Surprised by Love Read online

  “I swear, Hughes, you are one lucky stiff,” Jamie groused, leaning back in his chair with a fold of his arms. “But put a cue in my hand, buddy boy, and you’re dead meat.”

  “Luck doesn’t have a whole lot to do with it, Mac,” Bram said with a smile, lounging back in his chair with hands propped behind his neck. “Chess is a game of intellect, my friend.”

  “Which leaves you out in the cold, MacKenna,” Blake McClare quipped with a broad grin. His gray eyes twinkled with affection for the best friend who’d just married his cousin. Casting a quick glance at the far side of the room where his mother played cribbage with his uncle while his cousin Cassie—now Jamie’s wife—played fish with his seven-year-old sister Maddie, Blake lowered his voice. “How ’bout a quick game of poker to even the score?”

  “Awk, ante up . . . ante up . . .” A screech echoed in the parlour as the family parrot, Miss Behave, cocked her head at the trigger word “poker,” tutored by Uncle Logan long ago.

  Blake’s mother glanced over her shoulder with a faint frown, the auburn hair piled high on her head a stunning contrast to her emerald gown. “Blake Henry McClare—I do not approve of gambling in this house, and well you know it.”

  “Snitch.” Blake shot a mock glare in the direction of Miss B., who only unleashed more squawks while she danced back and forth on her perch with pinwheel eyes.

  Bram laughed. “I’ll tell you what, my friend,” he said, resetting the chessboard, “I’ll let you try and redeem Mac’s pride as long as you promise not to . . .” He paused to give Jamie a grin while he raised his voice in volume. “Cheat.”

  “Awk, Blake cheats . . . Blake cheats . . .” A grin stretched wide across Bram’s face while Jamie chuckled over the insult Alli had taught Miss B. a few years back when her brother had whipped her soundly in chess.

  Despite the grin on Blake’s face, a ruddy flush crept up his neck when his mother glanced his way again. He tapped Jamie on the shoulder so he could take his chair. “Move, Mac—apparently I have a lesson to teach this smart mouth.”

  “Awk, put your money where your mouth is . . . put your money where your mouth is . . .”

  Chuckling, Bram lined his chess pieces up. “There may be some question as to who’s the ‘smart mouth’ here, old buddy, because you gotta admit—that is one smart bird.”

  “Okay, Padre,” Blake said, employing the nickname he’d given Bram in college because of his deep faith and preference for ginger ale over alcohol. “You best say your prayers.” His gray eyes gleamed like the newly minted half dollar he slid onto the table, gaze darting to his mother and back as his voice dropped to a near whisper. “Challenge accepted, but expect to empty your pockets.”

  Shaking his head, Bram couldn’t help but smile over the sweet justice of Blake—a certifiable rogue like his Uncle Logan used to be—living in the same house with his widowed mother. As a devout teetotaler and staunch opponent of gambling, Caitlyn McClare was president of the city’s Vigilance Committee, spearheading the reformation of the Barbary Coast. And a gentle beauty who, like President Roosevelt, spoke softly and carried a big stick. Bram’s smile broadened into a grin. Not only with her wayward son, but with her wayward brother-in-law too. His gaze flicked from Blake to his uncle, then to Mrs. McClare.

  Her green-eyed gaze homed in on her brother-in-law with the barest trace of a smile. “You know, Logan, if you were a better influence on my children, I might be inclined to defend you when Rosie goes on the attack.”

  Logan grunted, his smile taking a slant. “A muzzle’s the only thing that can defend me from that pit bull housekeeper of yours, Cait, so don’t make promises you can’t keep.” Blake’s uncle shuffled the cards with a casual and confident air befitting his status as one of the city’s top attorneys, in whose firm Bram, Blake, and Jamie each practiced law. At forty-six years of age, he seemed to have forsaken his prior reputation as a rogue to spend more time with his sister-in-law and nieces and nephews—a welcome change Bram had noticed over the last few years. Despite butting heads over politics, religion, and influences over her son, Caitlyn and Logan seemed to have formed a cohesive bond that made this unconventional household feel like the most close-knit of families.

  Gratitude swelled in Bram’s chest while Jamie and Blake bantered back and forth, and as always, he silently thanked God for the McClares in his life. As the only child of elderly parents, Bram thrived on the male camaraderie and close friendship between Logan, Jamie, Blake, and him, as well as the deep faith and gentleness of the McClare women. Alli and Cassie were fun-loving tomboys that always made him laugh, and Caitlyn and Megan McClare were mother-daughter depictions of everything a lady should be—kind, soft-spoken, and gracious.

  Thoughts of sweet little Meg warmed him inside with both affection and pride for the one McClare daughter who had long ago nabbed a piece of his heart. From the start she had elicited a protectiveness in him he hadn’t experienced since his own little sister Ruthy died at the age of six, a tragedy that sent Bram’s life spiraling into a black hole of bitterness. But with her gentle heart and battered self-esteem, Meg had offered redemption through a friendship that brought out the best in him at a time when there was little “best” to be had.

  “Ahem—may I have your attention, please?”

  Bram glanced up at the sound of Alli’s voice at the door, her arm hooked around the waist of one of the prettiest girls he had ever seen. “I’d like to introduce you to our guest from France.”

  Bumping the table, Bram shot to his feet while Blake did the same, causing Jamie to chuckle when the table swayed in place. Rising with Logan at a considerably more leisurely pace, Jamie leaned close to Bram’s ear, his voice low and heavy with tease. “Settle down, Hughes. I expect The Rake to respond to pretty women like this,” he said, referring to their nickname for the womanizing Blake McClare, “but you’re supposed to be the steady one, so don’t fail me now.”

  But he was barely listening, gaze glued to the striking girl with the deep auburn hair.

  “Gentlemen—allow me to introduce the Mademoiselle Megan McClare from Paris, France.”

  Thud! Bram’s stomach dropped along with his jaw, his gaze expanding as he stared at the pretty redhead being swarmed by Cassie, Maddie, and Mrs. McClare, each doling out giggles and hugs. Swallowing hard, his breathing was as erratic as his pulse. “B-bug?”

  “Hello, Bram,” she whispered in that shy way he’d grown to love, and all he could do was blink, his renegade eyes scanning head to toe.

  “Holy thunder, Hughes,” Jamie whispered in his ear, “not too sure your nickname fits anymore, because our Megs is well beyond ‘cute as a bug’s ear.’ ”

  Bram cleared his throat, unable to speak or breathe, his gaze locked on Meg’s face, her eyes . . . that mouth.

  “Move over, Hughes.” Jamie butted between a slack-jawed Blake and Bram, scooping Megan up in his arms before Bram could catch his breath. “If all you’re going to do is gape, I’m going to welcome the lady home good and proper. We sure missed you, Megs, but it appears that Paris has made a new woman of you. You look beautiful.”

  “Thanks, Jamie,” she whispered over his shoulder, and Bram gulped, those sinfully long lashes making her seem almost seductive rather than shy.

  “Meg?” Crossing the room, Uncle Logan barged in to take Meg’s hands in his, stepping back to study her with a slow smile of awe. “Sweet thunderation, sweetheart, you are simply stunning—a beautiful woman just like your mother and Alli.”

  “And me too, Uncle Logan?” Maddie peeked up beneath a riot of auburn curls, clinging to his leg with concern in her green eyes.

  “Of course you too,” he said with a swoop of his niece in the air, never taking his eyes from Meg. “But blue thunder, there are beautiful women in this family . . .” Hooking an arm to Meg’s shoulders, he pulled her into a one-handed hug, kissing the top of her head. “You look like your mother when I first met her years ago,” he whispered, his gaze flicking to where Caitlyn stood of
f to the side with a proud glow. “And a higher compliment I couldn’t pay you, darling.”

  “Thank you, Uncle Logan.”

  “Okay, out of the way—I need a hug now that I know who you are, kiddo.” Blake hauled Meg into his arms and whirled her around, making her giggle like the Meggie of old. “I’m not sure what you did to yourself over in France, but I heartily approve.”

  “So, Bram . . .” Jamie strolled over to cup an arm to Cassie’s waist, giving his best friend a sly grin. “You planning on giving Megs a hug anytime soon? Because I’m hungry and would like to move this homecoming into the dining room if we could.”

  Cassie elbowed him. “Jamie MacKenna, Hadley hasn’t even announced dinner yet.”

  “Ahem.” The McClares’ elderly butler stood in the doorway as if on cue, impeccable as always in black tails and tie. “Dinner is served, ladies and gentlemen . . . in honor of Miss Megan McClare.”

  A soft giggle bubbled from the lush lips of the very stranger who’d just stolen Bram’s tongue, her laughter the only thing he recognized from the Bug he used to know.

  Logan slapped Bram on the back, jolting him out of his shock over Meg all grown up. “Bram, I assume you’ll escort the lady of the hour into dinner while I escort her mother?”

  “Yes, sir,” he said in his most efficient manner despite the dampness of his palms. He proffered his arm to Meg with a smile while Logan ushered Caitlyn from the room. “Shall we, Miss McClare?”

  Meg giggled and slipped her arm through Bram’s, and for a moment, she almost seemed like the old Meg once again.

  Looping her arm through Jamie’s, Cassie paused to squint over at Alli. “Wait, Al—where’s Nick? And don’t tell me that fiancé of yours has to work tonight.”

  Alli’s lavender ruffled bodice fluttered with a heavy sigh. “ ’Fraid so. Surveillance duty on that suspicious death at a brothel on the Coast.”

  Cassie shook her head and hooked her free arm through Alli’s with a sympathetic smile. “I thought when Nick was promoted to chief of detectives, he’d have more say over his hours.”

  “He does, but you know what a workhorse he is, Cass, and it doesn’t help that it’s a high-profile case Captain Peel personally asked him to handle.”

  “Excuse me, ladies,” Jamie interrupted, “but can we continue this discussion in the dining room before we have another suspicious death right here—Frisco lawyer found belly-up from starvation?”

  Bram laughed, anxious to deflect his nervousness by joining in on Jamie’s conversation. “I doubt it’d be suspicious in this household, Mac, not the way you gloat after pinochle or pool.”

  “Bram?” Meg’s voice was as soft as he remembered, but the firm pull of her arm surprised him when she tugged him to a stop. “Could I . . . speak to you privately before we go in?”

  Jamie winked at Bram while he ushered Cass and Alli from the room. “It’s been six months, Hughes, so I’d say our girl deserves that hug. We’ll tell the others you’ll be in shortly.”

  “Thanks, Jamie,” Bram said with a nod before turning to face the new Meg—who shouldn’t be making his heart race this way. Drawing in a quiet breath, he took her hands in his while he stepped back to assess. “I’ll tell you what, Bug—I sure didn’t recognize you.”

  “So, what do you think?” she asked, twirling before him like she used to in her best dresses, eager for his approval. Only this time there were curves in the dress that made him downright uncomfortable, while some heavenly scent wafted into the room that triggered his pulse.

  What do I think? His throat was so dry, the words adhered to his tongue like glue. He tried to remind himself that the vision before him was merely his sweet little Meg, more like a sister. Heat crawled up the back of his neck when his eyes swept from delicate wisps of auburn hair framing a peaches-and-cream complexion, down a body that took his breath away, along with every coherent thought in his head.

  “You’re staring,” she said with that self-conscious giggle that always plucked at his heart, and suddenly she was his “little bug” again. An endearment that no longer fit, he realized—she was drop-dead beautiful. “You look . . . uh . . . different,” he said, squinting hard to see the lost little wallflower that cried in his arms whenever Devin Caldwell stomped on her feelings.

  “I know!” she squealed with a little dip of her knees, and then promptly took his breath away when she launched into his arms. His eyelids slipped closed while memories played in his mind of a younger Meg bouncing on his shoulders during games of piggyback badminton or Marco Polo at Sutro Baths. Stepping on his toes while dancing at family functions or giggling when she’d finally beaten him at chess. Expelling a silent sigh, he tucked his head to hers and gathered her up in his arms like he used to, trying to conjure up that plump little girl who’d become the little sister he’d lost.

  She pulled away with a teasing twinkle that seemed so much older now, more playful, and almost flirtatious. “But you do like the new me, right?” she asked with anxious eyes—a striking aquamarine like her mother’s—fixed on his while she chewed on her lip.

  The expectant glow in her face carried him back to games of fish and carrot-colored braids, and all at once, melancholy ached in his chest. Releasing a slow breath, he nodded, gently cradling her face in his hands. “I miss my little buddy, Meg, I won’t lie, but you’ve grown into a beautiful woman over the last year, a perfect match for the beautiful person inside.”

  His heart clutched when water welled in her eyes and without warning, she thrust herself into his arms again and clung as if he were a lifeline. But then he supposed he had been over the years, a role that had been both an honor and a great joy. He bent his head to hers, and the fresh scent of violets—light, sweet, with a hint of raspberry—calmed the turmoil inside just like the old Meg used to do. “Oh, Bram, I’m so grateful for your friendship, and I missed you so.”

  He pressed a gentle kiss to her hair and gave her a tight squeeze, his smile light, but his heart heavy. “I missed you too, Bug, more than I can say,” he whispered.

  And right this very moment? He ushered her from the room with a stiff smile and a firm hold.

  More than ever.

  3

  Aujourd’hui . . . je recommencer.

  Today . . . I begin anew. Meg closed her eyes to savor the velvety taste of chocolate cream pie on her tongue. The contentment of being home again was as sweet and thick as the whipped cream she licked from her lips. The heady scent of her mother’s blush-tinted cottage roses filled the air along with the tinkle of china, silverware, and the laughter of family. She was finally home again with the people she loved, poised on the threshold of her dreams. Finally unshackled from an image that kept people from seeing her for who she really was, the woman she aspired to be, and a person who longed to bring kindness into the world.

  She opened her eyes, and her heart warmed when her gaze settled on Bram across the way, candlelight flickering across his handsome features. Gaze glued to Alli, he seemed completely captivated by her vivacious rendition of one of the adventures Meg had shared with her sister in the sanctuary of her bedroom. Alli’s colorful commentary made Meg laugh, along with everyone else, the topic being the day a duck followed Meg around the streets of Paris.

  “But that’s our Megs,” Alli said with a wink in Meg’s direction, “a heart so big, she draws both friend and fowl.” Chuckles circled the table, coaxing Alli into more wonderful memories that Meg relished from her year in Paris. And yet—tonight—she relished something else even more. Family. Friends.

  Bram.

  She hadn’t seen him since Christmas, but it seemed a lifetime, and she was perfectly content for Alli to steal the show while Meg stole glimpses of the hero who’d owned her heart from the age of seven. He seemed older somehow, and maybe that was because she herself felt so much older too, so much surer of what she wanted. The sandy blond hair she loved that lightened to corn silk in the summer was neatly trimmed as always, stylish and not a strand out of place
—so like the man. Blue eyes that could read her very soul always sparkled with humor and kindness and affection, keeping her afloat through all the emotional storms of her life. His laughter was always rich and warm and low—like now when his dimples deepened in a flash of white over something Alli said. Meg couldn’t help it—her chest rose and fell with pride that Bram Hughes was her best friend.

  “No, she didn’t actually ride on the thing, did she?” Blake asked, and Meg blinked, painfully aware all eyes were now focused on her, especially those of one Abraham Joseph Hughes, whose open-mouthed expression registered both humor and surprise.

  “Good heavens, Meg,” her mother said with a note of alarm, “please tell me you did not get on a motorbike . . .”

  Heat braised Meg’s cheeks as she blinked again, unable to derail the dare of a smile that inched across her lips. Adrenaline coursed even now at the shocking memory of flying through the streets of Paris on the back of Pierre’s motorbike, her hair tearing free from her pins while she clung on for dear life. She’d discovered a piece of herself she hadn’t known existed that day—as wild and free as Cassie on her father’s Texas ranch or as adventurous and high-spirited as Alli in her treks about the city. Fearless. Her smile blossomed into a grin. Not an easy feat for a shy wallflower who feared the disdain of others.

  “Oh, my goodness! Megan Maureen McClare—you did, didn’t you?” Her mother’s jaw fell.

  “Uh-oh.” Alli’s voice squeaked with a nervous giggle, fingertips pressed to her lips as if to restrain further damage. She peeked at Meg out of the corner of her eyes, brows puckered in repentance. “Was I supposed to keep that a secret?”

  Meg laughed and hugged her tightly. “Not really, Al, so don’t worry. Not only will I have to adjust to this new me, but everyone else will too.” She glanced up at her mother with her usual sweet smile, although she was certain it lacked the timidity to which everyone was accustomed. “Please forgive me, Mother. I know a lady hopping aboard a motorbike with a near stranger is not the most dignified of scenarios. But Paris does something to you—it dares you, entices you, liberates you in ways I never expected.”