by Nora Roberts
"I don't have women trouble."
"That's 'cause you don't have any women—which, I might add, is an embarrassment to all of us. Why don't you take one of mine? I've got plenty."
Devin answered the suggestion with the crude and expected response before he stepped over to the sink to wash his hands.
"No, really. You know who I think would be good for you? Frannie Spader. She's got all this red hair that just sort of tumbles all over the place, and the cutest smile. And when you get past the hair and the smile, she's got a body that can make a man whimper. I don't think you've done nearly enough whimpering lately."
"I'll pick my own women. I don't need your damn cast-offs."
"Just being brotherly." He slapped Devin on the back before reaching for the soap. "Of course, if you weren't so damn brotherly yourself, you could probably be making time with little Cassie—"
It was a tribute to Devin's speed, and Shane's innocence, that the blow caught Shane solidly on the jaw and sent him flying. He landed hard, shook his head. Before he could ask Devin what the devil had gotten into him, he was assaulted by a hundred and seventy-five pounds of furious, frustrated male.
They were well matched, knew each other's moves and rhythms. The barn echoed with grunts, the smack of flesh against bone, curses, as they rolled over the dusty concrete floor.
"Oh, for heaven's sake."
The female voice, and the disdain in it, didn't register on either of the combatants. Shane dropped his guard just long enough to be rewarded with a split lip, and answered it by bloodying Devin's nose.
"But, darling, it looks like they've just gotten started."
"I mean it, Rafe." With a heavy sigh, Regan MacKade shifted the gurgling baby on her hip. "Break it up."
"Women," he muttered. But he would break it up his way, which was to dive into the fray, and get in a few licks of his own. Knowing he couldn't enjoy himself for long, he managed to shove Shane aside and sit on Devin.
"Stay out of this." Swiping at blood, Shane hauled himself to his knees. "It's between him and me."
"Maybe I will." Rafe was having quite a bit of trouble holding Devin down. To prove he meant to, he covered Devin's grimy face with the flat of his hand and gave it enough of a shove to have his head rapping against the concrete. "And maybe I want to play," he added. "What's it about?"
"Ask him." Already cooling off, Shane flexed his sore hand. "I was just talking to him, and he punched me."
"Well, I want to punch you half the time you're talking to me," Rafe said reasonably, and looked down to see that Devin's eyes were clearing. He hadn't meant to rap his brother's head quite that hard. "What were you talking to him about?"
"Stuff. Women."
Devin's vision was coming back, and so was his temper. He started to heave Rafe aside when Regan's firm, no-nonsense voice stopped him.
"That's just enough of this ridiculous behavior, Devin. You should be ashamed of yourself."
Still on top of him, Rafe looked down and grinned. "Yeah, Dev, you should be ashamed of yourself."
"Get the hell off me."
"You going to be a good boy?" With a laugh, Rafe leaned over and kissed him. He was quick, and agile, and sprang away before Devin could retaliate.
"A fine thing," Regan said from the doorway of the barn, making Devin think twice about jumping Shane again. She stood there in tailored slacks and a crisp spring blazer, a wide-eyed baby on her hip, a polished leather shoe tapping. "Wrestling in the barn like a couple of bad-tempered boys. Look at the two of you—you're filthy, bloody, and your clothes are torn."
"He started it." Wisely, Shane held back a laugh, and tried to look humble. "Honest, Regan, I was just defending myself."
"I'm not interested in who started it," Regan said regally, and deflated her brother-in-law with one snippy look. "I believe we were invited to dinner."
"Oh, yeah." Shane had forgotten about that. "We had a little trouble with a birthing. Breech calf. We just got finished."
"Oh." Instantly Regan was all concern. Tossing back a curtain of honey-brown hair, she hurried inside. "Is it all right?"
"Just dandy. Hey, Nate."
"No, you don't." Even as the cooing baby held out his arms to his uncle, Regan turned aside. "You're filthy. The two of you go clean up."
Devin eyed Shane narrowly, then hissed out a breath. "I felt like pounding somebody. You were available. You also have a big mouth."
Shane dabbed at the blood on his lip. "You sucker-punched me."
"So?"
"So I owe you one."
"That's it boys, kiss and make up."
When both Shane and Devin turned on Rafe, Regan gritted her teeth. "Stop right there. If nobody punches anyone else, I'll cook dinner."
"Good deal," Shane decided.
"But you're not coming in the kitchen until... What's that noise?"
"What noise?" Devin unclenched his ready fist and listened. The whimpering sound was soft, barely audible over little Nate's babbling. Homing in on it, he strode halfway down the barn and looked into another stall. "Looks like it's the day for birthing. Ethel's having her babies."
"Ethel." Like a frantic papa, Shane bolted down the barn, and all but fell into the stall beside his laboring pet. "Oh, honey, why didn't you call me? Jeez, she's already had two."
"Fred's probably out passing out cigars." At the entrance to the stall, Rafe leaned over and kissed his wife, then his son. "I know just how he feels."
Seeing the panic in Shane's eyes, Devin shook his head. They'd witnessed or assisted in countless births with the stock over the years, but that meant nothing now. This was Ethel, and she was as close to a true love as Shane had ever known. He stepped in, crouched down beside his brother.
"She's doing fine." He hooked an arm over Shane's shoulders.
"You think?"
"Sure. She's a MacKade, isn't she?" Devin glanced up at Regan and winked. "MacKade women are the best there is."
After the birthing, the cleaning up, the cooking and the celebrating of Fred and Ethel's six healthy puppies, Devin drove back to the office. He was too restless to stay at the farm. Though he had taken a long, soaking bath to soothe out the worst of the aches his scuffle with Shane had caused, he still wasn't able to fully relax.
He slowed down as he passed the inn, saw lights shining on the second and third floors. Grimly he punched the gas again and headed into town.
She wasn't going to forgive him easily, he thought. He wasn't going to forgive himself. He'd acted like a maniac. He'd been rough and demanding when she deserved, and should have expected, a gentle touch.
No wonder she'd looked at him as though he'd lost his mind, her eyes round in shock, her soft, pretty mouth trembling.
He'd make it up to her somehow, eventually. He knew how to bide his time, didn't he? He'd been waiting for her nearly half his life already.
* * *
Joe Dolin was also biding his time. His cell was dark, but he wasn't sleeping. He was planning. He knew most people thought he wasn't very smart, but he was going to show them, all of them, soon. He'd learned how to play the game, to say what the guards and the psychiatrists and the fat-faced warden wanted to hear. He'd learned how to act as they wanted him to act.
He could be humble. He could be repentant. He could be anything he had to be. As long as it got him out.
Devin MacKade thought he'd proved something, driving by the work site, flashing his badge. Oh, he owed Devin MacKade. Big-time. He hadn't forgotten the way Devin had come after him, had cuffed him and tossed him into a cell. No, he hadn't forgotten what he owed Devin. There would be payback.
But Cassie would come first, because he owed her most of all. Everything would have been fine if she'd stayed in her place. But she'd gone whining to MacKade, sniveling about their personal business.
A man had a right to punish his wife, to give her the back of his hand or let her feel his fist when she needed it. And Cassie had needed it a lot. She still did.
No fancy divorce papers changed that. She was his wife, his property, and he was going to be reminding her of that before too much longer.
Till death do us part, he thought, and smiled into the dark.
Chapter 4
Parade day was a tactical nightmare. That was to be expected. Over and above his usual reasons, Devin was looking forward to it, because it would keep him too busy to think about any personal problems.
The parade would kick off at twelve sharp—which meant anytime between noon and twelve-thirty—with the usual speeches at the square and the ceremonial laying of the wreath at the memorial.
As sheriff, he was required to be there, in full uniform. He could handle it. There were only a handful of days out of the year when he had to drag out the dress khakis and tie and shiny black shoes.
Of course, that meant dragging out the ironing board, as well, which he hated. It was the only domestic chore he truly despised, and the only one that jittered his nerves.
But by 8:00 a.m. he was pressed and dressed and out on the street. Already there were eager beavers claiming their spots, holding spaces along the curbs and sidewalks for others with lawn chairs and coolers.
Most of the storefronts and shops along the parade route were closed for the day, but he could count on Ed's being open for breakfast.
He sauntered down the sidewalk, knowing he had the best part of an hour before he had to worry about crowd control or making certain the concessionaires were in their proper places with their balloons and hot dogs and ice cream.
Summer had decided to make its debut on parade day. It was already hot, and he tugged irritably at his collar.
He imagined the tar on the street would be soft and melting by afternoon. He hoped the little girls who did their tumbles and cartwheels in their spangled uniforms were prepared.
He made a note to make certain there was plenty of water along the route for the marchers. He didn't want anybody fainting on him.
It might be a holiday, but Ed's was doing a brisk business. He could smell ham frying, coffee brewing. The scent reminded him that he'd been off his feed for the past couple of days.
After exchanging a few greetings with patrons in booths, he sidled up to the counter and took a stool.
"Sheriff." Ed winked at him. As usual, her rhine-stone glasses were dangling on a pearl-studded chain against her scrawny chest. She wore a splattered apron, but beneath it she was ready for the celebration in a snug, midriff-baring top as red as her hair, and shorts that barely met the limits of the law.
She had bright blue shadow all the way up to her penciled brows, and her mouth was stop-sign red. Poppies dangled from her ears and were pinned to her apron.
Devin grinned at her. Only Edwina Crump could get away with an outfit like that.
"Ham and eggs, Ed, and keep the coffee coming."
"You got it, sweetie." Though she was old enough to be his mother, she fluffed her hair and flirted. "Don't you look handsome in your uniform!" . "I feel like an aging Boy Scout," he grumbled.
"One of my first beaus was a Boy Scout." She wiggled her brows as she took the clear plastic top off a plate of doughnuts and chose one for him. "He was surely prepared, let me tell you. On the house," she added, casting a sharp eye over her two scrambling waitresses.
She left Devin with his coffee and doughnut before heading back into the kitchen.
He tried not to brood, really. To keep himself sane, he set his clipboard on the counter and read over his notes and itinerary. A half hour later, he was doing some fine-tuning and trying to enjoy Ed's very excellent ham and eggs.
"Hi there, Sheriff. Locked anybody up lately?"
He swiveled on the stool and looked into the stunning and not altogether friendly face of his sister-in-law. Savannah MacKade always made a statement, Devin thought. When that lush siren's body sauntered into a room, men's hearts stopped. There was all that thick black hair falling past her shoulders, those almond-shaped eyes the color of sinful chocolate, and those ice-edged cheekbones against gold-dust skin.
And there was, Devin mused, all that attitude.
"As a matter of fact, no, not lately." He grinned at the boy beside her—his nephew, whether Savannah liked it or not. Tall for his age, and as dark and handsome as his mama, Bryan was sporting his baseball uniform and fielder's cap. "Riding in the parade today?"
"Yeah. Me and Con and the guys are riding in the coach's pickup. It'll be cool."
"Kind of early, aren't you?"
"We had some things to pick up," Savannah supplied. "Including Connor. We're on our way to get him as soon as Bryan here fills his stomach."
"I'm starving," the boy claimed and, eyeing the plate of doughnuts, he leaped onto the stool beside Devin.
"Hey, Ed, you got a starving boy out here."
"I'm coming." She slapped the swinging door of the kitchen open and strolled out. Her grin flashed at Bryan. "Well, it's my champ." As sponsor of the An-tietam Cannons, Ed preened with pride. "Hell of a game Saturday." She saluted Savannah, leaned over the counter long enough to coo at the baby in the stroller, then fell into a deep and serious discussion with Bryan about food and baseball.
Devin didn't ask. He'd be damned if he would. He slid off the stool long enough to pick up his niece, then settled back down with the wide-eyed Layla on his lap.
Beneath the frilly sun hat, Layla's hair curled thick and dark. Her mouth—her mother's mouth, Devin mused—was serious as she watched him out of big eyes that were already easing from birth blue to MacKade green.
"Hello, beautiful." He bent over to kiss her, and was pleased to see that pretty mouth curve. "She smiled at me."
"Gas."
Devin looked up into Savannah's bland eyes. "The hell it is. She smiled at me. She loves me. Don't you, Layla? Don't you, darling?" He traced a finger over her hand until she gripped it. "She's got MacKade eyes."
"They're still changing," Savannah claimed. But she was softening. Despite the badge, and the fact that she tried to resist him, she grew fonder of Devin every day. "They might turn brown."
"Nah. MacKade eyes." He looked up again, smiled at her. "You're stuck with them. With us."
"Apparently."
His grin only widened. He knew she liked him, no matter how cool she tried to be. "Want a doughnut?"
"Maybe." She gave up and slid onto a stool. "You don't have to hold her."
"I want to hold her. Where's Jared?"
"Doing some lawyer thing. He's going to meet us at the inn about nine-thirty."
"So, you haven't been by yet," Devin said casually, very casually, as he shifted Layla to his shoulder and rubbed her back.
"No." Savannah bent down to take a cloth from the stroller and smoothed it over Devin's shoulder. "I nursed her right before we left. She's liable to spit up all over that pretty cop suit."
"Then I wouldn't have to wear it. You're just picking up Connor?"
"Mm-hmm..." With an expert's eye, Savannah selected her own doughnut. "Rafe and Regan are swinging by later to get Cassie and Emma. Shane's going to drive Jared in so we don't have so many cars when we head to the park for the picnic."
She glanced over, saw that her son was well on his way to demolishing the two doughnuts Ed had given him. "You angling for a ride?"
"No. I've got to take the cruiser so I can pretend I'm working."
"I didn't see you at the game Saturday."
"I swung by for a couple of innings." He'd spotted Cassie in the stands, and he hadn't wanted to make her uncomfortable.
"You didn't make it to Sunday dinner yesterday at the farm."
"Did you miss me?"
"Not particularly." But there was something in his eyes that wiped the sneer off her face. "Is something wrong, Devin?"
"No."
"Jared told me about Joe Dolin, the work release. It's bothering you."
"That's a mild term for it. I'm keeping my eye on him," he murmured, and turned his face into Layla's sweet-smelling neck to nuzzle.
"I'
ll bet you are," Savannah murmured. She brushed a hand over her daughter's head, then let it rest on Devin's shoulder in a gesture of affection and support that surprised both of them.
"Am I growing on you, Savannah?"
She let her hand drop, but the corners of her mouth quirked up. "Like you said, I'm stuck with you. Now give me my kid."
Devin settled Layla in her mother's arms, then kissed Savannah, firm and quick, on the mouth. "See you. See you, Bry," he added as he rose.
Bryan mumbled something, hampered by a mouthful of apple-filled doughnut.
"Damn MacKades," Savannah said under her breath. But she was smiling as she watched Devin stride away.
By noon, the town was bursting at the seams. People crowded the sidewalks and spilled over porches and front yards. Kids raced everywhere at once, and the bawling of fretful babies rose through the air like discordant music.
Several streets were barricaded to keep the parade route clear. Devin posted himself at the main intersection so that he could soothe travelers who had forgotten about parade day, or were from far enough out of town that they'd never heard of it.
He offered alternate routes, or invitations to park and join the festivities.
The two-way radio hitched to his belt belched and squawked with static or calls from deputies placed at distant points along the route.
Across the street from him, at the corner of the gas station, a clown sold colorful balloons. Half a block down, ice cream and snow cones were big sellers. They melted in the heat almost as soon as they were passed from hand to hand.
Devin looked at the wrappers, the spills, the bits of broken toys and balloons. Cleanup was going to be a bitch.
Then, in the distance, he heard the first of the marching bands approaching the square. The brassy music, the click-clack of booted feet, had his practical frame of mind shifting into the pleasures of his youth.
What the hell—there was just nothing like a parade.
"Officer! Officer!"
Resigned, Devin turned back to the barricade, where another car had pulled up. With one look, he summed up the middle-aged couple in the late-model sedan as hot, frazzled and annoyed.
"Yes, ma'am." He leaned down to the open window and gave them his best public-servant smile. "What can I do for you?"