The Heart Of Devin Mackade tmb-3

by Nora Roberts

  "I love the taste of you." He pressed his lips to her jaw, her temples, back to her lips. "I've dreamed of it."

  "You have?"

  "Most of my life. I've wanted to be with you like this for years. Forever.''

  The words were seeping through that lovely haze of pleasure that covered her whenever he kissed her. "But—"

  "You got married." He trailed his lips down her cheek. "I didn't move fast enough. I got drunk the day you married Joe Dolin. Blind, falling-down drunk. I didn't know what else to do. I thought about killing him, but I figured you must have wanted him. So that was that."

  "Devin, I don't understand this." If he'd stop kissing her, just for a minute, she might be able to understand.

  But he couldn't seem to stop, any of it. "I loved you so much I thought I'd die from it. Just keel right over and die."

  Panic and denial had her struggling away. "You couldn't have."

  He'd said too much, but the regrets would have to come later. Now, he'd finish it. "I've loved you for over twelve years, Cassandra. I loved you when you were married to another man, when you had his children. I loved you when I couldn't do anything to help you out of that hell you were living in. I love you now."

  She got up and, in an old defensive habit, wrapped her arms tight around her body. "That's not possible."

  "Don't tell me what I feel." She jolted back a full step at the anger in his tone, making him clench his teeth as he rose. "And don't you cringe away from me when I raise my voice. I can't be what I'm not, not even for you. But I'm not Joe Dolin. I'll never hit you."

  "I know that." She let her arms drop. "I know that, Devin." Even as she said it, she watched him struggle to push back the worst of his temper. "I don't want you to be angry with me, Devin, but I don't know what to say to you."

  "Seems like I've already said more than enough." He began to pace, his hands jammed in his pockets. "I'm good at taking things slow, thinking them through. But not this time. I've said what I've said, Cass, and I can't—won't—take it back. You're going to have to decide what you want to do about it."

  "Do about what?" Baffled, she lifted her hands, then let them fall. "You want me to believe that a man like you had feelings for me all these years and didn't do anything about it?"

  "What the hell was I supposed to do?" he tossed back. "You were married. You'd made your choice, and it wasn't me."

  "I didn't know there was a choice."

  "My mistake," he said, bitterly. "Now I've made another one, because you're not ready, or you don't want to be ready. Or maybe you just don't want me."

  "I don't—" She lifted her hands to her cheeks. She honestly didn't know which, if any, of those alternatives was true. "I can't think. You've been my friend. You've been, well, the sheriff, and I've been so grateful—"

  "Don't you dare say that to me." Devin shouted the words, and was too twisted with pain and fury to notice that she went white as death. "Damn it, I don't want you to be grateful. I'm not playing public servant with you. I don't deserve that."

  "I didn't mean... Devin, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

  "The hell with being sorry," he raged. "The hell with gratitude. You want to be grateful I locked the son of a bitch up who was pounding on you, then be grateful to the badge, not to me. Because / wanted to break him in half. You want to be grateful I've been coming around here being the nice guy, like some love-whipped mongrel dog, don't. Because what I've wanted to do is—"

  He bit that back, his eyes cutting through her like hot knives. "You don't want to know. No, what you want is for me to keep my voice down, my feelings inside and my hands to myself."

  "No, that's not—"

  "You don't mind if I kiss you, but then, you're so damn grateful it's the least you can do."

  Her stumbling protest fell apart. "That's not fair."

  "I'm tired of being fair. I'm tired of waiting for you. I'm tired of being torn up in love with you. The hell with it."

  He strode by her, and was halfway down the stairs before her legs unfroze. She raced after him. "Devin. Devin, please don't go this way. Let me—"

  He jerked away from her light touch on his shoulder, whirled on her. "Leave me alone now, Cass. You want to leave me be now."

  She knew that look, though she had never expected to see it aimed from his eyes into hers. It was a man's bitter fury. She had reason to fear it. Her stomach clenched painfully, but she made herself stand her ground. He would never know how much it cost her.

  "You never told me," she said, fighting to keep her voice slow and even. "You never let me see. Now you have, and you won't give me time to think, to know what to do. You don't want to hear that I'm sorry, that I'm grateful, that I'm afraid. But I'm all of those things, and I can't help it. I can't make myself into what anyone else expects me to be ever again. I'll lose everything this time. If I could do it for anyone, I'd do it for you. But I can't."

  "That's clear enough." He knew he was wrong— not completely wrong, but wrong enough. It just didn't seem to matter, compared with this ragged, tearing hurt inside of him. "The thing you've got twisted around, Cass, is that I don't want you to be anything but what you are. Once you figure that out, you know where to find me."

  She opened her mouth again, then closed it when he strode away. There was nothing else she could say to him now, nothing else she could do. She felt raw inside, and her throat hurt.

  And it was hurt that had been in his eyes, she thought, closing her own. Hurt that she had caused, without ever meaning to.

  Devin MacKade loved her. The idea left her weak with terror and confusion. But bigger even than that was the idea that he had loved her all this time. Devin MacKade, the kindest, most admirable man she knew, loved her, had loved her for years, and all she had to give in return was gratitude.

  Now she had lost him, the friendship she'd come to cherish, the companionship she had grown to depend on. She'd lost it because he wanted a woman, and she was empty inside.

  She didn't weep. It was too late for tears. Instead, she rose, reminded herself to square her shoulders. She went back into the inn through the kitchen. There were chores to see to, and she could always think more clearly when she was working.

  Her latest guests had gone off, eager to hunt antiques, so Cassie went back upstairs and turned on the vacuum she'd abandoned when the guests arrived.

  She worked methodically, down the hallway, room by room. The bridal suite—Abigail's room—was her favorite. But she paid little attention now to the lovely wallpaper with its rosebuds, the graceful canopy bed, the wash of sunlight through the lace curtains.

  She reminded herself to bring up fresh flowers. Even when the room wasn't occupied, there were always flowers on the table by the window. She'd forgotten them that morning.

  Yet the room smelled of roses, powerfully. A sudden chill had her shivering. She felt him, and turned toward the door.

  "Devin." Relief, confusion, sorrow. She experienced them all as she took a step toward the doorway.

  But it wasn't Devin. The man was tall, dark-haired and handsome. But the face wasn't Devin's, and the clothes were formal, old-fashioned. Her hand went limp on the handle of the vacuum, and the sound of it buzzed in her ears.

  Abigail, come with me. Take the children and come with me. Leave this place. You don't love him.

  No, Cassie thought, I've never loved him. Now I despise him.

  Can't you see what this is doing to you? How long will you stay, closed away from life this way?

  It's all I can do. It's the best I can do.

  I love you, Abby. I love you so much. I could make you happy if you'd only let me. We'll go away from here, away from him. Start our lives over, together. I've already waited for you so long.

  How can I? I'm bound to him. I have the children. And you, your life is here. You can't walk away from the town, your responsibilities, the people who depend on you. You can't settle for another man's wife, another man's children.

  There's nothing I wouldn't d
o for you. I'd kill for you. Die for you. For God's sake, Abigail, give me the chance to love you. All these years I've stood by, knowing how unhappy you were, knowing you were out of reach. That's over now. He's gone. We can leave and be miles from here before he comes back. Why should either of us settle for less than everything? I don't want to sit in the parlor with you and pretend I don't love you, don't need you. I can't keep being only your friend.

  You know I value you, depend on you.

  Tell me you love me.

  I can't. I can't tell you that. There's nothing inside me any longer. He killed it.

  Come with me. And live again.

  Whatever was there, whoever was there, faded, until there was only the doorway, the lovely wallpaper and the strong, sad scent of roses. Cassie found herself standing, almost swaying, with one hand reaching out to nothing at all.

  The vacuum was still humming as she sank weakly to the floor.

  What had happened here? she asked herself. Had she been dreaming? Hallucinating?

  She laid a hand on her heart and found it was beating like a wild bird in a cage. Carefully she let her head drop down to her updrawn knees.

  She had heard the ghosts before, felt them. Now, she realized, she had seen one. Not one of the Barlows, not the poor doomed soldier. But the man Abigail had loved. The man who had loved her.

  Who had he been? She thought she might never know. But his face had been compelling, though filled with sorrow, his voice strong, even when it was pleading. Why hadn't Abigail gone with him? Why hadn't she taken that hand he reached out to her and run, run for her life?

  Abigail had loved him. Cassie drew in a deep breath. Of that she was sure. The emotions that swirled through the room had been so powerful, she felt them still. There had been love here. Desperate, helpless love.

  Is that why you weep? Cassie wondered. Because you didn't go, and you lost him? You didn't reach out, and then there was nothing to hold on to?

  You were afraid to love him, so you broke his heart.

  Just as she had broken Devin's heart today.

  With a shudder, Cassie lifted her head. Why? she asked herself. Out of fear and doubt. Out of habit. That was pathetic. All Devin had wanted was affection. But she hadn't told him that she cared. Hadn't showed him she cared.

  Would she close herself away, as Abigail had, or would she take the chance?

  Hadn't she been a coward long enough?

  Wiping her damp face, she got to her feet. She had to go to him. She would go to him. Somehow.

  Of course, such things are never simple. She had children, and could hardly leave them to fend for themselves. She had guests at the inn, and a job to do. It took her hours to manage it, and with every minute that passed, the doubts weighed more heavily.

  She combated them by reminding herself that it didn't matter how clumsy she was. He wanted her. That would be enough.

  "I'm so grateful, Ed. I know it's a lot to ask."

  "Hey—" Already settled down in front of the television with a bowl of popcorn, Ed waved a hand "—so I closed a little early. I get a night off."

  "The kids are asleep." But still Cassie fretted. "They hardly ever wake up after they're down."

  "Don't you worry about those angels. And don't worry about the people downstairs," she added, anticipating Cassie. "They want anything, they'll call up here and let me know. I'm going to watch this love story I rented, then hit the sack."

  "You take the bed. You promised," Cassie insisted. "I'll just flop down on the couch when I get back."

  "Mm-hmm..." Ed was betting that wouldn't be until dawn. "You say hi to Devin for me, now."

  Cassie twisted the collar of her blouse in her fingers. "I'm just going over to his office for a little while."

  "If you say so, honey."

  "He's angry with me, Ed. He's so angry with me, he might just boot me out."

  Ed stopped the videotape she was watching, turned around on the couch and gave Cassie one long, summing-up look. "Honey, you look at him like that, and he's not going to boot you anywhere but into that cot he's got in the back room." When Cassie wrapped her arms around her body, Ed only laughed. "Oh, you stop that now. Devin's not going to push you into anything. A man like that doesn't have to push. He just has to be."

  "How did you know I was going over there to... to try to..."

  "Cassie, honey, look who you're talking to here. I've been around this block plenty. You call me, ask if I'd settle in here for the night because you need to see Devin, I'm going to figure it out. And it's long past time, if you ask me."

  Cassie looked down at her plain cotton blouse and simple trousers. Her neat flat-heeled shoes. Hardly the garb of a femme fatale. "Ed, I'm no good at this sort of thing."

  Ed cocked her head. "I'd wager Devin's plenty good at it, so don't you worry."

  "Regan said I should let him set the pace. Maybe I shouldn't be going over there."

  "Sweetie pie, sometimes even a real man needs a little kick. Now you stop second-guessing yourself and wringing your hands. Go on over there and get him."

  "I should do something with my hair," Cassie fretted. "And I've chewed off my lipstick, haven't I? Maybe I should put on a dress."

  "Cassie." Ed tipped down her rhinestone glasses, peered over them. "You look fine. You look fresh. He doesn't care what you're wearing, take my word for it. He's only going to care that you're there. Now go get him."

  "All right." Cassie squared her shoulders, picked up her purse. "I'm going. I'm going now. But if you need anything, just—"

  "I won't need a thing. Go."

  "I'm going."

  Ed wiggled her bright red brows as Cassie went out the door. Poor kid, she thought. She looked like she was walking out in front of a firing squad. With a cackle, Ed tipped her glasses back up and flipped the video back on.

  Her money was on Devin MacKade.

  Chapter 7

  He really should just give it up and go back and crawl into his cot. That was what Devin told himself, but he kept right on sitting at his desk with his nose in a book. The story just wasn't holding his interest. It wasn't the fault of the author; nothing could have held his interest just then.

  He knew it was foolish, and useless, but he'd had nothing and no one to vent his temper on. So there it was, still curdling inside him. He'd actually considered heading out to the farm and picking a fight with Shane. It would have been easy. Too easy. So he'd decided against it.

  He told himself it was because he was a better man than that. He'd have done that sort of thing in his teens—hell, in his twenties. The fact was, he'd probably have done it last week.

  But it just didn't suit his mood now.

  He was just going to sit here, in his quiet office, with his feet up on his desk and the chair kicked back, and read. Even if it killed him.

  It was after ten on a weeknight, which meant it was doubtful any calls were going to come in to liven things up. He didn't have to be there, but he liked the solitude of his office at night, the familiarity of it. And the fact that he could be there, behind the desk instead of behind the bars.

  He hadn't even turned the radio on, as he often did to bring a little music and company into the night. The only light was the one on his desk, the metal gooseneck lamp aimed at the book in his hands. The book he wasn't reading.

  He considered getting up and brewing coffee, since he wasn't going to bed. But it seemed like too much effort.

  It was the first time in his life he could remember being so angry and so tired at the same time. Usually temper energized him, got his blood up and his adrenaline sizzling. Now he was sapped. He supposed it was because most of the anger was self-directed, though he still had plenty left over for Cassie.

  When a woman hurt a man, it was the most natural thing in the world to cover it with anger.

  He'd told other women he loved them. He wouldn't have denied it. The fact was that he'd tried to love other women. He'd worked hard at it for a space of time. The last thing he'd w
anted to do was moon around over something he couldn't have.

  Which was just what he was doing now.

  Sulking, his mother would have called it, he thought with a grimace. He missed her more just now than he had since she'd died. And he'd missed her quite a bit over the years.

  She'd have given him a cuff on the ear, he supposed, or she'd have laughed. She'd have told him to get his sorry butt up and do something instead of brooding over what he should have done. Or shouldn't have done.

  Well, he couldn't think of anything to do, except count his losses. He'd moved too quick, pushed too hard, and he'd stumbled over his own heart. The hell with it, Devin thought again, and let the book lie on his chest. Shifting in the chair, he closed his eyes and ordered himself to think about something else.

  He needed to talk to the mayor about getting a stop sign out on the end of Reno Road. Three serious accidents there in a year was reason enough to push for it. Then there was the talk he'd promised to give at the high school for the last assembly before summer hit. And he really had to help Shane with the early haying...

  The dream snuck up on him, sly and crafty. Somehow he'd gotten from the hayfield to her bedroom door. Cassie? No, that wasn't Cassie. Abigail. Love and longing stirred in him. Why couldn't she see that she needed him as much as he needed her? Would she just sit there with her hands folded in her lap over her embroidery, her eyes tired and lost?

  It seemed nothing he could say would convince her to come with him, to let him love her, as surely he'd been born to do. No, she would close herself off from him, from everything they could have. Should have.

  Anger stirred along with the love, along with the longing. He was tired of coming begging, with his hat in his hand.

  I won't ask again, he told her, and she just watched him. / won't come to you again and have you break my heart. I've waited long enough. If this is the way it has to be, I'm leaving Antietam. I can't keep running the law here, knowing you 're here, always out of reach. I have to pick up whatever pieces are left of my life and go.