whiskey in a near stupor, Jamie twiddled the glass in his hands.

“Well, well . . .” Blake strolled up and glanced at his watch, giving Jamie an “I told you so” grin. “He thumped his fist on the bar to get Duffy's attention, indicating a need for another glass. “Looks like a McClare has redeemed our pride at last.” He grabbed the shot glass Duffy slid his way and poured himself a drink, hoisting it in the air. “Because you guzzling the hard stuff can only mean one thing, Mac—ol' Cousin Cass has put you in your place in more ways than one.”

Sliding Blake a sour smile, Jamie snatched the bottle back to tip more solace. “Not completely,” he said with a grimace. “Although she did clobber me at pool just like you said.”

Hip to the bar, Blake studied Jamie with an annoying grin, eyes twinkling like the whiskey in his glass. “And your harebrained notion to court her?”

Jamie knocked back another shot. “Let's just say she got her licks in before she said yes.”

Blake stood up straight, surprise curling his lips. “No kidding? Sweet little Cassie, my brokenhearted cousin who'd just as soon shoot a man as look at him?
She
said yes?” He slapped Jamie on the back. “Well, good for you, Mac—Cass is just the girl to keep you in line.”

“No joke,” he groused, no patience for Blake's banter. “And trust me, it's a tight rope.”

“And why's that?” Bram asked, shifting on the leather stool to face Jamie head-on, his glass as empty as Jamie's enthusiasm for a courtship where his hands were tied behind his back.

Exhaling, Jamie gouged his temple. “There are Texas-sized conditions to this courtship, I'm afraid, and every last one of them carries the jolt of being bucked by a longhorn steer.”

“Yeah? Like what?” Blake asked, emptying his drink in one long swallow.

Jamie's chuckle was a half grunt. “Like a trial friendship on her terms where I attend church twice on Sundays, a weekly study on some book called
Pilgrim's
something or other, and the biggest burr in my backside?” He slashed fingers through Brilliantine hair that riled curls till they stood up on end. “I can't touch or kiss the woman except for hugs or holding her hand.”

Blake let fly with a low whistle. “Jamie MacKenna—hog-tied by a girl. Never thought I'd see the day.” He grinned. “Well, good for Cass, but I don't think you can do it.”

“Oh, I'll do it, all right,” Jamie said. “I just don't have to like it.”

“I'm not worried about the physical part,” Bram said. “Blake
and I both know you can do that. You're a rock when it comes to willpower, Mac, in the ring or with women.”

Blake raised his glass in a salute. “I'll drink to that.”

Bram propped an elbow on the bar, studying his best friend through a squint. “It's the spiritual aspect that concerns me. I thought your goose was cooked when you told Cass you didn't believe in God, and now suddenly you do?”

“Nope,” Jamie said with a swig of whiskey, “but she doesn't have to know that.” He turned to give Bram a stale grin. “Besides, you're going to help me.”

“Me?” Bram's brows pinched low. “How?”

“Of the three of us, you're the devout one here, Hughes, so I figured you could just fill me in on some of that religious mumbo jumbo since your uncle was a priest and all.”

“Uh-oh . . .” Blake banged his glass on the bar and slapped Jamie on the back. “That's my cue to visit the roulette table.” He winked at Bram. “Definitely not drunk enough for any of your sermonizing tonight, Padre. Good luck, Mac,” he said with a grin over his shoulder. “The McClare women tend to be on the spiritual side, so if I were you, I'd drink up now.”

Blake left, leaving Bram's mouth in a sag. “Do I really sermonize?” he asked, tone hurt.

Jamie grinned. “Only to guys like Blake who see a limit of one beer as a sermon.” He vented with a sigh, his humor depleting along with his sobriety. “So, you gonna help me or not?”

Bram studied him with concern. “You can't fake faith in God, Jamie,” he said quietly.

“Sure you can.” Resolved hardened his gaze. “Cassie is the woman I want to marry, so I'm not about to let God stand in the way.” He angled a brow. “She wants a man with faith?” He tossed the last of his whiskey down his throat. “I'll give her a man with faith.”

“Yeah, but the thing is, Mac,” Bram said slowly, gaze as sharp as the guilt that prickled Jamie's gut, “you actually
won't
be giving her that, and I'm not sure that's fair to Cassie. Even so, Cassie's as down-home and bottom line as you get, so she's going to see right through you.”

“Not if you're a good teacher.” Jamie peered up beneath leaden lids, grateful for the strong and stable influence of a friend like Bram—a man with a quiet faith that didn't judge Jamie or anyone, for that matter. In the seven years they'd been friends, Jamie had come to respect Bram and the unruffled morality that governed his life. Unlike Blake—and Jamie at the moment—he wasn't prone to overindulgence with women or whiskey. Ginger ale and an easy, open manner were his hallmarks. Gratitude swelled in Jamie's chest. And an honest and true relationship that felt more like blood than friendship. A grin tipped his mouth. “Besides,” he said with a slap of Bram's back, “If God's a friend of yours, Hughes, he's a friend of mine.”

Bram shook his head, waving Jamie off when he offered a drink from his bottle. “Oh, you can put your money on that, Mac. The sad thing is he always has been—you just haven't seen it for that monumental grudge slowing you down.”

“A grudge? Slowing me down?” Jamie poured another whiskey and held it aloft in a toast. “There's not a lady or boxer in San Francisco that would agree with that, my friend.”

Bram slipped a couple of bills from his wallet and rose with a patient smile. “Maybe not, MacKenna, but that devil of a headache you're gonna have come morning?” He tossed payment for the bottle onto the bar. “Trust me, it doesn't get any slower than lying flat on your face.”

“Oh, I just love fireworks.” Cassie's bare toes wiggled beneath her white eyelet dress, hands propped behind her head next to Alli on a blanket sprawled on Uncle Logan's lush Napa lawn. Her uncle's laughter drifted from his house at the top of the hill where he sat with Aunt Cait and Father Harry on a curved stone terrace overlooking miles of neighboring vineyards. Bougainvillea spilled from pots on a rock wall, lending splashes of pink that matched the color of the sky bleeding on the horizon. Cassie breathed in the flinty smell of sulphur and gunpowder from the firecrackers shot off after dinner while dusk settled on the valley with an ethereal glow.

“Me too,” Allie said, fireflies flitting over Uncle Logan's terraced backyard dotted with blankets and people. Smoke hung in the air like an acrid perfume mingling with the fragrance of rose bushes heavy with bloom, embedding the scent of Napa into Cassie's brain.