'That's right.'
'And your reputation?' Savannah turned back. 'What are all those institutes and the suits who run them going to say about Dr. Knight's interest in the occult?'
'Some will shake their heads and think it's too bad a brilliant young scientist lost her mind. Others...well, there are some excellent and serious studies being done on the paranormal at some of those institutes. And—' she smiled '—since I'm doing this for me, I don't really care what they think.'
Savannah sat again, gathered Layla up in her arms. 'Why haven't you talked to Shane?'
'Excuse me?'
'You said you'd interviewed all of us, and intend to use all of us in this book. But you never mentioned Shane.'
'He's not comfortable with it.' Rebecca busied herself tucking her tape recorder back into her bag. 'He's been very tolerant of what I'm doing, but he doesn't like it. In any case, he doesn't fit into the equation. Six people, three couples. The connection.'
Nodding, Savannah ran her tongue around her teeth. 'You know, math isn't my strong point, but I figure eight people, four couples.' She gave Layla a pat as the child wiggled down from her lap and went off to look for other entertainment. 'What about your connection? You, Shane, the farm.'
'It doesn't really apply.'
'Of course it does. It's obvious you're in love with him.'
'Is it?' Rebecca managed to say, relatively calmly. 'You're mistaking attraction, affection and a physical relationship for— Hell. Are you sure you're not psychic?'
Poor thing, Savannah mused, sympathizing with any woman who'd tumbled for a MacKade. Poor, lucky thing. 'You're a fairly controlled sort of woman, Rebecca. You don't advertise your feelings on your face. But I see things.' Savannah waved a hand. 'I'm an artist, and I have shamans for ancestors. You can chalk it up to that, or to the fact that one woman in love often recognizes another.'
Rebecca looked down at her hands. 'I don't know whether to be relieved or worried with that rundown.'
'I like you. I don't like everyone. I'm selective. Actually, I didn't think I'd like you at all.' Comfortable, she stretched out her legs again. 'A professional intellectual, scientist, all those initials after your name. I got my high school equivalency when I was carrying Layla, and when Regan talked of you, all I saw was this enormous brain wearing horn-rim glasses.'
The image had Rebecca snorting out a laugh. She'd come a good ways, she thought, when such a description brought amusement rather than pain. 'If you sketch me that way, I'll hang it in my apartment.'
'That's a deal. Anyway, I did like you. Do like you. If I'd sat down and tried to piece together the woman who would suit Shane, she wouldn't have been anything like you. And I'd have been wrong. The farmer and the savant.' The phrase made Savannah grin. Poor Shane, she thought. Poor, lucky Shane. 'In this case, it works. What are you going to do about it?'
'Enjoy it. While it lasts.'
'And that's enough?'
'It's more than I've had before.' There would be a price, of course, she thought. She was willing to pay it. 'I'm a practical woman, Savannah.'
'Maybe. But how brave are you, and how dedicated? Are you really going to write a book, take all that time, put in all that effort, and leave out a piece of it? Your piece, and Shane's? Can you ignore that connection?'
Could she? Rebecca asked herself as she walked back to the farm through the woods. For the book, yes. She could and would do that for Shane. Personally, she'd accepted that the connection between them would remain with her forever.
Yet she could leave, would leave. It would hurt, but she would survive it. Intellectually, she knew no one really died of a broken heart. Emotionally, she suspected some could.
But it would be easier to live when she'd had love than it had been to exist without ever knowing it.
She knew her Greek tragedies well. There was always pleasure, and there was always payment.
Her bill, so to speak, was coming due, she knew. If Savannah could read her heart so easily, others would. Shane might, and then the payment could become too high to bear.
He meant too much to her for her to put him in an awkward position. She would have to start considering that first step away.
Tomorrow was the anniversary of the battle. She felt it important, even imperative, that she stay on the farm through the day, and perhaps the next. Then it would probably be best if she moved back to Regan's. A few days, a short transitory period before she went back to New York.
She stepped through the trees and looked at the farm. There was smoke coming out of the chimney from the living room fireplace. It was just chilly enough to warrant one. She could see the house itself, strong stone, painted wood, the silos and sheds and buildings.
It would, she realized, be almost as wrenching to leave the place as it would be to leave Shane. She'd been happier here than she'd ever been in her life. She'd found love here.
So she would be grateful, rather than regretful.
Walk away, a voice nagged in her brain,
Suddenly chilled, she rubbed her arms and began to cross the fallow field.
She saw the car zip up the curve of the lane and park at the side of the house. A quick, friendly toot of the horn, and the dogs were scrambling to greet the redhead who climbed out.
The air was clear enough to carry the woman's laugh to where Rebecca stopped. And the distance wasn't so great that she couldn't see Shane's lightning grin as he came around the side of the house to meet the woman.
Jealousy ebbed and flowed, ebbed and flowed, in a nasty, unpredictable tide as Rebecca watched them embrace easily. As the woman's arms stayed linked around Shane's neck.
Oh, no, you don't, she warned silently. He's still mine. He's mine until I walk away.
They stayed close together as they spoke, and there was more laughter, another quick kiss, before the woman stepped away and got back into her car.
Shane ruffled both dogs, straightened, waved. Rebecca knew the moment he spotted her in the field, and began to walk toward the house again. The car darted down the lane between them, then disappeared around the curve.
'Hey.' He tucked his thumbs in his front pockets. 'How's Savannah?'
'Fine. I had a chance to look at some of her paintings. They're wonderful.'
'Yeah.' With his instincts warning him to proceed with caution, Shane tried to read Rebecca's face. 'Ah, that was Frannie Spader. You met Frannie.'
'I thought I recognized her.' Because they wanted attention, and because it was a good ploy, Rebecca bent to pet the dogs.
'She just dropped by.'
'So I saw. I want to transcribe this interview.'
'Rebecca.' He touched her arm to stop her. 'There's nothing going on here. She's a friend. She stopped by.'
It was pure self-defense that had her arching a brow. 'Why do you feel you have to clarify that?'
'Because I— Look, Fran and I used to be... We used to be,' he finished, furious with himself. 'Now we're not, and haven't been since...well, since you came to town. We're friends.'
Oh, it was satisfying to watch him squirm. 'Do you think I require an explanation?'
'No. Yes.' Damn it. He imagined himself strolling along and coming across Rebecca hugging another man. Someone would have to die. 'I don't want you to get the wrong idea, that's all.'
“Do you think I have the wrong idea?'
'Will you cut that out?' he demanded, and paced away, then back again. 'I hate when you do that. I really hate it.'
'When I do what?'
'Make everything a question. How do you feel, what do you think?' He whirled back to her, eyes shooting sparks of temper. 'Damn it, if you had a question, it should have been 'What in the hell were you doing kissing
