Dare to Love Again Page 3

  “And the splintered remains of the stick, no doubt,” Mrs. Lemp said with a chuckle.

  The heat in his neck surged clear up to the roots of his hair.

  “Oh, Nicky, you didn’t!” Miss Penny moaned. “So, help me, I have a mind to take a stick to you myself—”

  “Mr. Nick, you’re home!” A pink-cheeked scamp raced into the kitchen with chestnut curls bouncing off her shoulders as she launched into Nick’s arms with a squeal. On her heels trotted a black-and-white bull terrier that immediately bared its teeth at Nick in a low growl.

  “Charlotte Marie LeRoy, what are you doing down here, young lady?” Miss Penny glanced at the watch pinned to her blouse, the crinkle in her brow now directed at the tiny six-year-old who scrambled to sit in Nick’s lap while the terrier continued to snarl. “Horatio, hush!” Miss Penny said in a tone of authority that effectively bullied both man and beast. “You’re supposed to be upstairs with the others while Angi reads during quiet time, Miss Lottie.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” the little tyke said, adjusting her blue dress over her knees while she made herself comfortable in Nick’s lap. Blue eyes blinked up at Miss Penny in complete innocence. “But I heard Mr. Nick’s voice, so I told Angi I had to go to the bathroom, and I already did.”

  Nick circled Lottie’s waist, the scent of baby powder and Pear’s soap calming his senses.

  “Are you going to spank Mr. Nick with a stick, Miss Penny?” the little dickens asked, making him smile.

  Miss Penny’s lips squirmed while Mrs. Lemp chuckled. The steel in her eyes melted into affection. “I’m considering it, Lottie, if Mr. Nick doesn’t behave.”

  Turning in Nick’s lap, Lottie hugged him with a husky, little grunt before she braced his face with two tiny palms, depositing a sweet peck to his lips that dissolved any frustration he had. “Don’t be bad, Mr. Nick,” she whispered with a gloss of moisture in her eyes that nearly wrung tears from his own. “I don’t want Miss Penny to hurt you.”

  He released a muted sigh and tucked a curl over her shoulder, the risk of disappointing her a far greater deterrent than any piece of wood. “I’ll be good, Lottie,” he said quietly.

  “You’ll apologize first thing Monday morning, then?” Miss Penny said, tone hopeful.

  Nick slid her a half-lidded gaze, prying his reply off the tip of his tongue. “Yes.”

  “And you’ll be nice to Miss McClare and treat her with the respect she deserves?”

  “The respect she deserves?” he bit out, eyes narrowed in threat.

  “Nicholas . . . ?” The wrath of Gram stared him down.

  A nerve flickered in his jaw, his gaze just short of belligerent. “Ye-s,” he said through gritted teeth.

  The woman had the gall to pop up and retrieve her prayer book from a drawer where she kept it for church. She thrust it under his nose. “Swear, Nicholas Barone—hand on the Bible.”

  He blinked, mouth slack. “For pity’s sake, Mrs. Peel, that’s a missal, not a Bible.”

  The blue eyes sparkled. “Close enough—hand on top and swear you’ll be nice to our new neighbors, especially Miss Allison.”

  His jaw shifted while he slapped a hand on top, grinding one syllable into two. “Ye-s.”

  Miss Penny assessed him through squinted eyes. “And you will graciously handle any odd job Mrs. McClare or her teachers or Miss Allison may need to have done?”

  His teeth milled so tight, he thought they might crack. “You’re pushing the bounds of Christian charity, Miss Penny . . . especially with a dizzy dame like Miss La-di-da . . .”

  “Ohhh . . . who’s Miss Lottie Da?” Lottie peered up at Nick, eyes bright with interest. “Is her name Charlotte too?”

  “One of the new teachers,” he muttered, “and her name is Allison McSnob.”

  “Nicholas!” Miss Penny’s scowl looked a lot like Allison McClare’s—minus the stick.

  He expelled a heavy sigh, remorse bleeding into his tone despite the press of his lips. “Her name’s not Lottie Da, sweetheart, I was just teasing. It’s Miss Allison McClare, one of your new teachers.”

  “Oh,” Lottie said, voice deflated as if she’d lost a friend who shared a name. She peeked up, brown curls askew. “So you’ll be nice to Miss Lottie Da like Miss Penny said, Mr. Nick?”

  “Her name is Miss Allison,” Miss Penny corrected.

  Nick vented with another noisy breath, gaze thinning at the twitch of his landlady’s smile. “I’ll try.”

  If it doesn’t kill me first.

  “You promise?” Lottie patted his jaw, gaze so penetrating, Nick started to squirm.

  All resistance fled in the innocent blink of her eyes. He surrendered with a slow exhale. “Yes, Lottie, I promise.”

  “Oh, bless you, Nicky!” Miss Penny gave a playful pinch of his cheek before tugging Lottie into her arms with a soft kiss on the little girl’s head. “And if it requires time from your job to assist with Mrs. McClare’s chores, you just tell my nephew this is a favor to me, all right?”

  “Yeah, sure.” Nick lumbered to his feet, feeling as if he’d just been clobbered by ten of Miss La-di-da’s sticks—all of ’em two by four. “But he won’t be any happier about it than I am,” he said, knowing full well his boss would grouse but never cross the aunt who was more like a mother.

  “You let me worry about Harmon. Harold and I raised that boy to respect his elders, taking him in like our very own after his ma and pa passed on, so he’ll understand. Besides, Harmon has a soft heart for good causes.” She winked, setting Lottie down. “Why do you think he arranged for you to rent a room with me in the first place? He wants you to keep an eye on us.” She gave Lottie a playful swat. “Run along, Lottie, and I’ll be up for good-night prayers shortly.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Clutching Nick’s legs in a tight hug, Lottie giggled when he tickled her off his lap. Blowing kisses, she bounded from the room with hair streaming behind and Horatio hot on her heels.

  Nick stared, Miss Penny’s words suddenly registering. “You know? That the captain wanted me here for your protection?”

  The elf of a woman bustled over to steal a couple oatmeal cookies from the large crock in Mrs. Lemp’s pantry. “Of course, dear boy, I wasn’t born under a rock, you know.”

  Nick sighed. No, just me, apparently.

  “When Harmon called to say he had a new detective from out of town who needed a room, I knew exactly what he was doing.” She handed Nick the two cookies along with a quick peck on the cheek. “And a friendship made in heaven, it was,” she said with a chuckle, “just like you and Miss McClare will be, Nicky dear.” She winked. “Once you apologize.”

  Nick bit back a groan, the image of his nemesis looming far longer than he liked. Eyes as green as grass in the spring, skin as dewy as Miss Penny’s tea roses with just a hint of blush at the tips, and hair as black and shiny as the patent leather shoes Lottie wore to church. A beautiful woman. His lips went flat. Too bad she was a shrew . . . and a rich, spoiled one at that. And worse yet—related to Logan McClare. The sandwich roiled in his gut.

  A friendship made in heaven? Nick grunted, thinking Miss Penny may be in need of a compass as much as the sassy Miss McClare. Because if he had his guesses right, this friendship wouldn’t be made in heaven or anywhere close, especially given their heated exchange that indicated far warmer climes. He muttered his good night and strode toward the door without another word. Heaven? His lips took a hard slant. Try a lot farther south.

  3

  So . . . you told me what happened between you and this police detective today, but you left out the most important thing.” Alli’s cousin, Cass, moved her rook two spaces, then looked up from their game of chess in the McClares’ Victorian parlour. The clang of a cable car and the bleat of autos on Powell Street filtered through arched windows where sheers billowed in the summer breeze, infusing a whiff of Mother’s eucalyptus and the crisp scent of the sea. Cassie’s grin would have put the Cheshire cat to shame as she wiggled honeyed brows. “W
hat exactly does this Neanderthal look like?” she said, her Texas drawl always more noticeable when she was teasing. “Besides all gussied up in animal skins and a club . . .”

  Cheeks warming at her cousin’s question, Alli sneaked a peek to where her mother played cribbage with Uncle Logan by the marble hearth while their bulldog, Logan Junior, lay at her feet. Her gaze strayed to her seventeen-year-old sister Meg reading a story to their six-year-old sister Maddie on the cream brocade sofa, then refocused on Cassie in a much lower voice. “Surprisingly, not as savage as you’d expect other than dark stubble on a jaw that would make a mule proud.” She studied the chessboard with a scrunch of her nose as if she could smell said Neanderthal, the memory of animal crackers and Bay Rum not near as noxious as a dim-witted caveman should be. “Dark hair, almost black, clear gray eyes with a hint of green and hazel around the iris, and, of course, a height and girth to give the Flood Building a run for its money.”

  “Clear gray eyes with a hint of green and hazel around the iris?” Cassie’s high-pitched whisper snapped Alli’s attention up from the board, her mouth gaping wide. She leaned in, brows dipped low. “Thunderation, Al, just how close were you to this Greek god?”

  One edge of Alli’s lip tipped. “Close enough to smell ‘animal’ crackers on his breath, an appropriate snack for a cretin if ever there was. But believe me, Cass, this grump would need his scowl surgically removed to qualify for Greek god.” She refocused on the board, anxious to “surgically remove” the cretin from her mind.

  “Mmm . . . I don’t know. Any muscles, dare I hope?” Cassie’s golden hair shimmered beneath the crystal chandelier with the same sparkle as the curious glint in her pale-green eyes.

  Allison nudged her pawn up one square with a grunt. “Yes, unfortunately—everywhere you look . . .” Her lashes flipped up. “Especially between his ears.” She paused, alarm curling in her stomach at the sudden gleam in her cousin’s eye. “Oh, no you don’t—you can just get that matchmaker glow off your face right now! I’d just as soon whop the guy as look at him. Talk about oil and water—I’m kerosene and he’s a lit match.”

  Cassie chuckled, arms folded on the game table as she perused the board for her next move. “Oh, I don’t know, I’m rather fond of spontaneous combustion myself.” She moved her pawn with a gloat. “Since Jamie, that is.” The smile on her lips hovered. “Besides, I didn’t hear you object when Jamie fanned the flames between us, and now I have a ring on my finger and a wedding six months away.”

  Alli’s jaw sagged. “That was completely different and you know it. Jamie was already like part of the family when he started ogling you.” Her lips went flat. “The only family this joker qualifies for swings from a tree.” She focused hard on the board, quite sure Nick Barone was no Jamie MacKenna. “Trust me, Cass, contrary to Jamie, ‘Mr. Personality’ has no charm whatsoever. Besides, Jamie never insulted and bullied you from the moment you met, nor threatened you and broke any of your personal property like he did with my pointer.”

  Cassie’s smile took a slant. “No, just my heart—twice.” She huffed out a sigh. “Oh, all right, maybe ‘Mr. Personality’ is not a potential beau, but you’ll have to get along since he’s an officer of the law in that neighborhood and likely to come around again.”

  “Not if I can help it.” Alli made her move.

  “Come on, Al,” Cass said softly, “you told me upstairs you regretted losing your temper and would make amends if you could.”

  Cassie’s gentle tone pricked Alli’s conscience. “I do regret losing my temper,” she said quietly, “and I will make amends, I promise.” Her lashes lifted while her lips squirmed to the right. “As long as I can borrow the cattle prod you always threatened to use against Jamie.”

  Cassie grinned. “Get your own—I have a feeling I’ll be needing mine . . .”

  “Hey, when’s dinner? I’m hungry.” Cassie’s fiancé, Jamie MacKenna, ambled into the parlour with his best friends, Bram and Alli’s brother Blake. Hands in his pockets and a grin on his lips, he strolled over to give Cassie a kiss on the cheek before winking at Alli. “I’ve worked up quite an appetite teaching these two jokers how true winners play pool.”

  “True hustlers, you mean,” Bram said with a chuckle, perfectly groomed tawny hair a handsome match for blue eyes so crystal clear, you could almost see into his soul. “Give me a chance to even the score with a thrashing in chess, MacKenna, because my skill and finesse are in my brain, not in my hands.”

  Jamie bent to circle Cass from behind, whispering in her ear while he slowly grazed her bare arms with his palms. “Sometimes skill and finesse in one’s hands has its advantages, right, Cass?”

  The bloom in Cassie’s cheeks deepened as she slapped him away. “Jamie MacKenna, you are incorrigible! Keep in mind this is exactly why Daddy insisted on a longer engagement.” Her smile tipped into a smirk. “So I have lots of opportunity to call this wedding off if you don’t learn to keep your hands to yourself.”

  He kissed the top of her head and quickly slipped the offensive hands in his pockets. “Yes, ma’am, hands to self,” he said, easing into a chair at the game table. He gave her a waggle of dark brows. “Until the wedding, that is, then all bets are off, Cowgirl.”

  Bram straddled a chair to assess the game, his affection for Jamie clear in the tease of his tone. “Speaking of bets, Mac, just give me one game of chess, and I’ll have you crying ‘uncle.’ ”

  Blake laughed, gray eyes sparkling like the silver chess pieces on the board. “So, what’s new?” Alli’s brother said, plopping down on a nearby ottoman. “He cries ‘uncle’ all the time at the firm, chumming up so Uncle Logan will assign him all the high-profile cases.”

  A smile eased across Jamie’s face as he slid Cass and Alli a smug look. “That’s because I’m a better defense lawyer than these two clowns, ladies.”

  “Ha! Only because of your luck in landing plum cases,” Blake said. “When it comes to skills of the mind, I’m with Bram—give me retribution with chess or poker.”

  “Awk, ante up, ante up!” At the mention of poker, the family parrot, Miss Behave, danced back and forth on her perch, orange and black eyes dilating while she issued a favorite squawk tutored by Blake long ago.

  Alli bit back a smile when her mother looked up from her game of cribbage, a wedge appearing at the bridge of her nose over Miss B.’s poker-related squawk. For the briefest of moments, her beautiful face puckered in a near-frown, clear evidence of her mother’s disapproval of gambling, especially poker taught to her son and three daughters by her renegade brother-in-law. With rich, auburn hair piled high on her head in the loose Gibson Girl style of the day, forty-four-year-old Caitlyn McClare could have easily passed for Alli’s older sister. Striking green eyes even darker than Alli’s own complemented a creamy complexion that harbored few wrinkles despite the tragic loss of Alli’s father to an aneurism three years ago.

  Alli’s thoughts veered melancholy when Uncle Logan drew her mother’s attention back with a word and a smile so smitten, Alli wondered if her mother would ever realize how much he truly cared. Still unmarried at forty-six, Logan McClare was easily one of the most eligible bachelors in town. An affluent member of the San Francisco Board of Supervisors, he was also one of the city’s top lawyers with his own firm. At six foot two he was handsome with penetrating gray eyes, sable hair templed with silver, and a sturdy frame that was broad-shouldered. Her lips quirked. And broad-egoed when it came to being sought after by women, no doubt. He was witty, charming, powerful, and utterly devoted to family, all valuable assets, even for a rake who turned the head of every female in society. A wispy sigh drifted from Alli’s lips, heart aching for an uncle she loved like a father. All except Caitlyn McClare, that is, who seemed to keep Uncle Logan at arm’s length despite his obvious feelings for her.

  “Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen, but dinner is served.” Hadley stood at the door in his usual regal pose, posture erect and black tails and tie as elegant as the abunda
nce of silver hair slicked back on his head. Beloved butler to the three McClare brothers from childhood on, Hadley was as much a part of the McClare family as Alli herself, his poor eyesight and near-deaf ears no hindrance whatsoever to the affection he garnered.

  “Oh, thank goodness, Hadley, I’m starving,” Jamie said with a rub of his hands. He offered his arm to Cassie. “First for food, then for attention from the woman who will soon be my wife.”

  Alli tweaked Jamie’s waist before taking her brother’s proffered arm. “Unless she falls on her head first and comes to her senses.”

  “Hey,” Jamie said with a crimp of hurt, “what’d I ever do to you, Al, but love you like a sister?”

  Bram chuckled as he passed to escort Megan and Maddie in to dinner. “Wise up, Mac, you’re stealing her best friend away—they won’t get to chat or play chess as much anymore.”

  “That’s not true,” Blake said, joining Alli in a smirk. “He’ll probably still show up every night for dinner, just like before.”

  “Can I help it if Rosie’s the best cook around?” Jamie followed Blake and Alli into the three-story marble foyer, ignoring everyone’s chuckles. “Besides, Al will get to see Cass as much as before since they’ll be working at the school five days a week.”

  “Speaking of which . . . ,” her mother hooked an arm through Uncle Logan’s as he ushered her to the dining room while Logan Junior lumbered behind, “did you get your classroom set up the way you wanted, dear?”

  “Almost.” Allison took the seat Blake held out for her and offered a grateful smile. “Except I still need a pointer.”

  Cassie chuckled. “And a cattle prod,” she whispered after Jamie pushed in her chair.

  The bridge of Caitlyn’s nose crinkled. “But I know I ordered one for each of the classrooms—are you sure it’s not there? Maybe you misplaced it, darling. Put it in the storage closet or on the ledge of the blackboard.”