The Mackades Collection (Books 1-4). Nora Roberts
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night off. Want to get drunk and disorderly?”
“Yeah.” They walked into the hall, started down the steps. “Why don’t I meet you at the tavern? Ten o’clock.”
“Suits me. I’ll see if I can round up Shane and Jared.”
“Just like old times. When Duff sees us coming, it’ll scare the—” Rafe broke off, felt his heart skip. Regan stood straight-backed and cool-eyed at the base of the stairs.
“I’ve got your delivery.” She’d worked very hard on being able to speak without inflection. “Your message said you’d be ready for it by three.”
“Just.” His stomach quivered, infuriating him. “You can have it hauled up.”
“All right. Hello, Devin.”
“Hello, Regan. I’m just on my way out. See you tonight, Rafe.”
“Yeah.” Rafe kept his eyes on Regan’s as he came down the last few steps. “Have any trouble on the roads?”
“No. They’re mostly clear now.” She wondered that he couldn’t see her heart bleeding. “I was able to get that feather mattress you wanted for the four-poster. I’ll be happy to set it up so you can be sure you want to go with it.”
“Appreciate it. I’ll get out of your way. I’ve got—” Nothing, he realized. He had nothing. “Work,” he said finally. “Give a yell when you’re ready. I’ll have your check.”
She wanted to say something, anything, but he was already walking away. Squaring her shoulders, she went back to the door to instruct the movers.
It was nearly five when she finished arranging things exactly as she wanted them. She hadn’t noticed the quiet that drifted in to replace the steady bang and buzz of labor. But as the light changed, she switched on the rose-patterned globe lamp by the button-backed chair she’d angled toward the fireplace.
There was no mantel there yet, no flames crackling. Faintly the scent of paint stirred in the air. But she thought the room was waiting to be lived in.
And the scent of roses hung like tears in the air.
A wedding-ring quilt, she mused, running her hand over one of the posts of the bed. A few pillows edged with lace to match the canopy that would drape overhead. A cedar chest, a hope chest, at the foot of the bed, filled with sweet-smelling linens and net bags of lavender sachet.
Yes, she thought, those would be just the right touches to finish it off. Perhaps some Irish lace at the windows, a silver-backed brush for the vanity.
It would be beautiful. It would be perfect.
She wished to God she’d never seen the room, the house, or Rafe MacKade.
He stood in the doorway, saying nothing, watching her move through the room, as graceful as any ghost.
Then her back stiffened. She turned and faced him. Seconds passed, though it could have been eons for both of them.
“I was just finishing up,” she managed to say.
“So I see.” He stayed where he was, tore his gaze from hers and scanned the room. “It looks terrific.”
“I have some tintypes and antique silver frames. I think they’d add a nice touch to the mantel when it’s in place.”
“Great.”
The strain of manners was tearing at her stomach. “I noticed you’ve made a lot of progress on the next bedroom.”
“It’s coming along. I’ve got a couple more ready for drywall.”
“You work fast.”
“Yeah, that’s what they always say.” He pulled a check out of his pocket, stepped forward. “Payment on delivery.”
“Thank you.” Very deliberately, she opened the purse she’d set on a table, slipped the check inside. And damned him to hell. “I’ll be going, then,” she said briskly. She turned back and bumped solidly into him. “Excuse me.” She took a step around. He shifted, blocked her. Made her heart pound like a drum. “You’re in my way.”
“That’s right.” And since he was, he took a good long look. “You look lousy.”
“Thank you so much.”
“You’ve got shadows under your eyes.”
So much for cosmetics, she thought in disgust. “It’s been a long day. I’m tired.”
“How come you haven’t been eating over at Ed’s?”
She wondered why she’d ever thought she liked small towns. “Despite what you and the Antietam grapevine might think, what I do on my lunch hour is my business.”
“Dolin’s locked up. He’s not going to bother you again.”
“I’m not afraid of Joe Dolin.” She tossed back her hair, proud of her own bravado. “I’m thinking about buying a gun.”
“Think again.”
She hadn’t really thought of it the first time, but it grated to have him dictate to her. “That’s right, you’re the only one who can defend himself, or anyone else. Back off, MacKade. I’m finished here.”
When he grabbed her arm, she swung out without thinking. Her hand cracked against his cheek before she could stop it. Appalled, she stumbled back.
“Now look what you’ve made me do.” Enraged and close to tears, she tossed down her purse. “I can’t believe you goaded me into that. I’ve never struck anyone in my life.”
“You did a pretty good job on your debut.” Watching her, he ran his tongue over the inside of his stinging cheek. “You want to put your shoulder into it next time. Not much of a crack if you swing from the wrist.”
“There won’t be a next time. Unlike you, I don’t have to hit people to make a point.” She took a steadying breath. “I apologize.”
“If you head for the door again, I’m going to get in your way again, and we’re going to start this all over.”
“All right.” She left her purse where it lay. “Obviously there’s something you want to say.”
“If you keep aiming that chin at me, you’re going to make me mad. I’m being civilized, asking how you are. Civilized is how you like it, isn’t it?”
“I’m fine.” She bit the words off. “And how are you?”
“Good enough. You want some coffee, a beer?”
“No, thank you so much.” Who the hell was this man, she thought, making uselessly polite conversation while her insides tangled into dozens of frayed knots? “I don’t want coffee or beer.”
“What do you want, Regan?”
Now she recognized him. It took only that sharp, impatient tone to bring him back. And to make her yearn. “I want you to leave me alone.”
He said nothing at all, just stepped out of her way.
Once more she picked up her purse. Once more she set it down again. “That’s not true.” The hell with her pride, with sense, even with her heart. It couldn’t be any more battered than it already was.
“You’d never have made it to the door,” he said quietly. “You probably knew that.”
“I don’t know anything except I’m tired of fighting with you.”
“I’m not fighting. I’m waiting.”
She nodded, sure she understood. If it was all he was willing to give her now, she would accept that. And she would make it enough. She stepped out of her shoes, unbuttoned her blazer.
“What are you