by Nora Roberts
lips to her hair. “I thought it was all me. It’s gotten so huge I didn’t think anybody else could feel like this. Let me plead insanity.”
“It doesn’t matter.” She thought she would have crawled inside him if she could. “It doesn’t matter now.”
“Let me tell you again.” Gently he tipped her head back, looked into those dark, damp eyes. “I love you, Savannah. I’m so desperately in love with you.” He touched his lips to hers, felt the tremor. “So helplessly in love with you. It takes my breath away every time I see you.”
She couldn’t speak. This was how she had once dreamed he would look at her, with violent love in his eyes. These were words she’d refused to let herself dream of hearing. She threw her arms around his neck and clung for her life.
“You’re trembling,” he murmured. “You’re cold.”
“No. No. Oh, I love you. I don’t know how else to say it.”
“That’ll do. Storm’s passing.” He could hear the thunder rolling away. “We’re going to have a good farmer’s rain. A soaker. The kind that means something.” He hooked an arm under her knees, lifted her. “I want to make love with you and listen to the rain.”
He was so gentle, it seared her heart. Kissing her cheek, her throat, as he carried her to the room they shared. When the door was closed, he walked through the shadows and laid her down.
She heard the hiss of a match, then candlelight flickered. He peeled off her damp clothes, stroked his hand over her skin. And suddenly she felt fragile and nervous.
She knelt on the bed to unbutton his shirt, and her fingers were clumsy. He took them, pressed them one by one to his lips.
There was the smell of rain and wet earth, the whisper of thunder moving off, the give of the mattress beneath her.
Then there was only him. Murmurs and sighs drifted through the sound of pattering rain. He was so tender with her, so gentle, her body seemed to flow through his hands like fragrant heated wax. Each time their lips met, it was deeper and truer. Each time their bodies pressed, it was softer and warmer.
A brush of fingertips, the trail of quiet kisses, and flesh quivered. Dazed with love, they watched each other, listened to the quickening rhythm of hearts.
He slid into her silkily, his sigh merging with hers, his body rising and falling with hers. His lips meeting hers.
He felt her crest sweep through him, a long, slow, undulating wave that carried him off in its wake.
Chapter 9
Bryan loved spending time on the farm. The animals, the men, the open air. He still remembered the confusion and confinement of cities—the places where they had moved and lived in small rooms where the windows always seemed to pulse with noise and the walls were so thin you could hear every laugh or curse from the people next door.
He hadn’t minded the city, really. There had always been something to do, somewhere to go. And his mother had taken him to parks and playgrounds—whenever she wasn’t working.
He had vague memories of times when she had worked late into the night, or late into the morning. Times when she’d been tired a lot, and sad, too. Though he hadn’t really understood why.
He remembered New Orleans, with the pulsing music and the slow-talking people. He remembered his mother had kept a pot of red flowers on the windowsill.
Sometimes he’d sat at his mother’s feet, playing cars or reading picture books while she painted things, painted people who’d come by to sit in a little folding chair while she sketched their faces on big sheets of paper with charcoal or colored chalk.
That was when things had changed. Things had gotten better. She’d stopped working at night, and that sad, tired look had left her eyes.
Now, this was best of all. Having a house, the way she’d always promised. Having a yard and friends who could stay your friends because you were staying, too. Friends like Connor. Who was definitely cool, even though some of the kids at school teased him and said rotten things about his old man.
Maybe, Bryan sometimes thought, it was because they didn’t know what it was like to have no father at all. The way he did.
But Mom was enough. She always made things work out, always made sure they were a team. As moms went, he figured, she was the coolest.
Like the way she’d asked him if he wanted to live in the cabin in the woods. She hadn’t just told him they would live there, the way he knew some parents did things. Then, when they had the cabin—which was in his opinion the best place in the whole world—she’d let him pick out the stuff for his room. The neat bunk beds, the posters for the walls, the big wood chest for his toys.
Now he got to visit the farm whenever he wanted. Mostly.
Shane was great. He never minded if Bryan wanted to hang out and ask questions about things. Devin was okay, too, even if he was the sheriff. He liked Rafe, and the way Rafe would sometimes plunk himself down and wrestle with the dogs.
Jared was kind of scary, because he made Bryan think about how it would be to have him around all the time. Like a father. A guy to play ball with. A man who came home after work every day and listened to what you wanted to say. A man who kissed your mother in the kitchen like it was no big deal.
He wanted Jared most of all, and because he did, Bryan wished for him hard, every night. Somehow, whatever he wished for hard almost always came true.
On the farm, the sun was bright, warming ground that was damp from the night’s rain. The early-morning fog had burned off and left the air clear and moist. He was happy sitting on the dirt with the dogs and Connor, with the sound of adult voices never far off. They were going to have Sunday dinner at the MacKades’.
The men were cooking, which Bryan thought was a little weird, but interesting.
“Do you think Fred and Ethel’ll have babies?”
Connor continued to stroke the golden fur of the dog nearest him as he considered the question. “They probably will. That’s what happens when people are married. It’s the same for dogs, I guess.”
Bryan gave a snort and delivered a punch to Connor’s shoulder. “People don’t have to be married to have a kid. They just have to be stuck on each other.”
If anyone else had made the comment, Connor would have flushed. But because it was Bryan, he only nodded wisely. “Then Fred and Ethel can have pups, because they’re stuck on each other.”
Bryan looked toward the farmhouse. Through the kitchen window came the sound of mixed laughter. “I think Jared’s stuck on my mom.”
Connor’s pale gray eyes went wide. “Are they having a baby?”
“No.” Bryan hooked an arm around Ethel’s neck. It was a possibility he’d given some thought to. “It’d be cool if they did. I mean, you like having Emma around, don’t you?”
“Sure.”
“A brother would be neater, but even a sister would be okay. I think if there was one—you know, a baby— Jared would hang around. Like live with us.”
“Sometimes it’s bad,” Connor said quietly. “Sometimes when a man lives with you, it’s bad. They argue and fight, and they get drunk and…things.”
The idea of that had Bryan’s brow furrowing. “But not all of them.”
“I guess not.” But Connor was far from sure. “I don’t want a man to live with us ever again.” Connor’s voice was low and fierce. “Not ever again.”
Understanding, Bryan shifted his arm from Ethel’s neck to Connor’s. “If your father tries to come back after he gets out of jail, you’ll be ready. We’ll be ready,” he added with a dazzling smile. “You and me, Con.”
“Yeah.” Connor almost wished he had a chance to prove it. “You and me.”
“Looks like they’re talking big talk,” Savannah commented from the kitchen window.
“Connor’s never really had a close friend before.” Hadn’t been able to, Cassie thought, with the way Joe hassled everyone who came to the house.
“Neither has Bry. They’re good for each other.” She grinned when the boys started wrestling each other, and the dogs.
All four would be filthy, she was sure, by the time dinner was ready.
“That looks familiar.” Devin stepped up behind the women, tucked his hands in the back pockets of his jeans. Savannah did her best not to stiffen. “We spent a lot of Sunday afternoons kicking up dirt.”
“We spent a lot of every afternoon kicking up dirt,” Rafe said.
“Remember that Sunday Mom turned the hose on us?” With a sigh, Shane popped a radish into his mouth. “Those were the days. She was so ticked because Gran and Pop were coming to dinner, and we’d gotten into a fight wearing our best clothes.”
“You started it,” Jared remembered. “Swiped my baseball and lost it in the cornfield.”
“I borrowed your baseball,” Shane told him. “And Devin lost it in the field.”
“Rafe lost it,” Devin said mildly. “He was supposed to catch it.”
“You hit it wide. Pulled it,” Rafe explained in disgust. “He could never pick his spot.”
“Hell I couldn’t.”
Before Devin could take the argument any further, Regan held up her hands. “Time-out. I believe, with this obvious example of family solidarity, it’s an excellent time to make an announcement.” She smiled at Rafe. “Don’t you think?”
“I think.” Rafe took her hand, brought it to his lips before pulling her close. His grin was quick as lightning. “We’re having a baby.”
There was a moment of utter silence before the explosion. There was a quick whoop from Shane, who took it upon himself to scoop Regan off her feet. She had to be kissed, Rafe had to be punched and pummeled.
“Give me my wife,” Rafe demanded.
“In a minute.” Shane kissed her again, heartily, then started to pass her to Rafe. Jared intercepted, gave her a quick swing. Regan was still laughing when she found herself in Devin’s arms.
“Damn it, give me my woman.”
As they tussled and argued over the expectant mother, Savannah leaned back against the counter. “The MacKades—the next generation,” she murmured to Cassie. “Scary thought.”
“She’ll handle it.” Cassie blinked back tears. “She can handle anything.”
Because everyone else was busy, she scooted over to check on the pot roast herself.
Savannah stepped forward, leaned in to kiss Jared on the cheek. “Congratulations, Uncle Jare.”
He couldn’t stop grinning. “Rafe’s going to be a daddy.”
With one brow arched, Savannah glanced over to where Regan was still being passed from brother to brother. “And this, I take it, is the way you guys celebrate—tossing women around.”
“We don’t have a precedent. It’s our first baby.”
When he swung an arm around her shoulders, Savannah realized he’d just said it all. It would be a MacKade baby, and would belong to all of them.
It was something she thought about quite a bit as the celebration continued through dinner with constant, and often ridiculous, suggestions for child care, baby names and fatherly duties. It was odd for her to fully realize now, when she was finally settled into a home of her own, finally confident that Bryan had the best she could give him, that neither of them had ever known the fullness of family.
They had each other, and that was important. Vital. He was a happy, well-adjusted child. She could see that as he sat beside her, shoveling in food, giggling at Shane’s idea of Lulubelle MacKade if the baby was a girl. There was no doubt in her heart that her son was exactly as he should be.
And yet.
He had never known the joy, or the problems, of having uncles, aunts, grandparents. Siblings. Those were things she couldn’t give him. She hoped it was only she who had suddenly come to sense the lack.
“Are you feeling all right, Regan?” Cassie’s voice was quiet amid the chaos of male-dominated conversation.
“Wonderful. I don’t think I’ve ever felt better. No queasiness, no fatigue, not any of the things the books warn us about.”
“I had them all.” Running an absent hand over Emma’s curls, Cassie smiled. “Not too bad, really, just enough so that when it came around the second time I knew what to expect. How about you, Savannah?”
“Sick as a dog for three months.” Before Bryan could reach over her plate, she passed him the bowl of roast potatoes he’d aimed for. “It was almost worth it, though.” She winked at Bryan.
“Three months?” Regan gave a heartfelt shudder. “Every day?”
“Rain or shine,” Savannah said cheerfully. “Bry, if you opened your mouth just a little wider, you could probably fit three potatoes in at once.”
He managed a sloppy grin with a full mouth. “It’s good.”
“Just like Mom used to make,” Devin put in, and heaped another helping of potatoes on Bryan’s plate. “We used to have contests to see who could eat more of them. Jared usually won—right, Jare?”
“Yeah.” But he’d stopped eating, and he was looking at Savannah oddly.
“The kid’s going to break your record.” Shane tossed a biscuit that Jared was just quick enough to catch.
Intrigued with the maneuver, Bryan snatched one and aimed it at Connor, who nabbed it before it hit the floor.
“Good save,” Rafe commented. “Sign him up. You gonna play ball next year, Con?”
“I don’t know.” Connor broke off an end of the biscuit and shot a look at his mother under his lashes.
“Con’s a better pitcher than any of our starters.” Bryan cheerfully helped himself to another biscuit and buttered it lavishly. “He can drill it right in the pocket.”
“Connor, you never said you wanted to play ball.” The moment the words were out of Cassie’s mouth, she regretted them. Of course he’d said nothing. There had never been anyone to play ball with him. And his academic achievements had equaled failure as a man, in his father’s opinion.
“I can’t hit hardly anything,” Connor mumbled, reddening. “I can just throw a little since Bryan’s been showing me how.”
“We’ll have to work on your batting.” Devin spoke casually. “After dinner, we could start on your stance.”
Connor’s lips fluttered into a smile, and that was answer enough.
A short time later, the sounds of shouts and arguments rolled in from the barnyard and into the kitchen window. With her hands filled with dishes, Cassie looked out. Devin was crouched behind Connor, and their hands were meshed on a wooden bat as Jared threw underhand pitches.
“It’s awfully nice of them to play with the kids like this.”
“And leave us stuck with the dishes,” Savannah pointed out.
“He who cooks doesn’t clean.” Regan filled the sink with hot water. “MacKade rules.”
“It’s fair enough,” Savannah allowed. But as she glanced around the cluttered, disordered kitchen, with its piles of pots and mountains of dishes, she wasn’t sure who’d come out on top of the deal.
“Do you mind if I ask…” Regan caught herself, laughed nervously. “It’s stupid.”
Savannah grabbed a dishcloth and prepared to dig in. “What?”
“Well.” Brows knit, Regan attacked the first plates. “I was just wondering, since you’ve both been through it, what it’s like. The big guns, I mean.”
Savannah glanced at Cassie and grinned wickedly. “Labor and delivery, or a march through the Valley of Death.”
“Oh, it’s not that bad. Don’t scare her.” Immediately solicitous, Cassie set down stacked plates to rub Regan’s shoulder. “Really it’s not.”
“You want to tell her it’s a walk on the beach?” Savannah asked. “Then she can curse you and Rafe during transition.”
“It’s a natural part of life,” Cassie insisted, then struggled with a chuckle. “That hurts like hell.”
“Sorry I asked.” But Regan blew out a breath when she realized she couldn’t let it go. “So, how long did it take?”
“For Connor, just over twelve hours, for Emma less than ten.”
“In other words,” Savanna put in helpfully,
“the rest of your life.”
“I’d tell you to shut up, but I want to know how long it took you.” Regan wrinkled her nose. “Ten minutes, right?”
Savannah picked up a dish. “Thirty-two fun-filled hours.”
“Thirty-two?” Stunned, Regan nearly bobbled a wet plate. “That’s inhuman.”
“The luck of the draw,” Savannah said lightly. “And the maternity ward I was in wasn’t exactly first-class. Wouldn’t have mattered.” She shrugged it off. “Babies come when they come. You’ll get through it fine, Regan. Rafe’ll be right there. And unless your doctor has a line of pro-football blockers holding them off, the rest of the MacKades will be there, too.”
“You were alone,” Regan murmured.
“That’s the way it shook down.” She glanced over when she spotted Jared at the screen door. “Game over?”
“No.” His eyes stayed on hers, unreadable and deep. “I lost the draw to fetch beer.”
“I’ll get it.” Cassie was already hurrying to the fridge. “Do the kids want anything?”
“Whatever they can get.” He took the six-pack and boxes of juice Cassie handed him, then left without another word.
“No quicker way to get rid of a man than for women to talk about childbirth.” Savannah’s voice was light, but there was a knot of worry at the back of her neck. Something had been in those eyes, she thought, that he hadn’t wanted her to see.
“I mentioned Lamaze classes to Rafe, and he went dead white.” Amused, Regan slipped another dish in the drainer. “But then he gritted his teeth.”
“He’ll do fine.” With a last glance at the screen door, Savannah picked up another plate. “He loves you. That’s the big one, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.” With a dreamy little sigh, Regan plunged into the dishwater again. “That’s the big one.”
On the walk home, Savannah spied her first firefly glinting in the woods. Summer was coming, she thought, watching Bryan dart ahead, charging invisible foes. She wanted it to come. She wanted the heat, the long, hazy days, the close, airless nights.
What she wanted, Savannah realized, was the passing of time. A full year, four full seasons, in this place. In this home. With this man.
“Something’s on your mind?” she said quietly.
“I’ve got a lot on my mind.” Jared wished they could stay in the woods for a time. Stay where they could both feel the sorrows and needs of people who had died before either of them were born. “Couple of cases driving me crazy. Painters cluttering up the office. Finalizing Cassie’s divorce. Contemplating becoming an uncle.”
“You’re being a lawyer, MacKade, using words to cloud the basics.”
“I am a lawyer.”
“Okay, let’s start there. Hold on a minute. Bry, hit the tub,” she called out.
“Aw, Mom…”
“And hit it hard, Ace. I’m right behind you.”
He raced ahead, and from the edge of the woods Savannah watched the lights switch on one by one as Bryan streaked through the house. Through the open window, she could hear him singing, miserably off-key, and was satisfied that he was in his bathtime mode.
“Why are you a lawyer?”
The question stumped him, mainly because his mind was so far removed from it. “Why am I a lawyer?”
“And try to answer in twenty thousand words or less.”
“Because I like it.” The first answer was the simplest. “I like figuring out the best arguments, wading through and studying both sides until I find the right arguments. I like winning.” He moved his shoulders. “And because justice is important. The system of justice, however flawed, is vital. We’re nothing without it.”
“So, you believe in justice, and you like to argue and win.” She tilted her head at him. “Which puts all of that into one sentence. See how easy it is?”
“What’s your point?”
