The Heart of Devin MacKade

by Nora Roberts

  broke them long before I did.”

  She refused to look at the letter, refused to feel this bitter anger, that even so small a part of him had come into her home. Instead, she kept her eyes on her mother’s face.

  “Love, honor, cherish. Did he love me, Mama, when he beat me? Did he honor me when he used his fists on me? Did he cherish me when he raped me?”

  “You will not speak that way about your husband.”

  “I came to you when I had nowhere to go, when he’d hurt me so badly I could hardly walk, when my children were terrorized. And you sent me away.”

  “Your place was at home, making the best of your marriage.”

  “I made the best of it for ten years, and it nearly killed me. You should have been there for me, Mama. You should have stood up for me.”

  “I stood up for what was right.” Constance’s mouth was a thin line. “If you forced him to discipline you—”

  “Discipline me!” Stunned, even after all the time that had passed, Cassie leaped to her feet. “He had no right to discipline me. I was his wife, not his dog. And not even a dog deserved to be treated the way I was. He would have disciplined me to death, if I hadn’t finally found the courage to do something about it. Would that have satisfied you, Mama? I’d have kept my vows then. Till death do us part.”

  “You’re overdramatizing. And whatever happened before is done. He’s seen his mistakes. It was the drink, the women who tempted him. He’s asking for your forgiveness, and hopes that you will keep your vows, as he intends to.”

  “He can’t have my forgiveness, and he can’t have me. How can you do this to me? I’m your daughter, your only child.” Cassie’s eyes were no longer haunted, but steely. “How can you take the side of a man who hurt me and betrayed me and made my life a misery? Don’t you want me to be happy?”

  “I want you to do what’s expected of you. I expect you to do as you’re told.”

  “Yes, that’s all you ever wanted from me. To do what I was told, to be what you expected me to be. Why do you think I married him, Mama?”

  Cassie couldn’t believe the words were coming out of her mouth, but they wouldn’t be stopped. Just as the emotions that pushed them from her heart to her throat and through her lips wouldn’t be stopped.

  “It was to get away from you, to get out of that house, where nobody ever laughed, nobody ever showed any affection.”

  “You had a good home.” This time it was Constance whose voice trembled. “You had a decent Christian up-bringing.”

  “No, I didn’t. There’s nothing decent or Christian about a house where there’s no love. My children won’t be raised that way, not anymore.” Cassie spoke calmly now, amazed that she could, fascinated that she felt nothing at all. “You’re my mother, and I’ll give you all the respect that I can. All I’m asking is for you to give me the same. I don’t want you corresponding with Joe anymore.”

  Constance got to her feet. “You would dare tell me what to do?”

  “Will you stop writing him, Mama? Will you stop writing the prison authorities?”

  “I will not.”

  “Then you’re not welcome in my home. We have nothing else to say to each other.”

  Staggered, Constance could only stare. “You’ll come to your senses.”

  “I have come to them. Goodbye, Mama.”

  Cassie walked to the door and held it open. She stiffened when Constance swept by. And then the trembling began.

  Slowly, unsure of her footing, Cassie walked to the table. She braced herself on it as she lowered herself into a chair. Wrapping her arms tight around her body, she began to rock.

  She was still sitting there when Devin came to the door, ten minutes later. He started to give a friendly rap on the wooden slat of the screen. But then he saw her, saw the way her shoulders were hunched and curled and the quick, monotonous rocking of her body, as if she were trying to still something inside herself. Or comfort it.

  He’d seen her like that before, sitting in his office with her face battered. All he knew was that she was hurt, and he was through the door like a bullet.

  “Cassie.”

  She sprang to her feet. He saw alarm mix with the hurt. Even as he reached out, she scooted back, out of his way.

  “Devin, I didn’t hear you come up. I was— I should—” Her mind raced for excuses, for the barrier of appearances. As always. Pale with grief, her eyes swimming with it, she stared at him. Then she began to move quickly. “Let me get you some iced tea. It’s fresh.” She was hurrying for glasses, for the pitcher, her movements jerky. “I’ve got some cobbler. I just made it this morning.”

  She jolted like a spring when his hands came down on her shoulders, and the glass she had just filled smashed on the tiles. The cat that had been napping under the table took off in a blur of fur.

  “Oh, God, look what I’ve done.” Her breathing hitched, and the feeling in her chest tightened. She couldn’t stop it. “I have to— I have to—”

  “Leave it.” He struggled to keep his voice easy as he turned her to face him. She was shaking hard, trying to pull back. Not this time was all he could think. Not this time. “Come here,” he murmured. “Come on now.”

  The instant he drew her into his arms, the dam broke. She wept against his shoulder, the fast, hot tears soaking his shirt. He kissed her hair, stroked her back. “Tell me. Tell me what’s wrong, so I can help.”

  It wasn’t coherent, nor was it complete, but he understood the gist when she stuttered out words between sobs. Bitter fury curled inside him as he soothed her, kissing her wet cheeks.

  “You did what you had to do. You did what was right.”

  “She’s my mother.” Cassie lifted her ravaged face to his. “I sent her away. I turned my mother away.”

  “Who turned who away, Cass?”

  Her breath sobbed out again, and her hands balled into fists on his shoulders. “It’s not right.”

  “Get away from her.” The screen door slammed as Connor burst through it. His own hands were fisted, and his face was flushed with fury, taut with violence. All he saw was a man holding his mother, and his mother crying. “If you touch her I’ll kill you.”

  “Connor!” Shock had Cassie’s voice ringing sharp. Was this her baby, with his fists raised and his eyes fierce? She caught a glimpse of Emma at the door, her frightened face pressed to the screen. “Don’t speak that way to Sheriff MacKade.”

  Every cell on alert, Connor stepped forward. “Take your hands off my mother.”

  Intrigued, Devin merely lifted a brow and let his arms fall to his sides.

  “I said not to speak that way,” Cassie began.

  “He was hurting you. He made you cry.” Connor bared his teeth, a ten-year-old warrior. “He better leave right now.”

  “He wasn’t hurting me.” Though she was shaken to the core, Cassie stepped between them. “I was upset— Grandma upset me—and Sheriff MacKade was helping to make me feel better. I want you to apologize, this minute.”

  Devin saw the boy’s arms drop, and knew when the angry flush on Connor’s cheeks turned to shame. With his eyes on the boy, he laid a hand on Cassie’s shoulder.

  “I’d like to talk to Connor. Alone.” Anticipating her protest, he gave Cassie’s shoulder a quick squeeze. “Cass, the baby’s crying. Why don’t you and Emma go see to him?”

  “Nate. I forgot.” At her wit’s end, Cassie dragged a hand through her hair.

  “Why don’t you go on?” Devin said, giving her a gentle nudge. “Con and I are going to take a walk.”

  “All right. Come on, Emma, Nate’s crying.” But she took a deep breath as she held out a hand for her daughter. “I expect you to apologize, Connor. You understand?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” With his chin on his chest, Connor turned to go outside.

  He knew what was coming. He was going to get whipped. His father had always done the hitting away from the house, away where his mother couldn’t see and wouldn’t know. He’d get a b
eating now for sure, and it would be worse than anything his father had ever done to him. Because he’d tried to do what was right, and he’d been wrong.

  Devin said nothing at all, just walked with the boy across the lawn, toward the woods that bordered it. He chose the path without thinking. The woods were as familiar to him as the town, as his own home, as his own mind. Beside him, Connor walked stiffly, his head drooped in shame, his back braced.

  Because he knew he had to gauge his timing, and his moves, Devin resisted the urge to drape his arm over those thin little shoulders. Instead, he led the way down a path and stopped at the cluster of rocks where two soldiers had once met and doomed each other.

  He sat, and the boy stood rigid and waiting.

  “I’m awfully proud of you, Connor.”

  The words—the last he’d expected to hear—had the boy’s head whipping up. “Sir?”

  Casually Devin took out a cigarette—the first of a very long day. “I have to tell you, it’s a relief to me. I worry about your mother some. She’s had a bad time of it. Knowing you’re there to look after things, makes my mind a lot easier.”

  Connor’s confusion was too huge for him to feel any pride. He stared at Devin, his eyes still wary. “I—I sassed you.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “You’re not going to hit me?”

  Devin’s hand stiffened, hesitated. Very slowly he tossed the barely smoked cigarette on the ground and crushed it under his heel. As he would have liked to crush Joe Dolin.

  “I’m never going to raise my hand to you, not today, not any day.” He spoke deliberately, his eyes level with Connor’s, as a man would speak to another man. “I’m never going to raise it to your mama or to your sister.” But he held out that hand, and waited. “I’m giving you my word, Connor,” he said, when the boy simply stared at the hand being offered. “I’d be grateful if you’d take it.”

  Dumbfounded, Connor put his hand in Devin’s. “Yes, sir.”

  Devin gave the hand a little squeeze, tugged the boy a little closer. And grinned. “You’d have torn right into me, wouldn’t you?”

  “I’d have tried.” The emotions swirling inside Connor were frightening. Most of all, he was afraid he would cry now and show Devin he was just a stupid little boy after all. “I never helped her before. I never did anything.”

  “It wasn’t your fault, Connor.”

  “I never did anything,” Connor repeated. “He hit her all the time, Sheriff. All the time.”

  “I know.”

  “No, you don’t. You only know about when one of the neighbors would call you, or when he’d get so drunk he’d hit her someplace where it would show. But there was more. It was worse.”

  Devin nodded. There was nothing else he could do. And drew the boy down on the rocks beside him. “He hit you, too.”

  “When she couldn’t see.” Bravery forgotten, Connor pressed his face into Devin’s side. “When she didn’t know.”

  Devin stared off into the trees, eaten away by a useless anger at what he hadn’t been able to prevent. “Emma?”

  “No, sir. He never paid much attention to Emma, because she was just a girl. Don’t tell Mama. Please don’t tell her he hit me. She’d just feel bad.”

  “I won’t.”

  “I hate him. I’d kill him if I could.”

  “I know how you feel.” When the boy shook his head, Devin drew him back, looked deep into his eyes. “I do know. I’m going to tell you something. I used to fight a lot.”

  “I know.” Connor sniffled, but was profoundly grateful he’d controlled the tears. “People talk about it.”

  “Yeah, I know they do. I used to like it, and I used to think there were lots of people I wanted to rip into. Sometimes I had reason for it, sometimes I didn’t. Anyway, I had to learn to take a step back. It’s important, that step. Now, you figure you owe your father some grief—”

  “Don’t call him that,” Connor snapped out, then flushed darkly. “Sir.”

  “All right. I figure you owe him some, too. But you’ve got to take that step back. Let the law handle it.”

  “I’m not ever going to let him or anybody hurt her again.”

  “I’m with you there.” Studying Connor’s determined face, he decided the boy deserved to know the situation. “I’m going to give it to you straight, okay?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Your grandma got your mama real upset today.”

  “She wants him to come back. It’s never going to happen. I won’t let it happen.”

  “Your mama feels the same way, and that’s why she sent your grandma away. That was hard for her, real hard, Connor, but she did it.”

  “You were helping her. I’m sorry I—”

  “Don’t apologize,” Devin said quickly. “I mean it. I know Cassie thinks you should, but we know how things stand. You did exactly right, Connor. I’d have done the same.”

  No compliment he’d ever received, no praise from a teacher, no high five from a teammate, had ever meant more. He had done what Sheriff MacKade would do.

  “I’m glad you want to help her. I’ll do anything you want me to do.”

  That kind of trust, Devin thought, was worth more than gold. “I need to tell you that they’ve given Joe work release.”

  Connor’s face tightened up. “I know about it. Kids at school say things.”

  “They giving you a rough time?”

  He moved a shoulder. “Not as much as they used to.”

  Learning to handle yourself, Devin thought with an astonishing sense of pride. “What I want is for you not to worry too much, but more, I want you to keep your eyes open. You’re smart, and you notice things. That’s why you write good stories.”

  Connor wriggled with pleasure. “I like to write.”

  “I know. And you know how to look at things, how to watch. So I know you’re going to watch out for your family. If you see something, hear something, even feel something that doesn’t sit right, I want you to come to me. I want your word on that.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Do you have to call me sir all the time? It makes me feel creaky.”

  Connor flushed, and grinned. “I’m supposed to. It’s like a rule.”

  “I know all about rules.” Devin decided they could deal with that little matter later. “A man would be lucky to have you for a son, Connor.”

  “I don’t ever want to have a father again.”

  The hand that had lifted toward Connor’s shoulder stiffened. Biting back a sigh, Devin ordered it to relax. “Then I’ll say a man would be lucky to have you for a friend. Are we square here?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  There were those eyes again, Devin thought, filled with trust. “Your mama’s probably worried you’re beating me up.” When Connor giggled at the idea, Devin ruffled his hair. “You go on back now and tell her we straightened it all out. I’ll talk to her later.”

  “Yes, sir.” He scrambled off the rocks, then had to bite his lip to spark that last bit of courage. “Can I come to your office sometime, and watch you work?”

  “Sure.”

  “I wouldn’t get in the way. I’d just—” Connor tumbled over his own words and skidded to a halt. “I can?”

  “Sure you can. Anytime. It’s mostly boring.”

  “It couldn’t be,” Connor said with giddy pleasure. “Thanks, Sheriff. Thanks for everything.”

  Devin watched the boy race off, then settled back. He wished briefly for a cigarette before reminding himself he was quitting. Then he reminded himself that sooner or later he intended to have those two children, and maybe another on the way.

  Connor didn’t want another father, and that would be a tough one. So, Devin mused, he’d just have to find the right path to take, and step carefully.

  The first step, of course, was Cassie. One step, then the next. Direction always took you somewhere. If he was careful, she would be taking those steps with him.

  Chapter 6

&nb
sp; It was supposed to be Devin’s day off, but he spent two hours in the morning dealing with a small crisis at the high school. The smoke bomb had failed in its mission. When it landed in the girl’s locker room, it hadn’t put out much of a cloud, and, more important, hadn’t made the girls come rushing out screaming in their underwear.

  The one he’d put together a short lifetime ago had had far more satisfying results. Not that he’d mentioned that particular incident to the two offenders he collared.

  Once he had it under control, and the juvenile chemists shaking in their basketball shoes, he headed straight for the inn.

  He had a surprise for Cassie, one he hoped would make her smile. And one he hoped would ease the way into that next step.

  He supposed he had an unfair advantage. He knew her so well, had watched and observed for years. He knew every expression of her face, every gesture of her hands. He knew her weaknesses and her strengths.

  She knew him, he thought, but not in the same way, or in the same detail. She’d been too busy surviving to notice. If she had noticed, she would have been able to see that he was in love with her.

  It was just as well she didn’t see. Not until he’d finished laying the foundation. He could take his time about that, Devin mused as he turned up the lane toward the inn. But once he had that foundation in place and solid, he was going to move fast.

  Twelve years was a damn long time to wait.

  Because there was a car parked in one of the guest slots, he opted to go into the inn first. He was delighted to find her there, fully occupied with two snowy-haired women.

  She’d forgotten to take her apron off. The new arrivals had come unexpectedly, and they had wanted a full tour, and the history of the inn. Cassie was grateful she’d finished the breakfast dishes, even though she’d been caught in the middle of vacuuming.

  The two women were sisters, both widowed, and were eager to hear about the Barlow legend. Cassie led them back down the stairs after the tour of the second floor, and was well into her spiel when Devin walked in.

  “…the bloodiest single day of the Civil War. The Antietam battlefield is one of the most pristine parks in the country. The visitors’ center is only four miles from here, and very informative. You’ll find— Oh, hello, Devin.”

  “Don’t let me interrupt. Ladies.”

  “Mrs. Berman, Mrs. Cox, this is Sheriff MacKade.”

  “Sheriff.” Mrs. Cox adjusted her glasses and beamed through the lenses. “How exciting.”

  “Antietam’s a quiet town,” he told her. “Certainly more quiet than it was in September of 1862.” Because tourists inevitably enjoyed it, Devin grinned. “You’re standing right about on the spot where a Confederate soldier was killed.”

  “Oh, my goodness!” Mrs. Cox clapped her hands together. “Did you hear that, Irma?”

  “Nothing wrong with my ears, Marge.” Mrs. Berman peered down at the stairs, as if inspecting for blood. “Mrs. Dolin was telling us something of the history. We decided to visit the inn because we read one of the brochures that claimed it was haunted.”

  “Yes, ma’am. It surely is.”

  “Sheriff MacKade’s brother owns the inn,” Cassie explained. “He can tell you quite a bit about it.”

  “You can’t do better than to hear it from Mrs. Dolin,” Devin corrected. “She lives with the ghosts every day. Tell them about the two corporals, Cassie.”

  Though she told the story several times each week, Cassie had to struggle not to feel self-conscious in front of Devin. She folded her hands over her apron.

  “Two young soldiers,” she began, “became separated from their regiments during the Battle of Antietam. Each wandered into the woods beyond the inn. Some say they were looking for their way back to the battle, others say they were just trying to go home. Still, legend holds that they met there, fought there, each of