Surprised by Love Read online

  “Two more outs and the men reign supreme,” Blake called from first base while Jamie and Nick covered second and third. “Send her packing, Bram!”

  A wispy sigh parted from Meg’s lips as she raised her bat high. “He already did,” she muttered, her feelings still hurt over Bram’s sudden disappearance since she’d come home from Paris. Over two weeks without a word, note, or phone call—nothing to indicate their prior close friendship was still intact. Not after her bumbling attempt to flirt and catch his eye as a woman instead of a little girl. Heat braised her cheeks at the memory of his outright rejection when she’d boldly implied she no longer wanted a friendship between a brother and a sister.

  “It’s the City of Love, Bram, what kind of ideas do you think Paris put in my head?”

  “Well, get ’em out, Bug, because there’s no room in our friendship for that.”

  The sting of his words stiffened her jaw, as hard as the bat she held in her hands, shocking her with a sudden desire to aim straight at his head. She hunkered down, knees bent beneath the cream gabardine skirt she’d rolled several times beneath her wide black belt for ease of running, offering a peek of her stockinged ankles.

  “Hit it out of the park, Megs,” Alli called from third base, hands cupped to her mouth and one knee bent to race for home. “Make ’em suffer!”

  Nick chuckled behind her, tugging on a loose curl from Alli’s chignon. “You’ll have plenty of time for that after we embarrass you in mushball, Princess.”

  “Ha! When buffaloes fly!” Cassie bellowed from second base, crouched at the bag with skirt hiked to her ankles while Jamie grinned behind.

  Cassie’s sass coaxed a grin to Meg’s lips, taking the edge off her nerves as she eyed Bram with a steely-smiled squint. Just one good whack, Mr. Hughes, to redeem my pride . . .

  Hunching his shoulders to apparently work out the kinks in his muscles, Bram fired the ball in an underhand windmill motion, his athletic ability evident in the fluid movement of his body. Holding her breath, Meg eased the bat back, unleashing a hard swing that connected with the ball in a surprising pop, sending it sailing over Blake’s head.

  Groans and squeals filled the backyard as Meg flew the bases, running so hard, several hairpins came loose, tumbling heavy curls down her back.

  “Bring it home, Megs—you can make it!” Cassie shouted, she and Alli leaping into the air with whoops and cheers while little Maddie danced in circles on the sidelines.

  Meg glanced over her shoulder as she rounded third base, stomach lurching when Blake scooped the ball up at the back of the yard. Lips pressed tight, she barreled forward, inwardly groaning at the sight of Bram hovering over home plate, body poised to field Blake’s throw.

  Chest pumping, she gave it her all. Each and every sound faded away except for the pounding of her heart as her gaze fixed on that ragged square of old carpet that served as home base. And then in slow motion, Bram stepped in front of the base with arms in the air and eye on the catch while she continued to charge, tucking her head low with a grit of her teeth.

  Boom!

  The wind left Meg’s lungs as she plowed into something solid. A shocked cry wrenched from her lips when she tumbled to the ground, landing on top of Bram with a thud. Too stunned to move, she was barely aware of female shrieks as the ball she’d knocked from Bram’s hand slowly rolled to a stop, ensuring the girls’ win. As if bonded by glue, all she could do was stare at him with saucer eyes while she lay on his chest, the familiar scent of Bay Rum making her dizzy. With their parted lips mere inches apart, ragged air passed between them as neither moved a muscle, fire scorching her cheeks at the warmth of his body beneath hers.

  It seemed like eons, but it was only seconds before he cleared his throat with a hoarse laugh. Gingerly lifting her off with hands at her waist, he carefully set her beside him before jumping up. A ruddy shade of red crept up his neck as he offered his hand, popping her up so quickly, she felt dizzy all over again. “Are you okay?” he asked, a note of concern in his voice as he avoided her eyes, surveying her skirt for grass and dirt stains.

  “Holy thunder, Megs,” Jamie said with a wink. “Haven’t seen a tackle like that since college football. Hate to be a spoilsport, but that looked like interference to me, what you do you think, Blake?”

  “Positively blatant.” Blake hooked an arm over Meg’s shoulder. “Sorry, kiddo, it’s textbook interference—you’re out, and the men win.”

  “Oh no you don’t.” Alli barged in between Jamie and Blake, hands on her hips. “Bram was blocking the plate before he even touched the ball, so Meg is allowed the run, right, Nick?”

  All eyes turned to Alli’s fiancé, who was tickling Maddie over his shoulder. He paused, gray-green eyes in a squint while Maddie’s stubby legs kicked in the air. “Well . . . the obstruction rule states a defensive person cannot hinder or impede the progress of a runner without possession of the ball.”

  The girls launched in the air with a chorus of cheers while Alli gave Nick a kiss on the cheek. “And that, Nick Burke, is only one of the many reasons I love you,” she said, unleashing giggles from Maddie when she tickled the little girl’s tummy.

  “But . . .” Nick hooked an arm to Alli’s waist, a lazy grin tipping the side of his mouth. “That said, there is one rule that will trump the obstruction rule, but I want the bat safely removed before I tell you what it is.” He set Maddie down and tweaked the little girl’s neck. “Can you take the bat to your mother for me, sweetheart, before your sister gets feisty?”

  “Sure, Nick!” Maddie swooped up the bat and ran to her mother.

  Alli spun around, arms folded while she tapped her toe. “If this other rule is going to rob us of a win, Detective Burke, you haven’t seen ‘feisty.’ ”

  “Break it to ’em gently, Nick,” Bram said with a lazy smile. “We don’t want them too riled when we challenge them in charades.”

  “Spit it out, Nick.” Cassie stepped forward, Alli’s competitive nature obviously catching. She stared him down, blue eyes narrowed in threat. “But first let me get my cattle prod . . .”

  “Ah-ah-ah . . .” Jamie looped his arms around Cassie’s waist from behind. “No idle threats, Mrs. MacKenna. Let the man speak.”

  Nick’s grin was sheepish. “At the risk of stirring a hornet’s nest, ladies, the rules state that when a defensive player has the ball”—he nodded to Bram—“such as Mr. Hughes obviously had . . .”

  “Hear, hear!” Blake shouted.

  “And the runner crashes into him, then . . .” He took a casual step back, obviously distancing himself from the wrath of Alli. “The runner is out.” Hostile groans rose as Nick held his hands up. “Hey, don’t shoot the messenger, ladies.”

  “No firearms, Mr. Spoilsport, but how ’bout a whack with a stick?” Alli’s smile was thin.

  “Okay, ladies, what’s next—charades or croquet?” Blake ambled to the patio with the others, tossing a mushball in the air while Jamie did the same with the other. “We’ll give you a chance to redeem your pride.”

  “Ha! Best not to be too cocky, Cuz.” Cassie slid him a narrow gaze. “Keep in mind that pride goeth before the fall, especially if a cattle prod is involved.”

  “Or a stick,” Alli confirmed. She plucked a croquet mallet off the table and waggled her brows. “Croquet, anyone?”

  “You’re on,” Jamie said with a flap of his rolled shirt, perspiration beading his brow. “But first, I need something to cool off.”

  “Great idea.” Bram unrolled his sleeves. “Who’s in the mood for ice cream?”

  Maddie shot into the air, arms flailing. “Me, me, me!”

  “Well, that’s a definite yes.” Uncle Logan scooped the little tyke from Caitlyn’s lap to his, making her giggle with a noisy gobble-kiss. He glanced at Bram. “What did you have in mind?”

  Bram grabbed his jacket off the chair and put it on, his gaze veering to Meg. “I thought Meg and I could head over to Carter’s Confectionary and buy ice cream sandwiche
s for everybody before we tackle croquet. What do you say, Bug?”

  “Sure, Bram,” she whispered, fanning her face to cool the heat in her cheeks. “I’m about to melt here, and ice cream sounds wonderful!”

  “Yes, well, that’s what happens when you run people down at home plate, Miss McClare.” He latched a hand to her neck like he used to do when she was younger, steering her toward the door while he chatted about how busy he’d been at work. Ushering her through the house, he patiently waited as she pinned on her hat at the door, then held it open for her.

  They stepped outside and despite the glorious blue of the sky and the teasing scent of summer from Mother’s eucalyptus, a shadow settled over Meg’s mood, piquing her ire. An ire she never knew she had, truth be told, until Paris had set the woman inside of her free to be all she had longed to be—the real Megan McClare. No longer cowering beneath people’s disapproval or silent beneath their scorn, but free to think, live, and be all God intended. Somewhere amid Bram’s casual banter, the joy of children’s giggles drifted in the air, and at the sound, a firm resolve straightened her shoulders. With God’s help, she would be that woman with or without the love of any man, even Bram Hughes, to whom she’d given her heart so many years ago. His friendship had sustained her for most of her life, and if that’s all God intended, then by His grace, it would sustain her for all of the rest. Because life was a gift from the Creator, meant to be savored and enjoyed, not spent pining over things that could never be.

  “Hungry?” Bram asked as he led her down the brick steps to where his cherry-red Stanley Steamer waited at the curb, pausing to dodge a sunken step that always teetered Meg’s gait.

  She breathed in the fresh smell of hope and promise and dreams along with the scent of the sea, her acceptance of Bram’s friendship suddenly setting her free. For the first time, she felt as if she could see beyond all the hurts and daydreams of the past to a future as bright as a sunny summer day. “Hungry?” she repeated, her cheeks warm with excitement as her smile eased into a grin. “Oh, yes . . .”

  For a future full of promise and more . . .

  9

  Sweat layered Bram’s collar, a condition due, he suspected, as much from his need to clear the air with Meg as from the unseasonably warm day. Never had he felt this unsettled around her before—except for the night of her homecoming, of course—yammering nonstop as if he were Jamie after a pot of espresso. Smiling that secret smile that unnerved him, she’d let him simply ramble on as he’d lifted her at the waist into the seat of his car, releasing her so quickly, she’d actually bounced on the tufted leather seat.

  Neck blazing, he’d rounded the vehicle in record time and hopped into his car, his jabbering unceasing as he pumped the throttle until the pungent scent of kerosene floated in the air. Opening the drip valve briefly, he maneuvered the tiller, easing the vehicle into the street while a breeze from the bay cooled the sweat on his brow. Quiet for once, he chanced a glimpse at Meg out of the corner of his eye and marveled for the hundredth time how much she had changed in a single year. Stray wisps of auburn curls fluttered about her face and neck as she lifted her face to the sky. He took advantage of the moment to study her pose—hands folded serenely in the lap of her cream skirt, back straight and head high. Gone was the timid little girl who used to slouch as if she wanted to curl up and disappear, replaced by a woman who now took his breath away.

  Jaw tight, he returned his gaze to the road, grateful for the chug of the steam engine that dispelled any awkwardness from his sudden silence. A silence that needed to be broken regarding the direction of their relationship in the future.

  And soon.

  Bram pushed the hook-up pedal to the floorboard and opened the drip valve, releasing the brake to coast down Powell to Market. With a quick glance behind, he veered toward the curb in front of Carter’s Confectionary, finally bringing the car to a stop with a hiss of steam. Two freckled boys in dirty knickers glanced up from where they knelt on the cracked sidewalk playing marbles, ogling Bram’s car with mouths agape. He closed the drip valve and applied the brake while a group of little girls playing hopscotch paused to stare. One of the girls in a frayed pinafore giggled when Bram gave her a wink before he turned to smile at Meg. “You know, Bug, I’m totally prepared to make up for ignoring you these last few weeks.” He cocked a brow. “Say, a bag of jelly beans?”

  Meg laughed, flashing dimples Bram had never really paid much attention to before. But now no gold braces barred her teeth nor thick eyeglasses goggled her gaze, causing the muscles in his throat to duck like he’d swallowed a fistful of those blasted jelly beans she so adored. She tipped her head in a playful pose, and a wisp of titian hair caressed the softest, creamiest cheek he’d ever seen. He fought the rise of a gulp. How on earth have I never noticed before?

  The softest of smiles played at the edge of her lips. “Really, counselor—bribery?” Those remarkable green eyes twinkled. “I would have thought better of the noble Bram Hughes.”

  His smile faded as he shifted to face her, her words pricking his conscience. He strove for a casual air with one arm over the back of the seat while the other absently fiddled with the leather head of the tiller. “Yes, well maybe you shouldn’t, Bug, because it wasn’t very ‘noble’ of me to avoid you for over two weeks, which is why I wanted you to come with me to get ice cream—so I could apologize and explain why.”

  She picked at a seam in her skirt as she avoided his eyes, a hint of rose stealing into her cheeks. “I already know why,” she said softly, “and the truth is it’s I who owes you an apology.”

  “No, Meg, you’re wrong—”

  “Am I?” A sweep of dark lashes lifted to reveal a gaze riddled with regret. “You’re my best friend in the whole world, Bram, and I made you feel uncomfortable with my—” a nervous lick of her lips told him this was not easy for her—“brazen overtures,” she whispered.

  He tipped his head, gaze softening while a crooked grin skimmed across his lips. “Come on, Bug—brazen?” He nudged her chin up, coaxing her eyes to meet his. “There’s not a brazen bone in your body, Megan McClare, and an apology is hardly necessary.” Boosting his courage with a fortifying breath, he leaned back against the door with a fold of arms, his smile sloping off center. “Trust me—you had every reason to assume that mindset the way I gawked at you all night like a starry-eyed adolescent.” Sobriety stole into his manner, dimming his smile. “You’ve grown into a beauty, Meg, and some lucky guy will be blessed beyond his wildest dreams with a woman who is bright, gentle, and beautiful—the perfect girl, really.” His chest rose and fell with a heavy sigh. “It just can’t be me, Bug,” he said quietly, his gaze locked with hers.

  “I know,” she whispered, and his chest constricted at the sudden sheen of moisture in her eyes. “It was childish of me, Bram, to think you could ever be attracted to me that way.”

  Heart thudding, he grasped her hand, swallowing it in a firm grip. “No, you don’t know, Meg—at least not the reason why. And trust me, there is nothing childish about you at all, so don’t say that.” His fingers strayed to gently stroke the curve of her jaw, eyes intense. “You’re wrong, you know,” he said quietly. “Any man could fall in love with you, including me, Miss McClare, so don’t sell yourself short.” He released her hand with a heavy exhale. “Attraction is not the problem—it’s simply a matter of what’s meant to be and what’s not.”

  She studied him with a gentle bent of her head, a flicker of hope in her eyes. “But how do you know it’s not meant to be? Sometimes friendships can grow into something deeper.”

  Nodding, he refolded his arms, determined to speak his mind and get their relationship on safer ground. “True, but as two people of deep faith, we both know God’s will always prevails, and the truth is He ordained our friendship years ago as more of a fraternal friendship.”

  “Platonic,” she uttered, that sweet smile thinning the slightest bit.

  “Exactly,” Bram stated, relieved she understood t
he situation without further explanation.

  The lashes fluttered several times, as if in confusion, before she peeked up with a shy grate of her lip. “You mean just like Cassie and Jamie used to be . . .”

  “Yes—I mean no!” Bram squinted at the little minx, well aware she’d always been a genius in a little girl’s body, challenging him in everything from cribbage to chess. She stared at him now through wide eyes, an innocent who knew exactly what she was saying despite the naïve look on her face. “Jamie was attracted to Cassie from the outset, Bug, not her big brother for over ten years like us. Besides, there’s only a three-year age difference between Cass and Jamie, not ten years like you and me.”

  Childlike eyes blinked at him from a woman’s face. “But my father was ten years older than my mother . . .” Her voice was soft, but its impact hardened his jaw.

  “Meg,” he said, his tone gentle yet firm, “listen to me, please—there can be nothing but friendship between us because I’m committed to someone else.” The words came out harsher than he intended, and he felt like dirt when she sucked in a sharp breath, the flare of her eyes registering a hurt he had never meant to cause.

  “Aw, Bug.” Expelling a weary sigh, he pulled her into his arms, tucking his head to hers. “I meant to tell you in my letters, but I couldn’t bring myself to put it in writing, hoping it wouldn’t come to pass. Pop has hoped and prayed for an alliance between me and the daughter of a dear friend for years now, but I’ve conveniently ignored it.” His eyes weighted closed at the prospect of his father in financial ruin. “Until now.”