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The Pride Of Jared MacKade: the classic story from the queen of romance that you won’t be able to put down
Nora Roberts


THE INTERNATIONAL BESTSELLING AUTHOR‘The most successful novelist on Planet Earth’ – Washington PostThe stranger with a past…Smouldering lawyer Jared MacKade was a man who stood for something and never turned his back on a fight.So when his work brought him up against Savannah Morningstar, her incendiary attitude wasn't going to stop him…Praise for Nora Roberts‘A storyteller of immeasurable diversity and  talent’ – Publisher’s Weekly‘You can’t bottle wish fulfilment, but Nora Roberts certainly knows how to put it on the page.’ New York Times‘Everything Nora Roberts writes turns to gold.’ Romantic Times.‘Roberts’ bestselling novels are… thoughtfully plotted, well-written stories featuring fascinating characters.’ USA Today










The Pride of Jared MacKade


The MacKade Brothers Series

Book Two




Nora Roberts







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


He was a man who stood for something, and never turned his back on a fight. So when Jared MacKade’s work as an attorney brought him up against Savannah Morningstar, her rude behavior and strong defenses weren’t going to stop him.

Savannah was the type of woman who defeated odds brutally stacked against her. And once he got to know her, Jared was determined to be the man to stand beside her in the fight.


For women with a past




Contents


Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve




Prologue


The woods echoed with war whoops and running feet. Troops were fully engaged in the battle, peppering the fields beyond the trees with sporadic shelling. The day rang with the crash of weapons and the cries of the wounded.

Already dozens of lives had been lost, and the survivors were out for blood.

Leaves, still lush and green from the dying summer, formed a canopy overhead, allowing only thin, dusty beams of sunlight to trickle through. The air was thick and humid and carried the rich scent of earth and animal in its blistering heat.

There was no place Jared MacKade was happier than in the haunted woods.

He was a Union officer, a captain. He got to be captain because, at twelve, he was the oldest, and it was his right. His troops consisted of his brother Devin, who, being ten, had to be content with the rank of corporal.

Their mission was clear. Annihilate the Rebels.

Because war was a serious business, Jared had plotted out his strategy. He’d chosen Devin for his troops because Devin could follow orders. Devin was also a good thinker.

And Devin was a vicious take-no-prisoners hand-to-hand fighter.

Rafe and Shane, the other MacKade brothers, were ferocious fighters too, but they were, Jared knew, impulsive. Even now, they were racing through the woods, whooping and hollering, while Jared waited patiently in ambush.

“They’re going to separate, you watch,” Jared muttered as he and Devin hunkered down in the brush. “Rafe figures on drawing us out and clobbering us.” Jared spit, because he was twelve and spitting was cool. “He doesn’t have a military mind.”

“Shane doesn’t have a mind at all,” Devin put in, with the expected disdain of brother for brother.

They grinned over that, two young boys with disheveled black hair and handsome faces that were grimy with dirt and sweat. Jared’s eyes, a cool grassy green, scanned the woods. He knew every rock, every stump, every beaten path. Often he came here alone, to wander or just to sit. And to listen. To the wind in the trees, the rustle of squirrels and rabbits. To the murmur of ghosts.

He knew others had fought here, died here. And it fascinated him. He’d grown up on the Civil War battlefield of Antietam, Maryland, and he knew, as any young boy would, the maneuvers and mistakes, the triumphs and tragedies of that fateful day in September 1862.

A battle that had earned its place in history as the bloodiest day of the Civil War was bound to tug at the imagination of a young boy. He had combed every foot of the battlefield with his brothers, played dead in Bloody Lane, raced through his own cornfields, where black powder had scorched the drying stalks so long ago.

He had brooded many a night over the concept of brother against brother—for real—and wondered what part he might have played if he had been born in time for those terrible and heroic days.

Yet what fascinated him most was that men had given their lives for an idea. Often, when he sat quietly with the woods around him, he dreamed over fighting for something as precious as an idea, and dying proudly.

His mother often told him that a man needed goals, and strong beliefs and pride in the seeking of them. Then she would laugh that deep laugh of hers, tousle his hair and tell him that having pride would never be his problem. He already had too much of it.

He wanted to be the best, the fastest, the strongest, the smartest. It wasn’t an easy target, not with three equally determined brothers. So he pushed himself. Studied longer, fought more fiercely, worked harder.

Losing just wasn’t an option for Jared MacKade.

“They’re coming,” Jared whispered.

Devin nodded. He’d been listening to the crackle of twigs, the rustle of brush. Biding his time. “Rafe’s that way. Shane circled behind.”

Jared didn’t question Devin’s assessment. His brother had instincts like a cat. “I’ll take Rafe. You stay here until we’re engaged. Shane’ll come running. Then you can take him out.”

Anticipation brightened Jared’s eyes. The two brothers’ hands clutched in a brief salute. “Victory or death.”

Jared caught his first sight of the faded blue shirt, a blur of movement as the enemy dashed from tree to tree. With the patience of a snake, he waited, waited. Then, with a blood curdling cry, leaped.

He brought Rafe down in a flying tackle that had them both skittering over the rough dirt into the prickle of wild blackberries.

It was a good surprise attack, but Jared wasn’t foolish enough to think that would be the end of it. Rafe was a vicious opponent—as any kid at Antietam Elementary could attest. He fought with a kind of fiendish enjoyment that Jared understood perfectly.

There really was nothing better than pounding someone on a hot summer day when the threat of school was creeping closer and all the morning chores were behind you.

Thorns tore at clothes and scratched flesh. The two boys wrestled back to the path, fists and elbows ramming, sneakers digging in at the heels for purchase. Nearby, a second battle was under way, with curses and grunts and the satisfying crunch of bodies over aged dried leaves.

The MacKade brothers were in heaven.

“You’re dead, Rebel scum!” Jared shouted when he managed to grab Rafe in a slippery headlock.

“I’m taking you to hell with me, bluebelly!” Rafe shouted right back.

In the end, they were simply too well matched, and they rolled away from each other, filthy, breathless, and laughing.

Wiping the blood from a split lip, Jared turned his head to watch his troops engage the enemy. It looked to him as though Devin were going to have a black eye, and Shane had a rip in his jeans that was going to get them all in trouble.

He let out a long, contented sigh and watched the sunlight play through the leaves.

“Going to break it up?” Rafe asked, without much interest.

“Nah.” Casually, Jared wiped blood from his chin. “They’re almost finished.”

“I’m going to go into town.” Energy still high, Rafe bounded up and brushed off his pants. “Gonna get me a soda down at Ed’s.”

Devin stopped wrestling Shane and looked over. “Got any money?”

With a wolfish grin, Rafe jingled the change in his pocket. “Maybe.” Challenge issued, he tossed the hair out of his eyes, then took off at a dead run.

The delightful prospect of shaking quarters from Rafe’s pockets was all the impetus Devin and Shane needed. Suddenly united, they scrambled off each other and chased after him.

“Come on, Jare,” Shane called over his shoulder. “We’re going to Ed’s.”

“Go on. I’ll catch up.”

But he lay there on his back, staring at the sunlight flickering through the awning of leaves. As his brothers’ pounding footsteps faded away, he thought he could hear the sounds of the old battle. The boom and crash of mortars, the screams of the dead and dying.

Then, closer, the ragged breathing of the lost and the frightened.

He closed his eyes, too familiar with the ghosts of these woods to be unnerved by their company. He wished he’d known them, could have asked them what it was like to put your life, your soul, at risk. To love a thing, an ideal, a way of life, so much you would give everything you were to defend it.

He thought he would for his family, for his parents, his brothers. But that was different. That was…family.

One day, he promised himself, he would make his mark. People would look at him and know that there was Jared MacKade, a man who stood for something. A man who did what had to be done, and never turned his back on a fight.




Chapter 1


Jared wanted a cold beer. He could already taste it, that first long sip that would start to wash away the dregs of a lousy day in court, an idiot judge and a client who was driving him slowly insane.

He didn’t mind that she was guilty as sin, had certainly been an accessory before and after the fact in the spate of petty burglaries in the west end of Hagerstown. He could swallow defending the guilty. That was his job. But he was getting damn sick and tired of having his client hit on him.

The woman had a very skewed view of lawyer-client relations. He could only hope he’d made it clear that if she grabbed his butt again, she was out on hers and on her own.

Under different circumstances, he might have found it only mildly insulting, even fairly amusing. But he had too much on his mind, and on his calendar, to play games.

With an irritated jerk of the wrist, he jammed a classical CD into his car stereo system and let Mozart join him on the winding route toward home.

Just one stop, he told himself. One quick stop, and then a cold beer.

And he wouldn’t even have had that one stop, if this Savannah Morningstar had bothered to return his calls.

He rolled his shoulders to ease the tension and punched the gas pedal on a curve to please himself with a bit of illegal speed. He drove along the familiar country road quickly, barely noticing the first tender buds of spring on the trees or the faint haze of wild dogwood ready to bloom.

He braked for a darting rabbit, passed a pickup heading toward Antietam. He hoped Shane had supper started, then remembered with an oath that it was his turn to cook.

The scowl suited his face, with its sculptured lines, the slight imperfection of a nose that had been broken twice, the hard edge of chin. Behind shaded glasses, under arching black brows, his eyes were cool and sharply green. Though his lips were set in a line of irritation, that didn’t detract from the appeal of them.

Women often looked at that mouth, and wondered… When it smiled, and the dimple beside it winked, they sighed and asked themselves how that wife of his had ever let him get away.

He made a commanding presence in a courtroom. The broad shoulders, narrow hips and tough, rangy build always looked polished in a tailored suit, but the elegant cover never quite masked the power beneath.

His black hair had just enough wave to curl appealingly at the collar of one of his starched white shirts.

In the courtroom he wasn’t Jared MacKade, one of the MacKade brothers who had run roughshod over the south of the county from the day they were born. He was Jared MacKade, counselor-at-law.

He glanced up at the house on the hill just outside of town. It was the old Barlow place that his brother Rafe had come back to town to buy. He saw Rafe’s car at the top of the steep lane, and hesitated.

He was tempted to pull in, to forget about this last little detail of the day and share that beer he wanted with Rafe. But he knew that if Rafe wasn’t working, hammering or sawing, or painting some part of the house that would be a bed and breakfast by fall, he would be waiting for his new wife to come home.

It still amazed Jared that the baddest of the bad MacKades was a married man.

So he drove past, took the left fork in the road that would wind him around toward the MacKade farm and the small plot of land that bordered it.

According to his information, Savannah Morningstar had bought the little house on the edge of the woods only two months before. She lived there with her son and, as the gossip mill was mostly dry where she was concerned, obviously kept to herself.

Jared figured the woman was either stupid or rude. In his experience, when people received a message from a lawyer, they answered it. Though the voice on her answering machine had been low, throaty, and stunningly sexy, he wasn’t looking forward to meeting that voice face-to-face. This mission was a favor for a colleague—and a nuisance.

He caught a glimpse of the little house through the trees. More of a cabin, really, he mused, though a second floor had been added several years ago. He turned onto the narrow lane by the Morningstar mailbox, cutting his speed dramatically to negotiate the dips and holes, and studied the house as he approached.

It was log, built originally, as he recalled, as some city doctor’s vacation spot. That hadn’t lasted long. People from the city often thought they wanted rustic until they had it.

The quiet setting, the trees, the peaceful bubbling of a creek topped off from yesterday’s rain, enhanced the ambience of the house, with its simple lines, untreated wood and uncluttered front porch.

The steep bank in front of it was rocky and rough, and in the summer, he knew, tended to be covered with high, tangled weeds. Someone had been at work here, he mused, and almost came to a stop. The earth had been dug and turned, worked to a deep brown. There were still rocks, but they were being used as a natural decorative landscaping. Someone had planted clumps of flowers among them, behind them.

No, he realized, someone was planting clumps of flowers. He saw the figure, the movement, as he rounded the crest and brought his car to a halt at the end of the lane, beside an aging compact.

Jared lifted his briefcase, climbed out of the car and started over the freshly mowed swatch of grass. He was very grateful for his dark glasses when Savannah Morningstar rose.

She’d been kneeling amid the dirt and garden tools and flats of flowers. When she moved, she moved slowly, inch by very impressive inch. She was tall—a curvy five-ten, he estimated—filling out a drab yellow T-shirt and ripped jeans to the absolute limit of the law. Her legs were endless.

Her feet were bare and her hands grimed with soil.

The sun glinted on hair as thick and black as his. She wore it down her back in one loose braid. Her eyes were concealed, as his were, behind sunglasses. But what he could see of her face was fascinating.

If a man could get past that truly amazing body, he could spend a lot of time on that face, Jared mused.

Carved cheekbones rose high and taut against skin the color of gold dust. Her mouth was full and unsmiling, her nose straight and sharp, her chin slightly pointed.

“Savannah Morningstar?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

He recognized the voice from the answering machine. He’d never known a voice and a body that suited each other more perfectly. “I’m Jared MacKade.”

She angled her head, and the sun glanced off the amber tint of her glasses. “Well, you look like a lawyer. I haven’t done anything—lately—that I need representation for.”

“I’m not going door-to-door soliciting clients. I’ve left several messages on your machine.”

“I know.” She knelt again to finish planting a hunk of purple phlox. “The handy thing about machines is that you don’t have to talk to people you don’t want to talk to.” Carefully she patted dirt around the shallow roots. “Obviously, I didn’t want to talk to you, Lawyer MacKade.”

“Not stupid,” he declared. “Just rude.”

Amused, she tipped her face up to his. “That’s right. I am. But since you’re here, you might as well tell me what you’re so fired up to tell me.”

“A colleague of mine in Oklahoma contacted me after he tracked you down.”

The quick clutching in Savannah’s gut came and went. Deliberately she picked up another clump of phlox. Taking her time, she shifted and hacked at the dirt with her hand spade. “I haven’t been in Oklahoma for nearly ten years. I don’t remember breaking any laws before I left.”

“Your father hired my colleague to locate you.”

“I’m not interested.” Her flower-planting mood was gone. Because she didn’t want to infect the innocent blooms with the poison stirring inside her, she rose again and rubbed her hands on her jeans. “You can tell your colleague to tell my father I’m not interested.”

“Your father’s dead.”

He’d had no intention of telling her that way. He hadn’t mentioned her father or his death on the phone, because he didn’t have the heart to break such news over a machine. Jared still remembered the swift, searing pain of his own father’s death. And his mother’s.

She didn’t gasp or sway or sob. Standing straight, Savannah absorbed the shock and refused the grief. Once there had been love. Once there had been need. And now, she thought, now there was nothing.

“When?”

“Seven months ago. It took awhile to find you. I’m sorry—”

She interrupted him. “How?”

“A fall. According to my information, he’d been working the rodeo circuit. He took a bad fall, hit his head. He wasn’t unconscious long, and refused to go to the hospital for X rays. But he contacted my colleague and gave him instructions. A week later, your father collapsed. An embolism.”

She listened without a word, without movement. In her mind Savannah could see the man she’d once known and loved, clinging to the back of a bucking mustang, one hand reaching for the sky.

She could see him laughing, she could see him drunk. She could see him murmuring endearments to an aging mare, and she could see him burning with rage and shame as he turned his own daughter, his only child, away.

But she couldn’t see him dead.

“Well, you’ve told me.” With that, she turned toward the house.

“Ms. Morningstar.” If he had heard grief in her voice, he would have given her privacy. But there’d been nothing at all in her voice.

“I’m thirsty.” She headed up the walkway that cut through the grass, then climbed onto the porch and let the screen door slam behind her.

Yeah? Jared thought, fuming. Well, so was he. And he was damn well going to finish up this business and get a cold one himself. He walked into the house without bothering to knock.

The small living room held furniture built for comfort, chairs with deep, sagging cushions, sturdy tables that would bear the weight of resting feet. The walls were a shade of umber that melded nicely with the pine of the floor. There were vivid splashes of color to offset and challenge the mellow tones—paintings, pillows, a scatter of toys over bright rugs that reminded him she had a child.

He stepped through into a kitchen with brilliantly white counters and the same gleaming pine floor, where she stood in front of the sink, scrubbing garden earth from her hands. She didn’t bother to speak, but dried them off before she took a pitcher of lemonade from the refrigerator.

“I’d like to get this over with as much as you,” he told her.

She let out a breath, took her sunglasses off and tossed them on the counter. Wasn’t his fault, she reminded herself. Not completely, anyway. When you came down to it, and added all the pieces together, there was no one to blame.

“You look hot.” She poured lemonade into a tall glass, handed it to him. After giving him one quick glimpse of almond-shaped eyes the color of melted chocolate, she turned away to get another glass.

“Thanks.”

“Are you going to tell me he had debts that I’m obliged to settle? If you are, I’m going to tell you I have no intention of doing so.” The jittering in her stomach had nearly calmed, so she leaned back against the counter and crossed her bare feet at the ankles. “I’ve made what I’ve got, and I intend to keep it.”

“Your father left you seven thousand, eight hundred and twenty-five dollars. And some change.”

He watched the glass stop, hesitate, then continue to journey to her lips. She drank slowly, thoughtfully. “Where did he get seven thousand dollars?”

“I have no idea. But the money is currently in a passbook savings account in Tulsa.” Jared set his briefcase down on the small butcher-block table, opened it. “You have only to show me proof of identity and sign these papers, and your inheritance will be transferred to you.”

“I don’t want it.” Her first sign of emotion was the crack of glass against counter. “I don’t want his money.”

Jared set the papers on the table. “It’s your money.”

“I said I don’t want it.”

Patiently Jared slipped off his own glasses and hooked them in his top pocket. “I understand you were estranged from your father.”

“You don’t understand anything,” she shot back. “All you need to know is that I don’t want the damn money. So put your papers back in your fancy briefcase and get out.”

Well used to arguments, Jared kept his eyes—and his temper—level. “Your father’s instructions were that if you were unwilling or unable to claim the inheritance, it was to go to your child.”

Her eyes went molten. “Leave my son out of this.”

“The legalities—”

“Hang your legalities. He’s my son. Mine. And it’s my choice. We don’t want or need the money.”

“Ms. Morningstar, you can refuse the terms of your father’s will, which means the courts will get involved and complicate what should be a very simple, straightforward matter. Hell, do yourself a favor. Take it, blow it on a weekend in Reno, give it to charity, bury it in a tin can in the yard.”

She forced herself to calm down, not an easy matter when her emotions were up. “It is very simple and straightforward. I’m not taking his money.” Her head jerked around at the sound of the front door slamming. “My son,” she said, and shot Jared a lethal look. “Don’t you say anything to him about this.”

“Hey, Mom! Connor and me—” He skidded to a halt, a tall, skinny boy with his mother’s eyes and messy black hair crushed under a backward fielder’s cap. He studied Jared with a mix of distrust and curiosity. “Who’s he?”

Manners ran in the family, Jared decided. Lousy ones. “I’m Jared MacKade, a neighbor.”

“You’re Shane’s brother.” The boy walked over, picked up his mother’s lemonade and drank it down in several noisy gulps. “He’s cool. That’s where we were, me and Connor,” he told his mother. “Over at the MacKade farm. This big orange cat had kittens.”

“Again?” Jared muttered. “This time I’m taking her to the vet personally and having her spayed. You were with Connor,” Jared added. “Connor Dolin.”

“Yeah.” Suspicious, the boy watched him over the rim of his glass.

“His mother’s a friend of mine,” Jared said simply.

Savannah’s hand rested briefly, comfortably, on her son’s shoulder. “Bryan, go upstairs and scrape some of the dirt off. I’m going to start dinner.”

“Okay.”

“Nice to have met you, Bryan.”

The boy looked surprised, then flashed a quick grin. “Yeah, cool. See you.”

“He looks like you,” Jared commented.

“Yes, he does.” Her mouth softened slightly at the sound of feet clumping up the stairs. “I’m thinking about putting in soundproofing.”

“I’m trying to get a picture of him palling around with Connor.”

The amusement in her eyes fired into temper so quickly it fascinated him. “And you have a problem with that?”

“I’m trying to get a picture,” Jared repeated, “of the live wire that just headed upstairs and the quiet, painfully shy Connor Dolin. Kids as confident as your son don’t usually choose boys like Connor for friends.”

Temper smoothed out. “They just clicked. Bryan hasn’t had a lot of opportunity to keep friends. We’ve moved around a great deal. That’s changing.”

“What brought you here?”

“I was—” She broke off, and her lips curved. “Now you’re trying to be neighborly so that I’ll soften up and take this little problem off your hands. Forget it.” She turned to take a package of chicken breasts out of the refrigerator.

“Seven thousand dollars is a lot of money. If you put it in a college fund now, it would give your son a good start when he’s ready for it.”

“When and if Bryan’s ready for college, I’ll put him through myself.”

“I understand about pride, Ms. Morningstar. That’s why it’s easy for me to see when it’s misplaced.”

She turned again and flipped her braid behind her shoulder. “You must be the patient, by-the-book, polite type, Mr. MacKade.”

The grin that beamed out at her nearly made her blink. She was sure there were states where that kind of weapon was illegal.

“Don’t get to town much, do you?” Jared murmured. “You’d hear different. Ask Connor’s mama about the MacKades sometime, Ms. Morningstar. I’ll leave the papers.” He slipped his sunglasses on again. “You think it over and get back to me. I’m in the book.”

She stayed where she was, a frown on her face and a cold package of raw chicken in her hands. She was still there when his car’s engine roared to life and her son came darting back down the stairs.

Quickly she snatched up the papers and pushed them into the closest drawer.

“What was he here for?” Bryan wanted to know. “How come he was wearing a suit?”

“A lot of men wear suits.” She would evade, but she wouldn’t lie, not to Bryan. “And stay out of the refrigerator. I’m starting dinner.”

With his hand on the door of the fridge, Bryan rolled his eyes. “I’m starving. I can’t wait for dinner.”

Savannah plucked an apple from a bowl and tossed it over her shoulder, smiling to herself when she heard the solid smack of Bryan’s catch.

“Shane said it was okay if we went by after school tomorrow and looked at the kittens some more. The farm’s really cool, Mom. You should see.”

“I’ve seen farms before.”

“Yeah, but this one’s neat. He’s got two dogs. Fred and Ethel.”

“Fred and—” She broke off into laughter. “Maybe I will have to see that.”

“And from the hayloft you can see clear into town. Connor says part of the battle was fought right there on the fields. Probably dead guys everywhere.”

“Now that sounds really enticing.”

“And I was thinking—” Bryan crunched into his apple, tried to sound casual “—you’d maybe want to come over and look at the kittens.”

“Oh, would I?”

“Well, yeah. Connor said maybe Shane would give some away when they were weaned. You might want one.”

She set a lid on the chicken she was sautéing. “I would?”

“Sure, yeah, for, like, company when I’m in school.” He smiled winningly. “So you wouldn’t get lonely.”

Savannah shifted her weight onto her hip and studied him owlishly. “That’s a good one, Bry. Really smooth.”

That was what he’d been counting on. “So can I?”

She would have given him the world, not just one small kitten. “Sure.” Her laughter rolled free when he launched himself into her arms.



With the meal over, the dishes done, the homework that terrified her finished and the child who was her life tucked into bed with his ball cap, Savannah sat on the front-porch swing and watched the woods.

She enjoyed the way night always deepened there first, as if it had a primary claim. Later there might be the hoot of an owl, or the rumbling low of Shane MacKade’s cattle. Sometimes, if it was very quiet, or there’d been rain, she could hear the bubble of creek over rocks.

It was too early in the spring yet for the flash and shimmer of fireflies. She looked forward to them, and hoped Bryan wasn’t yet beyond the stage where he would chase them. She wanted to watch him run in his own yard in the starlight on a warm summer night when the flowers were blooming, the air was thick with their perfume, and the woods were a dense curtain closing them off from everyone and everything.

She wanted him to have a kitten to play with, friends to call his own, a childhood filled with moments that lasted forever.

A childhood that would be everything hers had never been.

Setting the swing into motion, she leaned back and drank in the absolute quiet of a country night.

It had taken her ten long, hard years to get here, on this swing, on this porch, in this house. There wasn’t a moment of it she regretted. Not the sacrifice, the pain, the worry, the risk. Because to regret one was to regret all. To regret one was to regret Bryan. And that was impossible.

She had exactly what she had strived for now, and she had earned it herself, despite odds brutally stacked against her.

She was exactly where she wanted to be, who she wanted to be, and no ghost from the past would spoil it for her.

How dare he offer her money, when all she’d ever wanted was his love?

So Jim Morningstar was dead. The hard-drinking, hard-living, hardheaded son of a bitch had ridden his last bronco, roped his last bull. Now she was supposed to grieve. Now she was supposed to be grateful that, at the end, he’d thought of her. He’d thought of the grandchild he’d never wanted, never even seen.

He’d chosen his pride over his daughter, and the tiny flicker of life that had been inside her. Now, after all this time, he’d thought to make up for that with just under eight thousand dollars.

The hell with him, Savannah thought wearily, and closed her eyes. Eight million couldn’t make her forget, and it sure as hell couldn’t buy her forgiveness. And no lawyer in a fancy suit with killer eyes and a silver tongue was going to change her mind.

Jared MacKade could go to hell right along with Jim Morningstar.

He’d had no business coming onto her land as if he belonged there, standing in her kitchen sipping lemonade, talking about college funds, smiling so sweetly at her boy. He’d had no right to aim that smile at her—not so outrageously—and stir up all those juices that she’d deliberately let go flat and dry.

Well, she wasn’t dead, after all, she thought with a heartfelt sigh. Some men seemed to have been created to stir a woman’s juices.

She didn’t want to sit here on this beautiful spring night and think about how long it had been since she’d held a man, or been held. She really didn’t want to think at all, but he’d walked across her lawn and shaken her laboriously constructed world in less time than it took to blink.

Her father was dead, and she was very much alive. Lawyer MacKade had made those two facts perfectly clear in one short visit.

However much she wanted to avoid it, she was going to have to deal with both those facts. Eventually she would have to face Jared again. If she didn’t seek him out, she was certain, he’d be back. He had that bull dog look about him, pretty suit and tie or not.

So, she would have to decide what to do. And she would have to tell Bryan. He had a right to know his grandfather was dead. He had a right to know about the legacy.

But just for tonight, she wouldn’t think, she wouldn’t worry, she wouldn’t wonder.

She wasn’t aware for a long time that her cheeks were wet, her shoulders were shaking, the sobs were tearing at her throat. Curling into a ball, she buried her face against her knees.

“Oh, Daddy…”




Chapter 2


Jared wasn’t opposed to farm work. He wouldn’t care to make it a living, as Shane did, but he wasn’t opposed to putting in a few hours now and again. Since he’d put his house in town on the market and moved back home, he pitched in whenever he had the time. It was the kind of work you never forgot, the rhythms easy to fall back into—ones your muscles soon remembered. The milking, the feeding, the plowing, the sowing.

Stripped down to a sweaty T-shirt and old jeans, he hauled out hay bales for the dairy stock. The black-and-white cows lumbered for the trough, wide, sturdy bodies bumping, tails swishing. The scent of them was a reminder of youth, of his father most of all.

Buck MacKade had tended his cows well, and had taught his boys to see them as a responsibility, as well as a way of making a living. For him, the farm had been very simply a way of life—and Jared knew the same was true of Shane. He wondered now, as he fell back into the routine of tending, what his father would have thought of his oldest son, the lawyer.

He probably would have been a little baffled by the choice of suit and tie, of paper drafted and filed, of appearances and appointments. But Jared hoped he would have been proud. He needed to believe his father would have been proud.

But this wasn’t such a bad way to spend a Saturday, he mused, after a week of courtrooms and paperwork.

Nearby, Shane whistled a mindless tune and herded the cows in to feed. And looked, Jared realized, very much as their father would have—dusty jeans, dusty shirt loose on a tough, disciplined body, worn cap over hair that needed a barber’s touch.

“What do you think of the new neighbor?” Jared called out.

“Huh?”

“The new neighbor,” Jared repeated, and jerked a thumb in the direction of Morningstar land.

“Oh, you mean the goddess.” Shane stepped away from the trough, eyes dreamy. “I need a moment of silence,” he murmured, and crossed his hands over his heart.

Amused, Jared swiped a hand through his hair. “She is impressive.”

“She’s built like… I don’t have words.” Shane gave one of the cows an affectionate slap on the rump. “I’ve only seen her once. Ran into her and her kid going into the market. Talked to her for about two minutes, drooled for the next hour.”

“How did she strike you?”

“Like a bolt of lightning, bro.”

“Think you can keep your head out of your shorts for a minute?”

“I can try.” Shane bent to help break up bales. “Like a woman who can handle herself and isn’t looking for company,” he decided. “Good with the kid. You can tell just by the way they stand together.”

“Yeah, I noticed that.”

Shane’s interest was piqued. “When?”

“I was over there a couple of days ago. Had a little legal business.”

“Oh.” Shane wiggled his eyebrows. “Privileged communication?”

“That’s right.” Jared hauled over another bale and nipped the twine. “What’s the word on her?”

“There isn’t much of anything. From what I get, she was in the Frederick area, saw the ad for the cabin in the paper down there. Then she blew into town, snapped up the property, put her kid in school and closed herself off on her little hill. It’s driving Mrs. Metz crazy.”

“I bet. If Mrs. Metz, queen of the grapevine, can’t get any gossip on her, nobody can.”

“If you’re handling some legal deal for her, you ought to be able to shake something loose.”

“She’s not a client,” Jared said, and left it at that. “The boy comes around here?”

“Now and again. He and Connor.”

“An odd pairing.”

“It’s nice seeing them together. Bry’s a pistol, let me tell you. He’s got a million questions, opinions, arguments.” Shane lifted a brow. “Reminds me of somebody.”

“That so?”

“Dad always said if there were two opinions on one subject, you’d have both of them. The kid’s like that. And he makes Connor laugh. It’s good to hear.”

“The boy hasn’t had enough to laugh about, not with a father like Joe Dolin.”

Shane grunted, gathering up discarded twine. “Well, Dolin’s behind bars and out of the picture.” Shane stepped back, checking over his herd and the land beyond. “He’s not going to be beating up on Cassie anymore, or terrorizing those kids. The divorce going to be final soon?”

“We should have a final decree within sixty days.”

“Can’t be soon enough. I have to see to the hogs. You want to get another bale out of the barn?”

“Sure.”

Shane headed over to the pen, prepared to mix feed. At the sight of him, the fat pigs began to stir and snort. “Yeah, Daddy’s here, boys and girls.”

“He talks to them all the time,” Bryan announced from behind them.

“They talk right back.” With a grin, Shane turned, and saw that the boy wasn’t alone.

Savannah stood with one hand on her son’s shoulder and an easy smile. Her hair was loose, falling like black rain over the shoulders of a battered denim jacket. Shane decided the pigs could wait, and leaned on the fence.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning.” She stepped forward, looked into the pen. “They look hungry.”

“They’re always hungry. That’s why we call them pigs.”

She laughed and propped a foot on the bottom rung of the fence. She was a woman used to the sight, sound and smell of animals. “That one there certainly looks well fed.”

He shifted closer so he could enjoy the scent of her hair. “She’s full of piglets. I’ll have to separate her soon.”

“Spring on the farm,” she murmured. “So, who’s the daddy?”

“That smug-looking hog over there.”

“Ah, the one who’s ignoring her. Typical.” Still smiling, she tossed back her hair. “We’re here on a mission, Mr. MacKade.”

“Shane.”

“Shane. Rumor is, you’ve got kittens.”

Shane grinned down at Bryan. “Talked her into it, huh?”

All innocence, Bryan shrugged, but his quick, triumphant grin betrayed him. “She needs company when I’m at school.”

“That’s a good one. They’re in the barn. I’ll show you.”

“No.” To stop him, Savannah put a hand on his arm. There was a glint in her eyes that told him she knew exactly where his thoughts were heading. “We won’t interrupt your work. Your pigs are waiting, and I’m sure Bryan knows exactly where to find the kittens.”

“Sure I do. Come on, Mom.” He had her by the hand, tugging. “They’re really cool. Shane’s got all kinds of neat animals,” Bryan told her.

“Mm-hmm…” With a last amused glance, she let herself be hauled away. “Magnificent animals.” And, she thought as she watched Jared stride out of the barn with a bale over his shoulder, here was another one now.

His eyes met hers, held, as he stopped, tossed the bale down. The suit had been deceiving, she realized. Though he hadn’t looked soft in it, he’d looked elegant. There was nothing elegant about the man now.

He was all muscle.

If she’d been a lesser woman, her mouth might have watered.

Instead, she inclined her head and spoke coolly. “Mr. MacKade.”

“Ms. Morningstar.” His tone was just as cool. But it took a focused effort to unknot the tension in his stomach. “Hi, Bryan.”

“I didn’t know you worked here,” Bryan began. “I’ve never seen you working here.”

“Now and again.”

“How come you were wearing a suit?” he asked. “Shane never wears a suit.”

“Not unless you knock him unconscious first.” When the boy grinned, Jared noticed a gap in his teeth that hadn’t been there the day before. “Lose something?”

Proudly Bryan pressed his tongue in the gap. “It came out this morning. It’s good for spitting.”

“I used to hold the record around here. Nine feet, three inches. Without the wind.”

Impressed, and challenged, Bryan worked up saliva in his mouth, concentrated and let it fly. Jared pursed his lips, nodded. “Not bad.”

“I can do better than that.”

“You’re one of the tops in your division, Bry,” Savannah said dryly. “But Mr. MacKade has work to do, and we’re supposed to be looking at kittens.”

“Yeah, they’re right in here.” He took off into the barn at a run. Savannah followed more slowly.

“Nine feet?” she murmured, with a glance over her shoulder.

“And three inches.”

“You surprise me, Mr. MacKade.”

She had a way of sauntering on those long legs, he thought, that gave a man’s eyes a mind of their own. After a quick internal debate, he gave up and went in after her.

“Aren’t they great?” Bryan plopped right down in the hay beside the litter of sleeping kittens and their very bored-looking mama. “They have to stay with her for weeks and weeks.” Very gently, he stroked a fingertip over the downy head of a smoke-gray kitten. “But then we can take one.”

She couldn’t help it. Savannah went soft all over. “Oh, they’re so tiny.” Crouching down, she gave in to the need and lifted one carefully into her hand. “Look, Bry, it fits right in my palm. Oh, aren’t you sweet?” Murmuring, she nuzzled her face against the fur. “Aren’t you pretty?”

“I like this one best.” Bryan continued to stroke the tiny gray bundle. “I’m going to call him Cal. Like for Cal Ripkin.”

“Oh.” The soft orange ball in her hand stirred and mewed thinly. Her heart was lost. “All right. The gray one.”

“You could take two.” Jared stepped into the stall. Her face, he thought, was an open book. “It’s nice for them to have company.”

“Two?” The idea burst like a thousand watts in Bryan’s brain. “Yeah, Mom, we’ll take two. One would be lonely!”

“Bry—”

“And it wouldn’t be any more trouble. We’ve got lots of room now. Cal’s going to want somebody to play with, to hang around with.”

“Thanks, MacKade.”

“My pleasure.”

“And anyway,” Bryan went on, because he’d come out of his own excitement long enough to see the way his mother was cuddling the orange kitten, “this way we could each pick one. That’s the fair way, right?”

Smiling, Bryan reached out to brush his finger over the orange kitten. “He likes you. See, he’s trying to lick your hand.”

“He’s hungry,” Savannah told him, but she knew there was no possible way she was going to be able to resist the little bundle rooting in her hand. “I suppose they would be company for each other.”

“All right, Mom!” Bryan sprang up, kissed her without any of the embarrassment many nine-year-old boys might feel. “I’m going to tell Shane which ones are ours.”

With a clatter of feet, Bryan dashed out of the barn.

“You know you wanted it,” Jared said.

“I’m old enough to know I can’t have everything I want.” But she sighed and set the kitten down so that it could join its siblings in a morning snack. “But two cats can’t be that much more trouble than one.”

She started to rise, flicking a glance upward when Jared put a hand under her arm and helped her up. “Thanks.” She stepped around him and headed for the light. “So, are you a farm boy moonlighting as a lawyer, or a lawyer moonlighting as a farm boy?”

“It feels like both these days. I spent the last few years living in Hagerstown.” He matched his pace to her long, lazy one. “When I moved back a couple of months ago, I had a lot of things to deal with in the city, so I haven’t been able to give Shane and Devin much of a hand.”

“Devin?” She paused outside, where the sun was strong and warming quickly. “Oh, the sheriff. Yes, Bryan’s mentioned him. He lives here, too.”

“He sleeps here now and again,” Jared said. “He lives in the sheriff’s office.”

“Fighting crime, in a town with two stoplights?”

“Devin takes things seriously.” He looked over to where Bryan was dancing around Shane as Shane herded the cows back to pasture. “Have you given any more thought to your father’s estate?”

“Estate. Now, that’s a very serious word. Yes, I’ve thought about it. I have to talk to Bryan.” At Jared’s cocked brow, she spoke quietly. “We’re a team, Mr. MacKade. He gets a vote in this. We have a Little League game this afternoon, and I don’t want to distract him from that. I’ll have an answer for you by Monday.”

“Fine.” Jared’s eyes shifted from hers again, narrowed. The warning glint in them had Savannah’s lips curving.

“Let me guess. Your brother’s looking at my butt again.”

Intrigued, Jared looked back at her. “You can tell?”

Her laugh was quick and rich. “Honey, women can always tell. Sometimes we let you get away with it, that’s all.” She cast a lightning grin over her shoulder, winked at Shane. “Come on, Bryan. You’ve got chores to finish up before the game.”

She walked back through the woods with Bryan, listening to him chatter endlessly about the kittens, the ball game, the animals at the MacKade farm.

He was happy, was all she could think. He was safe. She’d done a good job. On her own. She caught herself before she could sigh and alert her son to the troubles in her mind. It was often so hard to know what was right.

“Why don’t you run ahead, Bry? Get those chores done and change into your uniform. I think I’ll sit here awhile.”

He stopped, kicked at a pebble. “How come you sit here so much?”

“Because I like it here.”

He studied her face, looked for signs. “We’re really going to stay in this place?”

Her heart broke a little as she bent down and kissed him. “Yes, we’re really going to stay.”

His grin was quick and bright. “Cool.”

He raced off, leaving her standing alone in the path. She sat on a fallen log, closed her eyes and emptied her mind.

So much tried to intrude—memories, mistakes, doubts. She willed them away, concentrating on the quiet and that place in her own head that was safe from worry.

It was a trick she’d learned as a child, when the confusion of life had been too overwhelming to face. There had been long rides in a rattling pickup, endless hours in smelly paddocks, loud voices, the gnaw of real hunger, the cries of fretful babies, the chill of under-heated rooms. They could all be faced, again and again, if she could just escape into herself for a few minutes.

Decisions became clearer, confidence could be rebuilt.

As fascinated as if he’d come across some mythical creature in the woods, Jared watched her. That exotic face was utterly peaceful, her body utterly still. He wouldn’t have been surprised to see a butterfly or a bright bird land on her shoulder.

These woods had always been his. His personal place. His intimate place. Yet seeing her here didn’t feel like an intrusion. It seemed expected, as if in some part of his mind he’d known he’d find her here if he just knew when to look.

He realized he was afraid to blink, as if in that fraction of a second she might vanish, never to be found again.

She opened her eyes slowly and looked directly into his.

For a moment, neither of them could speak. Savannah felt the breath rush into her throat and stick there. She was used to men staring at her. They had done so even when she was a child. It annoyed, amused or interested her by turns. But it had never left her speechless, as this one long, unblinking stare out of eyes the color of summer grass did.

He moved first, stepping closer. And the world started again.

“I hate stating the obvious.” Because he wanted to—and because his knees were just a little weak—he sat on the log beside her. “But you are staggering.”

Steadier now, she inclined her head. “Aren’t you supposed to be plowing a field or something?”

“Shane’s gotten proprietary about his tractor over the years. Aren’t you supposed to be going to a ball game?”

“It’s not for a couple hours.” Savannah took a deep breath, relieved that it went smoothly in and out. “So, who’s trespassing, you or me?”

“Technically, both of us.” Jared took out a slim cigar and found a match. “This is my brother’s property.”

“I assumed the farm belonged to all of you.”

“It does.” He took a drag, watched the smoke drift into the sunlight. “This strip here is Rafe’s land.”

“Rafe?” Her brows shot up. “Don’t tell me there are more of you.”

“Four altogether.” He tried to smother his surprise when she plucked the cigar out of his fingers and helped herself to a casual drag.

“Four MacKades,” she mused. “It’s a wonder the town survived. And none of the women managed to rope you in?”

“Rafe’s married. I was.”

“Oh.” She handed him back the cigar. “And now you’re back on the farm.”

“That right. Actually, if I hadn’t waffled, I’d be living in your cabin.”

“Is that so?”

“Yep. My place in town’s on the market and I’m looking for something around here. But you already had a contract on your place by the time I started looking.” He picked up a stick and drew in the dirt. “The farm,” he said, sketching lines. “Rafe’s. The cabin.”

Savannah pursed her lips at the triangle. “Hmm… And the MacKades would have owned a nice chunk of the mountain. You missed your shot, Lawyer MacKade.”

“So it seems, Ms. Morningstar.”

“I suppose you can call me Savannah, since we’re neighbors.” Taking the stick from him, she tapped the point of the triangle. “This place. It’s the stone house you can see on the hill from the road into town?”

“That’s right. The old Barlow place.”

“It’s haunted.”

“You’ve heard the stories?”

“No.” Interested, she looked over at him. “Are there stories?”

It only took him a moment to see she wasn’t playing games. “Why did you say it was haunted?”

“You can feel it,” she said simply. “Just like these woods. They’re restless.” When he continued to stare at her, she smiled. “Indian blood. I’m part Apache. My father liked to claim he was full-blooded, but…” She let words trail off, looked away.

“But?”

“There’s Italian, Mexican, even a little French mixed in.”

“Your mother?”

“Anglo and Mex. She was a barrel racer. Rodeo champion. She was in a car accident when I was five. I don’t remember her very clearly.”

“Both of mine are gone, too.” Companionably he offered her the cigar. “It’s tough.”

She drew in smoke. “This one shouldn’t have been, for me. I lost my father ten years ago, when he booted me out. I was sixteen, and pregnant with Bryan.”

“I’m sorry, Savannah.”

“Hey, I got by.” She passed back the cigar. She didn’t know why she’d told him, except that it was quiet here, and he listened well. “The thing is, Jared, I’ve been thinking more about my father in the last day or so than I have in years. You can’t imagine what eight thousand dollars would have meant to me ten years ago. Five.” With a shrug, she pushed back her hair. “Hell, there was a time eight dollars would have made the difference between— Well, it doesn’t matter.”

Without thinking, he laid a hand over hers. “Sure it does.”

She frowned down at their hands, then slowly, casually, slipped hers away and stood. “The thing is, I have Bryan to think of. So I’ll talk this over with him.”

“Let me state the obvious again. You’ve done a terrific job raising your son.”

She smiled. “We’ve raised each other. But thanks. I’ll be in touch.”

“Savannah.” He rose, faced her on the path. “This is a good town, mostly a kind one. No one has to be alone here unless they want to.”

“That’s something else I have to think about. I’ll see you around, Lawyer MacKade.”



Jared hadn’t been to a Little League game in years. When he pulled up at the park just outside of town and absorbed the scents and sounds, he wondered why. The single swatch of wooden stands was crowded and noisy. And kids who weren’t on the field were running and racing behind the low chain-link fence or wrestling under the shade of the stands.

The concession stand drew others, with the smell of steaming hot dogs and sloppy joes.

He pulled his car behind the long line of others along the bumpy shoulder of the narrow road and walked across the uneven grass. He had an eye peeled for Savannah, but it was little Connor Dolin who caught his gaze.

The pale-haired boy was waiting quietly in line for food, staring at his feet as a couple of burly older kids harassed him.

“Hey, it’s nerd brain Dolin. How’s your old man like his cell?”

Connor stood stoically as they bumped and shoved him. The woman ahead of him in line turned and clucked her tongue at them, which had no effect at all.

“Why don’t you bake him a cake with a file in it, butthead? Bet a wussy like you bakes a real good cake.”

“Hey, Connor.” Jared stepped up, aimed one look that had the two bullies scrambling away. “How’s it going?”

“Okay.” Humiliation had stained his cheeks, fear of abuse had dampened his palms around the money he clutched. “I’m supposed to get hot dogs and stuff.”

“Mm-hmm.” In the way of males, Jared knew better than to mention what he’d just seen. “How come you’re not playing ball?”

“I’m not any good.” It was said matter-of-factly. He was much too used to being told he wasn’t any good to question it. “But Bryan’s playing. Bryan Morningstar. He’s the best on the team.”

“Is he?” Touched by the sudden light in those shy gray eyes, Jared reached out to flip up the visor of Connor’s ball cap. The boy jerked instinctively, went still, and reminded Jared that life had not been all ball games and hot dogs for this nine-year-old. “I’m looking forward to watching him,” Jared continued, as if the moment had never happened. “What position does he play?”

Ashamed of his own cowardice, Connor studied the ground again. “Shortstop.”

“Yeah? I used to play short.”

“You did?” Astonished by the idea, Connor just stared.

“That’s right. Devin played third, and—”

“Sheriff MacKade played baseball?” Now the astonishment was mixed with a pure case of hero worship. “I bet he was real good.”

“He was okay.” It pricked the pride, just a little, to remember he’d never been able to outhit, or outfield Devin. “How many dogs you want, Connor?”

“I’ve got money. Mom gave me money. And Ms. Morningstar.” He fumbled with the bills. “I’m supposed to get one for her, too. With mustard.”

“It’s my treat.” Jared held up three fingers at the vendor as Bryan worried his lip and stared at his money. “This way I get to hang out with you and Ms. Morningstar.”

Jared handed the boy the first hot dog, watched him carefully, deliberately squeeze on a line of bright yellow mustard. “Are your mother and sister here?”

“No, sir. Mom’s working, and Emma’s with her down at the diner. She said it was okay for me to come down and watch, though.”

Jared added drinks to the order, and packed the whole business up in a flimsy cardboard box. “Can you handle this?”

“Yes, sir. Sure.” Pleased to have been given the job, Connor walked toward the stands, holding the box as if the hot dogs were explosives and the soft drinks a lit match. “We’re way up at the top, ’cause Ms. Morningstar says you can see everything better from up high.”

And he could see her, Jared mused, as they approached the stands. She sat with her elbows on her knees, her chin cupped in her hands. And her eyes—though he had to imagine, as they were shielded with dark glasses—focused on the field.

He was wrong about that. She was watching him, walking beside the boy, flashing that killer smile or giving a quick salute whenever someone hailed him. And noticing several women—of varying ages—who put their shoulders back or patted at their hair as he passed.

That was what a man who looked like that did to a woman, Savannah supposed. Made her instinctively aware of herself on a purely physical level. It was like pheromones, she decided. The scent of sex.

Those long legs of his carried him up the stands behind the small boy. Now and again his hand touched a shoulder or shook a hand. Savannah picked up the jacket she’d set in Connor’s place and squeezed over toward the rail.

“Nice day for a ball game,” Jared said as he sat beside her. He took the box from Connor and, to make room for the boy, shifted closer to the woman. “Crowded.”

“It is now. Thanks, Con.”

“Mr. MacKade bought them,” Connor told her, and solemnly handed her back her money.

She started to tell him to keep it, but she understood pride. “Thanks, Mr. MacKade.”

“What’s the score?”

“We’re down one, bottom of the third.” She took a healthy bite of her hot dog. “But the top of our batting order’s coming up.”

“Bryan bats third.” Connor chewed and swallowed politely before he spoke. “He has the most RBIs.”

Jared watched the first boy come out in the bright orange uniform of the team sponsored by Ed’s Café. “Have you met Edwina Crump?” Jared murmured near Savannah’s ear.

“Not yet. She owns the diner where Cassandra works, doesn’t she?”

“Yeah. Be grateful your boy’s not wearing lipstick pink.”

Savannah started to comment, then let out an encouraging shout when the bat cracked. The crowd hollered with her when the batter raced to first.

“Tying run’s on, right, Con?”

“Yes’m. That’s J. D. Bristol. He’s a good runner.”

She devoured her hot dog, fueling her nerves, while the second batter struck out, swinging. Someone shouted abuse at the ump, and several hot debates erupted in the stands.

“Apparently these games are taken as seriously as ever,” Jared commented.

“Baseball’s a serious business,” Savannah muttered. Her stomach did a fast boogie as Bryan stepped toward the plate.

Now the crowd murmured.

“That’s the Morningstar kid,” someone announced. “Got a hot bat.”

“Way that pitcher’s hurling, he’s going to need a torch. Nobody’s getting a good piece of that ball today.”

Savannah lifted her chin, and bumped the man in front of her with her knee. “You just watch,” she told him when he glanced around. “He’ll get all of it.”

Jared grinned and leaned back on the iron rail. “Yeah, a serious business.”

She winced when Bryan took a hard swing and met air. “I’ve got a buck says he knocks the tying run in.”

“I don’t like to bet against your boy, or the home team,” Jared mused. “But MacKades are betting men. A buck it is.”

Savannah held her breath as Bryan went through his little batter’s routine. Out of the box, kicking at dirt with his left foot, then his right, adjusting his helmet, taking two practice swings.

“Eye on the ball, Bry,” she murmured when he stepped to the plate. “Keep your eye on the ball.”

He did—as it sailed past him and into the catcher’s mitt.

“Strike two.”

“What the hell kind of call is that?” she demanded. “That was low and outside. Anybody could see that was low and outside.”

The man in front of her turned around, nodded seriously. “It surely was. Bo Perkins’s got eyes like my grandma, and she needs glasses to see her own opinion.”

“Well, somebody ought to give Bo Perkins a kick in the…” She let the words trail off, remembering Connor who was watching her with huge eyes. “Strike zone,” she decided.

“Good save,” Jared said under his breath, and watched Bryan step to the plate again.

The pitcher wound up, delivered. And Bryan gave a mighty swing that caught the ball on the meat of the bat. It flew above the leaping gloves of the infield, and rose beautifully over the outfield grass.

“It’s gone!” Savannah shouted, leaping to her feet with the rest of the crowd. “That’s the way, Bry!” Her victory dance wiggled her hips in a way that distracted Jared from watching the running of the bases. She kept shouting, her hands cupped to carry the sound, while Bryan rounded the bases and stomped on home plate.

For the hell of it, she grabbed her new friend in front of her and kissed him full on his mouth. “He got a piece of it, didn’t he?”

The man, thirty years her senior, blushed like a schoolboy. “Yes, ma’am, he sure did.”

“Not exactly the shy, retiring type, are you?” Jared said when she dropped back onto her seat.

“Pay up.” She stuck out her hand, palm up.

Jared took out a bill, held it out. “It was worth it.”

“You ain’t seen nothing yet, Lawyer MacKade.”

Jared thought about the promise of those agile, curvy hips and sincerely hoped not.




Chapter 3


It was probably a mistake, Savannah thought, to be sitting across a booth at Ed’s from Jared MacKade, eating ice cream. But he’d been very persuasive. And Bryan and Connor had been so excited when he offered to treat them to a victory sundae after the Antietam Cannons batted their way to a win.

And it did give her a chance to see him with Cassandra Dolin.

Connor’s mother was a frail little thing, Savannah mused. Blonde and pretty as a china doll, with eyes so haunted they could break your heart. Jared was very gentle with her, very sweet, coaxing smiles from her.

Evidently the shy, vulnerable type was right up his alley.

“Come on, Cassie, have some ice cream with us.”

“I can’t.” Cassie paused by their table long enough to brush a hand over her daughter’s hair as little Emma ate her hot fudge with tiny, serious bites. “We’re swamped. But I appreciate you treating the kids, Jared.”

She was thin enough to blow away in a spring breeze, Jared thought, and held up a spoonful of sundae. “Have a bite, anyway.”

She flushed, but opened her mouth as obediently as a child when he held the spoon to her lips. “It’s wonderful.”

“Hey, Cass, burgers up.”

“Right there.” Cassie hurried off to pick up the orders from the counter where Edwina Crump reigned supreme.

The owner of the diner sent Jared a lusty wink. The fact that she was twenty years his senior didn’t stop her from appreciating a fine-looking man. “Hey, big fellow, don’t see you in here often enough.” She patted her frizzed red bowling ball of a hairdo. “When you taking me dancing?”

“Whenever you say, Ed.”

She gave a chicken-cackle laugh, wiggled her bony body. “Got a hot band over at the Legion tonight. I’m ready and waiting,” she told him before she swung back into the kitchen.

Amused, Savannah propped her elbows on the table. “The Legion, huh? I bet it gets pretty wild.”

“You’d be surprised.” He cocked a brow. “Wanna go?”

“I’ll pass, thanks. Bry, do you think you can shovel any more into your mouth at one time?”

He scooped up a dripping spoon of ice cream, butterscotch and sprinkles. “It’s great,” he said around it. “What’s yours taste like, Con?” To see for himself, Bryan reached over the table to dip his spoon into Connor’s. “Strawberry’s okay,” he decided, “but butterscotch is the best.”

Willing to be wrong, he eyed Emma’s hot fudge avariciously.

“No,” Savannah said mildly, and watched with approval as the five-year-old Emma curled a hand protectively around her bowl. She might be a quiet one, Savannah mused, but the kid knew what was hers. “Pack it away, honey,” Savannah told her. “I bet you can eat these boys under the table.”

“I like ice cream,” Emma said, with one of her rare smiles.

“Me too.” With a grin, Savannah scooped up some of her own. “And hot fudge is the best, right?”

“Uh-huh, and the whipped cream. Miss Ed gives you lots of it.” She put her spoon down carefully beside her empty bowl and announced, “I can go to Regan’s now. My mama said.”

“What’s Regan’s?” Bryan wanted to know.

“She’s friends with my mom,” Connor told him. “She has a shop just down the street. It has lots of neat things to look at.”

“Let’s go see.”

Before he could dart from the booth, Savannah laid a hand on his arm. “Bryan.”

It took him a minute. “Oh, yeah, thanks. Mr. MacKade. The ice cream was great. Come on, Con.”

“Thanks, Mr. MacKade.” Since Emma already had his hand and was tugging on it, Connor slid from the booth. He looked down at his sister, wrinkled his brow.

“Thank you,” she said, keeping an iron grip on her brother’s hand.

“You’re welcome. Say hi to Regan.”

“We will. Mama,” Connor called out, “we’re going down to Regan’s.”

“Don’t touch anything,” Cassie told them, balancing two plates on one arm and serving another. “And come right back if she’s busy.”

“Yes’m.”

Bryan was already out of the door, and Connor followed, hampered by his sister’s sedate pace.

“I’d say you hit a home run,” Savannah commented, leaning back to drape an arm over the back of the booth.

“You hit one yourself. That’s one of the longest conversations I’ve ever heard out of Emma.”

“It must be hard, being shy. She looks like an angel. Like her mother.”

Angels who’d already been through hell, Jared thought. “Cassie’s doing a terrific job with them, on her own. You’d appreciate that.”

“Yes, I would.” Savannah glanced over to where Cassie was busy wiping down a booth. “You’re…close?”

“I’ve known her most of my life, but no, not the way you mean. She’s a friend.” Pleased she was interested enough to ask, he took out a cigar. “And a client. Anything beyond friendship wouldn’t be ethical, when I’m representing her.”

“And you’d be a very ethical man, wouldn’t you, Lawyer MacKade?”

“That’s right. You know, you’ve never mentioned what you do.”

“About what?”

“About making a living.”

“I’ve done all sorts of things.” With a sizzling look, she took the cigar from him.

“I’ll just bet you have,” he murmured.

“Right now I’m an illustrator. Kids’ books, mostly.” Laughing, she passed the cigar back to him. “Doesn’t quite fit the image, does it?”

“I don’t know. I’d have to see some of your illustrations.” He glanced up, and his lips curved. “Hey, Dev.”

Savannah shifted to see the man who had just come in. He had the same dark, go-to-hell looks as Jared, a body that was tall and tough and rangy. The eyes were green, as well, but they were different.

She recognized the way they swept the room, checked for details, looked for trouble. Instinctively her muscles tightened, her face went blank. She didn’t need the badge on his chest to tell her this was the sheriff. She could spot a cop at half a mile on a speeding horse. She could smell one at twenty paces.

“Saw your car.” After one quick scan of the room, one quick smile for Cassie, Devin dropped into the booth beside his brother.

“Savannah Morningstar, Devin MacKade.”

“Nice to meet you.” An eyeful was Devin’s first impression. Then he caught the chill, and wondered about it. “You bought the cabin? The doctor’s place.”

“That’s right. It’s my place now.”

Not just a chill, he mused. Ice was forming. “That must be your kid I’ve run into out at the farm. Bryan, right?”

“Yes, Bryan’s my son. He’s well fed, he’s in school, and he’s had his shots. Excuse me, I’d better go see what the kids are up to.”

And straight into frostbite, Devin mused as she slid from the booth. He winced as the door swung to behind her. “Ouch. What the hell was that about?”

“I don’t know,” Jared murmured. “But I’m going to find out.” He pulled bills out of his pocket.

“You want a guess?” Devin made way so that Jared could climb out of the booth. “The lady’s had trouble with the law.”

Damn, damn, damn. On the sidewalk, Savannah struggled to regain her composure. That had been stupid, she berated herself. That had been foolish. The trouble with letting yourself relax, she reminded herself, was that all sorts of nasty things could sneak up and bite you in the back.

Now that she was outside, her fists jammed into the snug pockets of her jeans, she realized that she didn’t know what this Regan’s shop was, much less where it was. All she wanted was to get her son and take him home.

“You want to tell me what just happened?” Jared stepped up behind her, touched a hand to her shoulder.

Savannah made herself take a careful breath before turning. “I finished my ice cream.”

“Then maybe you should walk it off.” He twined his fingers around her arm and had them quickly and fiercely shaken off.

“Don’t take hold of me unless I ask you.”

He felt the MacKade temper stir and clamped down on it. “Fine. Why don’t you tell me why you were rude?”

“I’m often rude,” she shot back. “Especially to cops. I don’t like cops. They’re one step down from lawyers. I’m not interested in socializing with either one. Which way are the kids?”

“It seems to me we were just socializing up a storm.”

“Now we’re not. Go back and talk law and order with your brother.” The old fury, the old fears, wouldn’t quite let go. “You can tell him to go ahead and run a make on me. I’m clean. I have valid employment, and money in the bank.”

“Good for you,” Jared said equably. “Why should Devin run a make on you?”

“Because cops and lawyers love to stick their noses in other people’s business. That’s what you’ve been doing with me ever since you drove up my lane. The way I live and the way I raise my son are my concern and nobody else’s. So back off.”

It was fascinating. Even through his own bubbling temper, it was fascinating to watch her simmer and spew. “I haven’t gotten in your way yet, Savannah. You’ll know when I do. Believe me, you’ll know. Right now, I’m just asking for an explanation.”

She didn’t know how he did it. How he could look searing daggers at her and still speak in that controlled, reasonable voice. She hated people who could manage that.

“You’ve just got the only one I’m giving. Now where’s my son?”

Jared kept his eyes on hers. “Past Times—two doors behind you.” But when she started to whirl away, he took her arm again.

“I told you not to—”

“You listen to me. You’re not going to charge in there like some fire-breathing Amazon.”

The heat in her eyes could have boiled the skin off a man. “You’d better take your hand off me before I damage that pretty face of yours.”

He only tightened his grip. Under different circumstances, he might have enjoyed seeing her try. “There are two abused kids in that shop,” he began, and watched her face change. Fury to surprise, surprise to painful sympathy.

“Connor and Emma. I should have seen it.” Her gaze darted to the wide glass window of Ed’s. “Cassandra.”

“Those kids watched their mother get beaten by their father, and that’s more violence in those two short lives than anyone deserves. You go storming in there, you’ll—”

“I don’t make a habit of frightening children,” Savannah snapped back. “Whatever you by-the-book types think, I’m a good mother. Bryan’s never done without. He’s had the best I could give him, and—”

She shut her eyes and fought back the rage. Jared thought it was like watching a volcano capping itself.

“Let go of my arm,” she said, calmly now. “I’m going to take my son home.”

Jared studied her face another moment, saw the licks of temper just behind the molten brown of her eyes. He released her, watched her walk to Regan’s shop, take one more calming breath before pulling open the door and going inside.

Devin strolled out. He stopped beside Jared and scratched his head. “That was quite an interesting show.”

“I have a feeling it was just the overture.” Intrigued, Jared tucked his hands in his pockets, rocked back on his heels. “There’s a lot going on in there.”

“A woman like that could make a man forget his own name.” With a faint smile, Devin looked over at his brother. “You remember yours?”

“Yeah, just barely. I think you were right about her having problems with the law.”

Devin’s eyes narrowed. The law, the town and everyone in it were his responsibility. “I could run a make on her.”

“No, don’t do that. It’s just what she expects.” Thoughtfully Jared turned toward his car. “I’ve got an urge to give the lady the unexpected. We’ll see what happens.”

“Your call,” Devin murmured as Jared climbed behind the wheel. Your call, he thought again. As long as the lady stays out of trouble.



Bryan stared out the car window, his face averted coolly from his mother’s. He didn’t see why Connor couldn’t spend the night. It was still Saturday, and there were hours and hours left until the dumb bell rang for school on lousy Monday.

What was a guy supposed to do with all those hours without his best bud? Chores, he thought, rolling his dark brown eyes. Homework. Might as well be in jail.

“Might as well be in jail,” he said aloud, turning his face now in challenge.

“Yeah, they play a lot of baseball, eat a lot of butterscotch sundaes, in the joint.”

“But I’ve got nothing to do at home,” he said—the desperate lament of every nine-year-old.

“I’ll give you something to do,” Savannah shot back—the typical response of every frustrated parent. And when she heard that come out of her mouth she nearly groaned. “I’m sorry, Bry, I’ve got a lot on my mind, and it’s just not a good night for a sleep-over.”

“I could’ve stayed at Con’s. His mother wouldn’t care.”

Direct hit, she thought grimly as she turned up the lane. “Well, yours does, Ace, and you’re stuck with me. You can start by taking out the trash you didn’t take out this morning, cleaning that black hole that passes as your room, then studying your math so you don’t end up in summer school.”

“Great.” The minute she stopped the car, he slammed out. He muttered another comment about it being worse than jail that had smoke coming out of her ears.

“Bryan Morningstar.” His name lashed out. When he pivoted back, they stood glaring at each other, angry color riding high on each set of cheekbones, eyes almost black with passionate temper. “Why the hell are you so much like me?” she demanded. She threw her face up to the sun. “I could have had a nice, quiet, well-mannered little girl if I’d tried really hard. Why did I think I’d like having some snotty, bad-tempered boy with big feet?”

It made his lips twitch. “Because then you’d have to take out the trash yourself. A girl would whine and say it was too messy.”

“I could take the trash out,” she said consideringly. “In fact, I think I will, after I put you in it.” She made a grab, but he danced back, laughing at her.

“You’re too old to catch me.”

“Oh, yeah?” She streaked forward, pounded up the bank after him. He stood hooting at her, taunting. Which was his mistake. She snagged him, making the catch more from her advantage of reach and experience than from speed, and tumbled with him to the grass.

“Who’s old, smart mouth?”

“You are.” He shrieked with laughter as her fingers dug mercilessly into his ribs. “You’re almost thirty.”

“I am not. Take it back.” She whipped him into a headlock, rubbed her knuckles over his hair. “Take it back, and do the math, Einstein. What’s twenty-six from thirty?”

“Nothing,” he shouted. “Zero.” Then, fearing he might wet his pants if she kept tickling, he surrendered. “It’s four, okay? It’s four.”

“Remember that. And remember who can still take you down.” She pulled him back against her, hugged him so suddenly, so fiercely, he blinked. “I love you, Bryan. I love you so much.”

“Jeez, Mom.” He wriggled in mortification. “I know.”

“I’m sorry I snapped at you.”

He rolled his eyes, but trickles of remorse found their way through the embarrassment. “I guess I’m sorry, too.”

“You and Connor can have a sleep-over next weekend. I promise.”

“Okay, that’s cool.” When she didn’t release him, he frowned. But it wasn’t so bad, letting her hold him—since none of the guys were around to see. She smelled nice, and her arms were soft. There were flickers of memory of being rocked and soothed.

He was simply too young to do anything but take them for granted. She’d always been there. She always would. He let his head rest on her shoulder, and didn’t feel like squirming when she stroked his hair.

“Could we maybe cook out on the grill later?”

“Sure. Want superburgers?”

“Yeah, and french fries.”

“What’s a superburger without fries?” she murmured, then sighed. “Bryan, has Con said anything to you about his father?”

She felt her son go still, and pressed a light kiss to his hair. “Is it a secret?”

“Sort of.”

“I don’t want you to betray a confidence. I found out today that Connor’s father used to hit his mother. I thought if Con had talked to you about it, you might want to talk to me.”

He’d wanted to, ever since Connor had told him. But Connor had cried some—even though Bryan had pretended not to notice. And a guy just didn’t tell his mother things like that.

“Con’s said he’s in jail for hitting her. Con said he used to hurt her real bad, and he drank a lot and gave her bruises and everything. They’re getting divorced.”

“I see.” She’d seen plenty of men who were Joe Dolin’s type in her life, but that didn’t stop her from despising them. “Did he hit Con, too? And Emma?”

“Not Emma.” Here was another dicey part, but Bryan heard himself blurting it out before he could stop. “But he hit Con. Not when his mom was around and could see. He’d call him names and shove him. He said Con was a sissy ’cause he liked to read books and write stories. Con’s no sissy.”

“Of course he’s not.”

“He’s just real smart. He doesn’t hardly have to study to get the answers right. But he doesn’t raise his hand in class very much. The teacher calls on him anyway.” As he stared off into the woods, Bryan’s face darkened with rage. “Some of the kids give him a hard time about things. About his father, and how he’s teacher’s pet and how he can’t throw a baseball very far. But they back off when I’m around.”




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