The Heart Of Devin Mackade tmb-3

by Nora Roberts

  "That bitch." Devin's hands curled 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 be 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." Devin flicked his gaze down to the ID 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.

  Chapter 3

  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 gateleg 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 so 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 his 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 gateleg 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 trying 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 scared."

  "All right." 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 napalm. 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, everything 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 be 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 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 t
he 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 being 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 need 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 and ears. "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 you." His grin was cocky, confident—all the more reason for Devin to want to punch it in. "Women trouble, right?"