a cot in the back room of the sheriff’s office.
The kitchen was empty. Though it was as neat as a model on display, it held all the warmth kitchens were meant to. Slate-blue tiles and creamy white appliances were a backdrop for little things—fresh fruit in an old stoneware bowl, a sassy cookie jar in the shape of a smiling cat that he knew would be full of fresh, home-baked cookies, long, tapered jars that held the herbed vinegars Cassie made, a row of African violets in bloom on the wide windowsill over the sink.
And then, through the window, he saw her, taking billowing sheets from the line where they’d dried in the warm breeze.
His heart turned over in his chest. He could handle that, had handled it for too many years to count. She looked happy, was all he could think. Her lips were curved a little, her gray eyes dreamy. The breeze that fluttered the sheets teased her hair, sending the honeycomb curls dancing around her face, along her neck and throat.
Like the kitchen, she was neat, tidy, efficient without being cold. She wore a white cotton blouse tucked into navy slacks. Just lately, she’d started to add little pieces of jewelry. No rings. Her divorce had been final for a full year now, and he knew the exact day she’d taken off her wedding ring.
But she wore small gold hoops in her ears and a touch of color on her mouth. She’d stopped wearing makeup and jewelry shortly after her marriage. Devin remembered that, too.
Just as he remembered the first time he’d been called out to the house she rented with Joe, answering a complaint from the neighbors. He remembered the fear in her eyes when she’d come to the door, the marks on her face, the way her voice had hitched and trembled when she told him there wasn’t any trouble, there was no trouble at all. She’d slipped and fallen, that was all.
Yes, he remembered that. And his frustration, the hideous sense of impotence that first time, and all the other times he’d had to confront her, to ask her, to quietly offer her alternatives that were just as quietly refused.
There’d been nothing he could do as sheriff to stop what happened inside that house, until the day she finally came into his office—bruised, beaten, terrified—to fill out a complaint.
There was little he could do now as sheriff but offer her friendship.
So he walked out the rear door, a casual smile on his face. “Hey, Cass.”
Alarm came into her eyes first, darkening that lovely gray. He was used to it, though it pained him immeasurably to know that she thought of him as the sheriff first—as authority, as the bearer of trouble—before she thought of him as an old friend. But the smile came back more quickly than it once had, chasing the tension away from those delicate features.
“Hello, Devin.” Calmly, because she was teaching herself to be calm, she hooked a clothespin back on the line and began folding the sheet.
“Need some help?”
Before she could refuse, he was plucking clothespins. She simply couldn’t get used to a man doing such things. Especially such a man. He was so…big. Broad shoulders, big hands, long legs. And gorgeous, of course. All the MacKades were.
There was something so male about Devin, she couldn’t really explain it. Even as he competently took linen from the line, folded it into the basket, he was all man. Unlike his deputies, he didn’t wear the khaki uniform of his office, just jeans and a faded blue shirt rolled up to the elbows. There were muscles there, she’d seen them. And she had reason to be wary of a man’s strength. But despite his big hands, his big shoulders, he’d never been anything but gentle. She tried to remember that as he brushed against her, reaching for another clothespin.
Still, she stepped away, kept distance between them. He smiled at her, and she tried to think of something to say. It would be easier if everything about him wasn’t so…definite, she supposed. So vivid. His hair was as black as midnight, and curled over the frayed collar of his shirt. His eyes were as green as moss. Even the bones in his face were defined and impossible to ignore, the way they formed hollows and planes. His mouth was firm, and that dimple beside it constantly drew the eye.
He even smelled like a man. Plain soap, plain sweat. He’d never been anything but kind to her, and he’d been a part of her life forever, it seemed. But whenever it was just the two of them, she found herself as nervous as a cat faced with a bulldog.
“Too nice a day to toss these in the dryer.”
“What?” She blinked, then cursed herself. “Oh, yes. I like hanging the linens out, when there’s time. We had two guests overnight, and we’re expecting another couple later today. We’re booked solid for the Memorial Day weekend.”
“You’ll be busy.”
“Yes. It’s hardly like work, though, really.”
He watched her smooth sheets into the basket. “Not like waiting tables at Ed’s.”
“No.” She smiled a little, then struggled with guilt. “Ed was wonderful to me. She was great to work for.”
“She’s still ticked at Rafe for stealing you.” Noting the distress that leaped into her eyes, Devin shook his head. “I’m only kidding, Cassie. You know she was happy you took this job. How are the kids?”
“They’re fine. Wonderful.” Before she could pick up the basket of linens herself, Devin had it tucked to his hip, leaving her nothing to do with her hands. “They’ll be home soon, from school.”
“No Little League practice today?”
“No.” She headed toward the kitchen, but he opened the door before she could, and waited for her to go in ahead of him. “Connor’s thrilled he made the team.”
“He’s the best pitcher they’ve got.”
“Everyone says so.” Automatically, she went to the stove to make coffee. “It’s so strange. He was never interested in sports before…well, before,” she finished lamely. “Bryan’s been wonderful for him.”
“My nephew’s a hell of a kid.”
There was such simple and honest pride in the statement that Cassie turned around to study him. “You think of him that way, really? I mean, even though there’s no blood between you?”
“When Jared married Savannah, it made Bryan his son. That makes him my nephew. Family isn’t just blood.”
“No, and sometimes blood kin is more trouble than not.”
“Your mother’s hassling you again.”
She only moved her shoulder and turned back to finish the coffee. “She’s just set in her ways.” Shifting, she reached into one of the glass-fronted cabinets for a cup and a small plate. When Devin’s hand curled over her shoulder, she jerked and nearly dropped the stoneware to the tiles.
He started to step back, then changed his mind. Instead, he turned her around so that they were face-to-face, and kept both of his hands on her shoulders. “She’s still giving you a hard time about Joe?”
She had to swallow, but couldn’t quite get her throat muscles to work. His hands were firm, but they weren’t hurting. There was annoyance in his eyes, but no meanness. She ordered herself to be calm, not to lower her gaze.
“She
