The Heart of Devin MacKade (The MacKade Brothers 3)

“You had a good home.” This time it was Constance whose voice trembled. “You had a decent Christian up-bringing.”

“No, I didn’t. There’s nothing decent or Christian about a house where there’s no love. My children won’t be raised that way, not anymore.” Cassie spoke calmly now, amazed that she could, fascinated that she felt nothing at all. “You’re my mother, and I’ll give you all the respect that I can. All I’m asking is for you to give me the same. I don’t want you corresponding with Joe anymore.”

Constance got to her feet. “You would dare tell me what to do?”

“Will you stop writing him, Mama? Will you stop writing the prison authorities?”

“I will not.”

“Then you’re not welcome in my home. We have nothing else to say to each other.”

Staggered, Constance could only stare. “You’ll come to your senses.”

“I have come to them. Goodbye, Mama.”

Cassie walked to the door and held it open. She stiffened when Constance swept by. And then the trembling began.

Slowly, unsure of her footing, Cassie walked to the table. She braced herself on it as she lowered herself into a chair. Wrapping her arms tight around her body, she began to rock.

She was still sitting there when Devin came to the door, ten minutes later. He started to give a friendly rap on the wooden slat of the screen. But then he saw her, saw the way her shoulders were hunched and curled and the quick, monotonous rocking of her body, as if she were trying to still something inside herself. Or comfort it.

He’d seen her like that before, sitting in his office with her face battered. All he knew was that she was hurt, and he was through the door like a bullet.

“Cassie.”

She sprang to her feet. He saw alarm mix with the hurt. Even as he reached out, she scooted back, out of his way.

“Devin, I didn’t hear you come up. I was— I should—” Her mind raced for excuses, for the barrier of appearances. As always. Pale with grief, her eyes swimming with it, she stared at him. Then she began to move quickly. “Let me get you some iced tea. It’s fresh.” She was hurrying for glasses, for the pitcher, her movements jerky. “I’ve got some cobbler. I just made it this morning.”

She jolted like a spring when his hands came down on her shoulders, and the glass she had just filled smashed on the tiles. The cat that had been napping under the table took off in a blur of fur.

“Oh, God, look what I’ve done.” Her breathing hitched, and the feeling in her chest tightened. She couldn’t stop it. “I have to— I have to—”

“Leave it.” He struggled to keep his voice easy as he turned her to face him. She was shaking hard, trying to pull back. Not this time was all he could think. Not this time. “Come here,” he murmured. “Come on now.”

The instant he drew her into his arms, the dam broke. She wept against his shoulder, the fast, hot tears soaking his shirt. He kissed her hair, stroked her back. “Tell me. Tell me what’s wrong, so I can help.”

It wasn’t coherent, nor was it complete, but he understood the gist when she stuttered out words between sobs. Bitter fury curled inside him as he soothed her, kissing her wet cheeks.

“You did what you had to do. You did what was right.”

“She’s my mother.” Cassie lifted her ravaged face to his. “I sent her away. I turned my mother away.”

“Who turned who away, Cass?”

Her breath sobbed out again, and her hands balled into fists on his shoulders. “It’s not right.”

“Get away from her.” The screen door slammed as Connor burst through it. His own hands were fisted, and his face was flushed with fury, taut with violence. All he saw was a man holding his mother, and his mother crying. “If you touch her I’ll kill you.”

“Connor!” Shock had Cassie’s voice ringing sharp. Was this her baby, with his fists raised and his eyes fierce? She caught a glimpse of Emma at the door, her frightened face pressed to the screen. “Don’t speak that way to Sheriff MacKade.”

Every cell on alert, Connor stepped forward. “Take your hands off my mother.”

Intrigued, Devin merely lifted a brow and let his arms fall to his sides.

“I said not to speak that way,” Cassie began.

“He was hurting you. He made you cry.” Connor bared his teeth, a ten-year-old warrior. “He better leave right now.”