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The Heart of Devin MacKade

By: Nora Roberts

Synopsis:

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

"Cassie, honey, you call me, ask if I'd settle in here for the night because

you need to see Devin." "I'm going to work it out," Edwina Cramp said

straightforwardly.  "And it's long past time, if you ask me."

Cassie looked down at her plain cotton blouse and simple trousers.  "I'm no

good at this sort of thing."

"I'd bet Devin's very good at it, so don't you worry."

 "Maybe I should put on a dress," Cassie fretted.

"Cassie."  Ed peered over her rhinestone glasses.  "He doesn't care what

you're wearing, take my word for it.  Now go get him."

"All right."  Cassie squared her shoulders.  "I'm going."

Poor kid, Ed thought.  She looked as if she was walking out in front of a

firing squad.  With a cackle, Ed turned her mined back to the TV.

Her money was on Devin MacKade.

We at Silhouette are very excited to bring you this reading Sensation.  Look

out for the four books which appear in our Silhouette Sensation series every

month.  These stories will have the high quality you have come to expect

from

Silhouette, and their varied and provocative plots will encourage you to

explore the wonder of falling in love--again and again!

Emotions run high in these drama-filled novels.  Greater sensual detail and

an extra edge of realism intensify the hero and heroine's relationship so

that you cannot help but be caught up in their every change of mood.

We hope you enjoy this Sensation--and Will go on to enjoy many more.

We would love to hear your comments and encourage you to write to us:

Jane Nicholls Silhouette Books PO Box 236  Thornton Road Croydon

Surrey CR9 3RU

The Heart of Devin MacKade

SILHOUETTE

DID YOU PURCHASE THIS BOOK WITHOUT A COVER?

If you did, you should be aware it is stolen property as it was reported

unsold and destroyed by a retailer.  Neither the author nor the publisher has

received any payment for this book.

All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of

the author, and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name

or names.  They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or

unknown to the author, and all the incidents are pure invention.

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part

in any form.  This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin

Enterprises 11 B.  V.  The text of this publication or any part thereof may

not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or

mechanical, including photocopying, recording, storage in an information

retrieval system, or otherwise, without the written permission of the

publisher.

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade

or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the

prior consent of the publisher in any form of binding or cover other 'than

that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this

condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

First published in Great Britain 1996 by Silhouette Books.  Eton House, 18-24

Paradise Road, Richmond, Surrey TW9 1SR

Nora Roberts 1996

For those who follow their hearts

Silhouette, Silhouette Sensation and Colophon are Trade Marks of Harlequin

Enterprises II B.  V.

ISBN 0 373 07697 5

18-9608

Made and printed in Great Britain

Dear Reader,

What could be more intriguing than one not-quite-reformed bad boy?  How about

four of them?  That was one of the seeds that grew in my mind to form The

MacKade Brothers.  I very much enjoy writing connecting books, particularly

when they centre on families.  And, well, I just like men.  I've been

surrounded and oumumbered by them all my life.  I'm the youngest of five

children, and the only girl.  I have two sons, and no daughters.  Though the

male of the species isn't easy to understand, I think those facts give me a

leg up.  So I decided to write about four brothers, four men who had been

just a little wild in their youth.

I enjoyed the challenge of exploring the dynamics of this, and in putting

those four men in a small town where everyone knows everyone else, and all

their faults and virtues.  I created the town of Antietam, though it's not so

very different from the small towns near where I live in Maryland.  I created

the MacKades, though I like to think they're not so different from men who

live and love anywhere in the world.  Though I started off with Rafe because

he struck me as the baddest of the bad MacKade Brothers---I fell in love with

Jared, then with Devin, then with Shane.

If a woman's still breathing, she'll fall for the MacKades.  Rafe, the

businessman, with a dream and an attitude.  Jared, the lawyer, with a

reputation and a stop ins of pride.  Devin, the lawman, who believes in

justice and abiding love.  And Shane, the farmer, with the love for the land

and an eye for the ladies.

I hope you'll enjoy all of their stories.  And if you fall a little bit in

love with each of these not quite reformed bad boys, don't wonder why.  You're

only human.

Prologue

Devin MacKade considered the age of twenty to be an awkward time in the life

of a man.  It was old enough for him to be considered responsible for actions

and deeds, old enough for him to make a living or love a woman.  Yet in the

eyes of the law it was not quite old enough for him to be considered' fully

adult.

He was glad it would only take twelve months to get through it.

Being the third of four brothers, he'd already watched Jared and Rare move

beyond him into adulthood, and Shane was not far behind him.  It wasn't that

he was in a hurry, really.  "He was enjoying his time and his life, but Devin

had begun, in his methodical way, to make plans for what would be.

The little town of Antietam, Maryland, would have

been surprised to know that he had decided to

uphold the law, rather than break it.  Or bend it.

His mother had pushed him into college, true, but once he arrived, Devin had

decided to enjoy it.  The courses in administration of justice, criminology,

sociology, fascinated him.  How rules were made, why, how they were upheld.

It had seemed almost from the beginning that those books, those words, those

ideals, had just been waiting for him to discover th~m.

So, in his thoughtful way, he had decided to become a cop.

It wasn't something he wanted to share with his family just yet.  His

brothers would rag him, undoubtedly.  Even Jared, who was already on his way

to becoming a lawyer, would show no mercy.  It wasn't something he minded.

Devin knew he could hold his own with all three of his brothers, be it with

words or fists.  But for him, it was a personal agenda, and he wasn't talking.

He was aware that not everything you wanted, deep ifiside, worked out.  There

was proof of that right here in Ed's cafe where he and his brothers were

grabbing a quick meal before heading to Duff's Tavern to shoot pool.  Yes,

the proof was right here, serving him the blue plate special, flushing shyly

at Rafe's easy teasing

Five foot two, barely a hundred pounds, as delicate and fragile as a rosebud.

Angel hair like a curling halo around a face that was all quiet gray eyes.

A nose that tipped up just the tiniest bit at the end.  The prettiest mouth

in the county, with its deep dip in the top lip.  Like a doll's.  Small hands

that he knew could juggle plates and coffeepots and glasses with a studied

competence.

Hands that, carried a ring with a chip of a diamond barely big enough to

glint on the third finger.

Her name was Cassandra Connor, and it seemed he'd loved her forever.  Surely

he'd known her forever, watched her grow up with a flicker of interest that

had become a full-blown crush he'd considered too embarrassing to act on.

And that was the problem.  By the time he decided to act, he'd been too late.

Joe Dolin had already claimed her.  They would be married in June, just two

weeks after she graduated from high school.

And there was nothing he could do about it.

He made sure not to watch her walk away from their booth.  His brothers had

sharp eyes and he would never be able to tolerate being teased about

something as intimate and humiliating as unrequited love.

So he looked out the window at Main Street.  That, he thought, was something

he could do something about.  One day he would give something back to the

town that had been such an intricate and important part of his life.  One day

he would serve and protect here.  It was his destiny.  He could feel it.

The way he sometimes felt, in dreams, that he had done so before' or tried,

when the town was ravaged by war, split and frayed by divided loyalties.  In

dreams, he could see it the way it had been, the way it was in those old

Civil War photos.  Stone houses and churches, horses and carriages.

Sometimes he could almost hear the men gathering on corners or in the

barbershop, discussing the War between the States.

Of course, he thought with cool rationality, the town, or parts of it, were

haunted.  The old Barlow place on the hill just outside of town, the woods,

his own home, the fields he helped plow and plant every spring.  There were

echoes there of lives and deaths, of hopes and fears.

A man had only to listen to hear.

"Almost as good as Mom's."  Shane shoveled mashed potatoes into his mouth,

and the MacKade dimple flashed as he grinned.  "Almost.  What do you figure

women do on their night out?"  ~

"Gossip."  His plate clean, Rafe leaned back and lit a cigarette.  "What

else?"

"Mom's entitled," Jared commented.

"Didn't say she wasn't.  Old lady Metz is probably giving her an earful about

us right now, though."  Rafe grinned wickedly at that thought, and at the

knowledge that his mother could handle even the formidable Mrs. Metz with one

arm tied behind her back.

Devin looked away from his view of Main Street, back at his brother.  "We do

anything lately?"

They all thought about it.  It wasn't that their memories were poor, it was

just that they found trouble so easily, they often overlooked the results.

Anyone breezing by the big window of Ed's cafe would have seen the four

MacKades, dark-haired, green-eyed devils, handsome enough to raise any

female's blood pressure, be she ten or eighty.  Reckless enough to have

most-men bracing or backing away.

They argued awhile over who had done what most recently--fights picked and

fought, laws broken, or at

least dented.  It was agreed, after the argument grew heated,

that Rafe had the prize, with his race against Joe Dolin's Chevy on route 34.

They hadn't been caught, but word had gotten around.  Especially as Rare had

won and Joe had slunk off muttering about revenge.

"The guy's a jerk."  Rafe blew out smoke.  No one disagreed, but Rafe's gaze

shifted to where Cassie was busy serving a booth behind them.  "What does a

sweet little thing like Cassie see in him?"

"If you ask me, she wants out of the house."  Jared pushed his plate aside.

"Mother would be enough to send anyone looking for the first escape

hatch.  The woman's a fanatic."

"Maybe she loves him," Devin said quietly.

Rafe's opinion of that was one crude word.  "Kid's barely seventeen," he

pointed out.  "She'll fall in love a dozen times."

"Not everyone has a flexible heart."

"A flexible heart."  Sfiane whooped with laughter at the phrase.  "It ain't

Rafe's heart that flexible; Dev, it's his"

"Shut up, creep," Rafe said mildly as his elbow jammed hard into Shane's

ribs.  "You up for a beer, Jare?"

"I'm up for it."

Rare leered nastily.  "Too bad you two have to stick with soda pop'.  I bet

Duff has a whole case of the fizzy stuff for you kids."

That, of course, insulted Shane.  As it was meant to.  Hot words came first,

then the jostling.  From her station at the counter, Edwina Crump shouted at

them to take it outside.

They did, with Devin lagging he hind to pay the tab, On the other side of the

window, his brothers pushed and shoved ~eh other, more out of habit than from

any real temper.  Ignoring them, he smiled over at Cassie.

"Just blowing off steam," he told her, adding a tip that wouldn't embarrass

her.

"The sheriff sometim comes by about this time of night."  Her voice was

barely a whisper of warning.

And so sweet to Devin's ears, he almost Sighed.  "I'll go break it up."

He Slid out of the booth.  He thought his mother probably knew his feelings.

It was impossible to hide anything from her.  God knew, they had all tried

and failed.  He thought he knew what she would say to him.

That he was young yet, and there would he other girls, other women, other

loves.  She would mean the best by it.

Devin knew that though he wasn't yet he fully an adult, he had a man's heart.

And he'd already given it.

He kept that heart out of his eyes, though, because he would hate Cassie's

pity.  Casually he walked out of ~he diner to break up his brothers.  He

caught Shane in a headlock, elbowed Rare in the gut, cocked a brow at Jared

and suggested amiably that they go play some pool.

Chapter

The town of Antietam was a pretty sight in late spring.  Sheriff Devin

MacKadoliked to walk the uneven sidewalks and smell the freshly mowed grass,

the flowers, hear the yip of dogs and shouts of children.

He liked to take in the order of it, the continuity, and the little changes.

Outside the bank, a bed of pink begonias was spreading.  The three cars

jockeying in line at the drive-in window constituted a traffic jam.

Down a little ways, in front of the post office, there were men passing the

time, taking the air.  Through the barbershop window, he could see a toddler

experiencing his first haircut, while his mother bit her nails and blinked

damp eyes.

The banners were flying for the annual Memorial Day parade and picnic.  He

could see several people busily scrubbing or painting their porches in

preparation for the event.

It was an event he enjoyed, even with its logistical and traffic headaches.

He liked the continuity of it, the predictability.  The way people would

plant themselves with their folding chairs and coolers along the curb, hours

before parade time, to ensure that they would have a good view of the

marching bands and twirling batons.

Most of all, he liked the way the townspeople threw themselves into that

weekend, how much they cared, how strong their pride.

His father had told him of the ancient man who, when he himself was a little

boy, had walked creakily down Main Street wearing Confederate gray at an

earlier Memorial Day.  One of the last living testaments to the Civil War.

Dead now, as they all were, Devin mused as he glanced over at the memorial in

the town's square.  Dead, but not and never forgotten.  At least not in

little towns such as these, which had once known the sound of mortar and

rifle fire and the terrible cries of the wounded.

Turning away, he looked down the street and sighed.  There was Mrs. Metz's

Buick, parked, as usual, in the red zone.  He could give her a ticke~, Devin

mused, and she would pay it.  But when she lumbered into his office to hand

over the fine, she would hlso treat him to a lecture.  He blew out a breath,

studied the door of the library.  No doubt that was where she was, gossiping

over the counter with Sarah Jane Poffenberger.

Devin drew together his courage and fortitude and climbed the old stone steps.

She was exactly where he'd expected her to be, leaning over the counter, a

mountain of paperback novels at her dimpled elbow, deep into the latest dirt

with the librarian.  Devin wondered why any woman so.  generously sized

insisted on wearing wildly patterned dresses.

"Mrs.  Metz."   He kept his voice low.  He'd been tossed out of the library

many times in his youth by Miss Sarah Jane.

"Well, hello there, Devin."  Beaming a smile, Mrs. Metz turned to him.  Her

elbow nearly toppled the mountain of books, but Miss Sarah Jane, for all her

resemblance to an under stuffed scarecrow, moved fast.  "And how are you on

this beautiful afternoon?"

"I'm just fine.  Hello, Miss Sarah Jane."

"Devin."  Iron gray hair pulled back from paper-thin white skin, starched

collar buttoned firmly to her chin, Sarah Jane nodded regally.  "Did you come

in to return that copy of The Red Badge of Courage?"

"No, ma'am."  He very nearly flushed.  He'd lost the damn book twenty years

before, he'd paid for it, he'd even swept the library for a month as penance

for his carelessness.  Now, though he was a man--one who wore a badge and was

considered responsible by most--he was shriveled down to a boy by Sarah Jane

Poffenberger's steely eyes.

"A book is a treasure," she said as she always did.

"Yes, ma'am.  Ah, Mrs. Metz..."  More to save himself now than to uphold

parking laws, he shifted his gaze.  "You're parked illegally.  Again."

"I am?"  All innocence, she fluttered at him.  "Why, I don't know how that

happened, Devin.  I would have sworn I pulled into the right place.  I just

came in to check ouJ a few books.  I'd have walked, but I had to run into the

city, and stopped by on my way home.  Reading's one of God's gifts, isn't it~

Sarah Jane?"

"It is indeed."  Though her mouth remained sol- eton, the dark eyes in Sarah

Jane's wrinkled face were laughing.  Devin had to concentrate on not

shuffling his feet.

"You're in the red zone, Mrs. Metz."

"Oh, dear.  You didn't give me a ticket, did you?"  "Not yet," Devin muttered.

"Because Mr. Metz gets all hurry when I get a ticket.  And I've only been

here for a minute or two, isn't that right, Sarah Jane."

"Just a minute or two," Sarah Jane confirmed, but she winked at Devin.

"If you'd move your car"

"I'll do that.  I surely will.  Just as soon as I check out these books.  I

don't know what I'd do if I didn't have my books, what with the way Mr. Metz

watches the TV.  You check these out for me, Sarah Jane, while Devin tells us

how his family's doing."

He knew when he was outgunned.  After all, he was a cop.  "They're fine."

"And those sweet little babies.  Imagine two of your brothers having babies

within months of each other.  I just have to get over to see them all."

"The babies are fine, too."  He softened at the thought of them.  "Growing."

"Oh, they do grow, don't they, Sarah Jane?  Grow like weeds, before you can

stop them.  Now you've got yourself a nephew and a niece."

"Two nephews and a niece," Devin reminded her, adding Jared's wife

Savannah's son, Bryan.  "Yes, indeed.  Give you any ideas about starting your

own brood?"

Her eyes were glittering at the thought of getting the inside story on future

events.  Devin stood his ground.  "Being an uncle suits me."  Without a

~tualm, he tossed his Sistertin-law to the wolves.  "Regan has little Nate

with her at the shop today, I saw him a couple hours ago.

"Does she?"

"She mentioned Savannah might be coming by, with Layla."

"Oh, my!.  Well..."  Being able to corner both MacKade women, and their

babies, was such a coup, Mrs. Metz nearly trembled with the idea.  "Hurry on

up there, Sarah Jane.  I've got errands to run."

"Hold your horses now, I've got 'em for you right, here."  Sarah Jane handed

over the canvas bag Mrs. Metz had brought it, now pregnant with books.

Moments later, when Mrs. Metz puffed her way out, Sarah Jane smiled.  "You're

a smart boy, Devin.  Always were."

"If Regan finds out I headed her over there, she'll skin me."  He grinned.

"But a man's gotta do what a man' gotta do.  Nice seeing you, Miss Sarah

Jane."

"You find that copy of The Red Badge of Cour age, Devin MacKade.  Books

aren't meant to be wasted."

He winced as he opened the door.  "Yes, ma'am."  For all her bulk, Mrs. Metz

moved quickly.  She was already pulling out of the red zone and into the

sparse traffic.  Congratulating himself on a job well done, Devin told

himself he could take a quick ride down to the MacKade Inn.

Just needed to check and make sure there wasn't anything that needed his

attention, he told himself as he walked up the street to his cruiser.  It was

his brother Rafe's place, after all.  It was his duty to check on it now and

again.

The fact that Cassie Dolin managed the bed-and-breakfast and lived on the

third floor with her two children had nothing to do with it.

He was just doing his job.

Which was, he thought as he slipped behind the wheel of his car, a huge and

ridiculous lie.

He was, however, doing what he had to do.  Which was to see her.  At least

once a day, he simply had to see her.  He just had to, no matter how much it

hurt, or how careful he had to be.  More careful, he reminded himself, now

that she was divorced from that bastard who had beaten and abused her for

years.

Joe Dolin was in prison, Devin thought with grim satisfaction as he headed

out of town.  And he would be there for quite some time to come.

As the sheriff, as a friend, as the man who had loved her most of his life,

Devin had a duty to see that Cas-sic and the kids were safe and happy.

1 ~

And maybe today he could make her smile, all the way to her big gray eyes.

What had been the old Barlow place--and likely would remain that forever in

the mind of the town--sat on a hill just on the edge of Antietam.  Once it

had been the property-of a rich man who enjoyed its height, its expensive

furnishings, its enviable view.  It had stood there while the blood lest day

of the Civil War raged around it.  It had stood while a wounded young soldier

was murdered on its polished grand staircase.  There it had remained while

the mistress of the house grieved herself to death.  Or so the legend went.

It had stood, falling into decay, disuse, disregard.  Its stones had not

moved when its porches rotted, when its windows were shattered by rocks

heaved by rambunctious-children.  It had stood, empty but for its ghosts, for

decades.

Until Rare MacKadehad returned and claimed it.  It was the house, Devin

thought as he turned up its steep lane, that had brought Rare and R6gan

together.  Together, they had turned that brooding old building into

something fine, something lovely.

Where there had once been weeds and thorny brambles, there was now a lush,

terraced lawn, vivid with flowers and shrubs.  He had helped plant them

himself.  The MacKades always united when it came to developing dreams--or

destroying enemies.

The windows gleamed now, framed by rich blue trim, their overflowing flower

boxes filled with sunny-faced pansies.  The sturdy double porches were

painted that same blue, and offered guests a place to sit and look toward

town.

Or, he knew, if they chose to sit around at the back, they'd have a long view

of the haunted woods that bordered the inn's property, his own farm, and the

land where his brother Jared, his wife, Savannah, and their children lived.

He didn't knock, but simply stepped inside.  There were no cars in the drive,

but for Cassie's, so he knew the overnight guests had already left, and any

others had yet to arrive.

He stood for a moment in the grand hall, with its pohshed floor, pretty rugs

anti haunted staircase.  There were always flowers; Cassie saw to that.

Pretty vases of fragrant blooms, little bowls and dishes with potpourri that

he knew she made herself.

So, to him, the house always smelled like Cassie.  He wasn't sure where he

would find her--in the kitchen, in the yard, in her apartment on the third

floor.  He moved through the house from front to rear, knowing that if he

didn't find her in the first two, he would climb the outside stairs and knock

on the door of her private quarters.

It was hard to believe that less than two years before, the house had been

full of dust and cobwebs, all cracked plaster and chipped molding Now floors

and walls gleamed, windows shone, wood was polished to a high sheen.  Antique

tables were topped with what Devin always thought of as dust collectors, but

they were charming.

Rafe and Regan had done something here, built something here.  Just as they

were doing in the old house they'd bought fo themselves outside of town.

He envied his brother that, not just the love, but the partnership of a

woman, the home and family they had created together.

Shane had the farm.  Technically, it belonged to all four of them, but it was

Shane's, heart and soul.  Rare had Regan and their baby, the inn, and the

lovely old stone-and-cedar house they were making their own.  Jared had

Savannah, the children, and the cabin.

And as for himself?  Devin mused.  Well, he had the town, he supposed.  And a

cot in the back room of the sheriff's office.

The kitchen was empty.  Though it was as neat as a model on display, it held

all the warmth kitchens were meant to.  Slate blue tiles and creamy white

appliances were a backdrop for little things--fresh fruit in an old stoneware

bowl, a sassy cookie jar in the shape of a smiling cat that he knew would be

full of fresh, home-baked cookies, long, tapered jars that held the her bed

vinegars Cassie made, a row of African violets in bloom on the wide

windowsill over the sink.

And then, through the window, he saw her, taking billowing sheets from the

line where they'd dried in the warm breeze.

His heart turned over in his Chest.  He could handle that, had handled it for

too many years to count.  She looked happy, was all he could think.  Her lips

were curved a little, her gray eyes dreamy.  The breeze that fluttered the

sheets teased her hair, sending the honeycomb curls dancing around her face,

along her neck and throat.

Like the kitchen, she was neat, tidy, efficient without being cold.  She wore

a white cotton blouse tucked into navy slacks.  Just lately, she'd started to

add little pieces of jewelry.  No rings.  Her divorce had been final for a

full year now, and he knew the exact day she'd taken off her wedding ting.

But she wore small gold hoops in her ears and a touch of color on her mouth.

She'd stopped wearing makeup and jewelry shortly after her marriage.  Dev-in

remembered that, too.

Just as he remembered the first time he'd been called out to the house she

rented with Joe, answering a complaint from the neighbors.  He remembered the

fire in her eyes when she'd come to the door, the marks on her face, the way

her voice had hitched and trembled when she told him there wasn't any

trouble, there was no trouble at all.  She'd slipped and fallen, that was all.

Yes, he remembered that.  And his frustration, the hideous sense of impotence

that first time, and all the other times he'd had to confront her, to ask

her, to quietly offer her alternatives that were just as quietly refused.

There'd been nothing he could do as she tiff to stop what happened inside

that house, until the day she finally came into his office--bruised, beaten,

terrified-to fill out a complaint.

There was little he could do now as sheriff but offer her friendship.

So he walked out the rear door, a casual smile on his face.  "Hey, Cass."

Alarm came into her eyes first,-darkening that lovely gray.  He was used to

it, though it pained him immeasurably to know that she thought of him as the

she tiff first--as authority,.  as the bearer of trouble--before She thought

of him as an old friend.  But the smile came back more quickly than it once

had, chasing the tension away from those delicate features.

"Hello, Devin."  Calmly, because she was teaching herself to' be calm, she

hooked a clothespin back on the line and began folding the sheet.

"Need some help?"

Before she could refuse, he was plucking clothespins.  She simply couldn't

get used to a man doing such things.  Especially such a man.  He was so.

big.  Broad shoulders, big hands, long legs.  And gorgeous, of course.  All

the MacKades were.

There was something so male' about Devin, she couldn't really explain it.

Even as he competently took linen from the line, folded it into the basket,

he was all man.  Unlike his deputies, he didn't wear the khaki uniform of his

office, just jeans and a faded blue shirt rolled up to the elbows.  There

were muscles there, she'd seen them.  And she had reason to be wary of a

man's strength.  But despite his big hands, his big shoulders, he'd never

been anything but 'gentle.  She tried to remember that as he brushed against

her, .  reaching for another clothespin.

Still, she stepped away, kept distance between them.  He smiled at her, and

she tried to think of s6something to say.  It would.  be easier if everything

about him wasn't so .  definite, she supposed.  So vivid.  His hair was as

black as midnight, and curled over the frayed collar of his shirt.  His eyes

were as green as moss.  Even the bones in his face were defined and

impossible to ignore, the way they formed hollows and planes.  His mouth was

firm, and that dimple beside it constantly drew the eye.

He even smelled like a man.  Plain soap, plain sweat.  He'd never been

anything but kind to her, and he'd been a part of her life forever, it

seemed.  But whenever it was just the two of them, she found herself as

nervous as a cat faced with a bulldog.

"Too nice a day to toss these in the dryer."

"What?"   She blinked, then cursed herself.   "Oh, yes.   I like hanging the

linens out, when there's time.   We had two guests overnight, and we're

expecting another couple later today.   We're booked solid for the

Memorial Day weekend.  "

'-"You'll be busy."

"Yes.  It's hardly like work, though, really."

He watched her smooth sheets into the basket.  "Not like waiting tables a't

Ed's."

"No."  She smiled a little, then struggled with guilt.  "Ed was wonderful to

me.  She was great to work fo~."

"She's still ticked at Rare for stealing you."  Noting the distress that

leaped into her eyes, Devin shook his head.  "I'm only kidding, Cassie.  You

know she was happy you took this job.  How are the kids?"

"They're fine.  Wonderful."  Before she could pick up the basket of linens

herself, Devin had it tucked to hi hip, leaving her nothing to do with her

hands.  "They'll be home soon, from sc hooD

"No Little League practice today?"

"No."  She headed toward the kitchen, but he opened the door before she

could, and win ted for her to go in ahead of him.  "Connor's thrilled he made

the team."

"He's the best pitcher they've got."

"Everyone says so."  Automatically, she went to the stove to make coffee.

"It's so strange.  He was never interested in sports before... well, before,"

she finished lamely.  "Bryan's been wonderful for him."

 "My nephew's a hell of a kid."

There was such simple and honest pride in the statement that Cassie turned

around to study him.  "You think of him that way, really?  I mean, even

though there's no blood between you?"

"When Jared married Savannah, it made Bryan his son.  That makes him my

nephew.  Family isn't just blood."

"No, and sometimes blood kin is more trouble than not ."  '

"Your mother's hassling you again."

She only moved her shoulder and turned back to finish the coffee.  "She's

just set in her ways."  Shifting, she reached into one of the glass-fronted

cabinets for a cup and a small plate.  When Devin's hand curled over her

shoulder, she jerked and nearly dropped the stoneware to the tiles.

He started to step back, then changed his mind.  Instead, he turned her

around so that they were face-to-face, and kept both of his hands on her

shoulders.  "She's still giving you a hard time about Joe?"

She had to swallow, but couldn't quite get her throat muscles to work.  His

hands were finn, but they weren't hurting.  There was annoyance in his eyes,

but no meanness.  She ordered herself to be calm, not to lower her gaze.

"She doesn't believe in divorce."

"Does she believe in wife-beating?"

Now she did wince, did lower her gaze.  Devin cursed himself and lowered his

hands to his sides.  "I'm sorry."

"No, it's all right.  I don't expect you to understand.  I can't understand

myself anymore."  Relieved that he'd stepped back, she turned to the cookie

jar and filled the plate with chocolate chip and oatmeal cookies she'd baked

that morning.  "It doesn't seem to matter that I'm happy, that the kids are

happy.  It doesn't matter that the law says what Joe did to me was wrong,

That he attacked Regan.  It only matters that I broke my vows and divorced

him."

"Are you happy, Cassie?"

"I'd stopped believing I could be, or even that I should be."  She set the

plate on the table, went to pour him coffee.  "Yes, I am happy."

"Are you going to make me drink this coffee by myself?"

She stared at him a minute.  It was still such a novel concept, the idea that

she could sit down in the middle of the day with a friend.  Taking matters

into his own hands, he got out a second cup.

"So tell me..."  After pouring her coffee, he held out a chair for her.  "How

do the tourists feel about spending the night in a haunted house?"

"Some of them am disappointed when they don't see or hear anything."  Cassie

lifted her cup and tried not to feel guilty that she wasn't doing some chore.

"Rafe was clever to publicize the inn as haunted."  "He's always been clever."

"Yes, he has.  A few people are nervous when they come down for breakfast,

but most of them are ... well, exalted, I guess.  They'll have heard doors

slamming or voices, or have heard her crying."

"Abigail Barlow.  The tragic mistress of the house, the compassionate

Southern belle married to the Yankee murderer."

'Yes.  They'll hear her, or smell her roses, or just feel something.  We've

only had one couple leave in the middle of the night.  " For once, her smile

was quick, and just a little wicked.  " They were both terrified.  "

"But you're not.  It doesn't bother you to have ghosts wandering?"

"No."

He cocked his head.  "Have you heard her?  Abigail?"

"Oh, yes, often.  Not just at night.  Sometimes when I'm alone here, making

beds or tidying up, I'll hear her.  Or feel her."

"And it doesn't spook you?"

"No, I feel..?"  She started to say "connected," but thought it would sound

foolish.  "Sorry for her.  She was trapped and unhappy, married to a man who

despised her, in love with someone else"

"In love with someone else?"  Devin asked, interrupting her.  "I've never

heard that."

Baffled, Cassie set her cup down with a little clink.  -"I haven't, either.

I just -- Know it, she realized.  "I suppose I added it in.  It's more

romantic.  " Emma calls her the lady.  She likes to go into the bridal suite.

" " And Connor?  "

"It's a big adventure for him.  All of it.  They love it here.  Once when

Bryan was spending the night, I caught the three of them sneaking down to the

guest floor.  They wanted to go ghost-hunting."  ~

 "My brothers and I spent the night here when We were kids."

"Did you?  Of course you did," she said before he could comment.  "The

MacKades and an empty, derelict, haunted house.  They belong together.  Did

you go ghost-hunting?"

"I didn't have to: I saw her.  I saw Abigail."  Cassie's smile faded.  "You

did?"

"I never told the guys.  They'd have ragged on me for the rest of my life.

But I saw her, sitting in the parlor, by the fire.  There was a fire, I could

smell it, feel the heat from the flames, smell the roses that were in a vase

on the table beside her.  She was beautiful," Devin said quietly.  "Blond

hair and porcelain skin, eyes the color of the smoke going up the flue.  She

wore a blue dress.  " I could hear the silk rustle as she moved.  She was

embroidering something, and her hands were small and delicate.  She looked

right at me, and she smiled.  She smiled, but there were tears in her eyes.

She spoke to me.  "

"She spoke to you," Cassie repeated, as chills raced up and down her back

like icy fingers.  "What did she say?"

"" If only.  "" Devin brought himself back, shook himself.  "That was it.  "

If only.  " Then she was gone, and I told myself I'd been dreaming.  But I

knew I

hadn't.  I always hoped I'd see her again.  "

"But you haven't?"

"No, but I've heard her weeping.  It breaks my

"I know."

"I'd, ah, appreciate it if you wouldn't mention that to Rare.  He'd still rag

on me."

"I won't."  She smiled as he bit into a cookie.  "Is that why you come here,

hoping to see her again?"

"I come to see you."  The minute he'd said it, he recognized his mistake.

Her face went from relaxed to wary in the blink of an eye.  "And the kids,"

he added quickly.  "And for the cookies."

She relaxed again.  "I'll put some in a bag for you to take with you."  But

even as she rose to do so, he covered her hand with his.  She froze, not in

fear so much as from the shock of the contact.  Speechless, she stared down

at the way his hand swallowed hers.

"Cassie..."  He strained against the urge to gather her up, just to hold her,

to stroke those flyaway curls, to taste, finally to taste, that Small,

serious mouth.

There was a hitch in her breathing that she was afraid to analyze.  But she

made herself shift her gaze, ordered herself not to be so much a coward that

she couldn't took into his eyes.  She wished she knew what she was looking

at, or looking for.  All she knew was that it was more than the patience and

pity she'd expected to see there, that it was different.

"Devin" -- She broke off, jerked back at the sound of giggles and store ping

feet.  "The kids are home," she finished quickly, breathlessly, and hurried

to the door.  "I'm down here!"  she called out, knowing that they would do as

they'd been told and go directly to the apartment unless she stopped them.

"Mama, I got a gold star on my homework."  Emma came in, a blond pixie in a

red playsuit.  She set her lunch box on the counter and smiled shyly at

Devin.  "Hello."

"There's my best girl.  Let's see that star."

Clutching the lined paper in her hand, she walked to him.  "You have a star."

"Not as pretty as this one."  Devin traced a finger over the gold foil stuck

to the top of the paper.  "Did you do this by yourself?"

"Almost all.  Can I sit in your lap?"

"You bet."  He plucked her up, cradled her there.  He quite simply adored

her.  After brushing his cheek against her hair, he grinned over at Connor.

"How's it going, champ?"

"Okay."  A little.  thrill moved through Connor at the nickname.  He was

small for his age, like Emma, and blond, though at ten he had hair that was

shades darker than his tow-headed sister's.

"You pitched a good game last Saturday."

Now he flushed.  "Thanks.  But Bryan went four for five."  His loyalty and

love for his best friend knew no bounds.  "Did you see?"

"I was there for a few innings.  Watched you smoke a few batters."

"Connor got an A on his history test," Emma s~id.  "And that mean old Bobby

Lewis shoved him and called him a bad name when we were in line for the bus."

"Emma..."  Mortified, Connor scowled at his sister.

"I guess Bobby Lewis didn't get an A," Devin commented.

"Bryan fixed him good," Emma went on.

I bet he did, Devin thought, and handed Emma a cookie so that she'd be

distracted enough to stop embarrassing her brother.

"I'm proud of you," Trying not to worry, Cassie gave Connor a quick squeeze.

"Both of you.  A gold star and an A all in one day.  We'll have to celebrate

later with ice-cream sundaes from Ed's."

"It's no big deal," Connor began.

"It is to me."  Cassie bent down and kissed him firmly.  "A very big deal."

"I used to struggle with math," Devin said casually.  "Never could get more

than a C no matter what I did."

Connor stared at the floor, weighed down by the stigma of being bright.  He

could still hear his father berating him.  Egghead.  Pansy.  Useless.

Cassie started to Speak, to defend, but Devin sent her one swift look.

"But then, I used to ace history and English."

Stunned, Connor jerked his head up and stared.  "You did?"

It was a struggle, but Devin kept his eyes sober.  The kid didn't mean to be

funny, or insulting, he knew.

"Y~ah.  I guess it was because I liked to read a lot.  Still do."

"You read books?"  it was an epiphany for Connor.  Here was a man who held a

real man's job and who liked to read,

"Sure."  Devin jiggled Emma on his knee and smiled.  "The thing was, Rafe was

pitiful in English, but he was a whiz in math.  So we traded off.  I'd do

his" -- He glanced at Cassie, realized his mistake.  "I'd help him with his

English homework and he'd help me with the math.  It got us both through."

"Do you like to read stories?"  Connor wanted to know.  "Made-up stories?"

"They're the best kind."

"Connor writes stories," Cassie said, even as Connor wriggled in

embarrassment.

"So I've heard.  Maybe you'll let me read one."  Before the boy could answer,

Devin's beeper went off.

"Hell," he muttered.  ~.

"Hell," Emma said adoringly.

"You want to get me in trouble?"  he asked, then hitched her onto his hip as

he rose to call in.  A few minutes later, he'd given up on his idea of

wheedling his way into a dinner invitation.  "Gotta go.  Somebody broke into

the storeroom at Duff's and helped themselves to a few cases of beer."

"Will you shoot them?"  Emma asked him.

"I don't think so.  How about a kiss?"

She puckered up obligingly before he set her down.  "Thanks for the coffee,

Cass."

"I'll walk you out.  You two go on upstairs and get your after-school snack,"

she told her children.  "I'll he right along."  She Waited until they were

nearly at the front door before she spoke again.  "Thank you for talking to

Connor like that.  He's still so sensitive about liking school."

"He's a bright kid.  It won't take much longer for him to start appreciating

himself."

"You helped.  He admires you."

"It didn't take any effort to tell him I like to read."  Devin paused at the

door.  "He means a lot to me.  All of you do."  When she opened her mouth to

speak, he took a chance and brushed a finger over her cheek.  "All of you

do," he repeated, and walked out, leaving her staring after.  him

Chapter2

Some nights, late at night, when.  her children were sleeping and the guests

were settled down, Cassie would roam the house.  She was careful not to go on

the second floor, where' guests were bedded down in the lovely rooms and

suites Rare and Regan had built.

They paid for privacy," and Cassie was careful to give it.  '~

But she was free to walk through her own apartment on the third floor, to

admire the rooms, the view from the windows, even the feel of the polished

hardwood under her bare feet.

It was a freedom, and a security, that she knew she would never take for

granted.  Any more than she would take for granted the curtains framing the

windows, made of fabric that she had chosen and paid for herself.  Or the

kitchen table, the sofa, each lamp.

Not all new, she mused; but new to her.  Everything that had been in the

house she shared with Joe had been sold.  It had been her way of sweeping

away the past.  Nothing here was from her before.  It had been vital to her

to start this life with nothing she hadn't brought into it on her own.

If she was restless, she could go down on the main.  level, move from parlor

to sitting room, into the beautiful solarium, with its lovely plants and

glistening glass.  She could stand in the hallways, sit on the steps.  Simply

enjoy the quiet and solitude.

The only room she avoided was the library.  It was the only room that never

welcomed her, despite its deep leather chairs and walls of books.

She knew instinctivel that it had been Charles Barlow's realm.  Abigail's

husband.  The master of the house.  A man who had shot, in cold blood, a

wounded Confederate soldier hardly old enough to shave.

Sometimes she felt' the horror and sadness of that when she walked up and

down the staircase' where it had happened.  Now and again she even heard the

shot, the explosion of it, and the screams of the servants who had witnessed

the senseless and brutal murder.

But she understood senseless brutality, knew it existed.  '.

Just as she knew Abigail still existed, in this house.  It wasn't just the

sound of weeping, the scent of roses that would come suddenly and from

nowhere.  It was just the feel of the air, that connection that she'd been

too embarrassed to mention to Devin.

That was how she knew Abigail had loved a man who wasn't her husband.  That

she had longed for him, wept for him, as well as for the murdered boy.  That

she had dreamed of him, and despaired of ever knowing the joy of real love.

Cassie understood, and sympathized.  That was why she felt so welcomed in

this house that held so much of the past.  Why she was never afraid.

No, she was grateful for every hour she spent here as caretaker to beautiful

things.  It had been nearly a year since she had accepted Regan's and Rafe's

offer and moved her family in.  She was still dazzled that hhey would trust

her with the job, and she worked hard to earn that trust.

The work was all pleasure, she thought now, as she wandered into the parlor.

To tend and polish lovely antiques, to cook breakfast in that wonderful

kitchen and serve it to guests on pretty dishes.  To have flowers all around

the house, inside and out.

It was like a dream, like one of the fairy tales Savannah MacKade illustrated.

She was so rarely afraid anymore, hardly even disturbed by the nightmares

that had plagued her for so long she'd come to expect them.  It was unusual

for her to wake shivering in the middle of the night, out of a

dream--listening, terrified, for Joe's steps, for his voice.

She was safe here, and, for the first time in her life, free.

Bundled into her robe, she curled on the window seat in the parlor.  She

wouldn't stay long.  Her children slept deeply and were content here, but

there was always a chance they might wake and need her.  But she wanted just

a few moments alone to hug her good fortune close to her heart.

She had a home where her children could laugh and play and feel safe.  It was

wonderful to see how quickly Emma was throwing off her shyness and becoming a

bright, chattering little girl.  Childhood had been harder on Connor, she

knew.  It shamed her to realize that he had seen and heard so much more of

the misery than she had guessed.  But he was coming out of his shell.

It relieved her to see how comfortable they were with Devin, with all the

MacKades, really.  There had been a time when Emma hesitated to so much as

speak to a man, and Connor, sweet, sensitive Connor had forever been braced

for a verbal blow.

No more.

Just that day, both of them had talked to Devin as if it were as natural as

breathing.  She wished she was as resilient.  It was the badge, she decided.

She was finding it easier and easier to be comfortable with Jared or Rare or

Shane.  She didn't jolt when one of them touched her or flashed that MacKade

grin.

It was different with Devin.  But then, she'd had to go to him, had to

confess that she'd allowed herself to be beaten and abused for years, had

been forced to show him the marks on her body.  Nothing, not even Joe's

vicious fists, had ever humiliated her more than that.

She knew he was sorry for her, and felt obligated to look out for her and the

children.  He took his responsibilities as 'sheriff seriously.  No one,

including her self, would have believed twelve or fifteen years before, when

he and his brothers were simply those bad MacKade boys, that they would turn

out the way they had.

Devin had made himself into an admirable man, Still rough, she supposed.  She

knew he could break up a bar fight with little more than a snarl, and that he

used his fists when.  that didn't work.

Still, she'd never known anyone gentler or more compassionate.  He'd been

very good to her and her children, and she owed him.

Laying her cheek against the window, she closed her eyes.  She was going to

train herself not to be so jumpy around him.  She could do it.  She had been

working very hard over the past ~year or so to teach herself composure and

calm, to pretend she wasn't shy when she greeted the guests.  It worked so

well that she often didn't even feel shy anymore.

There were even times, and they were coming more and more often, when she

actually felt competent.

So she would work now to teach herself not to be so jittery around Devin.

She would stop thinking about his badge and remember that he was one of her

oldest friends--one she'd even had a little crush on, once upon a time.  She

would stop thinking of how big his hands were, or what would happen if he got

angry and used them against her.

Instead she would remember how gently they ruffled her daughter's hair, or

how firmly they covered her son's when he helped him with his batting stance.

Or how nice it had been, how unexpectedly nice, to feel the way his finger

brushed her cheek.

She curled more comfortably on the padded seat .  He was here, right here

beside her, smiling in that way that brought his dimple out and made odd

things happen to her insides.  He touched her, and she didn't jolt this time.

There, she thought, it was working already.

He was touching 'her, drawing her against him.  Oh, his body was hard.  But

she didn't flinch.  She was trembling, though.  Couldn't stop.  He was so

big, so strong, he could break her in half.  And yet.  and yet his hands

stroked so lightly over her.  Over her skin.  But he couldn't he touching her

there.

His mouth was on hers, so warm and gentle.  She couldn't stop him.  She

forgot that she should, even when his tongue slid over hers and his hand

cupped her breast as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

He was touching her, and it was hard to breathe, because those big hands were

gliding over her.  And now his mouth.  Oh, it was wrong, it had to be wrong,

but it was so wonderful to feel that warm, wet mouth on her:

She was whimpering, moaning, opening for him.  She felt him coming inside

her, so hard, so smooth, so right.

The explosion of a gunshot had her jerking upright.  She was gasping for

breath, damp with sweat, her mind a muddled mess.

Alone in the parlor.  Of course she was alone.  But her skin was tingling,

and there was a tingling, almost a burning inside her, that she hadn't felt

in so many years she'd forgotten it was possible.

Shame washed over her, had her gathering her robe tight at her throat.  It

was terrible, she thought, just terrible, to have been imagining herself with

Devin like that.  After he'd been so kind to her.

She didn't know what had gotten into her.  She didn't even like sex.  It was

something she'd learned to dread, and then to tolerate, very soon after her

miserable wedding-night initiation.  Pleasure had never entered into it.  She

simply wasn't built for that kind of pleasure, and had accepted the lack

early on.

But when she got to her feet, her legs were shaky and there was a nagging

pressure low in her stomach.  She drew in a breath, and along with it the

delicate scent of roses.

So she wasn't alone,.  Cassie thought.  Abigail was with her.  Comforted, she

went back upstairs to check on her children one last time before going to bed.

Devin was well into what he Considered the paper-pushing part of the day by

noon.  He had a report to type and file on the break-in at Duff's Tavern.

The trio of teenagers who'd thought to relieve Duff of a bit of his inventory

had been pathetically easy to track down.

Then there was the traffic accident out on Brook Lane.  Hardly more than a

fender bender, Devin mused as he hammered at the keys, but Lester Swoop,

whose new sedan had been crinkled, was raising a ruckus.

He had to finish up his report to the mayor and town council on the

preparations for crowd control on parade day.

Then, maybe, he'd get some lunch.

Across the office, his young deputy, Donnie Banks, was dealing with parking

tickets.  And, as usual, drumming his fingers on the metal desk to some inner

rhythm that Devin tried hard to ignore.

The day was warm enough that the windows were open.  The budget didn't run to

air-conditioning.  He could hear the sounds of traffic--what there was of

it--and the occasionally squeal of brakes as someone came up too fast on the

stop light at Main and Antietam.

He still had the mail to sort through, his job, since Crystal Abbott was off

on maternity leave and he hadn't come up with a temporary replacement for her

position as general dogs body.

He didn't mind really.  The sheer monotony of paperwork could be soothing.

Things were quiet, as they were expected to be in a town of less than

twenty-five hundred.  His job was to keep it that way, and deal with the

drunk-and-disorder!  ies, the traffic violations, the occasional petty theft

or domestic dispute.

Things heated up now and again, but in his seven years with Antietam's

sheriff's department, both as deputy and as sheriff, he'd had to draw his

weapon only twice.  And he'd never been forced to fire it.

Reason and guile usually worked, and if they didn't, a fist usually turned

the tide.

When the phone rang, Devin glanced hopefully toward his deputy.  Donnie's

fingers neyer broke rhythm, so, with a sigh, Devin answered the phone

himself.  He was well on his way to calming a hysterical woman who claimed

that her neighbor deliberately sent her dog over into her yard to fertilize

her petunias when Jared walked in.

"Yes, ma'am.  No, ma'am."  Devin rolled his eyes and motioned Jared to a

seat.  "Have you talked with her, asked.  her to keep her dog in her own

yard?"

The answer came so fast and loud that Devin winced and held the phone six

inches from his ear.  In the little wooden chair across the desk, "Jared

grinned and stretched out his legs.

"Yes, ma'am, I'm sure you worked very hard on your petunias..  No, no, don't

do that.  Please.  There's a law against discharging a firearm within town

limits.  You don't want to go waving your shotgun at-the dog.  I'm going to

send somebody over there.  Yes, ma'am, I surely am.  Ah... we'll see what we

can do.  You leave that shotgun alone now, you hear?  Yes, ma'am, I've got it

all down right here.  You just sit tight."

He hung up, tore off the memo sheet.  "Donnie?"  "Yo."

"Get on over to Oak Leaf and handle this."

"We got us a situation?"  Donnie stopped his drumming, looking hopeful.

Devin thought he seemed very young, in his carefully pressed uniform, with

his scarecrow hair and eager blue eyes.

"We've got a French poodle using a petunia bed as a toilet.  Explain about

the leash law, and see if you can keep these two women from a hair-pulling

contest."

"Yo!"  Delighted with the assignment, Donnie took the information sheet,

adjusted his hat and strode out, ready to uphold the law.

"I think he started to shave last week," Devin commented.

"Petunias and poodles," Jared said, and stretched.  "I can see you're busy."

"Antietam's a real naked city."  Devin got up to pour them both coffee.  "Had

us a situation down to Duff's," he added, tinting his voice with Donnie's

accent and emphasis.  "Three cases of beer went miss " Well, well.  "

"Got two of them back."  After handing Jared the mug, Devin eased a hip onto

his desk.  "The other had been consumed by three sixteen, year-olds."

"Tracked them down, did you?"

"It didn't take Sam Spade."  Devin shook his head as he sipped.  "They'd

bragged about it right and left, took the beer out to the field near the high

school and had themselves a party.  They were sick as dogs when I caught' up

with them.  Idiots.  Now they've got B and E charges, larceny, and an

appointment with juvie."

"Seems to me I remember a couple of cases of beer and a party.  In the woods."

"We didn't steal it," Devin reminded him.  "We left Duff the money in the'

storeroom--after we'd broken in and.  taken the beer."

"A fine but salient point.  God, we got drunk."

"And sick," Devin added.   "When we crawled home, Mom made us shovel manure

all afternoon.   I thought I'd die."

"Those were the days," Jared said with a sigh.  He sat back.  Despite the

trim suit and tie, the expensive shoes, there was no mistaking him for

anything but a

MacKade.  Like his brother, he had the reckless dark good looks.  A bit more

groomed, a bit more polished, but reckless enough.

"What are you doing in town?"

"This and that."  Jared wanted to work up to what he had to tell Devin.  Lay

la getting a tooth.  " " Yeah?  Keeping you guys up?  "

"I forgot what sleep's like."  His grin flashed.  "It's great.  You know,

Bryan changes diapers.  The kid's so in love with her, Savannah says the

first thing he does when he gets home from school is to go find her."

 "You got lucky," Devin murmured.

"Don't I know it.  You ought to try it, Dev.  Marriage is a pretty good deal."

"It's working for you and Rafe.  I saw him this morning, heading into the

hardware with Nate strapped to his back.  He looked real domestic."

 "Did you tell him that?"

"I didn't want to start a fight in front of the baby."

"Good call.   You know what you need around here, Dev?"   Still sipping

coffee, Jared looked around the office.   It was atilitarian, basic.   Desks,

wood floors, 'coffeepot, a ceiling fan that he knew squeaked when it was put

into use in the summer, unpadded chairs, metal file cabinets.   "You need a

dog.   Ethel'll be dropping that litter any day now."

Devin raised a brow.  Fred and Ethel, Shane's golden retrievers had finally

figured out what boy and girl dogs could do together besides chase rabbits.

"Yeah, I need a puppy puddling on the floor and chewing up my papers."

"Companionship," Jared insisted.  "Think how you'd look

cruising around town with a dog riding shotgun.  You could deputize him."

The image made Devin grin, but he set his coffee down.  "I'll keep it in

mind.  Now why don't you tell me what you came in to tell me."

Jared blew out a breath.  He knew how Devin's mind worked, step by meticulous

step.  He'd let Jared ramble, but he hadn't been fooled.  "I had some

business at the prison this morning."

'"One of your clients not getting his full television rights?"

Jared set his Coffee aside, linked his fingers.  "You arrest them, I

represent them.  That's why it's called law and order."

"Right.  HOW could I forget.  So?"

"So.  I had a meeting with the warden, and as he's aware that I'm Cassie's

lawyer, he felt it reasonable to pass some news on to me."

Devin's mouth thinned.  "Dolin."

"Yeah, Joe Dolin."

"He's not up for a parole hearing for another eighteen months."  Devin knew

the exact day, to the hour.

"That's right.  It seems that after a difficult period of adjustment, during

which Joe was a disciplinary problem, he's become a model prisoner,"

"I'll bet."

Jared recognized the bitterness in the tone, understood it perfectly.  "We

know he's a bastard, Devin, but the point here is, he's playing the game.

And he's playing it well."  ~

"He won't make parole, not the first time at bat.  I'll make sure of it."

"Parole's not the issne..Yet.  He's been put on work

"The hell he has!"

"As of this week.  I argued against it.  I pointed out the fact that he'll be

only a matter of miles from Cas-sic, his history of violence, his ties to the

town."  Feeling helpless, Jared unlinked his hands, held them palms up.  "I

got shot down.  He'll be supervised, along with the rest of the crew.  We

need the work release program, need the park and the roads cleaned and

maintained, and this is a cheap way to handle it.  Letting cooperative

prisoners serve the community is a solid method of rehabilitation."

"And when they take a hike from trash detail?"  Devin was pacing now, eyes

fiery.  "It happens.  Two or three times a year, at least, it happens.  I

hauled one back myself last fall."

"It happens," Jared agreed.  "They rarely get far.  They're pretty easy to

spot in the prison uniform, and most of them don't know the area."

"Devin knows the damn area."

"You're not going to get any arguments from me.  I'm going to fight it,

Devin.  But it's not going to be easy.  Not when Cassie's own mother has been

writing the warden in Joe'.s defense."

"That bitch."  Devin's hands cured into fists.  "She knows what he did to

Cassie.  Cassie," he repeated, and scrubbed his hands over his face.  "She's

just starting to pull things together.  What the hell is this going to do to

her?"

"I'm heading over there now to tell her."

"No."  Devin dropped his hands.  "I'll tell her.  You go file papers, or

whatever you have to do to turn this thing around.  I want that son of a

bitch locked up, twenty-four hours a day."

"They've got a crew out on 34 right now.  Trash detail.  He's on it."

"Fine."  Devin headed for the door.  "That's just fine."

It didn't take him long to get there, or to spot the bright orange vests of

the road crew.  Devin pulled to the shoulder behind a pickup truck where bags

of trash were already heaped.

He got out of his car, leaned against the hood and watched Joe Dolin.

The sixteen months in prison hadn't taken off any of his bulk, Devin noted.

He was a big man, thick, burly.  He'd been going to fat before his arrest.

From the look-of him, he'd been busy turning that fat into muscle.

The prison system approved of physical fitness.  He and another man were

unclogging the runoff on the other side of the road, working systematically

and in silence as they gathered up dead leaves, litter.

Devin bided his time, waited until Joe straightened, hauled a plastic bag

over-his shoulder and turned.

Their eyes met, held.  Devin wondered what the warden would say about

rehabilitation if he'd seen that look in Joe's eyes.  The heat and the hate.

If he'd seen that slow, bitterly triumphant smile before Joe tossed the bag

in the bed of the pickup parked on his side of the road.

Because he knew himself, Devin stayed where he was.  He knew that if he got

close, too close, he wouldn't he able to stop himself.  The badge.  he wore

was both a responsibility and a barrier.

If he was a civilian, he could walk across the road, ram his fists into Joe's

leering face and take the consequences.  If he was a civilian, he could

pummel the wife-beating bastard into putty.

But he wasn't a civilian.

"Help you, Sheriff?"  One of the supervisors walked over, ready to chat,

officer to officer.  " His easy smile faded at the look in Devin's eyes.  "

Is there a problem?  "

"Depends."  Devin took out one of the cigarettes he'd been working on giving

up for the past two months.  Taking his time, he struck a match, lit it, blew

out smoke.  "You see that man there, the big one?"

 "Dolin?   Sure."

"You remember that name."  l~in flicked his gaze down to the~lD clipped to

the supervisor's shirt.  "And I'm going to remember yours, Richardson.  If he

gets away from you, even for a heartbeat, it's going to be your ass."

"Hey, look, Sheriff"

Devin merely fixed his eyes on Richardson's face, kept them there as he

pushed off the hood.  "You make sure that son of a bitch doesn't-wander into

my town, Richardson.  You make damn sure of it."

Joe watched the sheriff's car pull out, drive away.  He bent his back to the

work, like a good team player.

And patted his pocket, where the latest letter from his mother-in-law was

tucked.

He knew what it said, almost word for word.  She kept him up with Cassie just

fine.  How the little bitch had a fancy job now at the MacKade Inn.  Lousy

MacKades.  He was going to take care of all of them, every last one of them,

when he got out.

But first he was going to take care of Cassie.

She thought she could have him tossed in a cell.  She thought she could

divorce him and start strutting her stuff around town.  Well, she was going

to think again, real soon.

Her mama was helping him out, writing him letters.  They were preachy

letters, and he couldn't stand the dried up old bat, but she was helping him

out.  And he wrote her every week, telling her how he'd suffered, how he'd

gotten religion, how he wanted to be with his family again.  He made sure he

went on about the kids.

He could have cared less about the kids.  Whiny little brats.

It was Cassie he wanted.  She was his wife--till death do us part.  He was

going to be reminding her of that before too much longer.

He hauled another bag to' the bed of the truck, tossed it in.  Oh, yeah, he

was going to remind her good, just like the old days.  She would pay, in

spades, for every hour he'd spent in a cell.

Curling his hand into a fist, he dreamed about his homecoming.

Chapter3

Instead of going directly to Cassie, Devin went to the prison.  He didn't

doubt Jared's skill as a lawyer, but he wanted, needed, to add his weight.

He forced himself to stay calm as he laid out the facts, and his opinion, to

the warden.

For every protest he made, he was shown a report to offset it.  Joe Dolin had

indeed made himself into a model prisoner, one who showed every sign of

rehabilitation.  He worked hard, followed the rules, went to chapel

regularly.  He expressed regret over his crimes and kept up with his

alcohol-abuse counseling.

When Devin left, he understood that the system he worked hard to uphold had

just kicked him in the teeth.  All he could do now was tell Cassie and try to

reassure her.

He found her on her hands and knees in the parlor, polishing the carved wood

of a gate leg table.  She was so busy humming to herself, she hadn't heard

him come in.  " She was wearing a white bib apron over her blouse and slacks,

and had a plastic basket beside her filled with rags and cleaning tools.

Her wavy hair was tucked behind her ear to keep it from falling forward into

her face.  She'd been letting it grow some, he thought.  It rippled just past

her chin.

She looked ~o damn happy, Devin thought, and jammed his hands into his

pockets.

"Cass?"  She jerked up, barely missed rapping her head on the table

extension.  Then blushed right to the hairline.

"Devin."  She twisted her polishing rag in her hands as her nerves went into

overdrive.  She'd been replaying the dream in her head, the dream she'd had

right here in the parlor, on the window seat.  The dream where Devin had.

Oh, my.  He stared at her, then stepped forward.  She looked as though she'd

been caught rifling the till.  "What's wrong?  What's the matter?"

"Nothing.  Nothing."  It seemed her stomach was suddenly full of bats and she

had to hold back a nervous giggle.  "My mind was wandering, that's all."  Was

it ever.  "And you startled me.  That's all."

It wasn't like her to keep repeating herself, and Ms gaze narrowed.  "Are you

sure you're all right?"

"Yes, yes.  Fine.  Just fine."  She scrambled to her feet, still twisting the

rag.  "The couple who are staying here went out to tour the battlefield.

They're going to stay another night.  They're from North Carolina.  He's a

battlefield junkie.  That's what he said."  I gave them all the pamphlets,

and.  and a tour of the house.  They wanted to see all of it.  They're

excited about the idea of ghosts.  "

Puzzled, he nodded.  She was babbling like a brook, when he usually had to

coax to get three sentences in a row out of her.  "Okay."

"Do you want some coffee?  I'll get you some coffee," she said, and started

to bolt before he could answer.  "And brownies.  I made brownies this morning,

and" -- When he put a hand on her arm to stop her,

she froze like a doe caught in headlights.  "Cassandra, relax."

"I am relaxed.  I'm relaxed."  His hand was firm, warm.  She thought she

could feel the texture of it through her skin, all the way to the bone-.

"You're about to jump out of your shoes.  Take'a deep breath.  Take a couple

of them."

Obediently she did, and felt some of the nerves settle.  "I'm fine, Devin."

"Okay, we'll have some coffee."  But even as he started to lead her out, his

beeper went off.  "Damn it."  He strode to the candlestick phone on the gate

leg to call in.  "MacKade.  Yes, Donnie."  Devin pressed his fingers against

his eyes.  Where had the headache come from, and why the hell was Cassie

staring at him as if he'd grown two pounding heads?

"I'm on a call now, Donnie.  Handle it.  That's what I said.  Look, put the

damn poodle in lockup, along with those idiot women, if you have to, but" --

He broke off, cursed himself, knowing Donnie would do exactly that.

"Abort that.  Be diplomatic, Donnie, and do your job.  You're going to have

to fine the poodle lady, but do it privately and professionally.  Suggest a

fence.  Remind her that the leash law is there for her pup's safety, as well

as the public's.  There's traffic on that street, and her little dog could

get himself squashed.  When you've handled that, you go over to the

complainant, tell her it's been dealt with, and compliment her on her

flowers.  Suggest a fence.  You know, how good fences make good neighbors.

No, I didn't make that up.  Go away, Donnie."

He hung up and turned to see Cassie smiling at him.  "A small dog problem,"

he explained.

"You're so good at that, and knowing how to handle people and put things

right."

"I'm a regular Solomon."  He blew out a breath.  "Sit down, Cassie.  I need

to talk to you."

"Oh."  Her smile faded.  "Something's wrong."

"Not necessarily.   Come on, let's sit down."   Because he wanted to be able

to hold her hand when he told her, he chose the curvy settee that always made

him feel like a clumsy giant.   "I'm going to tell you first that there's

nothing to worry about.   That I don't want you to worry."

"It's about Joe."  Her hand trembled once in his, then went still.  "They let

him out."

"No."  He squeezed her hand gently, reassuringly, and kept his eyes steady on

hers.  "He's not going to be out of jail for a long time."

"He wants to see the children."  She went dead pale,

her eyes huge and dark and terrified.  "Oh, God, Devin, the children."

"No."  He cursed himself, knowing he was only making it worse by tryiRg to

cushion the blow: "It's nothing like that.  It's the work release program.

You know what that is."

"Yes, they let the prisoners out for a few hours to do jobs, community

service.  Oh."  A single shudder escaped before she closed her eyes.  "That's

it."

"He's working on a road crew.  Trash and litter pickup.  That sort of thing.

I wanted' you to know, and not worry.  I've'arranged to be informed of his

schedule.  I'll know exactly where he is, and so will you.  I don't want you

driving by one day and seeing him on the side of the road and getting seared."

"All fight."  The fear was there, but she could handle it.  She'd handled

worse.  "He's supervised."

"That's right."  He wasn't going to bring up how often they misplaced'a

prisoner.  She'd know it already.  "I'm going to drive by, or have one of the

men drive by, wherever he's working; a couple of times a day.  And, because I

want you to feel secure about this, we'll do drive-bys here, too."

And at the school, he thought, but he didn't want to bring up the kids again.

"He's still in prison," she said, to reassure herself.  "There are guards."

"That's right.  Jared's working on a protest, but I should tell you-Damn it."

He let out another breath.  "Your mother's for it, and she's been writing to

the warden."

"I knew that."  Cassie squared her shoulders.  "She and Joe are writing each

other.  She's showed me his letters.  It doesn't make any difference, Devin.

I'm never going back to that.  I'm never letting my children go back to that.

We'll be all right."

"You'll be fine."  He was going to see to it.  He tucked a stray curl behind

her ear, relieved that she didn't jolt.  "I'm sorry I scared you."

"You didn't.  Not really."

"Anytime, Cassie, day or night, that you feel uncomfortable or uneasy, I want

you to call me.  You know I spend most nights at the office.  I can be here

in five minutes if you need me."

"I never feel uncomfortable or uneasy here.  I'm hardly ever alone."  When he

lifted a brow, she smiled.  "Can't you smell them?"

"The roses?  Yeah."  Now he smiled.  "Still, I'm usually better company than

a ghost.  You call me."

"All right."  She had to draw together all her courage.  A point had to be

proved.  He was her friend, always had been.  She had to stop being a

trembling little mouse.  "Thank you."  She made herself smile, then laid a

hand on his cheek, and touched her lips to his.

He barely tasted her, but the explosion 'ripped through his system like nap

aim It was so unexpected, so long desired.  He didn't realize his hand had

tightened like a vise on her fingers, making her eyes go wide with shock.

All he knew was that her lips had been on his, just for an instant.

And he couldn't stand it.

He dragged her against him, and captured that taste again, devoured it,

steeped himself in it.  Warm, sweet.

The shape of her mouth, that deep dip, drove him crazy.  He crushed it under

his, traced it with a frantic tongue, then dived deep to plunder.

His heart was thundering, wild surf against jagged rocks.  His blood was

racing, making his head buzz: She was everything soft and small and sweet,

every thing he craved, everything he cherished.

It took him several desperate moments to realize her hands were trapped

between them.  And she was rigid in his arms.  Stunned, he let her go and

leaped up in one frenzied motion.

And she stared at him, eyes dark as rain clouds, one hand lifted to lie

against the mouth he'd just savaged.

That was the word for it, he thought, disgusted.  Savaged.

"I'm sorry."  He was as pale now as she was flushed, and cursing himself

viciously.  "I'm sorry," he said again.  "I'm .... sorry.  I didn't mean to--

You caught me off guard."  There-was no excuse, he reminded himself, ~and his

punishment for breaking.  her trust would be the losing of it.  "That was way

out of line, and it won't happen again.  I don't know what I was thinking of.

I have to go."

"Devin"

"I have to go," he repeated, almost desperately, as he backed up.  He nearly

tripped over a table, decided that would have capped things off nicely.

Because 'she hadn't moved an inch, he was able to escape without further

humiliating himself.

She listened to the door slamming behind him.  No, she hadn't moved, because

she couldn't.  She didn't think it would he wise to try to stand just yet.

What had just happened here?  she asked herself.  She had kissed him,

thinking it was time she was able to make that friendly gesture.

Rafe kissed her all the time.  When he came by the inn for something, he

often kissed her, just the way she'd tried to kiss Devin.  Lightly, casually.

And after a while, she'd gotten used to it, and she no longer stiffened up.

Then Devin had kissed her.  But he didn't kiss like Rafe at all.  No, not at

all.  She still had her fingers against her lips, and could still feel the

heat there.  No, she'd never been kissed like that before, by anyone.  As if

the man's life had depended on it.  She'd never imagined Devin.  Oh, but she

had, she remembered, letting her unsteady hand fall into her lap.  She had

imagined, just the night before.  Had she dreamed her way into this?

What had happened here was certainly reality.  Her heart was pounding still,

and her skin was hot.  She'd been so shocked by what he'd done, the way he'd

grabbed her, the way his mouth had covered hers, she hadn't been able to move.

How long had it lasted?  Thirty seconds, a minute?  She couldn't say, but so

much had happened inside her.  She was still shaky from it.

He'd been sorry.  Of course he had, she thought, and leaned back, closed her

eyes and tried to catch her breath.  He hadn't meant to kiss her.  It had

just been some sort of spontaneous reaction.  A male reaction.  Then he'd

found her lacking and let her go.  Apologized.  He was a good and honorable

man, and he'd apologized for doing something he hadn't really meant to do.

It was just a kiss, she reminded herself, but had to press a hand to her

jittery stomach.  Now she'd spoiled things, because she hadn't been able to

shrug it off, or laugh it off like a normal woman.  Any more than she'd been

able to respond to him and make him want to kiss her again.

She would make an effort, Cassie ordered herself, to behave as though nothing

had happened.  The very next time she saw him, she would smile and make

natural conversation.  She was getting better at those things.  She simply

couldn't bear it if they couldn't be friends anymore.

She got up on s~till-wobbly legs to finish her polishing.  And didn't think

of Joe Dolin at all.

Devin worked like a fiend the rest of the day and of the next.  He drove his

deputies insane, and out to the farm to extend the same courtesy to younger

brother.

Of course, he told himself he'd come out to work.  There were crops to be

tended, and several of the cows that hadn't yet calved were due to drop.  He

found his services welcomed when one of the cows delivered breech.

By the time it was over and the new calf was teetering on its spindly legs,

Devin was a mess.  His shirt was~.  ruined, his arm was bruised from being

side the cow's birth canal.  And he stank.

In the stall, Shane was equally dirty, and he whistling cheerfully as he

administered inoculations the annoyed baby.  "~here-you go, pal.  That didn't

hurt much."

Disgusted, Devin stared at him.  It had been a hard, messy job, and it wasn't

over.  The stall would have to be cleaned out and fresh hay spread, and the

calf would treed watching for the next couple of hours.

And there was Shane, kneeling in the muck, happy as a fool.

"He'd been letting his hair grow lately, Devin noted, and he'd pulled a tail

of it through the opening in the back of his grimy cap.  His green eyes,

shades paler than Devin's, were dreamy, and his mouth was curved next to his

dimple. He was sinfully good-looking, even for a ~MacKade.  And he was the

baby of the family, even younger than Devin, which meant that his older

brothers had been honor-bound to kick his butt well and often.

As he continued to whistle, Devin gave serious thought to doing so now.

"What the hell are you so happy about?"

"Nice healthy calf, from the look of him."  Despite the calf's strong

objections, Shane was holding him still and examining his eyes.

"Mama's doing fine now.  What's not to be happy about?"

"She damn near broke my arm."

"She couldn't help it," Shane said reasonably.

"Besides, I told you I'd take that end.  You insisted."

 "Yeah, right.   This place is a mess."

"Birthing's not neat."  Shane stood and rubbed his filthy hands on his

equally filthy jeans.  He stepped out of the stall and leaned against the

open door.  "Besides, I thought this might sweat the mood out of apologized

for doing something he hadn't really meant to do.

It was just a kiss, she reminded herself, but had to press a hand to her

jittery stomach.  Now she'd spoiled things, because she hadn't been able to

shrug it off, or laugh it off like a normal woman.  Any more than she'd been

able to respond to him and make him want to kiss her again.

She would make an effort, Cassie ordered herself, to behave as though nothing

had happened.  The very next time she saw him, she would smile and make

natural conversation.  She was getting better at those things.  She simply

couldn't bear it if they couldn't be friends anymore.

She got up on still-wobbly legs to finish her polishing.  And didn't think of

Joe Dolin at all.

Devin worked like a fiend the rest of the day and all of the next.  He drove

his deputies insane, and drove out to the farm to extend the same courtesy to

his younger brother.

Of course, he told himself he'd come out to work.  There were crops to be

tended, and several of the cows that hadn't yet calved were due to drop.  He

found his services welcomed when one of the cows delivered breech.

By the time it was over and the new calf was teetering on its spindly legs,

Devin was a mess.  His shirt was ruined, his arm was bruised from bing

contracted inside the cow's birth canal.  And he stank.

In the stall, Shane was equally dirty, and he was whistling cheerfully as he

administered inoculations to the annoyed baby.  "There-you go, pal.  That

didn't hurt much."

Disgusted, Devin stared at him.  It had been a hard, messy job, and it wasn't

over.  The stall would have to be cleaned out and fresh hay spread, and the

calf would ~qeed watching for the next couple of hours.

And there was Shane, kneeling in the muck, happy as a fool.

He'd.  been letting his hair grow lately, Devin noted, and he'd pulled a tail

of it through the opening in the back of his grimy cap.  His green eyes,

shades paler than Devin's, were dreamy, and his mouth was curved next to his

dimple.  " He was sinfully good-looking, even for a MacKade.  And he was the

baby of the family, even younger than Devin, which meant that his older

brothers had been honor-bound to kick his butt well and often.

As he continued to whistle, Devin gave serious thought to doing so now.

"What the hell are you so happy about?"

"Nice healthy calf, from the look of him."  Despite the calf's strong