her nearly half his life already.
* * *
Joe Dolin was also biding his time. His cell was dark, but he wasn't sleeping. He was planning. He knew most people thought he wasn't very smart, but he was going to show them, all of them, soon. He'd learned how to play the game, to say what the guards and the psychiatrists and the fat-faced warden wanted to hear. He'd learned how to act as they wanted him to act.
He could be humble. He could be repentant. He could be anything he had to be. As long as it got him out.
Devin MacKade thought he'd proved something, driving by the work site, flashing his badge. Oh, he owed Devin MacKade. Big-time. He hadn't forgotten the way Devin had come after him, had cuffed him and tossed him into a cell. No, he hadn't forgotten what he owed Devin. There would be payback.
But Cassie would come first, because he owed her most of all. Everything would have been fine if she'd stayed in her place. But she'd gone whining to MacKade, sniveling about their personal business.
A man had a right to punish his wife, to give her the back of his hand or let her feel his fist when she needed it. And Cassie had needed it a lot. She still did.
No fancy divorce papers changed that. She was his wife, his property, and he was going to be reminding her of that before too much longer.
Chapter 4
Parade day was a tactical nightmare. That was to be expected. Over and above his usual reasons, Devin was looking forward to it, because it would keep him too busy to think about any personal problems.
The parade would kick off at twelve sharp—which meant anytime between noon and twelve-thirty—with the usual speeches at the square and the ceremonial laying of the wreath at the memorial.
As sheriff, he was required to be there, in full uniform. He could handle it. There were only a handful of days out of the year when he had to drag out the dress khakis and tie and shiny black shoes.
Of course, that meant dragging out the ironing board, as well, which he hated. It was the only domestic chore he truly despised, and the only one that jittered his nerves.
But by 8:00 a.m. he was pressed and dressed and out on the street. Already there were eager beavers claiming their spots, holding spaces along the curbs and sidewalks for others with lawn chairs and coolers.
Most of the storefronts and shops along the parade route were closed for the day, but he could count on Ed's being open for breakfast.
He sauntered down the sidewalk, knowing he had the best part of an hour before he had to worry about crowd control or making certain the concessionaires were in their proper places with their balloons and hot dogs and ice cream.
Summer had decided to make its debut on parade day. It was already hot, and he tugged irritably at his collar.
He imagined the tar on the street would be soft and melting by afternoon. He hoped the little girls who did their tumbles and cartwheels in their spangled uniforms were prepared.
He made a note to make certain there was plenty of water along the route for the marchers. He didn't want anybody fainting on him.
It might be a holiday, but Ed's was doing a brisk business. He could smell ham frying, coffee brewing. The scent reminded him that he'd been off his feed for the past couple of days.
After exchanging a few greetings with patrons in booths, he sidled up to the counter and took a stool.
'Sheriff.' Ed winked at him. As usual, her rhine-stone glasses were dangling on a pearl-studded chain against her scrawny chest. She wore a splattered apron, but beneath it she was ready for the celebration in a snug, midriff-baring top as red as her hair, and shorts that barely met the limits of the law.
She had bright blue shadow all the way up to her penciled brows, and her mouth was stop-sign red. Poppies dangled from her ears and were pinned to her apron.
Devin grinned at her. Only Edwina Crump could get away with an outfit like that.
'Ham and eggs, Ed, and keep the coffee coming.'
'You got it, sweetie.' Though she was old enough to be his mother, she fluffed her hair and flirted. 'Don't you look handsome in your uniform!' . 'I feel like an aging Boy Scout,' he grumbled.
'One of my first beaus was a Boy Scout.' She wiggled her brows as she took the clear plastic top off a plate of doughnuts and chose one for him. 'He was surely prepared, let me tell you. On the house,' she added, casting a sharp eye over her two scrambling waitresses.
She left Devin with his coffee and doughnut before heading back into the kitchen.
He tried not to brood, really. To keep himself sane, he set his clipboard on the counter and read over his notes and itinerary. A half hour later, he was doing some fine-tuning and trying to enjoy Ed's very excellent ham and eggs.
'Hi there, Sheriff. Locked anybody up lately?'
He swiveled on the stool and looked into the stunning and not altogether friendly face of his sister-in-law. Savannah MacKade always made a statement, Devin thought. When that lush siren's body sauntered into a room, men's hearts stopped. There was all that thick black hair falling past her shoulders, those almond-shaped eyes the color of sinful chocolate, and those ice-edged cheekbones against gold-dust skin.
And there was, Devin mused, all that attitude.
'As a matter of fact, no, not lately.' He grinned at the boy beside her—his nephew, whether Savannah liked it or not. Tall for his age, and as dark and handsome as his mama, Bryan was sporting his baseball uniform and fielder's cap. 'Riding in the parade today?'
'Yeah. Me and Con and the guys are riding in the coach's pickup. It'll be cool.'
'Kind of early, aren't you?'
'We had some things to pick up,' Savannah supplied. 'Including Connor. We're on our way to get him as soon as Bryan here fills his stomach.'
'I'm starving,' the boy claimed and, eyeing the plate of doughnuts, he leaped onto the stool beside Devin.
'Hey, Ed, you got a starving boy out here.'
'I'm coming.' She slapped the swinging door of the kitchen open and strolled out. Her grin flashed at Bryan. 'Well, it's my champ.' As sponsor of the An-tietam Cannons, Ed preened with pride. 'Hell of a game Saturday.' She saluted Savannah, leaned over the counter long enough to coo at the baby in the stroller, then fell into a deep and serious discussion with Bryan about food and baseball.
Devin didn't ask. He'd be damned if he would. He slid off the stool long enough to pick up his niece, then settled back down with the wide-eyed Layla on his lap.
Beneath the frilly sun hat, Layla's hair curled thick and dark. Her mouth—her mother's mouth, Devin mused— was serious as she watched him out of big eyes that were already easing from birth blue to MacKade green.
'Hello, beautiful.' He bent over to kiss her, and was pleased to see that pretty mouth curve. 'She smiled at me.'
'Gas.'
Devin looked up into Savannah's bland eyes. 'The hell it is. She smiled at me. She loves me. Don't you, Layla? Don't you, darling?' He traced a finger over her hand until she gripped it. 'She's got MacKade eyes.'
'They're still changing,' Savannah claimed. But she was softening. Despite the badge, and the fact that she tried to resist him, she grew fonder of Devin every day. 'They might turn brown.'
'Nah. MacKade eyes.' He looked up again, smiled at her. 'You're stuck with them. With us.'
'Apparently.'
His grin only widened. He knew she liked him, no matter how cool she tried to be. 'Want a doughnut?'
'Maybe.' She gave up and slid onto a stool. 'You don't have to hold her.'
'I want to hold her. Where's Jared?'
'Doing some lawyer thing. He's going to meet us at the inn about nine-thirty.'
'So, you haven't been by yet,' Devin said casually, very casually, as he shifted Layla to his shoulder and rubbed her back.
