Free Love at Any Cost by Julie Lessman Page A

‘manhandled,’ maybe, but none the worse for the wear.”
    Cassie could have had Texas heatstroke—no difference—her cheeks were on fire and her pride was in flames. She stuttered, her apology wedged in her throat. “I, um . . . well, I’m, uh . . .”
    â€œSorry?” Jamie offered with a patient lift of brows.
    Her lips went flat. “Yeah, that.”
    He held out his hand again, a tease hovering on his lips. “So am I—truce?”
    â€œWe can always draw up a contract if you don’t trust him, Cass,” Uncle Logan said with a grin.
    Cassie forced a smile and shook Jamie’s hand. “That’s okay, Uncle Logan. With four lawyers in the room and a gal who can hog-tie a steer in fifteen seconds, I’ll take my chances.”
    A slow smile inched across Jamie’s face. “I certainly hope so,” he whispered.
    â€œI suppose you expect to be fed despite waltzing in late?” Rosie barreled through the kitchen door with a soup tureen while Hadley followed seconds later with a bowl of green beans. She did a double take, leering at the butler. “I said ‘ greens ,’ Mr. Hadley.” The whisper she ground out could’ve been heard down on the wharf. “Not ‘ beans .’ Those are for the next course.”
    An eyelash never flicked on the weathered face of the tall, silver-haired butler who had served the McClares for years. Forever at odds with Mrs. O’Brien—or at least she with him—the English-born manservant possessed a dignity far keener than either his sight or hearing, tipping Cassie’s lips into a faint smile. With his usual grace and unruffled air, he calmly offered a slight bow to the crotchety housekeeper, an almost imperceptible curve on wide lips that never uttered a crass word or complaint. “Beg pardon, Mrs. O’Brien,” he said with a crisp English accent, promptly toting the bowl of green beans back to the kitchen.
    With a roll of eyes, Rosie doled out chowder while Jamie hooked an arm to her waist, giving her a kiss on the head. “Sorry we’re late, but it was Bram’s fault,” he whispered loudly in Rosie’s ear. “Heaven knows I wouldn’t be late for one of your meals, Mrs. O., if my life depended on it. Everybody knows you’re the best cook in the Bay area, and good gravy, I’d propose tomorrowif I thought you’d accept.” He winked. “Or maybe I should say, ‘great chowder.’ ”
    Flatter-fop. Cassie gave him a thin smile, annoyed that Rosie’s cheeks sported a soft blush as she playfully swatted him away before ladling soup into his bowl. “Oh, go on with you, Jamie MacKenna,” she said with a scowl that was more of smile. “Sure, and you’re loaded with more blarney than the sacred stone itself.” She turned to Bram, eyes narrowed in tease. “And you—it’d serve you right to eat in the kitchen for being late.”
    â€œB-but . . . it wasn’t my fault, Mrs. O.—”
    â€œNo ‘buts,’ Abraham Hughes,” she said with a stern look that couldn’t hide the twinkle in her eyes, “except in this chair.” She ladled his soup while Hadley returned with a hefty tray of individual salads, which he quickly dispensed.
    â€œYou always did like him better than me,” Bram said with a grin, squeezing Rosie’s waist.
    â€œThat’s because I’m a ‘pretty boy,’ ” Jamie said with a smirk. “Just ask Cassie.”
    â€œYou forgot ‘yahoo.’ ” Bram dove into the chowder with gusto.
    Jamie reached for the rolls, addressing Cassie with a wounded tone offset by laughter in his eyes. “Surely you didn’t mean that, did you, Your Highness?”
    â€œOh, she meant it, all right,” Alli said, popping a leaf of salad in her mouth. She swallowed and grinned, leaning forward to wink at