kicking vigorously. 'There are some places in this area with very strong memories.'
It was an intriguing way of putting it, Rebecca mused. 'Memories.'
Savannah shrugged. 'Violent death, and violent unhappiness, leave marks, deep ones. Of course, that's not very scientific.'
'That would depend on what theory you subscribe to,' Rebecca answered.
'I guess we've all had some experience with the ghosts, or leftover energy, or whatever you choose to call it,' Jared began.
'Speak for yourself.' Shane tipped back his beer. 'I don't go around talking to people who aren't there.'
Jared only grinned. 'He's still ticked off about when I scared the hell out of him when we were kids, spending the night in the old Barlow place.''
Recognizing the look in Shane's eye, Devin decided to step in as peacemaker. 'Scared the hell out of all of us,' he said. 'Rattling chains, creaking boards. I imagine you're looking for something a little more subtle, Rebecca.'
'Well, I'm certainly looking.' It surprised and pleased her when Nate toddled over and crawled into her lap. She hadn't been around children enough to know whether she appealed to them, or they to her. 'I'm anxious to get started,' she added as Nate toyed with the tourmaline pendant she wore.
'Dinner in five,' Regan announced, her face prettily flushed, as she hurried in from the kitchen. 'Let's round up these kids. Rafe?'
'Jason's asleep. I already put him down.'
'I'll get Layla.' Shane shot Savannah a wicked grin. 'It's going to take Jared at least five minutes to haul you up from the couch.'
'Jared, make sure you punch him after we eat.'
'Done,' Jared assured his wife, and rose to help her up.
As exits went, it was a noisy one, as was the meal that followed. The big dining room, with its tall windows, held them all comfortably, the long cherry-wood table generous enough to make room for the necessary high chairs.
The choice of spaghetti with marinara sauce, platters of antipasto and crusty bread was, Rebecca thought, inspired. There was enough for an army, and the troops dug in.
She wasn't used to family meals, to spilled milk, scattershot conversations, arguments, or the general, friendly mess of it all. It made her feel like an observer again, but not unhappily so. A new experience, she thought, one to be enjoyed, as well as assessed.
She found it oddly stimulating that, while not everyone talked about the same things, they usually talked at the same time. Both toddlers smeared sauce lavishly on themselves and over their trays. More than once during the meal, she felt the warm brush of fur against her legs as the dog searched hopefully for dropped noodles or handouts.
She couldn't quite keep up as conversations veered from baseball to the late-summer harvest, from teething to town gossip, with a variety of unconnected subjects in between.
.
It dazzled her.
Her memories of family dinners were of quiet, structured affairs. One topic of conversation was introduced and discussed calmly and in depth for the course of the meal, and the meal would last precisely one hour. Like a class, Rebecca mused now. A well-organized, well-constructed and well-ordered class— at the end of which she would be firmly dismissed to attend to her other studies.
As the careless confusion swirled around her, she found herself miserably unhappy with the memory.
'Eat.'
'What?' Distracted, she turned her head and found a forkful of pasta at her lips. Automatically she opened her mouth and accepted it.
'That was easy.' Shane rolled another forkful, held it out. 'Try again.'
'I can feed myself, thanks.' Struggling with embarrassment, she scooped up spaghetti.
'You weren't,' he pointed out. 'You were too busy looking around like you'd just landed on an alien planet.' He reached for the wine bottle and topped off her glass before she could stop him. She never drank more than two glasses in an evening. 'Is that what the MacKades look like, from a scientific viewpoint?'
'They look interesting,' she said coolly. 'From any viewpoint. How does it feel to be a member of such a dynamic family?'
'Never thought about it.'
'Everyone thinks of family, where they come from, how they fit in, or don't.'
'It's just the way it is.' Shane helped himself to another generous serving from the communal pot.
'But, as the youngest, you'd—'
'Are you analyzing me, Doc? Don't we need a couch and a fifty-minute clock?'
'I'm just making conversation.' Somehow, she realized, she'd gotten out of rhythm. And she'd been doing so well. She made an effort to settle herself, took a slow sip of wine. 'Why don't you tell me about this hay you're going to mow?'
He angled his head. He knew when a woman was yanking his chain, and he knew how to tug back. 'I'll have the mower out tomorrow. You can come on by and see for yourself. Maybe lend a hand. I can always use an extra pair of arms—even skinny ones.'
'That sounds fascinating, but I'm going to be busy. My equipment came in.' She twirled her fork and neatly nipped pasta from the tines. 'But later on, when I set up at your place, I'm sure I can find the time now and then to help you out. In fact, I'm looking forward to observing you in your natural milieu.'
'Is that right?' He shifted, turning to face her. The hand he rested on the back of her chair brushed her shoulder on the way. And her quick, involuntary jolt did a great deal to smooth out his ego, which was still raw from their earlier encounter.
Deliberately he leaned closer, just a little closer. 'If that's what you want, Rebecca, why don't you come on home with me tonight? We'll—'
'Shane, stop flirting with Rebecca.' Regan shook her head as she looked down the table. 'You're embarrassing her.'
'I wasn't flirting. We were having a conversation.' His lips curved, his dimple winked. 'Weren't we, Rebecca?'
'Of sorts.'
'Shane can't keep his eyes, or his hands, off the ladies.' Too logy and sluggish to do justice to the meal, Savannah pushed back her half-finished plate. 'The smart ones don't take him seriously.'
'Good thing Rebecca's one of the smart ones,' Devin put in. 'I tell you, it's a sad thing to watch the way some women come sniffing around him.'
'Yeah, I get real depressed about it.' Shane grinned wickedly. 'I can hardly hold my head up. Just last week, Louisa Tully brought me out a peach pie. It was demoralizing.'
Rafe snorted. 'The trouble is, too many of them haven't figured out the way to your heart isn't through your stomach. It's through your— Ow!' He winced, laughing, when Regan kicked him hard under the table.
'I'm sure you were,' Regan said primly.
'Shane's always kissing somebody.' Bryan shoveled in the last bite of his third helping, and used his napkin rather than the back of his hand to wipe his mouth only because he caught his mother's eye.
Enjoying herself now, Rebecca leaned forward to smile at the boy. 'Is he really?'
'Oh, yeah. At the farm, at the ballpark, right in town, too. Some of them giggle.' He rolled his eyes. 'Con and I think it's disgusting.'
Shane had always thought that fire was best met with fire, and he turned to his nephew. 'I hear Jenny Metz is stuck on you.'
Bryan flushed from his sauce-smeared chin to the roots of his hair. 'She is not.' But the humiliation of that, and the primal fear of girls, was enough to shut his mouth firmly.
Jared sent his stepson a sympathetic look and steered the conversation onto safer ground.
From her vantage point, Rebecca saw Shane lean over, murmur something to the hunched-shouldered Bryan
