The Return Of Rafe Mackade (The MacKade Brothers 1)

"Good." Devin smiled. "That clears the way. When I thought you had a thing for her, I didn't want to muscle in. Since you don't, I'll go see if I can... stimulate her appetite."

He was expecting the punch, and took the fist on the jaw philosophically. It was always satisfying to make a point. He lifted a hand, wiggled his jaw, mildly relieved it wasn't broken.

"Yeah, I can see how you got over it."

"I ought to hit you again," Rafe said between his teeth. It was infuriating, humiliating, to know how neatly he'd been conned.

"I wouldn't. That one was free." Cautious, Devin moved his jaw again. "Damn, Rafe, you've still got a nice right jab."

Almost amused, Rafe flexed his aching fingers. "You've still got a face like a rock. You son of a bitch."

"I love you, too." Cheered, Devin draped an arm over his brother's shoulders. "Feel better now?"

"No." Then he paused. "Maybe."

"You want to go find her and straighten this mess out?"

"I'm not crawling after some woman," Rafe mumbled.

You will, Devin thought. Sooner or later. "Well then, I got the night off. Want to get drunk and disorderly?"

"Yeah." They walked into the hall, started down the steps. "Why don't I meet you at the tavern? Ten o'clock."

"Suits me. I'll see if I can round up Shane and Jared."

"Just like old times. When Duff sees us coming, it'll scare the—" Rafe broke off, felt his heart skip. Regan stood straight-backed and cool-eyed at the base of the stairs.

"I've got your delivery." She'd worked very hard on being able to speak without inflection. "Your message said you'd be ready for it by three."

"Just." His stomach quivered, infuriating him. "You can have it hauled up."

"All right. Hello, Devin."

"Hello, Regan. I'm just on my way out. See you tonight, Rafe."

"Yeah." Rafe kept his eyes on Regan's as he came down the last few steps. "Have any trouble on the roads?"

"No. They're mostly clear now." She wondered that he couldn't see her heart bleeding. "I was able to get that feather mattress you wanted for the four-poster. I'll be happy to set it up so you can be sure you want to go with it."

"Appreciate it. I'll get out of your way. I've got—" Nothing, he realized. He had nothing. "Work," he said finally. "Give a yell when you're ready. I'll have your check."

She wanted to say something, anything, but he was already walking away. Squaring her shoulders, she went back to the door to instruct the movers.

It was nearly five when she finished arranging things exactly as she wanted them. She hadn't noticed the quiet that drifted in to replace the steady bang and buzz of labor. But as the light changed, she switched on the rose-patterned globe lamp by the button-backed chair she'd angled toward the fireplace.

There was no mantel there yet, no flames crackling. Faintly the scent of paint stirred in the air. But she thought the room was waiting to be lived in.

And the scent of roses hung like tears in the air.

A wedding-ring quilt, she mused, running her hand over one of the posts of the bed. A few pillows edged with lace to match the canopy that would drape overhead. A cedar chest, a hope chest, at the foot of the bed, filled with sweet-smelling linens and net bags of lavender sachet.

Yes, she thought, those would be just the right touches to finish it off. Perhaps some Irish lace at the windows, a silver-backed brush for the vanity.

It would be beautiful. It would be perfect.

She wished to God she'd never seen the room, the house, or Rafe MacKade.

He stood in the doorway, saying nothing, watching her move through the room, as graceful as any ghost.