You'll be all right, she promised. You'll go home as soon as you're well again.
She looked away from him, up, and her lovely face went pale as a ghost's.
No. He's hurt. He's just a boy. Charles, you can't.
He saw the man, saw the gun, heard the words.
I'll have no Confederate scum in my house. No wife of mine will put her hands on a Rebel.
Rafe jolted awake with the sound of a gunshot ringing in his ears. He sat where he was while it echoed away, until all that was left was his brother's quiet breathing.
Chilled, he rose, added logs to the fire. Then he sat, watching the flames and waiting for dawn.
Regan slept like a baby. With the kids off to school and Cassie taking the early shift at the diner, she indulged herself with a second cup of coffee. She still prized her privacy, but she'd discovered she liked having the company.
It was nice having the children pad around the house in the morning, having Emma offer one of her solemn kisses or Connor one of his rare smiles.
She liked beating Cassie to the kitchen so that she could fix breakfast and smooth down pale, sleep-tousled hair.
Motherhood had never been one of her ambitions, but she was beginning to wonder if she wouldn't be good at it.
She picked up a crayon Emma had left on the table. She smelled it, and smiled. It was funny, she thought, how quickly a house could smell like children. Crayons and white paste, hot chocolate and soggy cereal.
And it was funny how quickly she'd come to look forward to finding them there after work.
Absently she tucked the crayon in her pocket. Work was exactly where she had to go.
Out of habit, she rinsed her coffee cup in the sink, set it on the drain. After a last glance around, she opened the door in the kitchen and headed down the stairs to open the shop for the day.
She'd barely turned the Open sign around, unlocked the door and moved behind the counter to unlock the till when Joe Dolin walked in.
The quick spurt of alarm came first. Then she soothed it by reminding herself that he was here, and Cassie wasn't.
He'd put on weight even in the three years she'd known him. There was muscle there still, but it was cushioned by too many six-packs. She imagined he'd been an attractive man once, before his square face had bloated and his moody brown eyes had sunken behind bags.
He had a chipped front tooth she didn't know was courtesy of a younger Rafe's fist, and a nose that had been broken by Rafe, and several others.
With disgust, she remembered that he had tried, once or twice, to touch her. Had watched her, more than once or twice, with greedy eyes and a knowing smile.
Regan hadn't even told Cassie that. And never would.
She braced herself for the altercation, but he shut the door quietly, took off his billed cap and held it humbly in his hands, like a peasant before the queen.
"Regan. I'm sorry to bother you."
The penitent sound of his voice and bowed head almost softened her. But she remembered the bruises on Cassie's neck. "What do you want, Joe?"
"I heard Cassie's staying with you."
Just Cassie, she noted. Nothing about his children. "That's right."
"I guess you know about the trouble."
"Yes, I know. You beat her, and you were arrested."
"I was awful drunk."
"The court may find that an excuse. I don't."