If I could, I would take one moment, any single moment at all that I've had with him, crystallize it, preserve it, and carry it with me. Then, in all the years to come, I could take it out, not just to remember, but to relive.

Love gives you the oddest fantasies.

Rebecca heard the bark of the dogs, and the voices. Like a woman hiding a secret treasure, she saved her document and changed screens. Devin opened the door, followed by boys and dogs and all the noise that comes with them.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to bust in on you."

"That's all right." Automatically she lowered a hand to rub at the dogs, who came to greet her. "I was just finished."

"Cassie's just like the rest of the women in the county. Figures Shane must be starving." He set a dish on the counter. "She sent over an apple cobbler."

"It's great," Bryan informed Rebecca. "We had some of the other one she made already." Obviously at home, he poked into the refrigerator.

"Are you writing your book?" Connor approached more slowly, his eyes on her laptop.

"Not right now. Do you use a computer?"

He was studying hers with naked envy. "We get to use them in school sometimes. But they're not like this one."

"This one's loaded. Want to try it?"

He goggled. "Really?" He looked at his father, then put his hands behind his back. "I don't know how to work this kind."

"Nothing to it." Recognizing the look in his eyes, she laughed and took his hand to draw him closer. "I can show you. I've got everything backed up."

"Now you've done it," Devin murmured. "He's going to start pining for one."

"I can get you a deal on a used one." With a grin, she rose and pointed at her chair. "Sit down and give it a go. You must know the basic functions."

"Sure." The first thing he did was type his name. Connor MacKade.

"Does it play any games?" Bryan wanted to know.

"Nope. It's just a workhorse."

Losing interest immediately, Bryan cast his eyes on the cobbler.

"Forget it," Devin warned. "We came by to give Shane a hand with the haying," he told Rebecca. "You can expect the rest to descend before long."

"Oh." She glanced toward the window. "He's out there now, mowing it."

"Baling it," Devin told her. "First you mow, then you rake, then you bale."

"Right."

"You guys head out when you're done here. And don't pester Dr. Knight."

She followed him out to the porch and paused outside the door. "Devin, you lived here a long time."

"Most of my life."

"Have you ever had any unusual experiences? Of a paranormal nature," she added when he flashed a grin.

"You're asking if I think the place is haunted. Sure it is."

She shook her head. "You say that so casually."

"I've lived with it. You get used to it."

"Not everyone,"

He followed her gaze to where Shane guided the tractor over the mowed hay. "Shane's got a stubborn streak."

"So I've noticed."

"And when it comes down to it, he's got a sensitive nature." Devin grinned again. "He'd bloody my nose for that one. But he does. Lived on a farm all his life, but he suffers if an animal's in pain, or if he loses one. Can't take it as a matter of course. There's a lot of leftover emotion in this house. It gets to him."

"Yet he lives here."

"He loves it," Devin said simply. "Every stone. Can you picture him anyplace else?"

She looked out to the hayfield again, smiled. "No. No, I can't. I could help him with what's here. If he'd let me."

"Maybe you could." Devin sighed. He was used to women falling for Shane, but it was easy to see that Rebecca was different. He doubted that she'd walk away unscathed when the time came. "I'd better go give him a hand."

She made some sound of agreement, and watched for some time before she went back into the house.

Devin told himself it wasn't his business as he walked across the field. In the easy rhythm of familiarity, he fell into step behind the baler. They worked together in silence until Shane shut off the motor.

"Rafe and Jared coming?"

"Should be on their way."

Shane nodded, squinted at the sky. "It's going to rain. We've only got another hour or two to get this in." But his gaze wandered to the house and stayed there.

"Damn it, Shane." Disgusted, Devin pulled out a bandanna and mopped his brow. "You're sleeping with her."

"Who?"

"Don't give me that. Aren't there enough women to dangle after around here without sniffing around Regan's friend? She's not even your type."

Shane worked to keep his temper in check. "You've always said I don't have a type."

"You know what I mean. That's a serious woman. Serious women have serious feelings. If she's not in love with you already, she will be. Then what the hell are you going to do?"

It cut just a little too close to the quick. Shane had always been careful to keep women from falling in love with him—seriously in love, in any case. And he knew he wasn't being careful with Rebecca.

"That's my business, isn't it? Mine and Rebecca's. I didn't push her into anything."

To drown out any more unwelcome advice, he cranked up the tractor again.

He wasn't going to talk about it, and he certainly wasn't going to worry about it. He meant to go on as he always had, and that meant, at this moment, getting the haying done before the rain hit.

He was grateful when the rest of his family showed up. It meant extra hands to load the hay wagon, drive it to the barn and off-load it. It also meant everyone was too busy working to pester him about his private life.

A man was entitled to a private life.

He cooled down considerably when it looked as if the job would be done before the storm hit. And when he could see children playing in the yard, dogs racing around and women going in and out of the house. Then there was the soothing quality of the steady vibration of the tractor under him, the voices of his brothers, that sweet, strong scent of hay. The clouds rolling in from the west shadowed the mountain, and the winter wheat he'd planted would welcome the rain.

In the kitchen, someone would be cooking, he mused, glancing over his shoulder to check the progress of the hay wagon. It wouldn't be Rebecca. She'd be playing with one of the babies. And when he walked in, covered with hay dust, she'd look over and smile.

She had the prettiest smile.

By the time they were hauling bales from wagon to barn, Shane had convinced himself that Devin was not only out of line, he was off base.

"So." Rafe took a break, gulping down some of the ice water from the cooler just inside the barn. "I didn't get a chance to talk to Rebecca. How's the ghostbusting?"

"She's into it." Sharp prickles of dry hay poked through his work gloves as Shane heaved a bale. "She gets pretty intense about something that's just a hobby."

"Hey, some people play golf," Jared commented, loading the hay lift.

"At least there's a purpose to that. Get the little ball in the hole, win the game."

"It's a puzzle to her," Jared added. "She strikes me as a woman who likes to solve puzzles, find answers."

"Maybe I'll buy her a jigsaw puzzle," Shane muttered.

"Bothers you, huh?" Amused, Rafe put his back into the work again. "Hear any chains rattling lately? Any disembodied moans?"

"Kiss my butt."

"How's it going otherwise?" Jared asked, with a vague thought to defusing an argument. Rain was beginning to patter on the ground, and they still had work to do. "Hasn't been a woman living in the house since Mom died. Cramping your style?"

A smile curved Shane's lips. "Nope."

"Well, hell." Catching Shane's look, Rafe set down the bale he'd just lifted. "You're sleeping with her."

"What am I, wearing a sign?"

"Can't you keep it in your pants for once?" In disgust, Rafe sliced his baling hook down. "Regan feels responsible for her."

Guilt and fear only inflamed a ready temper. "Why the hell should anybody feel responsible? She's a grown woman."

"You going to get that last load up here?" Devin called from the loft.

"Shut up." Shane spared him a glance before he turned on Rafe. "It's none of his business, it's none of your business."

"Anything connected to Regan's my business. And Rebecca's connected. What do you know about her? Do you know how she was brought up? How she spent all her time in classrooms, with tutors, in boarding schools?"

"What difference does it make?" Irritated because he didn't know, knew far from enough, Shane ignored the rain, the work, and let out the frustration on his brother. "She's got a brain, she uses it."

"That's all she was ever allowed to use. She wouldn't stand a chance if you aimed for her."

"What's the problem here?" Devin stepped out into the rain. "Are we going to get this load in before it's soaked, or just leave it?"

"Back off," Shane snarled at Rafe. "And stay out of my personal life."

Jared sighed. "Looks like we're going to leave it."

"This about Rebecca?" Interested now, Devin plucked out a spear of hay and gnawed on it. "We should've figured he'd hit on her."

"1 didn't hit on her."

"That's bull. She'd barely unpacked her bags and you were stalking her in my kitchen. I should've punched you out right then."

Shane's eyes narrowed. "Try it now. You've got it all figured out, don't you? Now that you've got your pretty wife and your pretty kids. All of you." There was more anger than he'd realized boiling inside him. "I live my life my way, not yours. So stick your advice and your judgments and anything else you've got up your—"

From the kitchen window, Rebecca watched the four men. She was puzzled. At first it had seemed they were having some sort of serious discussion-some logistical problem with the hay, she'd concluded. Then it had looked as though an argument were brewing.

"Something's going on out there," she commented, and Savannah, an infant over her shoulder, wandered to the window.

"Oh, they're going to go at it."

"At what?"

"Each other, what else?" She shook her head and called to Regan and Cassie, who were busy at the stove. "Our boys are about to rumble."

"Fight?" Shocked to the core, Rebecca goggled. "You mean they're going to fight with each other? But why?"

Regan walked to the kitchen door, opened it. "It's just something they like to do from time to time."

"Do you think it's early enough to stop it?" Cassie wondered out loud.

"We can— No," Regan finished as the first blow was launched. "Too late."

With horrified eyes, Rebecca watched Shane's fist streak out and plow into Rafe's face. An instant later, they were rolling in the dirt. "But— But—"

"I'll make sure there's plenty of ice." Cassie turned away from the battle and went to the refrigerator.

"Why doesn't somebody stop them?" Regan demanded. "Jared and Devin are just standing there."

"Not for long," Savannah predicted.

As if on cue, Devin reached down. If his intention was to break it up, he failed miserably. Now there were three men wrestling in the mud the rain had churned up.

"This is ridiculous." By the time Rebecca reached the kitchen door, Jared had joined in the fray.

She couldn't see how any of them could tell who was fighting whom. She certainly couldn't. All she saw were arms and fists and bodies. All she heard were grunts and curses.

Outside of movies and television, she'd never actually seen anyone brawl. It was messier than she'd imagined, and certainly looked more painful.

"Isn't one of you going to do anything? They're your husbands."

"Well." Slowly Savannah ran a hand up and down Miranda's back. "We could put some money on it. I'll take Jared for five—it's a matter of loyalty."

"Five it is," Regan agreed. "Cassie?"

"All right—but Devin was up half the night. Ally's teething."

"No handicapping," Savannah declared. "Straight odds. You want to take Shane, Rebecca? Seems fair."

Totally baffled, she stared at the women. "Why, you're as bad as they are." She straightened her shoulders. "I'm going to put a stop to this, right now."

As Rebecca marched out, Savannah slanted a look at Regan. "To borrow Bryan's phrase, she's really stuck on him, isn't she?"

"I'm afraid so. It worries me."

"I think she's good for him." Cassie joined them at the door. "I think he's good for her, too. Both of them need someone, even if they haven't figured it out yet."

The only thing Rebecca figured as she marched toward the hay barn was that these four grown men— brothers, no less—were absolute fools.

By the time she neared the battlefield, she was soaked, her hair plastered to her head like a cap. She shook her head at the sight that met her eyes. The dogs had joined the party, racing around, occasionally leaping onto rolling bodies, then dancing away with delighted barks.