Shane MacKade loved women. He loved the look of them, the smell of them, the sound of them, the taste of them. He loved them, without reservation or prejudice. Tall, short, plump, thin, old, young, their wonderful and exotic femaleness pulled him, drew him in. The slant of an eyelash, the curve of a lip, the sway of a shapely female bottom, simply delighted him.
He had, in his thirty-two years on earth, done his very best to show as many women as possible his boundless appreciation for them as a gender.
He considered himself a lucky man, because the ladies loved him right back.
He had other loves. His family, his farm, the smell of bread baking, the taste of a cold beer on a hot day.
But women, well, they were so varied, so different, and so delicious.
He was smiling at one now. Even though Regan was his brother’s wife, and Shane had nothing but the most innocent and brotherly feelings for her, he could appreciate her considerable female attributes. He liked the way her deep blond hair curved around her face. He adored the little mole beside her mouth, and the way she always looked so sexy and so tidy at the same time.
He thought if a man had to pick one woman and tie himself down, Rafe couldn’t have done better.
“Are you sure you don’t mind, Shane?”
“Mind what?” He caught her quirked brow as she lifted the newest MacKade onto her shoulder. “Oh, the airport run. Right. I was just thinking how pretty you look.”
Regan had to laugh. She was frazzled, Jason MacKade, her youngest son, was squalling, her hair was a mess, and she was afraid she smelled more like Jason’s diapers than the scent she’d dabbed on that morning.
“I look like a madwoman.”
“Nope.” To give her a breather, Shane took Jason from her and jiggled the three-week-old baby into hiccups. “Just as pretty as ever.”
She glanced over to the playpen she’d set up in the back room of her antique shop, where her toddler, Nate, napped through the chaos. He had the look of his father, she thought, with a burst of love. Which meant, of course, that he had the look of his uncle Shane.
“I appreciate it. I can use the flattery. I really hate to ask you, though.”
Shane watched her pour tea and resigned himself to drinking it. “It’s not a problem, honey. I’ll pick up your college pal and get her back to you safe and sound. A scientist, huh?”
“Hmm…” Regan handed him a cup, knowing he could juggle that and his infant nephew and a few more things besides. “Rebecca’s brilliant. Over-the-top brilliant. I only roomed with her one year. She was fifteen, and already a sophomore. She ended up graduating, summa cum laude, a full year ahead of me and the rest of her class. Pretty intimidating.”
Regan sampled the tea, and the relative quiet now that Shane had Jason calmed down to bubbling coos. “It seemed she was always in some lab, or the library.”
“Sounds like a barrel of laughs.”
“She was—is—a serious type, and tended to be shy. After all, she was years younger than anyone else in school. But we got to be friends. She’d have come for the wedding, but she was in Europe, or Africa.” Regan waved vaguely. “Somewhere.”
Shane was thinking nostalgically of his own fifteenth year, when he had learned the intricacies of the back-hook bra. In the dark. “It’s nice you’ve got a pal coming to visit.”
“Well, it’s kind of a working visit for her.” Regan gnawed her lip. She hadn’t mentioned Rebecca’s purpose, except to Rafe. She supposed if she was going to dragoon Shane into meeting her friend at the airport, she ought to make it clear.
She studied him as he made faces at the baby, then nuzzled Jason. All the MacKades were stunners, she thought, but there was something about Shane. Just an extra slice of charm, she supposed.
He had the looks, of course. That thick, midnight-black hair that he now wore in a stubby ponytail. The thin, bony, mouth-watering face, with its angles and planes, lush mouth, flashing dimple and thickly lashed green eyes. His shade of green was dreamy, the shade of an ocean at twilight.
He had the build—tall, rangy, muscled. Broad shoulders, narrow hips, long, long legs. It showed to advantage in jeans and work boots and flannel.
He had the charm. All four MacKades had it to spare, but Regan thought there was an extra dollop in Shane. Something about the way his eyes lingered on a woman, the quick, appreciative grin when he spoke to one, be she eight or eighty. That easygoing, cheerful manner that could explode into temper, then, just as quickly, edge away into a laugh.
He’d probably scare the hell out of poor, shy Rebecca.
“You’re awfully good with him,” she murmured.
“You keep making babies, honey, I’ll keep loving them.”
Amused, she angled her head. “Still not ready to settle down?”
“Now why would I want to go and do that?” He looked up from Jason, and his eyes danced with humor. “I’m the last single MacKade. I’m honor-bound to hold the fort until the nephews start springing up.”