Occasionally a car would rumble by on the road below the steep lane. Then silence would fall again, beautifully.
She’d been sure she would miss the noise of the city, the comforting grumble of life, the periodic and cheerful rudeness of it. In New York, she’d finally taught herself to join in that life, to spend time in the stores and museums, to brush up against people instead of shying away from them. It was a kind of therapy she’d prescribed for herself, and it had worked.
She’d stopped walking with her eyes on her own feet, stopped hurrying back to her own apartment, where she could be safe and alone with her books.
But she didn’t miss it. She liked the quiet here, the slower pace, and the opportunity to get to know people. Now she was going to have a drink with a very attractive man.
All in all, it wasn’t a bad end to a productive day.
She watched the headlights come and veer toward the lane. Shifting her shoulder bag, she headed toward the truck.
“That’s what I like to see, a woman waiting for me.”
“Sorry to disappoint you.” She hiked herself up and into the cab of the truck. “I wanted to enjoy the incredible weather. It’s starting to smell like fall.”
“You look pretty.” Reaching over, he flicked a finger over her earring and sent it dancing.
“So do you.” It was absolutely true—the stubby ponytail, the faded work shirt, the easy grin. “Where are we going?”
“Just down to Duff’s.” Shane slung an arm over the back of the seat and set the truck in reverse. “It’s not much, but it’s home.”
It certainly wasn’t much, Rebecca decided at first study. The tavern was badly lit, with glaring fluorescent lights over the pool table that were only softened by the clouds of smoke from cigarettes. A jukebox that blared out whiny country music. The decorations ran to scattered peanut shells, posters for beer, and an oddly charming print of dogs playing poker. The air smelled stale, and a little dangerous.
She liked it.
On their way to the bar, a scarred affair guarded by a scrawny man with an irritable look on his face, Shane introduced her to half a dozen people.
She got the look outsiders are greeted by in a close-knit community—a combination of curiosity, distrust and interest. Someone called out for Shane to pick up a cue, but he shook his head and held up two fingers to the man behind the bar.
“How’s it going, Duff?”
The skinny bartender grunted as he popped the tops of two bottles. “Usual.”
“This is Rebecca, a friend of Regan’s from New York.”
“New York City’s a hellhole.”
“You’ve been there?” Rebecca asked politely.
“Couldn’t pay me to set foot in it.” He slid the bottles over the bar and went back to scowling at his customers.
“Duff’s a real chatterbox,” Shane commented as he led the way to a table. “And the happiest man in town.”
“I could tell right off.” She took her seat. “After all, I’m a professional.”
Grinning, Shane tapped his bottle to hers. “To Miranda Catherine MacKade.”
In concert, Rebecca lifted the bottle and sipped. “So, tell me all about it.”
“Well, the couple of times I got in to see her, Savannah was a little cranky. She said MacKade men should be locked up—among other things that had to do with specific parts of the anatomy.”
“Sounds fair, coming from a woman in labor.”
“Yeah, well, Regan and Cassie weren’t quite so nasty. Then again, Savannah’s a little more out there. Anyway, she spit nails for a while. Then, after it was over, she was cooing rose petals.”
“And Jared?”
“Went from sweating bullets to grinning like a demented fool. That’s the way it goes every time we have a baby.”