'I'll let you go,' Cassie said quickly as he whipped out his two-way. 'You're busy.'
'If you'd—' He cursed again, because she was already hurrying through the cheering crowd. 'Mac-Kade,' he snapped into the receiver.
The little situation turned out to be a harmless brawl between overly loyal students at rival high schools. Devin broke it up, snarled at Donnie, then helped a mother deal with her terrified daughter, who had lost her breakfast over the idea of twirling her baton in public.
By the time the last marching boot clicked, the last flag waved and the last balloon drifted into the sky, he had to oversee the traffic headed for the park and the cleanup detail, and help a couple of weeping lost children find their way back to Mama.
He took his time cooling off under the stingy spray of his office shower, then gratefully retired his uniform until the next official event. By the time he made it to the park and snuck the cruiser in behind a trail of cars, the picnic, with its grilling food and boisterous games, was well under way.
There was Softball, horseshoes, pitching contests, egg-throwing contests, three-legged races. He saw Shane nuzzling Frannie Spader, the curvy redhead he had so generously offered Devin a few days before.
There was Rafe, stepping up to bat, and Jared winding up to pitch. Regan and Savannah were spread out in the shade with their babies.
There were dogs and kids, big-bellied men sitting in lawn chairs, discussing sports and politics, old women fanning themselves and laughing. There was Cy, the town mayor, looking ridiculous as always, sporting a pair of violently checkered Bermuda shorts that still exposed far too much of his hairy legs.
Mrs. Metz was shouting encouragement to her grandchildren, gnawing on a chicken leg and gossiping with Miss Sarah Jane.
Good God, Devin thought, he really loved them. All of them.
He wandered over the grass, stopping here and there to chat or listen to a complaint or a snippet of news. With his hands tucked in his back pockets he watched solemnly with old Mr. Wineburger as horseshoes were tossed and clanged against the pole.
He was debating different techniques of horseshoe pitching when Emma came up quietly and held out her arms. He picked her up, settled her on his hip while Wineburger wheezed out opinions. But Devin's mind had begun to wander.
Little Emma smelled like sunshine and was as tiny as a fairy. But she was nearly seven now, he recalled with a jolt. Soon she wouldn't want to be picked up and held. She would, like the young girls he saw over at the edge of the field, be flirting with young boys, want to be left alone to experiment with being female.
He sighed and gave her a quick squeeze.
'How come you're sad?' she wanted to know.
'I'm not. I'm just thinking that you're growing up on me. How about a snow cone?'
'Okay. A purple one.'
'A purple one,' he agreed, and set her down. Hands linked, they walked toward the machine manned by the American Legion. He bought two, then settled down with her on the grass to watch the soft-ball match.
'Come on, Dev!' From his position at second, Rafe shouted to his brother. 'Batter up!'
'I'm not moving. I've got me a pretty girl here,' he shouted back.
'Mama says I'm pretty, too.'
He smiled at Emma, ruffled her hair. 'That's because you are.'
'Mama's pretty.'
'She sure is.'
Emma cuddled closer, knowing his arm would come around her, just the way she liked it. 'She hardly ever cries anymore.' In her innocence, she licked at the snow cone and didn't notice the way Devin's arm went taut. 'She used to cry all the time, at nighttime. But now she doesn't.'
'That's good' was all Devin could manage.
'And we got to have Ed the kitten, and a brand-new house, and nobody yells and breaks things or hits Mama now. Connor gets to play baseball and write stories, and I can have Lucy come right to my room to play. I've got pretty curtains, too, with puppies on them. And new shoes.'
She wiggled her pink sneakers for Devin's benefit.
'They're very nice.'
'It's 'cause you made him go away, the bad man. Connor said you arrested him and sent him to jail and now he can't hit Mama and make her cry.' She looked up at him, her mouth circled with sticky purple, her eyes wide and clear. 'I love you.'
'Oh, Emma...' Undone, he lowered his brow to her soft golden curls. 'I love you, too. You're my best girl.'
'I know.' She puckered her purple lips and planted a sticky kiss on his cheek. 'I'm going to get Lucy now. She's my very best friend.' She got to her feet, smiled her mother's soft smile. 'Thank you for the snow cone.''
'You're welcome.'
He watched her dance off, pretty as a pixie, then rubbed his hands over his face. It was hard enough being in love with the mother. What the hell was he going to do with this need for the child?
Was he going to have to settle—always—for protecting, for watching over, for being the dependable friend, the favored honorary uncle?
He was getting damn sick of it, of holding in, of holding back.
This time, when Rafe called out, Devin got to his feet. Yeah, he thought, he'd batter up, all right. God knew he needed to hit something.
There was something intrinsically satisfying about smacking a little white ball with a slim wooden bat. It was the connection, the way the power of it sang up the arms. It was the sound, the solid crack, the whoosh of air, the rising cheers as the ball lifted.
He was feeling human by the time he rounded third and headed for home. More than human, since it turned out to be Shane guarding the plate. His lips peeled back in a feral grin matching his brother's as he went into a hard, bruising headfirst slide.
There was the brutal collision of flesh and bone, the swirl of choking dust, the hysterical screams of fans and teammates. He heard Shane grunt as his elbow whipped around to catch his brother in the ribs, beside the padded catcher's vest. He saw stars as some bony part, probably Shane's knee, caught him beside the ear.
But what he heard over it all was the glorifying call of 'Safe!'
'I'll be damned.' Shane had managed to hold on to the ball that Jared had bulleted to him, even after the nasty collision. 'I tagged the sucker,' Shane insisted, waving the ball for emphasis.
Cy, the umpire, hung tough. 'You weren't on the plate, Shane. Devin was. You didn't get the tag in time.''
That, of course, was tantamount to a declaration of war.
From the sidelines, Savannah watched the very polished attorney Jared MacKade go nose-to-nose with the town's mayor, while her brothers-in-law shouted at each other, and anyone else who happened to get in the way.
'I love picnics,' Savannah commented.
'Mmm... Me too.' Regan stretched her arms. 'They're so relaxing.' She smiled up at Cassie, who stepped under the shade with them. 'Don't worry,' she said, noting the way Cassie hugged her arms. 'They won't hurt each other. Very much.'
'I know.' She tried not to be so poor-spirited. The MacKades were always yelling. But she hugged herself tighter when she saw Connor and Bryan race up to get a piece of the action.
'Don't worry,' Regan said again.
'No, I won't.'
It was good, wasn't it, that Connor could race and shout that way? He'd been too quiet for too long. Too worried, she thought guiltily. He was coming into himself more and more every day. And if picking sides over a baseball call made him happy, then no, she wouldn't let herself worry.
It was over soon enough, with vows of revenge and retaliation. She watched Bryan do a victory boogie, then nag until he was allowed up to the plate. Devin picked up a mitt, bent over and said something that had Connor goggling with pleasure. Her son raced into the outfield and joined the game.
'He's awfully good with children,' Cassie murmured. 'Devin,' she added.
'Every time he comes by the house, he has Nate on his hip the minute he steps through the door.' Regan
