The Pride of Jared MacKade (3 page)

These woods had always been his. His personal place. His intimate place. Yet seeing her here didn’t feel like an intrusion. It seemed expected, as if in some part of his mind he’d known he’d find her here if he just knew when to look.

He realized he was afraid to blink, as if in that fraction of a second she might vanish, never to be found again.

She opened her eyes slowly and looked directly into his.

For a moment, neither of them could speak. Savannah felt the breath rush into her throat and stick there. She was used to men staring at her. They had done so even when she was a child. It annoyed, amused or interested her by turns. But it had never left her speechless, as this one long, unblinking stare out of eyes the color of summer grass did.

He moved first, stepping closer. And the world started again.

“I hate stating the obvious.” Because he wanted to—and because his knees were just a little weak—he sat on the log beside her. “But you are staggering.”

Steadier now, she inclined her head. “Aren’t you supposed to be plowing a field or something?”

“Shane’s gotten proprietary about his tractor over the years. Aren’t you supposed to be going to a ball game?”

“It’s not for a couple hours.” Savannah took a deep breath, relieved that it went smoothly in and out. “So, who’s trespassing, you or me?”

“Technically, both of us.” Jared took out a slim cigar and found a match. “This is my brother’s property.”

“I assumed the farm belonged to all of you.”

“It does.” He took a drag, watched the smoke drift into the sunlight. “This strip here is Rafe’s land.”

“Rafe?” Her brows shot up. “Don’t tell me there are more of you.”

“Four altogether.” He tried to smother his surprise when she plucked the cigar out of his fingers and helped herself to a casual drag.

“Four MacKades,” she mused. “It’s a wonder the town survived. And none of the women managed to rope you in?”

“Rafe’s married. I was.”

“Oh.” She handed him back the cigar. “And now you’re back on the farm.”

“That right. Actually, if I hadn’t waffled, I’d be living in your cabin.”

“Is that so?”

“Yep. My place in town’s on the market and I’m looking for something around here. But you already had a contract on your place by the time I started looking.” He picked up a stick and drew in the dirt. “The farm,” he said, sketching lines. “Rafe’s. The cabin.”

Savannah pursed her lips at the triangle. “Hmm… And the MacKades would have owned a nice chunk of the mountain. You missed your shot, Lawyer MacKade.”

“So it seems, Ms. Morningstar.”

“I suppose you can call me Savannah, since we’re neighbors.” Taking the stick from him, she tapped the point of the triangle. “This place. It’s the stone house you can see on the hill from the road into town?”

“That’s right. The old Barlow place.”

“It’s haunted.”

“You’ve heard the stories?”

“No.” Interested, she looked over at him. “Are there stories?”

It only took him a moment to see she wasn’t playing games. “Why did you say it was haunted?”

“You can feel it,” she said simply. “Just like these woods. They’re restless.” When he continued to stare at her, she smiled. “Indian blood. I’m part Apache. My father liked to claim he was full-blooded, but…” She let words trail off, looked away.

“But?”

“There’s Italian, Mexican, even a little French mixed in.”

“Your mother?”

“Anglo and Mex. She was a barrel racer. Rodeo champion. She was in a car accident when I was five. I don’t remember her very clearly.”

“Both of mine are gone, too.” Companionably he offered her the cigar. “It’s tough.”

She drew in smoke. “This one shouldn’t have been, for me. I lost my father ten years ago, when he booted me out. I was sixteen, and pregnant with Bryan.”

“I’m sorry, Savannah.”

“Hey, I got by.” She passed back the cigar. She didn’t know why she’d told him, except that it was quiet here,
and he listened well. “The thing is, Jared, I’ve been thinking more about my father in the last day or so than I have in years. You can’t imagine what eight thousand dollars would have meant to me ten years ago. Five.” With a shrug, she pushed back her hair. “Hell, there was a time eight dollars would have made the difference between— Well, it doesn’t matter.”

Without thinking, he laid a hand over hers. “Sure it does.”

She frowned down at their hands, then slowly, casually, slipped hers away and stood. “The thing is, I have Bryan to think of. So I’ll talk this over with him.”

“Let me state the obvious again. You’ve done a terrific job raising your son.”

She smiled. “We’ve raised each other. But thanks. I’ll be in touch.”

“Savannah.” He rose, faced her on the path. “This is a good town, mostly a kind one. No one has to be alone here unless they want to.”

“That’s something else I have to think about. I’ll see you around, Lawyer MacKade.”

Jared hadn’t been to a Little League game in years. When he pulled up at the park just outside of town and absorbed the scents and sounds, he wondered why. The single swatch of wooden stands was crowded and noisy. And kids who weren’t on the field were running and racing behind the low chain-link fence or wrestling under the shade of the stands.

The concession stand drew others, with the smell of steaming hot dogs and sloppy joes.

He pulled his car behind the long line of others along the bumpy shoulder of the narrow road and walked across the uneven grass. He had an eye peeled for Savannah, but it was little Connor Dolin who caught his gaze.

The pale-haired boy was waiting quietly in line for food, staring at his feet as a couple of burly older kids harassed him.

“Hey, it’s nerd brain Dolin. How’s your old man like his cell?”

Connor stood stoically as they bumped and shoved him. The woman ahead of him in line turned and clucked her tongue at them, which had no effect at all.

“Why don’t you bake him a cake with a file in it, butthead? Bet a wussy like you bakes a real good cake.”

“Hey, Connor.” Jared stepped up, aimed one look that had the two bullies scrambling away. “How’s it going?”

“Okay.” Humiliation had stained his cheeks, fear of abuse had dampened his palms around the money he clutched. “I’m supposed to get hot dogs and stuff.”

“Mm-hmm.” In the way of males, Jared knew better than to mention what he’d just seen. “How come you’re not playing ball?”

“I’m not any good.” It was said matter-of-factly. He was much too used to being told he wasn’t any good to question it. “But Bryan’s playing. Bryan Morningstar. He’s the best on the team.”

“Is he?” Touched by the sudden light in those shy gray eyes, Jared reached out to flip up the visor of Connor’s ball cap. The boy jerked instinctively, went still, and reminded Jared that life had not been all ball games and hot dogs for this nine-year-old. “I’m looking forward to
watching him,” Jared continued, as if the moment had never happened. “What position does he play?”

Ashamed of his own cowardice, Connor studied the ground again. “Shortstop.”

“Yeah? I used to play short.”

“You did?” Astonished by the idea, Connor just stared.

“That’s right. Devin played third, and—”

“Sheriff MacKade played baseball?” Now the astonishment was mixed with a pure case of hero worship. “I bet he was real good.”

“He was okay.” It pricked the pride, just a little, to remember he’d never been able to outhit, or outfield Devin. “How many dogs you want, Connor?”

“I’ve got money. Mom gave me money. And Ms. Morningstar.” He fumbled with the bills. “I’m supposed to get one for her, too. With mustard.”

“It’s my treat.” Jared held up three fingers at the vendor as Bryan worried his lip and stared at his money. “This way I get to hang out with you and Ms. Morningstar.”

Jared handed the boy the first hot dog, watched him carefully, deliberately squeeze on a line of bright yellow mustard. “Are your mother and sister here?”

“No, sir. Mom’s working, and Emma’s with her down at the diner. She said it was okay for me to come down and watch, though.”

Jared added drinks to the order, and packed the whole business up in a flimsy cardboard box. “Can you handle this?”

“Yes, sir. Sure.” Pleased to have been given the job, Connor walked toward the stands, holding the box as if the hot dogs were explosives and the soft drinks a lit
match. “We’re way up at the top, ’cause Ms. Morningstar says you can see everything better from up high.”

And he could see her, Jared mused, as they approached the stands. She sat with her elbows on her knees, her chin cupped in her hands. And her eyes—though he had to imagine, as they were shielded with dark glasses—focused on the field.

He was wrong about that. She was watching him, walking beside the boy, flashing that killer smile or giving a quick salute whenever someone hailed him. And noticing several women—of varying ages—who put their shoulders back or patted at their hair as he passed.

That was what a man who looked like that did to a woman, Savannah supposed. Made her instinctively aware of herself on a purely physical level. It was like pheromones, she decided. The scent of sex.

Those long legs of his carried him up the stands behind the small boy. Now and again his hand touched a shoulder or shook a hand. Savannah picked up the jacket she’d set in Connor’s place and squeezed over toward the rail.

“Nice day for a ball game,” Jared said as he sat beside her. He took the box from Connor and, to make room for the boy, shifted closer to the woman. “Crowded.”

“It is now. Thanks, Con.”

“Mr. MacKade bought them,” Connor told her, and solemnly handed her back her money.

She started to tell him to keep it, but she understood pride. “Thanks, Mr. MacKade.”

“What’s the score?”

“We’re down one, bottom of the third.” She took a
healthy bite of her hot dog. “But the top of our batting order’s coming up.”

“Bryan bats third.” Connor chewed and swallowed politely before he spoke. “He has the most RBIs.”

Jared watched the first boy come out in the bright orange uniform of the team sponsored by Ed’s Café. “Have you met Edwina Crump?” Jared murmured near Savannah’s ear.

“Not yet. She owns the diner where Cassandra works, doesn’t she?”

“Yeah. Be grateful your boy’s not wearing lipstick pink.”

Savannah started to comment, then let out an encouraging shout when the bat cracked. The crowd hollered with her when the batter raced to first.

“Tying run’s on, right, Con?”

“Yes’m. That’s J. D. Bristol. He’s a good runner.”

She devoured her hot dog, fueling her nerves, while the second batter struck out, swinging. Someone shouted abuse at the ump, and several hot debates erupted in the stands.

“Apparently these games are taken as seriously as ever,” Jared commented.

“Baseball’s a serious business,” Savannah muttered. Her stomach did a fast boogie as Bryan stepped toward the plate.

Now the crowd murmured.

“That’s the Morningstar kid,” someone announced. “Got a hot bat.”

“Way that pitcher’s hurling, he’s going to need a torch. Nobody’s getting a good piece of that ball today.”

Savannah lifted her chin, and bumped the man in front of her with her knee. “You just watch,” she told him when he glanced around. “He’ll get all of it.”

Jared grinned and leaned back on the iron rail. “Yeah, a serious business.”

She winced when Bryan took a hard swing and met air. “I’ve got a buck says he knocks the tying run in.”

“I don’t like to bet against your boy, or the home team,” Jared mused. “But MacKades are betting men. A buck it is.”

Savannah held her breath as Bryan went through his little batter’s routine. Out of the box, kicking at dirt with his left foot, then his right, adjusting his helmet, taking two practice swings.

“Eye on the ball, Bry,” she murmured when he stepped to the plate. “Keep your eye on the ball.”

He did—as it sailed past him and into the catcher’s mitt.

“Strike two.”

“What the hell kind of call is that?” she demanded. “That was low and outside. Anybody could see that was low and outside.”

The man in front of her turned around, nodded seriously. “It surely was. Bo Perkins’s got eyes like my grandma, and she needs glasses to see her own opinion.”

“Well, somebody ought to give Bo Perkins a kick in the…” She let the words trail off, remembering Connor who was watching her with huge eyes. “Strike zone,” she decided.

“Good save,” Jared said under his breath, and watched Bryan step to the plate again.

The pitcher wound up, delivered. And Bryan gave a
mighty swing that caught the ball on the meat of the bat. It flew above the leaping gloves of the infield, and rose beautifully over the outfield grass.

“It’s gone!” Savannah shouted, leaping to her feet with the rest of the crowd. “That’s the way, Bry!” Her victory dance wiggled her hips in a way that distracted Jared from watching the running of the bases. She kept shouting, her hands cupped to carry the sound, while Bryan rounded the bases and stomped on home plate.

For the hell of it, she grabbed her new friend in front of her and kissed him full on his mouth. “He got a piece of it, didn’t he?”

The man, thirty years her senior, blushed like a schoolboy. “Yes, ma’am, he sure did.”

“Not exactly the shy, retiring type, are you?” Jared said when she dropped back onto her seat.

“Pay up.” She stuck out her hand, palm up.

Jared took out a bill, held it out. “It was worth it.”

“You ain’t seen nothing yet, Lawyer MacKade.”

Jared thought about the promise of those agile, curvy hips and sincerely hoped not.

I
t was probably a mistake, Savannah thought, to be sitting across a booth at Ed’s from Jared MacKade, eating ice cream. But he’d been very persuasive. And Bryan and Connor had been so excited when he offered to treat them to a victory sundae after the Antietam Cannons batted their way to a win.

And it did give her a chance to see him with Cassandra Dolin.

Connor’s mother was a frail little thing, Savannah mused. Blonde and pretty as a china doll, with eyes so haunted they could break your heart. Jared was very gentle with her, very sweet, coaxing smiles from her.

Evidently the shy, vulnerable type was right up his alley.

“Come on, Cassie, have some ice cream with us.”

“I can’t.” Cassie paused by their table long enough to brush a hand over her daughter’s hair as little Emma ate her hot fudge with tiny, serious bites. “We’re swamped. But I appreciate you treating the kids, Jared.”

She was thin enough to blow away in a spring breeze, Jared thought, and held up a spoonful of sundae. “Have a bite, anyway.”

She flushed, but opened her mouth as obediently as a child when he held the spoon to her lips. “It’s wonderful.”

“Hey, Cass, burgers up.”

“Right there.” Cassie hurried off to pick up the orders from the counter where Edwina Crump reigned supreme.

The owner of the diner sent Jared a lusty wink. The fact that she was twenty years his senior didn’t stop her from appreciating a fine-looking man. “Hey, big fellow, don’t see you in here often enough.” She patted her frizzed red bowling ball of a hairdo. “When you taking me dancing?”

“Whenever you say, Ed.”

She gave a chicken-cackle laugh, wiggled her bony body. “Got a hot band over at the Legion tonight. I’m ready and waiting,” she told him before she swung back into the kitchen.

Amused, Savannah propped her elbows on the table. “The Legion, huh? I bet it gets pretty wild.”

“You’d be surprised.” He cocked a brow. “Wanna go?”

“I’ll pass, thanks. Bry, do you think you can shovel any more into your mouth at one time?”

He scooped up a dripping spoon of ice cream, butterscotch and sprinkles. “It’s great,” he said around it. “What’s yours taste like, Con?” To see for himself,
Bryan reached over the table to dip his spoon into Connor’s. “Strawberry’s okay,” he decided, “but butterscotch is the best.”

Willing to be wrong, he eyed Emma’s hot fudge avariciously.

“No,” Savannah said mildly, and watched with approval as the five-year-old Emma curled a hand protectively around her bowl. She might be a quiet one, Savannah mused, but the kid knew what was hers. “Pack it away, honey,” Savannah told her. “I bet you can eat these boys under the table.”

“I like ice cream,” Emma said, with one of her rare smiles.

“Me too.” With a grin, Savannah scooped up some of her own. “And hot fudge is the best, right?”

“Uh-huh, and the whipped cream. Miss Ed gives you lots of it.” She put her spoon down carefully beside her empty bowl and announced, “I can go to Regan’s now. My mama said.”

“What’s Regan’s?” Bryan wanted to know.

“She’s friends with my mom,” Connor told him. “She has a shop just down the street. It has lots of neat things to look at.”

“Let’s go see.”

Before he could dart from the booth, Savannah laid a hand on his arm. “Bryan.”

It took him a minute. “Oh, yeah, thanks. Mr. MacKade. The ice cream was great. Come on, Con.”

“Thanks, Mr. MacKade.” Since Emma already had his hand and was tugging on it, Connor slid from the booth. He looked down at his sister, wrinkled his brow.

“Thank you,” she said, keeping an iron grip on her brother’s hand.

“You’re welcome. Say hi to Regan.”

“We will. Mama,” Connor called out, “we’re going down to Regan’s.”

“Don’t touch anything,” Cassie told them, balancing two plates on one arm and serving another. “And come right back if she’s busy.”

“Yes’m.”

Bryan was already out of the door, and Connor followed, hampered by his sister’s sedate pace.

“I’d say you hit a home run,” Savannah commented, leaning back to drape an arm over the back of the booth.

“You hit one yourself. That’s one of the longest conversations I’ve ever heard out of Emma.”

“It must be hard, being shy. She looks like an angel. Like her mother.”

Angels who’d already been through hell, Jared thought. “Cassie’s doing a terrific job with them, on her own. You’d appreciate that.”

“Yes, I would.” Savannah glanced over to where Cassie was busy wiping down a booth. “You’re…close?”

“I’ve known her most of my life, but no, not the way you mean. She’s a friend.” Pleased she was interested enough to ask, he took out a cigar. “And a client. Anything beyond friendship wouldn’t be ethical, when I’m representing her.”

“And you’d be a very ethical man, wouldn’t you, Lawyer MacKade?”

“That’s right. You know, you’ve never mentioned what you do.”

“About what?”

“About making a living.”

“I’ve done all sorts of things.” With a sizzling look, she took the cigar from him.

“I’ll just bet you have,” he murmured.

“Right now I’m an illustrator. Kids’ books, mostly.” Laughing, she passed the cigar back to him. “Doesn’t quite fit the image, does it?”

“I don’t know. I’d have to see some of your illustrations.” He glanced up, and his lips curved. “Hey, Dev.”

Savannah shifted to see the man who had just come in. He had the same dark, go-to-hell looks as Jared, a body that was tall and tough and rangy. The eyes were green, as well, but they were different.

She recognized the way they swept the room, checked for details, looked for trouble. Instinctively her muscles tightened, her face went blank. She didn’t need the badge on his chest to tell her this was the sheriff. She could spot a cop at half a mile on a speeding horse. She could smell one at twenty paces.

“Saw your car.” After one quick scan of the room, one quick smile for Cassie, Devin dropped into the booth beside his brother.

“Savannah Morningstar, Devin MacKade.”

“Nice to meet you.” An eyeful was Devin’s first impression. Then he caught the chill, and wondered about it. “You bought the cabin? The doctor’s place.”

“That’s right. It’s my place now.”

Not just a chill, he mused. Ice was forming. “That must be your kid I’ve run into out at the farm. Bryan, right?”

“Yes, Bryan’s my son. He’s well fed, he’s in school,
and he’s had his shots. Excuse me, I’d better go see what the kids are up to.”

And straight into frostbite, Devin mused as she slid from the booth. He winced as the door swung to behind her. “Ouch. What the hell was that about?”

“I don’t know,” Jared murmured. “But I’m going to find out.” He pulled bills out of his pocket.

“You want a guess?” Devin made way so that Jared could climb out of the booth. “The lady’s had trouble with the law.”

Damn, damn, damn. On the sidewalk, Savannah struggled to regain her composure. That had been stupid, she berated herself. That had been foolish. The trouble with letting yourself relax, she reminded herself, was that all sorts of nasty things could sneak up and bite you in the back.

Now that she was outside, her fists jammed into the snug pockets of her jeans, she realized that she didn’t know what this Regan’s shop was, much less where it was. All she wanted was to get her son and take him home.

“You want to tell me what just happened?” Jared stepped up behind her, touched a hand to her shoulder.

Savannah made herself take a careful breath before turning. “I finished my ice cream.”

“Then maybe you should walk it off.” He twined his fingers around her arm and had them quickly and fiercely shaken off.

“Don’t take hold of me unless I ask you.”

He felt the MacKade temper stir and clamped down on it. “Fine. Why don’t you tell me why you were rude?”

“I’m often rude,” she shot back. “Especially to cops.
I don’t like cops. They’re one step down from lawyers. I’m not interested in socializing with either one. Which way are the kids?”

“It seems to me we were just socializing up a storm.”

“Now we’re not. Go back and talk law and order with your brother.” The old fury, the old fears, wouldn’t quite let go. “You can tell him to go ahead and run a make on me. I’m clean. I have valid employment, and money in the bank.”

“Good for you,” Jared said equably. “Why should Devin run a make on you?”

“Because cops and lawyers love to stick their noses in other people’s business. That’s what you’ve been doing with me ever since you drove up my lane. The way I live and the way I raise my son are my concern and nobody else’s. So back off.”

It was fascinating. Even through his own bubbling temper, it was fascinating to watch her simmer and spew. “I haven’t gotten in your way yet, Savannah. You’ll know when I do. Believe me, you’ll know. Right now, I’m just asking for an explanation.”

She didn’t know how he did it. How he could look searing daggers at her and still speak in that controlled, reasonable voice. She hated people who could manage that.

“You’ve just got the only one I’m giving. Now where’s my son?”

Jared kept his eyes on hers. “Past Times—two doors behind you.” But when she started to whirl away, he took her arm again.

“I told you not to—”

“You listen to me. You’re not going to charge in there like some fire-breathing Amazon.”

The heat in her eyes could have boiled the skin off a man. “You’d better take your hand off me before I damage that pretty face of yours.”

He only tightened his grip. Under different circumstances, he might have enjoyed seeing her try. “There are two abused kids in that shop,” he began, and watched her face change. Fury to surprise, surprise to painful sympathy.

“Connor and Emma. I should have seen it.” Her gaze darted to the wide glass window of Ed’s. “Cassandra.”

“Those kids watched their mother get beaten by their father, and that’s more violence in those two short lives than anyone deserves. You go storming in there, you’ll—”

“I don’t make a habit of frightening children,” Savannah snapped back. “Whatever you by-the-book types think, I’m a good mother. Bryan’s never done without. He’s had the best I could give him, and—”

She shut her eyes and fought back the rage. Jared thought it was like watching a volcano capping itself.

“Let go of my arm,” she said, calmly now. “I’m going to take my son home.”

Jared studied her face another moment, saw the licks of temper just behind the molten brown of her eyes. He released her, watched her walk to Regan’s shop, take one more calming breath before pulling open the door and going inside.

Devin strolled out. He stopped beside Jared and scratched his head. “That was quite an interesting show.”

“I have a feeling it was just the overture.” Intrigued,
Jared tucked his hands in his pockets, rocked back on his heels. “There’s a lot going on in there.”

“A woman like that could make a man forget his own name.” With a faint smile, Devin looked over at his brother. “You remember yours?”

“Yeah, just barely. I think you were right about her having problems with the law.”

Devin’s eyes narrowed. The law, the town and everyone in it were his responsibility. “I could run a make on her.”

“No, don’t do that. It’s just what she expects.” Thoughtfully Jared turned toward his car. “I’ve got an urge to give the lady the unexpected. We’ll see what happens.”

“Your call,” Devin murmured as Jared climbed behind the wheel. Your call, he thought again. As long as the lady stays out of trouble.

Bryan stared out the car window, his face averted coolly from his mother’s. He didn’t see why Connor couldn’t spend the night. It was still Saturday, and there were hours and hours left until the dumb bell rang for school on lousy Monday.

What was a guy supposed to do with all those hours without his best bud? Chores, he thought, rolling his dark brown eyes. Homework. Might as well be in jail.

“Might as well be in jail,” he said aloud, turning his face now in challenge.

“Yeah, they play a lot of baseball, eat a lot of butterscotch sundaes, in the joint.”

“But I’ve got nothing to do at home,” he said—the desperate lament of every nine-year-old.

“I’ll give you something to do,” Savannah shot back—the typical response of every frustrated parent. And when she heard that come out of her mouth she nearly groaned. “I’m sorry, Bry, I’ve got a lot on my mind, and it’s just not a good night for a sleep-over.”

“I could’ve stayed at Con’s.
His
mother wouldn’t care.”

Direct hit, she thought grimly as she turned up the lane. “Well, yours does, Ace, and you’re stuck with me. You can start by taking out the trash you didn’t take out this morning, cleaning that black hole that passes as your room, then studying your math so you don’t end up in summer school.”

“Great.” The minute she stopped the car, he slammed out. He muttered another comment about it being worse than jail that had smoke coming out of her ears.

“Bryan Morningstar.” His name lashed out. When he pivoted back, they stood glaring at each other, angry color riding high on each set of cheekbones, eyes almost black with passionate temper. “Why the hell are you so much like me?” she demanded. She threw her face up to the sun. “I could have had a nice, quiet, well-mannered little girl if I’d tried really hard. Why did I think I’d like having some snotty, bad-tempered boy with big feet?”

It made his lips twitch. “Because then you’d have to take out the trash yourself. A girl would whine and say it was too messy.”

“I could take the trash out,” she said consideringly. “In fact, I think I will, after I put you in it.” She made a grab, but he danced back, laughing at her.

“You’re too old to catch me.”

“Oh, yeah?” She streaked forward, pounded up the bank after him. He stood hooting at her, taunting. Which was his mistake. She snagged him, making the catch more from her advantage of reach and experience than from speed, and tumbled with him to the grass.

“Who’s old, smart mouth?”

“You are.” He shrieked with laughter as her fingers dug mercilessly into his ribs. “You’re almost thirty.”