by Nora Roberts
"We have to get through here." The driver's irritated tone carried the flavor of the North that went with his Pennsylvania tags.
"I told you not to get off the highway, George. You just had to take the scenic route."
"Be quiet, Marsha. We have to get through," he said again.
"Well, now." Devin ran his hand over his chin. "The problem here is that we've got a parade going on." To prove it, the marching band let out a blare of trumpets, a boom of drums. Devin pitched his voice over the din. "We won't be able to open this road for another hour."
That sparked a heated domestic argument, demands, accusations. Devin kept the easy smile on his face. "Where y'all headed?''
"D.C."
"Well, I'll tell you what you can do, if you're in a hurry. You turn around and head straight up this road for about five miles. You're going to see signs to route 70. Take the eastbound. You'll hit the Washington Beltway—that's 495—in just about an hour."
"I told you not to get off the highway," Marsha said again.
George huffed. "How was I supposed to know some little one-horse town would block off the streets?"
"If you're not in a hurry," Devin continued, calm as a lake, "you can turn around and pull into that field where there's a sign for parking. It's free. We got a nice parade here." He glanced over as a junior majorette tossed up her baton and snagged it, to the forceful applause of the crowd. "I can give you a nice, pretty route into D.C."
"I haven't got time for any damn parade." Puffing out his cheeks, George slapped the sedan in reverse. Devin could hear them arguing as he jockeyed the car into a turn and headed off.
"Ain't that a shame..." Devin muttered, and turned, nearly knocking Cassie over. He grabbed her instinctively, then let her go as if her skin had burned his hands. "Sorry. Didn't see you."
"I thought I should wait until you'd finished being diplomatic."
"Yeah. George and Marsha don't know what they're missing."
Smiling, she watched the senior majorettes twirl and tumble. But in her mind she was still seeing Devin in his uniform. So competent and male. "I know. You must be hot. Would you like me to get you a drink?"
"No, I'm fine. Ah..." His tongue was in knots. He didn't know the last time he'd seen her in shorts. And over the years he'd done his best not to think about her legs. Now here they were, all long and smooth, showcased by neat little cuffed shorts the color of plums. "Where's Emma?"
"She's made friends with the little McCutcheon girl, Lucy. They're in her yard." It was easier to talk to him if she wasn't looking at him, so Cassie concentrated on the slow-moving convertible and its passenger, the waving and flouncily dressed current agriculture princess. "Are you angry with me, Devin?"
"No, of course not." He stared so hard at the princess that she flashed him a brilliant, hopeful smile, and a very personal wave. But it was Cassie he saw, looking shocked and delicate. And beautiful.
"You've flustered Julie," Cassie murmured, noting the exchange.
"Julie? Who's Julie?"
Her quick laugh surprised them both. Then they were staring at each other. "Are you sure you're not mad?"
"No. Yes. Yes, I'm sure." He jammed his hands into his pockets, where they would be safe. "Not at you. At me. Like I said, I was out of line the other day."
"I didn't mind."
The blare of the next band rang in his ears. He was sure he hadn't heard her correctly. "Excuse me?"
"I said I—" She broke off when his two-way squawked.
"Sheriff. Sheriff, this here's Donnie. We got a little situation down to quadrant C. You there, Sheriff?"
"Quadrant C, my butt," Devin muttered. "He's at the elementary school. Watching too many Dragnet reruns."
"I'll let you go," Cassie said quickly as he whipped out his two-way. "You're busy."
"If you'd—" He cursed again, because she was already hurrying through the cheering crowd. "Mac-Kade," he snapped into the receiver.
The little situation turned out to be a harmless brawl between overly loyal students at rival high schools. Devin broke it up, snarled at Donnie, then helped a mother deal with her terrified daughter, who had lost her breakfast over the idea of twirling her baton in public.
By the time the last marching boot clicked, the last flag waved and the last balloon drifted into the sky, he had to oversee the traffic headed for the park and the cleanup detail, and help a couple of weeping lost children find their way back to Mama.
He took his time cooling off under the stingy spray of his office shower, then gratefully retired his uniform until the next official event. By the time he made it to the park and snuck the cruiser in behind a trail of cars, the picnic, with its grilling food and boisterous games, was well under way.
There was Softball, horseshoes, pitching contests, egg-throwing contests, three-legged races. He saw Shane nuzzling Frannie Spader, the curvy redhead he had so generously offered Devin a few days before.
There was Rafe, stepping up to bat, and Jared winding up to pitch. Regan and Savannah were spread out in the shade with their babies.
There were dogs and kids, big-bellied men sitting in lawn chairs, discussing sports and politics, old women fanning themselves and laughing. There was Cy, the town mayor, looking ridiculous as always, sporting a pair of violently checkered Bermuda shorts that still exposed far too much of his hairy legs.
Mrs. Metz was shouting encouragement to her grandchildren, gnawing on a chicken leg and gossiping with Miss Sarah Jane.
Good God, Devin thought, he really loved them. All of them.
He wandered over the grass, stopping here and there to chat or listen to a complaint or a snippet of news. With his hands tucked in his back pockets he watched solemnly with old Mr. Wineburger as horseshoes were tossed and clanged against the pole.
He was debating different techniques of horseshoe pitching when Emma came up quietly and held out her arms. He picked her up, settled her on his hip while Wineburger wheezed out opinions. But Devin's mind had begun to wander.
Little Emma smelled like sunshine and was as tiny as a fairy. But she was nearly seven now, he recalled with a jolt. Soon she wouldn't want to be picked up and held. She would, like the young girls he saw over at the edge of the field, be flirting with young boys, want to be left alone to experiment with being female.
He sighed and gave her a quick squeeze.
"How come you're sad?" she wanted to know.
"I'm not. I'm just thinking that you're growing up on me. How about a snow cone?"
"Okay. A purple one."
"A purple one," he agreed, and set her down. Hands linked, they walked toward the machine manned by the American Legion. He bought two, then settled down with her on the grass to watch the soft-ball match.
"Come on, Dev!" From his position at second, Rafe shouted to his brother. "Batter up!"
"I'm not moving. I've got me a pretty girl here," he shouted back.
"Mama says I'm pretty, too."
He smiled at Emma, ruffled her hair. "That's because you are."
"Mama's pretty."
"She sure is."
Emma cuddled closer, knowing his arm would come around her, just the way she liked it. "She hardly ever cries anymore." In her innocence, she licked at the snow cone and didn't notice the way Devin's arm went taut. "She used to cry all the time, at nighttime. But now she doesn't."
"That's good" was all Devin could manage.
"And we got to have Ed the kitten, and a brand-new house, and nobody yells and breaks things or hits Mama now. Connor gets to play baseball and write stories, and I can have Lucy come right to my room to play. I've got pretty curtains, too, with puppies on them. And new shoes."
She wiggled her pink sneakers for Devin's benefit.
"They're very nice."
"It's 'cause you made him go away, the bad man. Connor said you arrested him and sent him to jail and now he can't hit Mama and make her cry." She looked up at him, her mouth circled with sticky purple, her eyes wide and clear.
"I love you."
"Oh, Emma..." Undone, he lowered his brow to her soft golden curls. "I love you, too. You're my best girl."
"I know." She puckered her purple lips and planted a sticky kiss on his cheek. "I'm going to get Lucy now. She's my very best friend." She got to her feet, smiled her mother's soft smile. "Thank you for the snow cone.''
"You're welcome."
He watched her dance off, pretty as a pixie, then rubbed his hands over his face. It was hard enough being in love with the mother. What the hell was he going to do with this need for the child?
Was he going to have to settle—always—for protecting, for watching over, for being the dependable friend, the favored honorary uncle?
He was getting damn sick of it, of holding in, of holding back.
This time, when Rafe called out, Devin got to his feet. Yeah, he thought, he'd batter up, all right. God knew he needed to hit something.
There was something intrinsically satisfying about smacking a little white ball with a slim wooden bat. It was the connection, the way the power of it sang up the arms. It was the sound, the solid crack, the whoosh of air, the rising cheers as the ball lifted.
He was feeling human by the time he rounded third and headed for home. More than human, since it turned out to be Shane guarding the plate. His lips peeled back in a feral grin matching his brother's as he went into a hard, bruising headfirst slide.
There was the brutal collision of flesh and bone, the swirl of choking dust, the hysterical screams of fans and teammates. He heard Shane grunt as his elbow whipped around to catch his brother in the ribs, beside the padded catcher's vest. He saw stars as some bony part, probably Shane's knee, caught him beside the ear.
But what he heard over it all was the glorifying call of "Safe!"
"I'll be damned." Shane had managed to hold on to the ball that Jared had bulleted to him, even after the nasty collision. "I tagged the sucker," Shane insisted, waving the ball for emphasis.
Cy, the umpire, hung tough. "You weren't on the plate, Shane. Devin was. You didn't get the tag in time.''
That, of course, was tantamount to a declaration of war.
From the sidelines, Savannah watched the very polished attorney Jared MacKade go nose-to-nose with the town's mayor, while her brothers-in-law shouted at each other, and anyone else who happened to get in the way.
"I love picnics," Savannah commented.
"Mmm... Me too." Regan stretched her arms. "They're so relaxing." She smiled up at Cassie, who stepped under the shade with them. "Don't worry," she said, noting the way Cassie hugged her arms. "They won't hurt each other. Very much."
"I know." She tried not to be so poor-spirited. The MacKades were always yelling. But she hugged herself tighter when she saw Connor and Bryan race up to get a piece of the action.
"Don't worry," Regan said again.
"No, I won't."
It was good, wasn't it, that Connor could race and shout that way? He'd been too quiet for too long. Too worried, she thought guiltily. He was coming into himself more and more every day. And if picking sides over a baseball call made him happy, then no, she wouldn't let herself worry.
It was over soon enough, with vows of revenge and retaliation. She watched Bryan do a victory boogie, then nag until he was allowed up to the plate. Devin picked up a mitt, bent over and said something that had Connor goggling with pleasure. Her son raced into the outfield and joined the game.
"He's awfully good with children," Cassie murmured. "Devin," she added.
"Every time he comes by the house, he has Nate on his hip the minute he steps through the door." Regan smiled down at her son, who was busy chewing on a bright red teething ring. "He's bleeding."
Alarmed, Cassie looked down at Nate. "Where?"
"No, I meant Devin. His mouth's bleeding. Anyone got a tissue?"
"I do." Cassie pulled one out of her pocket.
As she hurried over to where Devin was walking to the outfield, Regan grinned. "She hasn't figured it out yet, has she?"
"Nope." Savannah leaned back against the tree. L.ayla was napping, and that seemed like a wonderful idea. "He's going to have to do something a little more obvious for her to realize he's crazy about her."
"He's the only MacKade I know who moves slow."
Savannah arched a brow before she closed her eyes. "I'll bet he moves fast enough when the time comes. Cassie won't have a chance."
"No," Regan said softly. "She'll have the best chance of her life."
Out of breath from the effort of catching up with his long strides, Cassie called out, "Devin! Wait a minute!"
He glanced around, saw her rushing after him and did what he'd trained himself to do. He put his hands in his pockets. "What?"
"Your mouth. Gosh, you must be all leg," she managed, puffing, when she stopped in front of him.
"My mouth?"
"It's bleeding." In practiced maternal gestures, she dabbed at the corner of his mouth. "I saw you dive headfirst into Shane. I had to close my eyes. You're lucky you only cut your lip doing something that crazy. It's only a game."
"It's baseball," he reminded her, and struggled not to groan as her fingers gently soothed the wound he hadn't even been aware of. "I got the run."
"Yes, I know. I'm learning all the rules and terms. RBIs and ERAs. Connor's so excited about playing. It was sweet of you to let him go into left field."
"Right. Right field," Devin managed as his heart jitterbugged in his chest. He kept his hands balled into fists in his pockets. "Cassie, I'm fine."
It was the tone, the sharp impatience in it, that had her stopping. "You are mad at me."
"I'm not mad at you. Damn it, I'm not mad. Look." Frustrated beyond belief, he snatched the blood-spotted tissue from her hands. "What's this?"
"It's blood. I told you your mouth—"
"Blood," he said, interrupting her. "That's what I've got in my veins. Blood, not ice water. So if you're going to keep leaning up against me and putting your hands on my face, I—" He cut himself off, clenched his teeth. "I'm not mad," he said, more calmly. "I need to take a walk."
Cassie gnawed at her lip as he strode away into the little grove of trees that lined the east side of the park. The idea of losing his friendship gave her all the courage she needed to follow him.
He stopped, turned, and the heat in his eyes was like an arrow in her heart. "I'm sorry," she said quickly. "I'm sorry, Devin."
"Don't say you're sorry to me, Cassie, you have nothing to apologize for." Where the hell was everybody? he asked himself. Why weren't there people in the grove? He couldn't risk being alone with her now, when he didn't have himself under complete control. "Go on back, Cassie. Go on, now."
She started to. It was second nature for her to do as she was told. But she couldn't, not this time. Not when it was so important. "If you're not mad, then you're upset. I don't want to be the cause of that."
It was hard, almost terrifying, to step forward, when there was still temper simmering in his eyes. She knew he wouldn't hurt her, of course she knew, but there was a part of her that couldn't be entirely sure. But for Devin she'd risk it.
"It's because I kissed you," she blurted out. "I didn't mean anything by it."
The temper drained from his eyes. There were blank now, carefully blank. "I know you didn't."
"You kissed me back." Her heart was pounding so hard she could barely hear herself speak. "You said you were angry with yourself for doing it, but I don't want you to be. I didn't mind."
"You didn't mind," he repeated, spacing out the words. "Okay. We'll put it aside. Go on back now."
"Why did you kiss me like that?" The words ended on a whisper as her courage began to flag.
"Like I told you, you caught me off guard." When she only continued to stare at him with those big, soft eyes, he felt something snap. "Damn it, what do you want from me? I apologized, didn't I? I said it wouldn't happen again. I'm trying to stay away from you, and it's killing me. I've waited to kiss you fo
r twelve years, and when I do I practically eat you alive. I didn't mean to hurt you."
Her knees were starting to shake, but it didn't feel like fear. She knew fear well enough to recognize it. But whatever this was that was working through her was unfamiliar.
"You didn't hurt me." She had to swallow. "I didn't mind. I don't mind."
He was trying to get a bead on her, but wasn't sure of his aim. "I want to kiss you again."
"I don't mind," she repeated, because it was the best she could do.
She didn't move as he stepped toward her, had no idea if she should touch him. She would have liked to run her hands up those arms, they were so strong. But she wasn't sure.
Then she didn't have to worry, or think, or try to guess. He laid his hands on her cheeks, framing her face, and lowered his mouth to hers, so gently, so patiently.
Her heart fluttered, and the sensation was sweet, like something flying silently out of a cage when the door has been opened unexpectedly. When he drew her closer, just a little closer, she thought she floated toward him. Her lips parted on a sigh of quiet wonder.
This was what he meant to do, always. Show her tenderness and care. Let himself slide into her slowly, gently. The dappled shade was perfect, sweetened by the call of birds and the tang of wildflowers.
This was what he'd meant to do, he thought hazily, and deepened the kiss with patient skill until she sighed again.
And all the years he'd waited and wanted seemed like minutes, now that she was here, with him.
The sound of the shouts and laughter from the field beyond was like the buzz of happy bees in her head. She didn't realize she'd lifted her hands, curled them around his wrists, until she felt the strong quick beat of his pulse against her fingers. She held on as lovely colors began to revolve in her head, as the kiss went on and on, spinning out time.
He didn't let her go until her hands had slipped weakly from his wrists to fall to her sides.
Her eyes were still closed when he lifted his head, when he moved his hands from her face to her shoulders. As he watched, she pressed her lips together, as if to draw in that last taste, and savor it.