The Return Of Rafe Mackade (The MacKade Brothers 1)

"Wait, let me finish. Cassie is so fragile right now, and the children are too quiet. I'm not sure how they would handle having a man around. The kids don't know you."

He jammed his hands in his pockets. "I'm not going to kick them around."

"They don't know that. Little Emma sits at Cassie's feet with her doll and barely says a word. And the boy— God, Rafe, he breaks my heart. They need time to feel safe again. You're too big, you're too strong, you're too... male."

Stubbornly he ignored the fact that she'd hurt him—that he could be hurt—and concentrated on the situation at hand. "You're being pigheaded."

"I'm doing what seems right to me. That's the only way I know how to handle things. Believe me, I've thought this through, weighed the options. Having you move in just isn't one of them."

"Invite me to dinner," he said abruptly.

"You want to come to dinner?"

"Ask me to dinner, so I can get to know the kids, so they'll get used to me being around."

"Now who's pigheaded?" But she sighed. It was a reasonable compromise. "All right, seven-thirty, and you're out by ten."

"Can we neck on the couch after the kids go to bed?"

"Maybe. Now go away."

' 'Aren't you going to kiss me goodbye?"

She huffed out a breath, then kissed him primly on the cheek. "Business hours," she said, then laughed when he grabbed her. "Rafe, we're right in front of the window. I—"

The rest was lost as he crushed his mouth to hers. "Might as well give them something to talk about." And give her something to think about, he told himself. She was damn well going to do a lot of thinking about Rafe MacKade.

He nipped her lip, let her go, then sauntered out the door.

A block away, Cassie sat in Devin's office, twisting her hands together. She knew it should be easier because it was Devin, someone she'd known all her life. But it only made the shame worse.

"I'm sorry, we got busy, and I couldn't take my break until now."

"That's all right, Cassie." It had become habit to keep his voice quiet when he spoke to her, as a man might speak to a wounded bird. "I've got the paperwork filled out for you. You just have to sign it."

"He's not going to go to jail."

A fist squeezed his heart at the emptiness in her tone. "No."

"Is it because I let him hit me?"

"No." He wished he could reach out to soothe those nervous hands. But the desk was between them, an official barrier. "He admitted that he hurt you, but the court took other things into consideration. His drinking problem, his loss of a longtime job. He'll have to go into counse

ling, report to his probation officer. Stay out of trouble."

"It could be good for him." She looked up, then, just as quickly, down again. "The counseling. If he stops drinking, maybe everything would be all right."

"Yeah." And he could run a Popsicle stand in hell, Devin thought. "In the meantime, you need to protect yourself. That's what the restraining order's for."

She lifted her gaze again, and this time her eyes held his. "That paper is going to keep him from coming back?"

Devin grabbed a cigarette out of his pack, then tossed it down. When he spoke, his voice was cool and official. "This bars him from coming near you. He can't come into the diner when you're working there. He can't approach you on the street, or come to Regan's house as long as you're staying there. If he breaks any one of the regulations set down here, he'll void his parole and serve the eighteen months."

"He knows about this?"

"He's been notified."

She moistened her lips. He couldn't come near her. The idea whirled around in her head. If he couldn't come near her, he couldn't hit her.