The MacKades Collection: The Return of Rafe MacKade / The Pride of Jared MacKade / The Heart of Devin MacKade / The Fall of Shane MacKade

He wished he hadn’t seen the eyes, the eyes of the enemy, as wide and terror-glazed and young as his own. Their bayonets crashed, point to point. He smelled the blood, and the stinking scent of fear.

He felt the steel of his blade slice into flesh, and his stomach roiled. He felt the rip of his own, and cried out in agony. He fought, blindly, bitterly, recklessly, until there was nothing inside him but the battle. And when they both lay in their own blood, he wondered why.

He was crawling, delirious with pain. He needed to get home for supper, he thought. Had to get home. There was the house, he could see it now. He dragged himself over rocks and dying summer flowers, leaving his blood staining the grass.

Hands were lifting him. Soft voices. He saw her standing over him, an angel. Her hair like a halo, her eyes warm, her voice filled with the music of the South he yearned for.

Her face was so beautiful, so gentle, so sad.

She stroked his head, held his hand, walking beside him as others carried him up curving steps.

I’m going home, he told her. I have to go home.

You’ll be all right, she promised. You’ll go home as soon as you’re well again.

She looked away from him, up, and her lovely face went pale as a ghost’s.

No. He’s hurt. He’s just a boy. Charles, you can’t.

He saw the man, saw the gun, heard the words.

I’ll have no Confederate scum in my house. No wife of mine will put her hands on a Rebel.

Rafe jolted awake with the sound of a gunshot ringing in his ears. He sat where he was while it echoed away, until all that was left was his brother’s quiet breathing.

Chilled, he rose, added logs to the fire. Then he sat, watching the flames and waiting for dawn.

Regan slept like a baby. With the kids off to school and Cassie taking the early shift at the diner, she indulged herself with a second cup of coffee. She still prized her privacy, but she’d discovered she liked having the company.

It was nice having the children pad around the house in the morning, having Emma offer one of her solemn kisses or Connor one of his rare smiles.

She liked beating Cassie to the kitchen so that she could fix breakfast and smooth down pale, sleep-tousled hair.

Motherhood had never been one of her ambitions, but she was beginning to wonder if she wouldn’t be good at it.

She picked up a crayon Emma had left on the table. She smelled it, and smiled. It was funny, she thought, how quickly a house could smell like children. Crayons and white paste, hot chocolate and soggy cereal.

And it was funny how quickly she’d come to look forward to finding them there after work.

Absently she tucked the crayon in her pocket. Work was exactly where she had to go.

Out of habit, she rinsed her coffee cup in the sink, set it on the drain. After a last glance around, she opened the door in the kitchen and headed down the stairs to open the shop for the day.

She’d barely turned the Open sign around, unlocked the door and moved behind the counter to unlock the till when Joe Dolin walked in.

The quick spurt of alarm came first. Then she soothed it by reminding herself that he was here, and Cassie wasn’t.

He’d put on weight even in the three years she’d known him. There was muscle there still, but it was cushioned by too many six-packs. She imagined he’d been an attractive man once, before his square face had bloated and his moody brown eyes had sunken behind bags.

He had a chipped front tooth she didn’t know was courtesy of a younger Rafe’s fist, and a nose that had been broken by Rafe, and several others.

With disgust, she remembered that he had tried, once or twice, to touch her. Had watched her, more than once or twice, with greedy eyes and a knowing smile.

Regan hadn’t even told Cassie that. And never would.

She braced herself for the altercation, but he shut the door quietly, took off his billed cap and held it humbly in his hands, like a peasant before the queen.

“Regan. I’m sorry to bother you.”

The penitent sound of his voice and bowed head almost softened her. But she remembered the bruises on Cassie’s neck. “What do you want, Joe?”

“I heard Cassie’s staying with you.”

Just Cassie, she noted. Nothing about his children. “That’s right.”

“I guess you know about the trouble.”

“Yes, I know. You beat her, and you were arrested.”

“I was awful drunk.”

“The court may find that an excuse. I don’t.”

His eyes narrowed and flashed, but he kept his head down. “I feel terrible about it. Done nothing but worry about her for days. Now they’ve fixed it so I can’t even go near her to tell her so. I come to ask you a favor.”

He lifted his head then, and his eyes were moist. “Cassie sets a lot of store by you.”

“I set a lot of store by her,” Regan said evenly. She would not let the sight of a man’s tears blur her judgment.

“Yeah, well. I was hoping you’d talk to her for me. See that she gives me another chance. I can’t ask her myself, long as there’s that damn restraining order. But she’ll listen to you.”

“You’re giving me credit for influence over Cassie I don’t have, Joe.”

“No, she’ll listen to you,” he insisted. “She’s always running off at the mouth about how smart you are. You tell her to come on home, and she’ll do it.”

Very slowly, Regan placed her palms on the counter-top. “If she’d listened to me, she would have left you years ago.”

His unshaven jaw tightened. “Now, you look. A man’s got a right—”

“To beat his wife?” she snapped. “Not in my book, he doesn’t, and not in the law’s. No, I won’t tell her to come back to you, Joe. And if that’s all you came in for, you’ll have to leave.”

His lips peeled back, showing clenched teeth, his eyes hardened like marbles. “Still all high-and-mighty. You think you’re better than me.”

“No, I don’t. I know I’m better than you. Get out of my shop or I’ll have Sheriff MacKade throw you in jail for harassment.”

“A woman belongs to her husband.” He crashed his fist on the counter, hard enough to have a crack splitting through the glass. “You tell her to get her skinny butt home, if she knows what’s good for her. And what’s good for you.”

Fear trembled in Regan’s throat, and was swallowed, hard. As if it were a talisman, she closed a hand around the crayon in her pocket. “Is that a threat?” she asked coolly. “I don’t believe your parole officer would approve. Shall I call him and ask?”