"I don't know." Connor broke off an end of the biscuit and shot a look at his mother under his lashes.
"Con's a better pitcher than any of our starters." Bryan cheerfully helped himself to another biscuit and buttered it lavishly. "He can drill it right in the pocket."
"Connor, you never said you wanted to play ball." The moment the words were out of Cassie's mouth, she regretted them. Of course he'd said nothing. There had never been anyone to play ball with him. And his academic achievements had equaled failure as a man, in his father's opinion.
"I can't hit hardly anything," Connor mumbled, reddening. "I can just throw a little since Bryan's been showing me how."
"We'll have to work on your batting." Devin spoke casually. "After dinner, we could start on your stance."
Connor's lips fluttered into a smile, and that was answer enough.
A short time later, the sounds of shouts and arguments rolled in from the barnyard and into the kitchen window. With her hands filled with dishes, Cassie looked out. Devin was crouched behind Connor, and their hands were meshed on a wooden bat as Jared threw underhand pitches.
"It's awfully nice of them to play with the kids like this."
"And leave us stuck with the dishes," Savannah pointed out.
"He who cooks doesn't clean." Regan filled the sink with hot water. "MacKade rules."
"It's fair enough," Savannah allowed. But as she glanced around the cluttered, disordered kitchen, with its piles of pots and mountains of dishes, she wasn't sure who'd come out on top of the deal.
"Do you mind if I ask..." Regan caught herself, laughed nervously. "It's stupid."
Savannah grabbed a dishcloth and prepared to dig in. "What?"
"Well." Brows knit, Regan attacked the first plates. "I was just wondering, since you've both been through it, what it's like. The big guns, I mean."
Savannah glanced at Cassie and grinned wickedly. "Labor and delivery, or a march through the Valley of Death."
"Oh, it's not that bad. Don't scare her." Immediately solicitous, Cassie set down stacked plates to rub Regan's shoulder. "Really it's not."
"You want to tell her it's a walk on the beach?" Savannah asked. "Then she can curse you and Rafe during transition."
"It's a natural part of life," Cassie insisted, then struggled with a chuckle. "That hurts like hell."
"Sorry I asked." But Regan blew out a breath when she realized she couldn't let it go. "So, how long did it take?"
"For Connor, just over twelve hours, for Emma less than ten."
"In other words," Savanna put in helpfully, "the rest of your life."
"I'd tell you to shut up, but I want to know how long it took you." Regan wrinkled her nose. "Ten minutes, right?"
Savannah picked up a dish. "Thirty-two fun-filled hours."
"Thirty-two?" Stunned, Regan nearly bobbled a wet plate. "That's inhuman."
"The luck of the draw," Savannah said lightly. "And the maternity ward I was in wasn't exactly first-class. Wouldn't have mattered." She shrugged it off. "Babies come when they come. You'll get through it fine, Regan. Rafe'll be right there. And unless your doctor has a line of pro-football blockers holding them off, the rest of the MacKades will be there, too."
"You were alone," Regan murmured.
"That's the way it shook down." She glanced over when she spotted Jared at the screen door. "Game over?"
"No." His eyes stayed on hers, unreadable and deep. "I lost the draw to fetch beer."
"I'll get it." Cassie was already hurrying to the fridge. "Do the kids want anything?"
"Whatever they can get." He took the six-pack and boxes of juice Cassie handed him, then left without another word.