The Return of Rafe MacKade

by Nora Roberts

  last drag, then flicked the cigarette away.

  Rafe watched it wistfully as it hissed in the snow.

  “I’m not exactly the expert on romance in the MacKade family.” Devin’s grin was crooked, and didn’t last long. “I thought you might like the latest on Joe Dolin.”

  “He’s locked up.”

  “For now. I got word he’s copping to second-degree assault. If he listens to his lawyer, he’ll agree to alcohol counseling. He’ll get a fine, suspended sentence with probation, and a stern warning not to hit his wife again.”

  “What the hell kind of deal is that?”

  “Prisons are crowded. Domestic disputes don’t usually equal tough sentencing. He says ‘Yeah, I did it, I’m sorry. I lost my temper, I was drunk, I lost my job. My self-esteem is really low.’ The judge says ‘Get yourself into counseling, my boy, and sin no more.’”

  Rafe studied his brother’s face. Beneath the calm, he caught the twitches of fury and frustration. “You’re just going to let it go at that?”

  “I don’t sentence.” Devin struggled to bite back on his sense of anger and impotence. “There’s nothing I can do except talk Cassie into letting me issue a restraining order, and make sure he doesn’t get near her or the kids.”

  “Meanwhile, they’re bunked down at Regan’s. That puts her in the middle.”

  “I don’t like it any better than you do. I’ve got the law to work around.”

  “I don’t.”

  Devin’s gaze was cool and level. “No, you don’t. But you start something with Dolin, and it’s going to come down in his favor. He’ll make a mistake, Rafe. All it takes is one, and I’ll have him caged again. Until I do… I don’t know where things stand between you and Regan, but if you were staying there, it’d hold a lot more weight with me than some useless restraining order.”

  “You want me to ask Regan to let me move in with her?”

  “And Cassie, and the kids.”

  The idea was surprisingly appealing. Waking up beside her, sharing that first cup of coffee. “You going to deputize me, Dev?”

  “Not on your life.”

  “Too bad. Well, I’ll run it by Regan and let you know.”

  Chapter 8

  “Absolutely not.” Regan planted her feet, folded her arms over her chest. “You are not sleeping in my bed with two little children in the next room.”

  “This isn’t about sex,” Rafe said patiently. “That’s just a bonus. I’m telling you, this is an official request from the sheriff.”

  “Who just happens to be your brother. No.” She turned away to set glassware back on the shelf she’d been dusting. “It would make Cassie uncomfortable and set a poor example for the children.”

  And if they weren’t there? He found the question leaping to the tip of his tongue like a frog. He was barely in time to prevent himself from letting it jump out.

  “It’s Cassie and the kids who are the issue,” he insisted. “You think Dolin’s just going to leave them alone because Cassie signs some paper telling him to?”

  “I have no idea what he’ll do, but he’ll have to get past me first.”

  The thought of it, just the thought of it, had his blood icing over. “Now you listen…”

  She jerked his hand from her shoulder and whirled back. “No, you listen. The man is a bully and a drunk. I’m not afraid of drunken bullies. I offered Cassie my home, and she’s welcome to stay there as long as she wants. I have a good solid lock on the door, which I’ll use. I know the number for the sheriff’s office, which I’ll use, as well, if it’s necessary.”

  “There’s no lock on that door.” Rafe jerked a thumb toward the front of the shop. “What’s to stop him from walking in here during business hours and harassing you? Or worse.”

  “I am.”

  “Right.” He wondered if shaking her would rattle her brains back into place. “Putting Dolin on the receiving end of that stubborn chin of yours isn’t going to stop him. In case you haven’t figured it out, he likes hurting women.”

  “I’ll take a moment to remind you that for the past three years I’ve been here and you haven’t. I’ve seen exactly what he’s done to Cassie.”

  “And you figure because you’re not married to him, you’re safe?” He did shake her. “You can’t be that stupid.”

  “I’m not stupid,” she shot back. “I’m competent. I don’t need or want you for a bodyguard.”

  His eyes changed, going from full heat to slow burn. On her shoulders, his hands tensed, then lifted away.

  “I guess that’s the bottom line, isn’t it? You don’t need or want my help.”

  Ego, she thought with a muffled sigh. There was no monster so fierce or so vulnerable as a man’s ego. “The sheriff’s office is five minutes away, if I need to call out troops.” Hoping to calm them both, Regan put her hands on his shoulders. “Rafe, I appreciate your concern, really I do. But I can take care of myself, and Cassie, too, if it comes to that.”

  “I bet you can.”

  “I worked a shop in D.C. for years. One memorable evening, I was robbed at gunpoint. I know how to be sensible, how not to take chances and how to defend myself. I appreciate the fact that you’re worried, but I’m not Cassie. He can’t frighten or intimidate me.”

  “Regan—”

  “Wait, let me finish. Cassie is so fragile right now, and the children are too quiet. I’m not sure how they would handle having a man around. The kids don’t know you.”

  He jammed his hands in his pockets. “I’m not going to kick them around.”

  “They don’t know that. Little Emma sits at Cassie’s feet with her doll and barely says a word. And the boy— God, Rafe, he breaks my heart. They need time to feel safe again. You’re too big, you’re too strong, you’re too…male.”

  Stubbornly he ignored the fact that she’d hurt him—that he could be hurt—and concentrated on the situation at hand. “You’re being pigheaded.”

  “I’m doing what seems right to me. That’s the only way I know how to handle things. Believe me, I’ve thought this through, weighed the options. Having you move in just isn’t one of them.”

  “Invite me to dinner,” he said abruptly.

  “You want to come to dinner?”

  “Ask me to dinner, so I can get to know the kids, so they’ll get used to me being around.”

  “Now who’s pigheaded?” But she sighed. It was a reasonable compromise. “All right, seven-thirty, and you’re out by ten.”

  “Can we neck on the couch after the kids go to bed?”

  “Maybe. Now go away.”

  “Aren’t you going to kiss me goodbye?”

  She huffed out a breath, then kissed him primly on the cheek. “Business hours,” she said, then laughed when he grabbed her. “Rafe, we’re right in front of the window. I—”

  The rest was lost as he crushed his mouth to hers. “Might as well give them something to talk about.” And give her something to think about, he told himself. She was damn well going to do a lot of thinking about Rafe MacKade.

  He nipped her lip, let her go, then sauntered out the door.

  A block away, Cassie sat in Devin’s office, twisting her hands together. She knew it should be easier because it was Devin, someone she’d known all her life. But it only made the shame worse.

  “I’m sorry, we got busy, and I couldn’t take my break until now.”

  “That’s all right, Cassie.” It had become habit to keep his voice quiet when he spoke to her, as a man might speak to a wounded bird. “I’ve got the paperwork filled out for you. You just have to sign it.”

  “He’s not going to go to jail.”

  A fist squeezed his heart at the emptiness in her tone. “No.”

  “Is it because I let him hit me?”

  “No.” He wished he could reach out to soothe those nervous hands. But the desk was between them, an official barrier. “He admitted that he hurt you, but the court took other things into consideration. His drinking
problem, his loss of a longtime job. He’ll have to go into counseling, report to his probation officer. Stay out of trouble.”

  “It could be good for him.” She looked up, then, just as quickly, down again. “The counseling. If he stops drinking, maybe everything would be all right.”

  “Yeah.” And he could run a Popsicle stand in hell, Devin thought. “In the meantime, you need to protect yourself. That’s what the restraining order’s for.”

  She lifted her gaze again, and this time her eyes held his. “That paper is going to keep him from coming back?”

  Devin grabbed a cigarette out of his pack, then tossed it down. When he spoke, his voice was cool and official. “This bars him from coming near you. He can’t come into the diner when you’re working there. He can’t approach you on the street, or come to Regan’s house as long as you’re staying there. If he breaks any one of the regulations set down here, he’ll void his parole and serve the eighteen months.”

  “He knows about this?”

  “He’s been notified.”

  She moistened her lips. He couldn’t come near her. The idea whirled around in her head. If he couldn’t come near her, he couldn’t hit her.

  “I only have to sign it.”

  “Yes, you only have to sign it.” Devin rose then, came around the desk to offer her a pen. When she made no move to take it, he bit back an oath. “Cassie, what do you want? Can you just tell me what you want?”

  She shook her head, took the pen. She signed her name quickly, as though it hurt. “I know I’ve put you through a lot of trouble, Devin.”

  “It’s my job,” he said shortly.

  “You’re a good sheriff.” When he glanced back, obviously surprised, she tried to smile. “You are, quiet and competent and good with people. Everyone knows they can count on you. My mother always said you and your brothers would end up behind bars.” She flushed and stared down at the floor. “I’m sorry. That was stupid.”

  “No, it wasn’t. I used to think the same myself.” He smiled then, because just for a moment she’d sounded like the girl he remembered. “You know, Cass, that’s about the longest little speech I’ve heard out of you in close to ten years.”

  “I’m always putting my foot in my mouth.”

  “Don’t do that.” He’d taken her chin to lift her head before he realized he meant to—before she flinched like a startled doe. Moving with care, he dropped his hand, eased a hip on the corner of the desk. “How are the kids?”

  “They’re all right. Better.”

  “Getting along all right at Regan’s?”

  “She’s wonderful. I forget I’m imposing, because she makes everything so normal. She and Rafe—” She broke off, her color rising again. “You’ve got better things to do than listen to me gossip.”

  “No, I don’t.” He’d have done anything to keep her talking. To keep her there. “What do you think about them? Regan and Rafe?”

  “I— She looked happy when she came home this morning.”

  “He looked miserable when I dropped by the house this morning.”

  Her smile was slow and shy. “That’s a good sign. Rafe always needed a woman who could make him unhappy. It was always too easy for him. For all of you.”

  “Was it?” Thoughtful, he picked up his cigarette again, ran it through his fingers. “I remember you turned me down.”

  “Oh.” Fumbling, she rose. “That was a hundred years ago.”

  “Not quite twelve. You were sweet sixteen.”

  “I was going with Joe.” As she tugged on her coat, she wondered if she’d really ever been sixteen. “I can’t even remember who we were then, or what we were looking for. Thanks, Devin, for taking care of this.”

  “That’s what I’m here for, to take care of things.”

  At the door, she paused, but didn’t look back. It was easier to speak if she didn’t have to look into those cool, pitying eyes. “You asked me what I wanted, Devin. I just want to feel safe.” She said it so quietly, he barely heard. “That’s really all.”

  In a coat that was too thin to fight off the biting wind, she walked back to the café.

  Rafe arrived ten minutes early for dinner and squirmed on Regan’s doorstep like a nervous suitor. He had a bottle of wine in one hand and a bakery box of cookies designed to win the kids over in the other.

  He wished he’d remembered before his brainstorm that he knew nothing about people under the age of sixteen.

  As a test, he turned the knob. It was somewhat satisfying to find it locked tight. He knocked sharply, stepped back. It was Regan who opened it, as far as the thick security chain allowed.

  “Okay, so far you’re passing. But you should have asked who it was first.”

  “I looked out the window.” She shut the door in his face, then, after a rattle of chain, opened it. “I had the feeling there’d be a quiz.” Smiling, she studied the offerings. “No lilacs?”

  “No chance.” He would have kissed her if he hadn’t noticed the solemn gray eyes watching him from the cushions of the sofa. “Looks like you’ve got a mouse in the house.”

  Regan jerked, then smiled when she saw Emma. “She’s quiet as one, but prettier. Emma, this is Mr. MacKade. You met him at Ed’s, remember?” Regan held out a hand. Eyeing him warily, Emma slipped from the couch.

  She was five, Rafe knew, and tiny as a fairy princess, with her mother’s pale hair and smoky eyes.

  “I knew your mama when she was your age,” he told her.

  Emma darted behind Regan’s legs and peered up at him.

  Knowing it was a shameless bribe, he shook the bakery box. “Want a cookie, honey?”

  That earned him the faintest of smiles, but Regan took the box out of his hands. “Not before dinner.”

  “Spoilsport. But dinner smells good.”

  “Cassie’s chicken and dumplings. I had to practically tie her down to keep her from taking the kids and eating at the diner. We compromised and had her cook dinner. Come on, Emma, we’ll take the cookies in the kitchen.”

  With one hand clutching Regan’s slacks, Emma darted looks over her shoulder.

  She thought he was big, but his eyes weren’t mean. She’d already learned how to read eyes. And he looked a lot like the sheriff, who sometimes picked her up and gave her lemon drops.

  But Emma watched her mother carefully to gauge her reaction to the man.

  Cassie looked up from the stove and smiled. “Hi, Rafe.”

  He moved to her, lightly kissed her bruised cheek. “How’s it going?”

  “Fine, everything’s fine.” She laid a hand on the shoulder of the boy beside her. “Connor, you remember Mr. MacKade.”

  “Nice to see you again, Connor.” Rafe offered a hand. The little boy with the pale hair and the dusky blue eyes shook hands hesitantly. “You’d be, what, in third, fourth grade?”

  “Third, yes, sir.”

  Rafe lifted a brow and passed the bottle of wine to Regan. That would make him about eight, Rafe figured, and the kid spoke as quietly as an old priest. “Miz Witt still teaching there?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “We used to call her Miz Dimwit.” When the boy’s eyes widened, Rafe plucked a carrot from beside the salad bowl. “Bet you still do.”

  “Yes, sir,” Connor mumbled, slanting a look at his mother. “Sometimes.” Screwing up the courage he’d worked on building ever since he’d been told Rafe MacKade was coming, Connor drew in his breath. “You bought the Barlow Place.”

  “That’s right.”

  “It’s haunted.”

  Rafe bit off some carrot and grinned. “You bet.”

  “I know all about the battle and everything,” Connor said in one quick burst. “It was the bloodiest day of the Civil War, and nobody really won, because—” He broke off, embarrassed. This, he thought miserably, was why some of the kids called him nerdhead in school.

  “Because nobody went for the final push,” Rafe finished for him. “Maybe you’d like to come by the house s
ometime, take a look. I could use somebody who knows all about the battle.”

  “I’ve got a book. With pictures.”

  “Yeah?” Rafe took the wine Regan offered him. “Let’s see.”

  It was simple enough to draw the boy out, as long as they were discussing McClellan’s flawed strategy or the Battle of Burnside Bridge. Rafe saw a bright, needy boy, too bookish to fit neatly with his contemporaries, too shy to showcase his own brain.

  The girl, a miniature of her mother, never strayed far from Cassie or Regan, ate her dinner in small, neat bites. And watched him like a baby hawk.

  “Ed would be better off having you in the kitchen than waiting tables,” Rafe commented after he’d polished off a second helping. “Her business would double in a month.”

  Off guard, Cassie blinked at him. No one had complimented her cooking in too many years to count. “I’m glad you liked it. I could put some of the leftovers in a dish for you. You’d just have to heat them up.”

  “I’ll take them.”

  When Cassie rose and began to clear, Regan held up a hand. “No, you don’t. You cooked, I clear.”

  “But—”

  “That was the deal. And since Rafe ate enough for two growing boys, he can help.”

  The Dolins looked on, awed, as Rafe cheerfully stacked plates. The men they knew would have belched, loosened their belts and plopped down in front of the TV with a six-pack.

  “Daddy says girls and sissies do dishes,” Emma announced, in a surprisingly clear voice.

  “Emma!” Paling, Cassie stared at Rafe and waited for the retribution.

  He considered making a comment about her father’s brains but decided against it. “My mama always said a meal has to be earned.” He said it lightly and winked at her. “And if I do the dishes with Regan, I’ll probably be able to kiss her.”

  “Why?”

  “Because she tastes almost as good as your mama’s chicken and dumplings.”

  Satisfied with that, Emma nibbled solemnly on her cookie.

  “I’ll just give Emma her bath, then.” Flustered, Cassie shooed her children along. “I have to turn in early. I have the breakfast shift in the morning.”

  “Thanks for dinner, Cassie.”

  “You handled that very well,” Regan murmured. “That’s probably the first time in years they’ve sat at the dinner table with a man and had a civilized conversation.”

  “Dolin’s not only a swine, he’s a fool.” Rafe set stacked plates on the kitchen counter. “Sweet woman like that, beautiful kids. Any man would be lucky to have them.”

  A home of your own, Rafe mused. A woman who loved you. Kids racing out to meet you at the end of the day. Family meals around a table. Noise in the kitchen.

  Funny, he’d never thought that was something he’d wanted, or needed.

  “You made an impression,” Regan went on as she filled the sink with hot, soapy water. “A good one. I can’t think of anything better for all of them than seeing a strong, intelligent man behaving in a strong, intelligent way.”

  She glanced back, and her smile faltered at the look in his eye. She was used to the way he stared at her, or she nearly was. But this was different, deeper.