"That was the deal. And since Rafe ate enough for two growing boys, he can help."
The Dolins looked on, awed, as Rafe cheerfully stacked plates. The men they knew would have belched, loosened their belts and plopped down in front of the TV with a six-pack.
"Daddy says girls and sissies do dishes," Emma announced, in a surprisingly clear voice.
"Emma!" Paling, Cassie stared at Rafe and waited for the retribution.
He considered making a comment about her father's brains but decided against it. "My mama always said a meal has to be earned." He said it lightly and winked at her. "And if I do the dishes with Regan, I'll probably be able to kiss her."
"Why?"
"Because she tastes almost as good as your mama's chicken and dumplings."
Satisfied with that, Emma nibbled solemnly on her cookie.
"I'll just give Emma her bath, then." Flustered, Cassie shooed her children along. "I have to turn in early. I have the breakfast shift in the morning."
"Thanks for dinner, Cassie."
"You handled that very well," Regan murmured. "That's probably the first time in years they've sat at the dinner table with a man and had a civilized conversation."
"Dolin's not only a swine, he's a fool." Rafe set stacked plates on the kitchen counter. "Sweet woman like that, beautiful kids. Any man would be lucky to have them."
A home of your own, Rafe mused. A woman who loved you. Kids racing out to meet you at the end of the day. Family meals around a table. Noise in the kitchen.
Funny, he'd never thought that was something he'd wanted, or needed.
"You made an impression," Regan went on as she filled
the sink with hot, soapy water. "A good one. I can't think of anything better for all of them than seeing a strong, intelligent man behaving in a strong, intelligent way."
She glanced back, and her smile faltered at the look in his eye. She was used to the way he stated at her, or she nearly was. But this was different, deeper.
"What is it?"
"Hmm?" He caught himself, realized he felt like a man who had nearly skidded hard and landed on very thin ice. "Nothing. It's nothing." Good God, he'd actually been thinking about marriage and kids and picket fences. "The boy, Connor. He's awfully bright, isn't he?"
"Straight As," Regan said, as proudly as if he were her own. "He's bright, sensitive and sweet—which made him a perfect target for Joe. The man bullied the poor kid mercilessly."
"He hit him?" The question was mild, but the fire was already burning.
"No, I don't think so. Cassie's fiercely protective of her children. But emotional abuse doesn't leave bruises." She shrugged. "Well, they're out of it now." She handed him a plate to dry. "Did your father do dishes?"
"Only on Thanksgiving." Rafe polished off the plate, set it aside. "Buck MacKade was a man's man."
"Buck?" Impressed, Regan pursed her lips. "Sounds formidable."
"He was tough. Had eyes that could drill holes in you if you messed up. Devin got his eyes. I got his hands." Bemused, Rafe stared down at his palms, flexed his fingers. "It was a hell of a surprise to me when I looked down one day and saw my father's hands on the end of my arms."
She couldn't have said why it touched her so to see him smiling down at his hands, a dishcloth tossed over his shoulder. "You were close to him?"
"Not close enough. Not for long enough."
"When did you lose him?"
"I was fifteen. Tractor rolled on him. It took him a week to die."
She plunged her hands into the water again, struggled with tears. "Is that why you hate the farm?"