The Fall of Shane MacKade (The MacKade Brothers 4)

From her vantage point, Rebecca saw Shane lean over, murmur something to the hunched-shouldered Bryan that made the boy grin.

The sound of fretful crying sounded through one of the baby monitors almost as soon as the meal was over. After a heated debate, Rebecca started on the dishes. Babies needed to be tended to, as she’d pointed out. Children put to bed. She was better suited to washing dishes than to fulfilling either of those responsibilities. And—and that clinched it—was she a friend or a guest?

While she worked, she could hear voices from the living room and more sounds through the other monitor that stood in the kitchen. Some soft, some deep. Soothing, she mused. A kind of routine that dug roots, honed traditions. She could hear Rafe talking to Nate as he readied him for bed, Regan murmuring to the baby as she nursed him.

Someone—she thought it was Devin’s voice—was calmly directing children to pick up the scattered toys. Jared poked his head in once, apologizing for skipping out on kitchen duty, explaining that Savannah was exhausted.

She waved him away.

She was sure that if anyone else had to face a mess like this, the piles of pots, pans, dishes, glasses would be daunting at best, tedious at worst. But for her it was a novel chore, and therefore entertaining.

Shane strolled in, thumbs hooked in his pockets. “Looks like I’d better roll up my sleeves.”

“You don’t need to pitch in.” Rebecca was working the problem of fitting everything into the racks of the dishwasher into a geometric equation. “I’ve got it.”

“Everybody else is tied up with kids or pregnant wives. I’m all you’ve got.” So he did roll up his sleeves. “Are you going to put the dishes in there, or study it all night?”

“I’m working on a system.” Fairly satisfied with it, Rebecca began to load. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going to wash the pans.”

She paused, her eyes narrowing a bit as she recalculated. “That would be simpler.” She caught a whiff of lemon from the soap he squirted into the hot running water. But when she bent over, her bottom bumped his thigh and had her straightening again.

“Close quarters around the sink,” he said with an easy grin.

To offset it, she merely walked to the other side of the dishwasher and worked from there. “So, is flirting with women a vocation or an avocation?”

“It’s a pleasure.”

“Mmm… Isn’t it awkward, in a small town, to juggle women?”

“I guess it would be, if you thought of them as rubber balls instead of people.”

She nodded as she meticulously arranged dishes. It would be, she mused, interesting and educational to delve into the mind of a ladies’ man. “I’ll rephrase that. Isn’t it awkward to begin or end a relationship in a small town where people appear to know a great deal about other people’s business?”

“Not if you do it right. Is this another study, Rebecca?”

She straightened again, battling a flush because it had been just that. “I’m sorry. Really. That’s a terrible habit of mine—picking things apart. Just say, ‘Butt out, Rebecca.’”

“Butt out, Rebecca.”

Because there had been no sting in the order, she laughed and got back to work. “What if I just say I think you have a wonderful and interesting family, and I enjoyed meeting all of them?”

“That would be fine. I’m fond of them myself.”

“It shows.” She looked up, lips curved. “And it almost makes me think there’s more to you than a woman-chasing farm boy. I enjoyed watching all of you together, the interaction, the shorthand conversations, the little signals.”

He set a pan into the drainer. “Is that what you were doing when I caught you at dinner? Making observations on the MacKades in their natural milieu?”

Her smile faded a little. “No, actually, I was thinking of something else entirely.” Suddenly restless, she picked up a damp cloth and walked away to wipe off the stove. “I do need to talk to you about making arrangements to work at the farm. I realize you have a routine, and a private life. I don’t intend to get in your way.”

But you will, he thought. He’d suspected it before, but that quick glimpse of sadness in her eyes moments ago had confirmed it. He was a sucker for a woman with secrets and sad stories.

“I told Regan you could come and work there, so I’m stuck with it.”

She shrugged her shoulder. “It’s important enough to me that I can’t worry overmuch about it making you uncomfortable.” When she glanced back at him, her eyes were cool again, faintly mocking. “You’ll be out in the field most of the time, won’t you? Baling hay, or whatever?”

“Or whatever.” Damned if she wasn’t pulling his strings, he thought. Both of her. For he was certain there were two women in there, and he had a growing fascination with each one.