The instant the door slammed behind him, Regan slumped against the counter. Her hands were shaking, and she hated it, hated being afraid, hated being vulnerable. She grabbed the phone, had nearly followed through on her first instinct to call Rafe when she stopped herself.

That was wrong, she thought, carefully replacing the receiver. For so many reasons it was wrong. Wouldn't his first reaction be to hunt Joe down, to fight? He'd probably get hurt and certainly more fighting wasn't going to solve anything.

She straightened and drew a few calming breaths. Where was her pride, her sense of control? She had always handled herself and any situation that came her way. Her feelings for Rafe shouldn't—couldn't change that intrinsic part of her. She wouldn't allow it. So, she would do what was right, what was practical, and what was necessary. Regan picked up the phone and dialed the sheriff's office.

"He was almost pitiful at first." The tea sloshed in her cup. With a grimace, Regan set it down again. "I guess he spooked me more than I'd thought."

"Shake all you want," Devin told her, and frowned at the crack in her counter. It could have been worse, he thought grimly. A lot worse. "I have to say, I didn't think he was fool enough to pull a stunt like this."

"I don't think he'd been drinking." Regan cleared her throat. "At least he wasn't drunk. He got steadily more angry, steadily more abusive." She reached for her tea again. "I don't have any witnesses. It was just him and me."

"You file charges, I'll go after him."

Her lips trembled upward. "It sounds like you're looking forward to it."

"You don't know the half of it."

"I'll file charges. Cassie?"

"I had one of my deputies go to the diner as soon as you called. He'll hang out there and get paid for drinking coffee and flirting with Ed. I've got another one driving by the school."

"The kids." Her blood ran cold. "You don't think he'd go after the kids?"

"No, I don't think he gives two damns about them."

"You're right." She tried to feel relieved. "He never said a word about them. Only Cassie. It was as if his children didn't exist. Well, I'll lock up and go with you now, if that's all right."

"The sooner the better. Odds are he's at home, knocking back a bottle and waiting for her.''

Once the complaint was official, Began detoured to the market. She had a feeling both she and Cassie were going to need a lift that evening. Comfort food was in order. Spaghetti and meatballs, she decided, and double-fudge brownies.

While she waited for her purchases to be bagged, she tried not to chuckle at the darting looks and whispers. The gossip brigade, she thought, was in full march.

Mrs. Metz, all two hundred and twenty pounds of her, waddled over. "Why, Regan Bishop, I thought that was you."

"Hello, Mrs. Metz." Here, Regan thought, was the brigade's head scout. "Do you think we're going to get hit with snow again?"

. "Ice storm," she said with a shake of her head. "Heard on the radio. Into February now, and don't look like this winter's ever going to end. Surprised to see you in here this time of day."

"Business is slow." Regan counted out bills for the groceries. "Everybody's hibernating."

"Know what you mean. Still, you got yourself some business over to the old Barlow place, don't you?"

"Yes, indeed." Willing to play, Regan set the bag on her hip. "It's really coming along, too. It'll be a showplace when it's finished."

"Never thought to see the day anybody'd bother fixing her up. Never thought to see Rafe MacKade come riding back into town, neither." Her curious eyes brightened. "Guess he did pretty well for himself down South."

"Apparently."

"You can't tell about those MacKade boys. They fool you every time. You know that Rafe crashed his daddy's Ford pickup on Marble Quarry Road before he so much as had a license. That was right after Buck died, as I recall. He was wild as wild can be, that Rafe. Chasing girls, picking fights, flying around on the back roads on that noisy motorcycle of his. Time was, when you found trouble, there was always a MacKade boy in the middle of it."

"Times change, I suppose."

"Not that much, they don't." Her chins wagged as she chuckled. "I seen him around town. He's still got that look in his eye. Little bird told me he had that eye on you."

"Well, your little bird's right. And I've got mine right back on him."

Mrs. Metz laughed so hard she had to put down her box of Ho-Hos to hold her belly. "With a boy like that, you'd better keep it there. He'd be harder to keep down than spit on a hot griddle. He was a bad one, Regan. Bad boys turn into dangerous men."

"I know." Regan winked. "Thaf s why I like him. You come in and browse real soon, Mrs. Metz."

"I'll do that." Chuckling to herself, she emptied her cart. "Stop gawking, boy," she snapped at the skinny clerk, who was still watching Regan's retreat, "and ring me up here. You ain't never going to be dangerous enough to reel in that kind of woman."

Amused by the encounter, Regan strolled down the sidewalk. It was a good town, she thought, lifting a hand in response to a greeting from across the street. The sidewalks were uneven, heaved up by tree roots and frost, the library was only open three days a week, and the post office was closed for a full hour every afternoon.

But despite that, or perhaps because of it, it was a good town. She didn't think Rafe realized he'd been welcomed home.

No fatted calf, she mused, crossing at the corner and turning down Main. That wasn't their style. The prodigal son just slipped back into the town's rhythm with neither a hitch nor fanfare.

When he left again, his departure would be just as unheralded. A few comments over the counter at the post office, some speculation at the diner. Then the town would move along, as easy as ever.

She hoped she would.

Shifting her bag, she circled around the side of the shop. Enjoy the moment, she reminded herself. Don't project into the future. Those were the rules; she'd stated them herself. All she had to do was follow them.

And if she found an excuse to slip by his house later, steal an hour with him, so much the better.

Bolstered by the idea, she took her keys from her pocket. She jingled them as she climbed the stairs with her groceries.

If she'd been paying attention, if she hadn't been thinking about Rafe, perhaps she would have noticed sooner. But her hand was already reaching for the door when she saw that it wasn't on its hinges, but was propped there.

Her mind stayed blank for an instant too long.

Even as she spun around to run, Joe hauled the door aside. The crash dragged a shriek from her. It was choked off to a gurgle when his arm jerked around her neck.

"Wondered which one of you'd come first. This is good." His breath panted out, sour with whiskey and excitement. "Been wanting to get my hands on you for a long time."

He pressed his mouth to her ear, excited by the way she tried to curl away from him. "I'm going to show you what a real man's all about. Going to get you out of those prim and proper clothes and show you real good."

He panted as his free hand came around to squeeze hard on her breast. Her skin crawled, and for one hideous moment the fear was so bright it blinded her eyes, and her reason.

"I'm going to get me some of what I hear that bastard Rafe MacKade's been getting. Then I'm going to fix your face so nobody thinks it's so pretty anymore."

As he started to drag her over the broken door and inside, the horror of what he would do flashed through her. She swung back. Groceries flew, smashing into the little alley below. Her heels skidded back over the door.

"Cassie gets here, I'm going to give her the same. But first I'm going to enjoy taking you down a few pegs.'' With his free hand, he yanked her hair, darkly pleased when she whimpered.

Then she remembered the keys that were still gripped in her frozen fist. With prayers screaming in her head, she flung her hand back, hacking with the point she'd pushed between her clenched fingers.

He howled like a wild dog, and the vicious grip released. Dragging in air, she flew down the steps, certain he would be on her again in an instant. At the bottom, she stumbled, went down hard on her hands and knees. Prepared to scream, she looked back.

And saw him crumpled on the landing, holding a hand to his face, while blood dripped through his fingers, Like a woman in a trance, she rose to her feet, put one foot slowly in front of the other until she reached the diner. The buzzing in her ears warned her to take deep, careful breaths.

She stepped inside, closed the door behind her, unaware that her coat was hanging by one sleeve and the knees of her slacks were torn and bloody.

Cassie dropped the tray she was holding, shattering dishes. "Regan! My God!"

"I think you should call Devin," Regan said, testing each word as she spoke it. "Joe's on the landing of my apartment. I think I hurt him." When the room revolved, she braced a hand on the back of a booth. "I have to sit down now."

"Go call Devin," Ed snapped, and rushed over to ease Regan into a booth. "Head down." In a quick movement, she had Regan's head between her knees. "Long, deep breaths, that's a girl." Eyes sharp, she scanned the room, where a half a dozen customers sat staring. "Well, what are you waiting for? One of you big strong men get on over there and hold that son of a bitch for the sheriff. You, Horace, get up off your lard butt and get this girl a glass of water."

Ed's rasped orders had everyone moving at once. Satisfied, she eased Regan up again. "Got a little color back," she declared, and sat back on her haunches. She took a cigarette from the pack in her apron pocket, lit it with a wooden match. After one long drag, she smiled. "Hope to hell you hurt him bad, honey. Real bad."

Sitting in Devin's office, with the coffee Shane had poured for her warming her hands, Regan was sure she was over the worst of it. Everything had happened too fast for anything but pure emotion. But the rabbity fear had passed now, and she could think.

Beside her, Cassie sat saying nothing. Shane paced, like a boxer revving up for a match. At his desk, Dev-in coolly filled out a report.

"I'm sorry to ask you to go through it again, Regan," he began. "The clearer your statement, the easier it'll be to close it all up."

"That's all right. I'm fine now, really." Absently she picked at her torn slacks. The knees beneath still burned. As much, she thought, from Ed's liberal application of antiseptic as from their abrupt meeting with asphalt. "I'd like to get it over with. I can—"

She broke off when the door burst open. For an instant, she saw nothing but Rafe's face—pale, hard as rock, lit with eyes green enough, sharp enough, to murder in one vicious slice.

The rabbit pulse pounded it her throat. Before she could get to her feet, he was on her, dragging her up, crushing her in an embrace that bruised ribs.

"You're all right? Are you hurt?" His voice was raw, brittle as broken glass. He couldn't think. There'd been nothing inside him but bright terror from the moment he got word of the attack. His body was ice, enveloping hers as he buried his face in her hair.

Perhaps that was why she began to tremble helplessly. "I'm okay. Really, I'm—" But her voice shuddered off. If she could have burrowed inside him, she would have.

"Did he hurt you?'' With a hand he was fighting to steady, he stroked her hair, eased her face back so that he could see for himself. "Did he touch you?"

She could only shake her head and press her face against his shoulder.

With his arms tight, as possessive as they were protective, he stared at Devin over Regan's head. His eyes fired like torches. "Where is he?"

"He's in custody."

Rafe's gaze whipped toward the cells in the back.

"He's not here, Rafe." Though his voice was calm, Devin was braced for the attack. "You're not going to be able to get to him."

"You think you can stop me?"

From behind, where he'd stood since he'd followed Rafe in, Jared laid a hand on his brother's shoulder. "Why don't you sit down?"

With a snarl humming in his throat, Rafe jerked the restraining hand aside. "Back off."

"This is the law's problem now," Devin told him, rising slowly.

"The hell with the law, and you with it. I want to know where he is."

"You find him, Rafe, I'll hold your coat." Primed for action, Shane smiled thinly. "If you had a coat. Always hated the son of a bitch."

"Shut up," Jared muttered, glancing down at the silent Cassie.