He really should just give it up and go back and crawl into his cot. That was what Devin told himself, but he kept right on sitting at his desk with his nose in a book. The story just wasn’t holding his interest. It wasn’t the fault of the author; nothing could have held his interest just then.
He knew it was foolish, and useless, but he’d had nothing and no one to vent his temper on. So there it was, still curdling inside him. He’d actually considered heading out to the farm and picking a fight with Shane. It would have been easy. Too easy. So he’d decided against it.
He told himself it was because he was a better man than that. He’d have done that sort of thing in his teens—hell, in his twenties. The fact was, he’d probably have done it last week.
But it just didn’t suit his mood now.
He was just going to sit here, in his quiet office, with his feet up on his desk and the chair kicked back, and read. Even if it killed him.
It was after ten on a weeknight, which meant it was doubtful any calls were going to come in to liven things up. He didn’t have to be there, but he liked the solitude of his office at night, the familiarity of it. And the fact that he could be there, behind the desk instead of behind the bars.
He hadn’t even turned the radio on, as he often did to bring a little music and company into the night. The only light was the one on his desk, the metal gooseneck lamp aimed at the book in his hands. The book he wasn’t reading.
He considered getting up and brewing coffee, since he wasn’t going to bed. But it seemed like too much effort.
It was the first time in his life he could remember being so angry and so tired at the same time. Usually temper energized him, got his blood up and his adrenaline sizzling. Now he was sapped. He supposed it was because most of the anger was self-directed, though he still had plenty left over for Cassie.
When a woman hurt a man, it was the most natural thing in the world to cover it with anger.
He’d told other women he loved them. He wouldn’t have denied it. The fact was that he’d tried to love other women. He’d worked hard at it for a space of time. The last thing he’d wanted to do was moon around over something he couldn’t have.
Which was just what he was doing now.
Sulking, his mother would have called it, he thought with a grimace. He missed her more just now than he had since she’d died. And he’d missed her quite a bit over the years.
She’d have given him a cuff on the ear, he supposed, or she’d have laughed. She’d have told him to get his sorry butt up and do something instead of brooding over what he should have done. Or shouldn’t have done.
Well, he couldn’t think of anything to do, except count his losses. He’d moved too quick, pushed too hard, and he’d stumbled over his own heart.
The hell with it, Devin thought again, and let the book lie on his chest. Shifting in the chair, he closed his eyes and ordered himself to think about something else.
He needed to talk to the mayor about getting a stop sign out on the end of Reno Road. Three serious accidents there in a year was reason enough to push for it. Then there was the talk he’d promised to give at the high school for the last assembly before summer hit. And he really had to help Shane with the early haying…
The dream snuck up on him, sly and crafty. Somehow he’d gotten from the hayfield to her bedroom door. Cassie? No, that wasn’t Cassie. Abigail. Love and longing stirred in him. Why couldn’t she see that she needed him as much as he needed her? Would she just sit there with her hands folded in her lap over her embroidery, her eyes tired and lost?
It seemed nothing he could say would convince her to come with him, to let him love her, as surely he’d been born to do. No, she would close herself off from him, from everything they could have. Should have.
Anger stirred along with the love, along with the longing. He was tired of coming begging, with his hat in his hand.
I won’t ask again, he told her, and she just watched him. I won’t come to you again and have you break my heart. I’ve waited long enough. If this is the way it has to be, I’m leaving Antietam. I can’t keep running the law here, knowing you’re here, always out of reach. I have to pick up whatever pieces are left of my life and go.
But she said nothing, and he knew when he stepped back, walked down the hall and down the stairs that it was the end. Her weeping drifted to him when he left the house.
Cassie stood on the other side of the desk, twisting the strap of her purse in her fingers. She hadn’t expected to find him asleep, didn’t know if she would wake him or leave as quietly as she had come.
There was nothing peaceful about him. There should have been, the way his feet were propped on the desk, crossed at the ankles, the way the book was lying open against his chest, the desk lamp slanting light over it.
But his face was hard and tense, his mouth grim. She wished she had the courage to smooth those lines away and make him smile.
Then again, courage had always been her problem.
He opened his eyes and had her jumping like a rabbit. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“I wasn’t asleep.” At least he didn’t think he’d been asleep. His brain was fuzzy and full of the scent of roses, and for a moment he’d thought she was wearing some full-skirted blue gown, with lace at the throat.
Of course, she wasn’t. Just her tidy little blouse and slacks, he thought, dragging a hand through his hair.
“I was just going over some things in my head. Town business.”