The Return of Rafe MacKade

So what if she had to make some changes in herself? Hadn’t he, in his way, done the same?

He’d been hurt, she remembered. She had hurt him, infuriated him. Yet he had gone off to pound nails, instead of picking a fight. It was she who was the coward, who had been unwilling to trust, refusing to bend. He’d never tried to run her life, or her thoughts, or tried to change her. No, he’d given her room, he’d given her affection, and he’d given her the kind of passion a woman dreamed of.

But she’d held back anyway, foolishly, in a knee-jerk response rooted in her upbringing.

Why hadn’t she thought of his needs, his pride? Wasn’t it time she did so? She could be flexible, couldn’t she? Compromise wasn’t capitulation. It couldn’t be too late to show him she was willing. She wouldn’t let it be too late to…

The thought that came into her mind was so simple, and so ridiculous, she knew it had to be right. Without giving herself a moment to think it through, she revved up the car and hit the gas. In minutes, she was on Cassie’s doorstep, banging.

“Regan.” With Emma on her hip, Cassie dragged a hand through her tousled hair. “I was just—you’ve been crying.” Alarm sprinted through her. “Joe—”

“No, no. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I need help.”

“What is it?” In a flash, Cassie had closed the door and locked it. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s nine-ball?”

“What—?” Baffled, Cassie set Emma down, gave her a little pat on the bottom to send her along. “What’s nine-ball?”

“Yes. And where am I going to find a red leather miniskirt at this hour?”

Cassie thought for a moment, brushing a hand over the wet spot on her sweater that was courtesy of Emma’s bath. “If that’s what you want, we’ll have to call Ed.”



“Suck it in, sweetie.”

“I am.” Valiantly Regan gritted her teeth and held her breath as Ed tugged at the zipper of a skirt the size of a place mat.

“Trouble is, you’ve got a figure. I’ve got bones.” Mouth clamped tight in determination, Ed hauled, and tugged. Then, with a wheeze of triumph, sat back on Cassie’s bed. “She’s on, but I wouldn’t make any sudden moves.”

“I don’t think I can make any moves.” Testing, Regan took a step. The skirt, already dangerously high, snuck up another fraction.

“You got a little height on me, too,” Ed announced, and pulled out a cigarette. Her eyes sparkled with amusement as she let her rhinestone glasses fall to her chest. “If it was much shorter on you, Devin would have to arrest you.”

“I can’t see.” Though she rose on her toes and turned carefully, Cassie’s mirror offered nothing but a view from the waist up.

“You don’t have to, honey. Take my word, he will.”

“I got the kids settled,” Cassie said as she walked in. She stopped short, her mouth forming a shocked circle. “Oh, my…”

“It’s a hot little number,” Ed agreed. When she’d worn it last time, at the Legion dance, eyes had popped loose. The way Regan was filling it out, Ed imagined they’d not only pop, but go flying across the room.

“Try those shoes with it now,” she ordered. “I stuffed some tissue in the toes to bring ’em down to size.”

Regan braced a hand on Cassie’s dresser, stepped gingerly into the four-inch spikes. “I’ll get a nose-bleed in these.”

“Honey, you’ll cause nosebleeds.” Ed gave a raspy laugh. “Now let’s try some war paint.” Happily she upended her enormous purse onto the bed.

“I’m not sure I can go through with this. It’s a crazy idea.”

“Don’t go chicken on me now.” Ed riffled her hand through a department-store array of cosmetics. “You want that man, don’t you?”

“Yes, but—”

“Then sit down here on the bed and let me buff you up. This here red’s a killer,” she murmured fondly as she unscrewed a lipstick.

“I can’t sit,” Regan stated after a single attempt. “I’d damage an internal organ.”

“Then stand.” After making her choices, Ed rose and went to work. “Now, you said nine-ball, right?”

“Yeah.”

In her forty-two years—forty-five, if God was listening—she’d never seen a woman less likely to chalk a stick than Regan Bishop. “Ever play pool, honey?”

“Billiards.” Regan uttered a silent prayer as Ed advanced with eyeliner. “With my father. Several times.”

“Hell, honey, billiards ain’t nothing. Why, nine-ball’s the second-best thing you can do on a pool table.” She cackled when Cassie flushed scarlet. “Now listen up while I explain how it works.”



Balls smacked and clattered when Rafe shot his cue. The five ball thumped satisfactorily into the corner pocket.

“Luck,” Jared said, and lazily chalked his cue.

Rafe only snorted. “Six off the nine and in the side.” He made his shot, lined up the next.

“Never could beat Rafe at nine-ball.” More interested in the little redhead at the bar than the game, Shane leaned on the juke. She was all alone, and looked as cuddly as a new down pillow. “Seen her around before, Dev?”

Devin glanced up, over. “Holloway’s niece, from up on Mountain View. She’s got a boyfriend the size of a semi who’ll break you in half if you breathe on her.”

It was all the challenge Shane needed. He sauntered over, leaned on the bar and turned on the charm.

Devin gave a resigned smile. If the boyfriend came in, Devin would have to use his badge. And that would blow his night.

“My game.” Rafe held out his hand for the ten dollars Jared owed him. “You’re up, Dev.”

“I need a beer.”

“Jared’s buying.” Rafe grinned at his older brother. “Right, bro?”

“I bought last round.”

“You lost the last game.”

“So be a gracious winner. His tab,” Jared told the bartender, and held up three fingers.

“Hey, what about me?”

Jared flicked a glance at Shane. The redhead was clutching his arm like a fast-growing vine. “You’re driving, kid.”

“Flip for it.”

Obligingly, Jared took a coin from his pocket. “Call it.”

“Heads.”

He flipped the coin, caught it neatly. “Tails. You’re driving.”

With a philosophical shrug, Shane turned back to the redhead.

“Does he have to hit on everything in a skirt?” Rafe muttered while Devin racked the balls.

“Yep. Somebody had to take up where you left off.” Devin stepped back, chose his cue. “And since you’re spoken for…”

“Nobody said I was spoken for.” Rafe gave the curvy redhead a long look, felt nothing more than a low-level tug of basic appreciation. And thought of Regan, just thought of her and his heart shattered. “We’ve got an understanding.” He bit the words off, but still tasted bitterness. “Nothing serious.”

“He’s hooked.” Jared grinned and lifted his beer. “And his heart looks so pretty, right there on his sleeve.”

No way he was going to take the bait, Rafe thought. It was bad enough having your heart broken without having your family watch you fumble with the pieces. “You want to eat this cue?” Rafe executed his break, smugly pleased when two balls rolled into pockets.

“She came into the house today,” Devin said conversationally, “and that hook in his mouth dragged him right down the stairs like a trout on a fly. I think there were stars in his eyes, too.” Devin met Rafe’s steely look equably. “Yep, I’m sure of it.”

“Pretty soon he’s going to start shaving regular and wearing clean shirts.” Jared shook his head, as if in mourning. “Then we’ll know we’ve lost him.”

“Then it’ll be antique shows and ballets.” Devin heaved a heavy sigh. “Poetry readings.”

Because that hit entirely too close to home, Rafe jerked the cue and missed his shot. He wasn’t going to think of her. Damn it, he wasn’t going to give Regan or the hole in his gut a single thought. “Keep it up and I’ll take both of you on.”

“Well, I’m shaking.” After lining up his shot, Devin leaned over the table. He made his ball cleanly. As he circled the table, he sniffed at Rafe. “That cologne, lover-boy?”

“I’m not wearing any damn—” Rafe hissed out a breath. “You’re just jealous ’cause you’re sleeping alone on some cot outside a cell every night.”

“You got me there.”

Enjoying himself, Jared plugged coins into the jukebox. “What time do you have to be home, Rafe? We wouldn’t want you getting conked with a rolling pin for missing curfew.”

“How long have you been a practicing ass?” It was some small satisfaction to note that Duff was shooting them uneasy glances. A man didn’t like to lose his touch. “What’s the fine for breaking up a couple of chairs?”

Nostalgia swam sweetly along with the beer in Devin’s bloodstream. Unless he counted breaking his brothers up, and you could hardly count that, he hadn’t been in a decent fight in years.

“Can’t let you do it,” he said, with mildly drunk regret. “I carry a badge.”

“Take it off.” Rafe grinned. “And let’s beat hell out of Shane. For old times’ sake.”

Jared tapped his fingers on the juke in time to the music. He eyed their youngest brother, who was definitely making progress with the redhead. That alone was reason enough to punch him a few times.

“I’ve got enough on me to post bond,” Jared told them. “And a little extra to bribe the sheriff, if we have to.”

Devin sighed, straightened from the table. With brotherly affection, he studied the unsuspecting Shane. “Hell, he’s going to get his butt whipped before the night’s over, anyway, if he keeps playing with that girl. We might as well do it first.”

“We’ll be more humane,” Jared agreed.

The bartender watched them move together, recognized, with despair, the look in each eye. “Not in here. Come on now, Devin, you’re the law.”

“Just doing my brotherly duty.”

“What’s the idea?” Scenting trouble, Shane danced back from the bar. He scanned his brothers, shifted as they moved to flank him. “Three against one?” His mouth curved in a wide, reckless grin as other customers moved to safety. “Come on, then.”

He crouched, braced, then made the mistake of glancing over as the door opened. His mouth had already fallen open in surprise when Rafe caught him low and sent them both crashing into a table.

“You make it too easy.” Laughing, Rafe turned and caught him in a cheerful headlock. Then he went numb, right down to his toes.

The skirt barely made it past the legal limit. It wasn’t tight. It went beyond tight as it squeezed possessively over curvy hips in an eye-popping fire-engine red. The legs went on. And on. Rafe’s dazzled gape followed them down to the razor-sharp skyscraper heels in that same bold color.

When he managed to lift his gaze, he saw that the skinny black top was as snug as the skirt, and dipped down low over firm, unfettered breasts. It took him a full ten seconds to get to her face.

Her mouth was red and wet and curved. Beside it, the little mole was a bold exclamation of sex. Her hair was tousled, and her eyes were shadowed and heavy. She looked like a woman who’d just climbed out of bed, and was willing to climb right back in.

“Holy hell.” It was Shane’s strained muttering that jolted him out of shock. “Is that Regan in there? She is hot.”

Rafe didn’t have the strength to put much behind the punch. When he gained his feet and moved to the door, his head was still buzzing, as if he’d been the one to take the blow.

“What are you doing?”

She moved a shoulder, causing the excuse for a blouse to follow her stretch. “I thought I’d play a little nine-ball.”

There was something stuck in his throat. “Nine-ball?”

“Yeah.” She sauntered over to the bar, leaned an elbow on it. “Going to buy me a beer, MacKade?”





Chapter 12




If he kept staring at her, she was going to lose it, Regan thought. She was already so nervous that if her clothes hadn’t been girdled on, she’d have jumped out of them.

Because she’d wanted to make an entrance, she’d left her coat in the car. Only the heat of possible humiliation kept her teeth from chattering.

Her feet were killing her.

When Rafe didn’t answer, she scanned the room and tried not to swallow audibly at the stares. Gathering courage, she flashed a smile at the bartender. Even the weary-eyed Duff was goggling at her.

“I’ll have what he’s having.” When she had the beer in her hand, she turned back. No one had moved a muscle. It was either run or play it out, Regan told herself, taking a quick swallow of beer.

She hated beer.

“Are you going to rack them, MacKade, or am I?”

“I’ll rack them,” Jared interjected helpfully. His hands were still a little sweaty, but he’d gotten over the worst of the shock. Rafe’s face was almost as much of a pleasure to watch as the sway of Regan’s hips, as she sauntered over to study the arsenal of cues.

Rafe heard the clatter of balls, and blinked. “You said you wanted an early night.”

“Changed my mind.” Her voice was breathy from necessity, rather than design. The leather and Spandex were cutting off her air supply. “I had all this…energy all of a sudden.” She walked slowly to the table, resisting the urge to tug at the hem of the skirt. “Who wants to play?”

Half a dozen men moved with scraping chairs and clattering boots. Rafe’s snarl was the low, vicious sound of a wild dog guarding his bone. Half a dozen men decided they weren’t in the mood for pool after all.

“This is a joke, right?”

Regan took the cue Devin offered, smiled and stroked her fingertips from the tip down the shaft. Someone moaned. “I felt like some action, that’s all.”

With her confidence building, she passed the bottle of beer to Jared. This, at least, she thought, she knew how to do. Planting her feet, bending one knee for balance, she leaned over the table. Leather strained.

Rafe’s elbow plowed into Shane’s gut. “Keep looking where you’re looking, and you’ll be blind for a week.”

“Jeez, Rafe.” Shane tucked his hands in his pockets and prepared to watch the show. “Where’s a guy supposed to look?”

She broke cleanly, even managed to sink a ball. With the rules of the game Ed had drilled into her flipping through her head, she circled the table. She had to stop, smile, as Devin was still rooted in her path.

“You’re blocking the table, Sheriff.”

“Oh. Yeah, right. Sorry.” When she draped herself over the felt this time, his eyes met Jared’s. They grinned at each other like two kids over a shiny new bike.

She managed to sink one more. That made her cocky enough to try a complicated shot that required a little English. Her hips wiggled as she set her position. From behind her, Jared stuck a hand under his shirt and mimed a thumping heart.

“You think what you’re thinking again, and I’ll rip your lungs out,” Rafe muttered.

As the ball missed the pocket by a good six inches, Regan pouted with that red-slicked mouth. “Oops.” She straightened, batted thickly mascaraed eyes at Rafe. “Your turn.” She put her weight on one foot and ran a hand down his shirtfront. “Want me to…chalk your cue?”

The room exploded with whoops and whistles. Some brave soul made a suggestion that had Rafe’s lips peeling back in a growl. “That does it.”

He grabbed her cue, tossed it at Devin, then clamped a hand over hers to drag her toward the door.

“But we haven’t finished the game,” she protested, forced to scramble on the skinny heels to keep up with him.

He yanked his jacket from the hook by the door and bundled it around her. “Put this on before I have to kill somebody.” She was still struggling with it when he shoved her through the door.

Devin let out a long, appreciative sigh. “He’s a dead man.”

“Yeah.” Shane rubbed a hand over his stomach. “Did you ever notice her—”

In Rafe’s stead, Jared rapped him with a cue.

“I have my car,” Regan began, while Rafe towed her along.

He dragged open the door of his own. “Get in. Now.”

“I could follow you.”

“Now.”

“All right.” It wasn’t a simple operation to get into his car. Snug red leather rode higher as she tried for graceful and dignified as she lowered herself into the seat. Rafe ground his teeth audibly. “Where are we going?”

“I’m taking you home.” He slammed her door, stormed around the hood, then slammed his own hard enough to rock the car. “And if you’re smart, you won’t talk to me.”

She was smart. When his brakes squealed at the base of her steps, she stayed where she was. There was no possible way she could maneuver herself out of the tiny sports car without help.

He gave it to her, though no one would have called the hard yank a gentlemanly gesture. “Keys,” he snapped, then snatched them out of her hand and unlocked the door himself.

Miffed, she strode in ahead of him. “I assume you’re coming in, so—”

She was rapped back against the door, his mouth hotly devouring hers. The heels put them head-to-head, heat to heat, with a pressure that fried his already overheated brain. Both his mouth and his hands were hard, possessive. He could only think of branding her his.

His breath was ragged when he jerked back. He’d be damned if she’d work him this way again, make him a victim of his own needs.

He tugged his jacket off her shoulders, tossed it aside. “Get out of those clothes.”

Something in her sank. With her lashes lowered, she reached around for the zipper of the skirt.

“No, I didn’t mean— God.” If she peeled herself out of that leather in front of him, he was lost. It was the confusion in her eyes that had him leveling his voice. “I meant I’d appreciate it if you changed into something else. Please.”

“I thought you—”

“I know what you thought.” He was dying here. “Just change, so I can talk to you.”

“All right.”

He knew it was a mistake to watch her walk toward the bedroom. But he was only human.

Inside, Regan stepped out of the ankle-breaking shoes, stripped off the red leather. It was good to breathe again. She wanted to be amused, at both of them, but she felt so incredibly stupid. She’d made a spectacle of herself, thrown aside every scrap of dignity. For nothing.

No, she thought as she fastened on pleated trousers. For him. She’d done it for him, and he didn’t even have the sense to appreciate it.

When she came back in, face washed, her hair brushed back into place, an ivory sweater tucked neatly into the waistband of black slacks, he was pacing.

“I want to know what you were thinking of,” he said without preamble. “Just what you were thinking of, walking into a bar dressed like that?”