"Connor."

"Well, I'll tell you the truth. I had a fight with Bryan. I hit him, he hit me."

"Honey, why would you—"

Again he jerked away from her hands. "It's my business why. I don't have to tell you everything, just like you don't tell me everything."

It was rare, very rare, for her to have to discipline the boy. "No, you don't," she said evenly. "But you will mind your tone when you speak to me."

His swollen lip trembled, but he kept his eyes steady. "Why didn't you ever tell him that? Why didn't you ever tell him to mind his tone when he spoke to you? You let him say anything he wanted, do anything he wanted."

Her own shame at hearing the bald truth from her son swamped her. "Connor, if this is about your father—"

"Don't call him that. Don't ever call him my father. I hate him, and I'm ashamed of you."

She made some sound as tears sprang to her eyes, but she couldn't speak.

"You're going to let it happen again," Connor raged on. "You're just going to let it happen."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Connor. Come inside and sit down and let's straighten this out."

"There's nothing to say. I won't stay if you marry Sheriff MacKade. I won't stay and watch when he hits you. I won't let you make me have a father again."

She sucked in a harsh breath, forced it out again. "I'm not going to marry him, Connor. I'd just started to think about it, but I would never have made a decision on sometnmg that important without talking to you and Emma. And I'd never marry anyone if you were against it. I couldn't."

"He wants you to."

"Yes, he wants me to. He loves me and wants us to be a family. He deserves a family." When she said it, she realized how true it was, how selfish she'd been to ask him to wait. "He cares for us. I thought you cared for him, Connor."

"I don't want a father. I'm not ever going to have one, no matter what you do. Everything's good now, and you're going to ruin it."

"No, I won't." She blinked the tears back. "Go upstairs now, Connor, and get cleaned up."

"I won't—"

"Do as you're told," she said sternly. "However you feel about me, I'm your mother and I'm in charge. I have to fix breakfast down here. You clean up and keep an eye on Emma until I'm finished."

She turned and walked back into the kitchen.

Somehow she got through it, the cooking, the serving, the conversations. When she'd finished clearing up, she checked on the children, suggested that they play in the yard while she tidied the guest rooms.

She refused Connor's stiff offer to help, and left them to play. She was changing the linens on the bed in Abigail's room when she heard the front door open and close.

She knew it was Devin. She knew he'd come.

She didn't know that Connor had heard the car and, demanding a vow of silence from Emma, crept into the hallway.

"Can I give you a hand with that?" Devin asked.

"No." Cassie smoothed the contoured sheet out then reached for the top one. "I've got it."

"I saw Con and Bry over at the farm this morning. You're not upset with him, are you? Boys get into tussles."

"No, I'm not upset about that."

"About what?"

She drew a breath. She'd gone over it in her mind countless times already that morning. She'd let her children down all their lives. Whatever it cost, she would never do so again.

"Devin, I need to talk to you."

"I'm here."

"Connor's very upset, very hurt." She kept her hands busy, tucking the sheet, folding it down, smoothing it. "He's sensed, or been told, something about us, and—"

"I know. I told you I saw him this morning. I'd say what he is, Cassie, is mad."

"Yes, he is. And upset, and hurt. Frightened," she added, pressing her lips together to steady them. "Most of all, frightened. I can't let him be frightened, Devin. Not after what he's already been through."

"You didn't cause it."

"Didn't I?" Meticulously she fluffed and patted the pillows into place. "Doing nothing to stop it all those years is the same as causing it. The first eight years of his life were a nightmare I didn't put an end to. I thought I was shielding him. I told myself I was. But he knew. He's ashamed of me."

"That's not true, Cassie." Devin moved to her, took her hands. "If he said that, it was because he was angry with me, and you were the nearest target. He adores you."

"I've hurt him, Devin, more than I ever realized. Maybe Emma, too. I see now that I've just started to make things right, make things up to them. Now I'm letting it change before they can adjust, before they can trust. I can't do that, Devin. And I can't see you anymore."

Panic reared up, echoed clearly in his voice. "You know that's not the answer. I'll talk to him."

"I don't want you to do that." Cassie tugged her hands from his. "I have to handle this, Devin. I need to prove to Connor that I can, and that he and Emma come first."

"I'm not asking to come ahead of them, damn it, just to be a part of your life. Of their lives. I love you, Cassie."

"I know. I love you. I always will. But I can't be with you. Don't ask me to choose."

"What are you asking me to do?" he demanded. "To just walk away? I've waited for you for twelve years. I can't keep waiting for everything to be perfect. It's never going to be perfect, it just has to be right. We're right, Cassie. You mean everything to me. So do the kids. I need you. I need all of you."

That cut her heart out. "Devin, if things were different—"

"We'll make them different," he insisted, taking her by the shoulders. "We'll make it work."

"I'm not going to ask you to wait." She stepped back, turned toward the window. "You need me, and hearing you say that is wonderful, even more wonderful than when you first told me you loved me. But Connor needs me, too. And he's just a little boy. He's my little boy, and he's frightened."

She took a deep breath, so that she could get it all out cleanly. "You want marriage, family, and you're entitled to that. You're entitled to have someone who's free to give you what you want and need. But I'm not free, and I may never be free. I can't give you what you're entitled to, so I can't be with you, Devin."

"You expect me just to step back, as if nothing's happened between us? Just step back and wait?"

"No. It's time you stopped waiting."

"There's no one but you."

Her heart ripped in two ragged pieces—one for the man, one for the boy. "You haven't let there be. I let you hold on to me, Devin. I think part of me always knew you'd be there. And that was so unfair. I'm trying to be fair now, to everyone."

"Fair? It's fair to toss me, all of what we have together, aside, because a ten-year-old boy demands it? When the hell are you going to take charge, Cassie?"

It was the first time he'd ever hurt her. She faced it, accepted it. "That's what I'm trying to do. Taking charge doesn't always mean doing what you want. Sometimes it means doing what's right for the people you love.''

"Damned if I'll beg you." Suddenly bitter, suddenly furious, he bit off each word. "Damned if I'll ask you again, Cassie. I've had enough of standing on the sidelines and breaking my heart over you. I've stripped myself bare for the last time."

"Hurting you is the last thing I want, Devin. But I can't give you what you need most, so I can't give you anything."

His eyes cut into her, as hard and searing as his voice. "It's time it was down to all or nothing. You've made your choice. Looks like I've made mine."

She listened to his receding footsteps, heard the door slam downstairs. This, she knew, was what Abigail had felt when she sent the man she loved away. This emptiness, this emptiness that was too huge for grief.

Cassie sat on the edge of the bed, buried her face in her hands, and sobbed.

In the corner of the hallway, Connor kept his hand tight on his sister's.

"Mama's crying," Emma whispered.

"I know." It wasn't Joe Dolin that had made her cry either, Connor thought. And it wasn't Sheriff MacKade.

It was him, and only him.

While Cassie wept and Connor crept downstairs with grief and guilt heavy on his shoulders, Joe Dolin took his chance. He'd waited, oh, he'd waited so patiently, for just the right moment.

The creek rushed under the Burnside Bridge with a harsh bubbling sound. The trees were thick with leaves. His supervisor was gesturing to one of the other men, his attention distracted by a nest of copperheads they'd unearthed.

That was all it took.

Joe bent to gather litter, working his way toward cover, step by careful step. And then he melted into the trees. As he walked quickly through the woods he stripped off his orange vest and tossed it into the brush beside the creek.

He didn't run, not right away. He still had trouble with the peripheral vision in his right eye, thanks to an injury he'd received when he attacked Regan MacKade. So he moved carefully at first, deliberately turning his head to judge his ground, and his distance.

Then he sprinted, wild as a dog, over rocks, through brush, and finally into the creek. Breathing hard, he kept to the water, following its curves and angles. Before long, he was wet to the waist, but he kept going, pushing himself.

Panting, he scrambled up the side of the bank, using rocks and vines to heave himself clear. Then he took a deep gulp of freedom. He would use the sun, and the direction of the creek, to show him the way he wanted to go.

When Devin made up his mind, he was as hard to swerve as a six-ton truck. So when Rafe wandered into his office, saw Devin sitting behind his desk, typing furiously with his face set in stubborn lines, he knew there was trouble.

"I'm supposed to ask you to dinner," Rafe said easily.

"Beat it."

"Regan wanted to have the whole family over tomorrow, plus Cassie and the kids."

"I'm going to be busy. Now get the hell out of here."

"I didn't mention what time," Rafe continued, and walked over to look over Devin's shoulder. "What the hell's this?"

"Just what it looks like."

"Looks like a resignation to me. What wild hair do you have up your—?"

"Get off my back."

Rafe did the brotherly thing and ripped the paper out of the typewriter. "Chill out." Before Devin could lunge to his feet, Rafe slapped a hand on his shoulder. "Look, we can pound each other, I don't mind, but why don't we get the preliminaries out of the way? What the hell are you doing resigning as sheriff?"

"What I should have done a long time ago. I'm getting the hell out of this town. I'm tired of being stuck here in the same damn rut, with the same damn people."

"Dev, you like nothing better than a rut." Rafe tossed the paper aside. "What happened with Cas-sie?"

"Nothing. Leave it."

"Aren't you the one who came breathing down my neck and made me face up to what I felt for Regan? One good turn."

"I don't have to face what I feel for Cassie. I've faced it for years. What I have to do is get over it."

"She turn you down?" The vicious gleam in Devin's eyes didn't frighten Rafe; it touched him. "Go ahead, take a shot at me. I'll give you a free one."

"Forget it." Deflated, Devin dropped back into his chair.

"Want to talk about it?"

"I'm talked out." He rubbed his hands over his face. "I'm tired. Connor doesn't trust me, she doesn't trust me. It comes down to neither of them wanting me enough. I can't keep trying to prove myself."

"The kid's come a long way, Dev. So has Cassie. Give them a little time."

"I've run out of time. I need something back, Rafe." Devin drew a deep breath. "I just can't keep hurting like this. It's killing me. I'm getting out."

Before Rafe could speak, the phone rang. Devin snagged the receiver and all but spit into it, "Sheriff's office. MacKade." He was on his feet in a flash, swearing violently. "When? That's over a damn hour ago. Why in hell wasn't I notified? Don't give me that crap." He listened for another minute, then slammed down the receiver.

"Dolin's out." He strode over to the gun cabinet, unlocked it and pulled out a rifle. "You're deputized."

Chapter 12

Joe stayed hunkered in the ravine across from the little rancher where his mother-in-law lived. He doubted they'd look for him there, not right away. They'd go to his friends, check on Cassie. Maybe, just maybe, MacKade or one of his horse-faced deputies would swing by.

But his mama-in-law wasn't home. There was no car in the drive, and the curtains were drawn tight over the front windows.

The ranch house sat on the edge of a dead-end road, and was perfect for his purposes. He kept his eyes peeled, then scurried out of the ravine, keeping low. The far side of the house faced nothing but trees, so he used that for his entry. With an elbow, he shattered a window.