"I only have to sign it."
"Yes, you only have to sign it." Devin rose then, came around the desk to offer her a pen. When she made no move to take it, he bit back an oath. "Cas-sie, what do you want? Can you just tell me what you want?"
She shook her head, took the pen. She signed her name quickly, as though it hurt. "I know I've put you through a lot of trouble, Devin."
"It's my job," he said shortly.
"You're a good sheriff." When he glanced back, obviously surprised, she tried to smile. "You are, quiet and competent and good with people. Everyone knows they can count on you. My mother always said you and your brothers would end up behind bars." She flushed and stared down at the floor. "I'm sorry. That was stupid."
"No, it wasn't. I used to think the same myself." He smiled then, because just for a moment she'd sounded like the girl he remembered. "You know, Cass, that's about the longest little speech I've heard out of you in close to ten years."
"I'm always putting my foot in my mouth."
"Don't do that." He'd taken her chin to lift her head before he realized he meant to—before she flinched like a startled doe. Moving with care, he dropped his hand, eased a hip on the corner of the desk. "How are the kids?"
"They're all right. Better."
"Getting along all right at Regan's?"
"She's wonderful. I forget I'm imposing, because she makes everything so normal. She and Rafe—" She broke off, her color rising again. "You've got better things to do than listen to me gossip."
"No, I don't." He'd have done anything to keep her talking. To keep her there. "What do you think about them? Regan and Rafe?"
"I— She looked happy when she came home this morning."
"He looked miserable when I dropped by the house this morning."
Her smile was slow and shy. "That's a good sign. Rafe always needed a woman who could make him unhappy. It was always too easy for him. For all of you."
"Was it?" Thoughtful, he picked up his cigarette again, ran it through his fingers. "I remember you turned me down."
"Oh." Fumbling, she rose. "That was a hundred years ago."
"Not quite twelve. You were sweet sixteen."
"I was going with Joe." As she tugged on her coat, she wondered if she'd really ever been sixteen. "I can't even remember who we were then, or what we were looking for. Thanks, Devin, for taking care of this." "That's what I'm here for, to take care of things." At the door, she paused, but didn't look back. It was easier to speak if she didn't have to look into those cool, pitying eyes. "You asked me what I wanted, Devin. I just want to feel safe." She said it so quietly, he barely heard. "That's really all."
In a coat that was too thin to fight off the biting wind, she walked back to the cafe.
Rafe arrived ten minutes early for dinner and squirmed on Regan's doorstep like a nervous suitor. He had a bottle of wine in one hand and a bakery box of cookies designed to win the kids over in the other.
He wished he'd remembered before his brainstorm that he knew nothing about people under the age of sixteen.
As a test, he turned the knob. It was somewhat satisfying to find it locked tight. He knocked sharply, stepped back. It was Regan who opened it, as far as the thick security chain allowed.
"Okay, so far you're passing. But you should have asked who it was first."
"I looked out the window." She shut the door in his face, then, after a rattle of chain, opened it. "I had the feeling there'd be a quiz." Smiling, she studied the offerings. "No lilacs?"
"No chance." He would have kissed her if he hadn't noticed the solemn gray eyes watching him from the cushions of the sofa. "Looks like you've got a mouse in the house."
Regan jerked, then smiled when she saw Emma. "She's quiet as one, but prettier. Emma, this is Mr. MacKade. You met him at Ed's, remember?" Regan held out a hand. Eyeing him warily, Emma slipped from the couch.
She was five, Rafe knew, and tiny as a fairy princess, with her mother's pale hair and smoky eyes.
"I knew your mama when she was your age," he told her.
Emma darted behind Regan's legs and peered up at him.