by Nora Roberts
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 rhinestone 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 Antietam 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 mur
mured, 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?”
“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. “MacKade,” 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 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 softball 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.