Nora Roberts - The Fall Of Shane MacKade - the classic story from the queen of romance that you won’t be able to put down

“And the ghosts?”

“I don’t give them a lot of attention, either.”

A smile shadowed her mouth. “But you know of them.”

Again he moved his shoulders. “Part of the package. You want to talk to the rest of the family about that. They’re more into it.”

“Yet you live and work on a farm that’s supposedly haunted.”

“Supposedly.” He didn’t care to talk about it, or think about it. “Look, Regan mentioned something about you coming out to do whatever it is you do—”

“To study and record any paranormal activity.” Her smile spread. “It’s just a hobby.”

“Yeah, well, you’d be better off at the old Barlow place, the house Rafe and Regan put back together. It’s a bed-and-breakfast now—one of my other sisters-in-law runs it. It’s lousy with ghosts, if you believe in that sort of thing.”

“Mmm… It’s on my list. In fact, I’m hoping they can squeeze me in for a while. I’d like to stay there. And from what Regan told me, you have a large house. I’d like to stay there, too.”

He wouldn’t mind the company, but the purpose didn’t sit well with him. “Regan didn’t mention how long you were planning on being around.”

“That depends.” She looked out the window as he took a route through a cut in the mountains. “It depends on how long it takes me to find what I want to find, and how long it takes to document it.”

“Don’t you have, like, a job?”

“I’m taking a sabbatical.” The word had such marvelous possibilities, she closed her eyes to savor them. “I have all the time in the world, and I intend to enjoy it.” Opening her eyes again, she saw the glint from the little gold earring in the ashtray. “Don’t worry, farm boy. I won’t cramp your style. When the time comes, you can tuck me into some little room in the attic. I’ll do my thing, you can do yours.”

He started to comment, but she made some soft, strangled sound and sat bolt upright in the seat. “What?”

She could only shake her head, absorbed in the jarring sense of déjà vu. The hills rose up, grass green against outcroppings of silver rocks. In the distance, the higher mountains were purple shadows against hazy skies. Fields, high with green stalks of corn, thick with summer grains, rolled back from the road. On a sloping embankment, black-and-white cows stood as still as if they were on a postcard.

Woods, dark and thick, ranged along a field, while a winding creek bubbled along the verge.

“It looks just as it should,” she murmured softly. “Exactly. Perfect.”

“Thanks. It’s MacKade land.” He slowed the truck a little, out of pride. “You can’t see the house this time of year. Trees are too thick. It’s back down that lane.”

She saw the rough gravel road, the way it swung left and followed the line of trees. With her heart thudding dully in her breast, she nodded.

Come hell or high water, she thought, she was going back there. And she would stay until she found all the answers to all the questions that plagued her.

She took a deep breath, turned to him. “How far to town?”

“Just a few miles now.” His eyes narrowed with concern. She’d gone dead pale. “You all right?”

“I’m fine.” But she did open the window to take a deep gulp of late summer. “I’m just fine.”

Through the display window of her shop, Regan saw the truck pull up to the curb. With a child in each arm, she dashed outside.

“Dr. Knight.”

“Mrs. MacKade.” Rebecca slid out of the cab of the truck and let out a cry of pure pleasure, then launched herself at her friend as her vision blurred.

Gone was the cool and the clinical, Shane noted, and he found himself grinning at the way the two women babbled and embraced. He’d had some reservations about Rebecca Knight—and maybe he’d keep a few of them. But there was no doubt as to the depth of affection here.

“Oh, I’ve missed you. I’ve missed you,” Rebecca said over and over as tears stung her eyes. “Oh, Regan, you’re so gorgeous, and look at these. Your babies.”

She let the tears come. She’d never had to hold back or feel foolish with Regan. Sniffling, she touched Nate’s cheek, then stroked a finger along the baby’s soft head.

“I don’t see you for a few years, and look what you do. Married and the mother of two. I’ve got to hold one.”

Always willing, Nate held out his arms.

“You must look like your daddy,” Rebecca commented, delighted when Nate puckered up for a kiss.

“Daddy,” Nate agreed. “Play ball. Shane!” He bounced up and down like a spring. “Shane, gimme ride.”

“Shows what you know, choosing your uncle over a lady.” But Shane hauled Nate onto his shoulders, where the toddler could squeal and grip his hair.

“You found each other.” Regan beamed at both of them. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get away to pick you up myself.”

“I’d say you had your hands full.” Rebecca turned to give Shane a mild smile. “And your brother-in-law managed just fine. All in all.”

“You must be tired. Come into the shop. I’m just closing up. Shane, come in for some tea.”

“I have to get back, thanks anyway. Down you go, Nate.” He swung the boy around, inciting a series of rolling belly laughs.

Wise to her son, Regan clutched Nate’s hand firmly in hers the minute his little feet hit the ground. “Thanks.” She kissed Shane lightly on the lips. “I owe you one. I want to give Rebecca a welcome dinner tomorrow, when she’s had time to catch her breath. You’ll come, won’t you?”

“A free meal.” He winked. “Count on it. See you.”

“Thanks for the lift. Farm boy.”

Shane paused at the driver’s-side door. “Anytime. Becky.”

Regan lifted a brow as he drove away. “Becky?”

“Just a little joke.” Objectively she looked up and down the street, noted the light traffic, the old stone buildings, the people loitering in front of doorways. “I’m trying to picture Regan Bishop as resident and shop owner of Small Town, U.S.A.”

“It was home the minute I saw it. Come inside,” she said again. “Tell me what you think of the shop.”

Now she could picture it, Rebecca realized the moment she stepped into Past Times. The style, the elegance of gleaming antiques, lovely old lamps and glass and statuary. There was a smell of spice and baby powder that made her smile.

“Mama,” she said after turning around in a circle. “How does it feel?”

“Incredible. I can’t wait for you to meet Rafe.” She moved into a back room, setting the baby in a bassinet, then lifting Nate into a high chair, where he occupied himself with a cookie. It gave her time to take a breath. “Of course, you’ve seen Shane, so you’ve got a fairly good idea of the MacKade looks.”

“Are they all like that?”

“Tall, dark and ridiculously handsome? Every one of them. With bad-boy reputations to match.” She leaned back, took a long survey. “Rebecca, it’s always what people say when they haven’t seen each other for a while, but I have to say it anyway. You look wonderful.”

Rebecca smiled as she tugged on a short tress of chestnut-brown hair. “I got the nerve to have this hacked off when I was in Europe a few months ago. You were always trying to coax me into doing something with my hair.”

“I’d have never been that brave, or inventive. Boy, it suits you, Rebecca. And—”

“The clothes?” Her smile widened. “That was Europe, too. I had a crisis of style, so to speak. I was walking along the Left Bank and happened to catch a glimpse of this woman reflected in one of the shop windows. She looked like an unkempt scarecrow. Her hair was tangled and hanging down in her face, and she had on the most dreadful brown suit. I thought, Poor thing, to look like that in a city like this. And then I realized it was me.”