The Heart of Devin MacKade (The MacKade Brothers 3)

“This was just in case. What did you do, Dev, scalp him?”

Idly Devin picked up the wig that had been dislodged during the scuffle. “Looks that way. Might as well give him a shave while I’m at it.” None too gently, he pulled the man’s head back and ripped off the fake moustache. “In case you haven’t figured it out, you’re under arrest. You have the right to remain silent…” he began as he hauled the man to his feet.

He finished Mirandizing him on the way to the door. “Y’all get up from behind there now. I’m going to send Donnie in to get your statements.”

From their station at the diner window, both boys watched Devin come out, dragging a balding man with a bloody lip.

“He got him,” Bryan said, awed. “Devin got an honest-to-God bank robber.”

“Of course he did.” Connor beamed. “He’s the sheriff.”

There was talk of little else but the attempted bank robbery. In the way of small towns, unofficial reports leaped over the wires far ahead of official ones. In many of the phone and ba

ckyard-fence conversations, it was said that Devin had burst into the bank, gun drawn, eyes blazing. In others, he had taken out the robber, who’d been armed to the teeth with automatic weapons, bare-handed.

By the end of the day, Devin found himself the recipient of enough homemade baked goods that he could have opened his own restaurant. They made up for the endless official reports he had to type and file. They nearly made up for the phone calls he was forced to field, from concerned citizens, the mayor, the bank manager, and a number of women who thought he might need a bit of comfort after his ordeal.

He was deflecting one of the offers when his brothers walked in.

“No, Annie, I wasn’t wounded.” He rolled his eyes as all three of his visitors grinned at him. “No, he didn’t shoot me. Sharilyn’s exaggerating. Ah…” A little baffled by the offer presented to him, he cleared his throat. “That’s nice of you, Annie, and I appreciate the thought, but— No, I don’t think I’m going to suffer from delayed stress syndrome. Yeah, I’ve heard of it, but— No, no, really, I’m just fine. And I’m a little tied up right now. Yeah, official business. That’s right. You take care now. Uh-huh. You bet. Bye.”

He let out a long breath, shaking his head briskly as he replaced the receiver. “Holy hell.”

“Was that Annie ‘The Body’ Linstrom?” Shane wanted to know.

“She was hitting on me,” Devin said with a snort of laughter. “Women are a puzzle. There’s no way around it.”

Jared sat on the corner of Devin’s desk. “The way I heard it, bullets bounce off your chest.”

“Nah.” Shane sniffed at one of the pies sitting on a crowded shelf. “I heard he eats bullets. Betty Malloy bake this lemon meringue?”

“Yeah.” Devin winced when the phone rang again. “Where the hell is Donnie?”

“Last I saw, he was strutting down Main Street trying to look like Supercop.” Rafe cocked his head. “Aren’t you going to answer it—Sheriff?”

Devin swore and picked up the phone. “Sheriff’s office. MacKade.”

He leaned back, closed his eyes. It was the press again. Every small paper and news bureau within fifty miles had picked up on the botched robbery. By rote, he gave the official line, danced around the demand for a more in-depth interview, and hung up.

“You’re good at that,” Jared decided. “Real stern and authoritative.”

“I’m beginning to wish I’d kicked that jerk in the head,” Devin muttered. “He’s caused me a lot of trouble. Now I’m stuck here, answering the damn phone, typing reports, with some out-of-town idiot who couldn’t hold up a lemonade stand in the back. He whines all the time.”

“At least you won’t starve,” Shane said, and helped himself to one of the cookies on a plate by the pie. “We thought we’d take you down to Duff’s, buy you a drink.”

“Can’t leave the prisoner unattended.”

“Rough,” Jared said, without sympathy. “You know, Bryan was about to jump out of his socks when he got home. You’re better than Rambo.”

Amused, Devin scratched his cheek. “Don’t tell him the last robbery I had to deal with was when a couple of kids stole underwear off Mrs. Metz’s clothesline.” He shuffled papers on his desk. “Have you been by the inn, Rafe? Everything okay there?”

“Everything’s fine. Cassie was a little upset. Word travels,” he added unnecessarily. “But I told her it was all blown out of proportion, and you didn’t do anything much.”

“Thanks a lot.”

“No problem. Connor was already writing a story about you.”

“No kidding?” The grin all but split his face.