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

With a chuckle, Rafe wiped his hands on his jeans. “You did good, Jare. Mom would’ve liked seeing you duded up like that.” For a moment, he said nothing. There was only the scrape of trowel on stone. “It’s weird, staying at the farm. Mostly just me and Shane. Devin spends half his nights on a cot in the sheriff’s office. You’re in that fancy little town house in the city. When I hear Shane get up in the morning, it’s still dark. The idiot’s whistling, like going out to milk in January’s just a boatload of laughs.”

“He’s always loved it. He’s kept that place alive.”

“I know.”

He recognized the tone, shook his head at it. “You did your part, Rafe. The money you sent back made a difference.” Eyes shadowed, Jared stared out the grimy window. “I’m thinking of selling the place in Hagerstown.” When Rafe said nothing, Jared moved his shoulders. “It seemed practical to keep it after the divorce. The market was soft, and we’d only built up a couple years’ equity. Barbara didn’t want it.”

“Still sore?”

“No. The divorce is three years past, and God knows it was civilized. We just didn’t like each other anymore.”

“I never liked her.”

Jared’s lips quirked. “I know. Anyway, I’m thinking of selling, hanging out at the farm for a while, until I find the right place.”

“Shane would like that. So would I. I missed you.” Rafe swiped a grimy hand over his grimy chin. “I didn’t realize how much until I got back.” Satisfied with the re-pointing, he scraped his trowel on the edge of the bucket. “So, you want to put in some honest labor on Saturday?”

“You buy the beer.”

Rafe nodded, rose. “Let’s see your hands, city boy.”

Jared’s response was crude, simple, and uttered just as Regan stepped into the room.

“Nice mouth, Counselor,” Rafe said with an easy smile. “Hello, darling.”

“I’m interrupting.”

“No. The guy from the gutter here’s my brother Jared.”

“I know. He’s my lawyer. Hello, Jared.”

“Regan.” Jared found an empty can of soda and doused the stub of his cigar. “How’s business?”

“Picking up, thanks to your little brother. I have some estimates, figures, suggestions, paint and fabric samples,” she said to Rafe. “I thought you’d like to look them over.”

“You’ve been busy.” He crouched again, flipped over the top of a small cooler. “Want a drink?”

“No, thanks.”

“Jare?”

“One for the road. I’ve got another appointment.” Jared caught the canned soft drink on the fly, then took his sunglasses out of his pocket. “I’ll let you two get down to business. Nice to see you again, Regan.”

“Saturday,” Rafe called out as Jared left the room. “Seven-thirty. That’s a.m., pal. And lose the suit.”

“I didn’t mean to chase him off,” Regan began.

“You didn’t. Want to sit down?”

“Where?”

He patted an overturned bucket.

“That’s very gracious of you, but I can’t stay. I’m on my lunch hour.”

“The boss isn’t going to dock you.”

“She certainly will.” Opening her briefcase, Regan took out two thick folders. “Everything’s in here. Once you have a chance to look through it, let me know.” For lack of anywhere better, she set the files across two sawhorses. She looked back over her shoulder, toward the hall. “You’ve certainly jumped right in.”

“When you know what you want, there’s no point in wasting time. So how about dinner?”

She looked back, narrowed her eyes. “Dinner?”

“Tonight. We can go over your files.” He tapped a finger against them, left a smudge of soot. “Save time.”

“Oh.” Still frowning, she combed her fingers through her hair. “I suppose.”

“How’s seven? We’ll go to the Lamplighter.”

“The where?”

“The Lamplighter. The little place off of Main, at Church Street.”

She tilted her head as she visualized the town. “There’s a video store at Main and Church.”

He jammed his hands in his pockets with an oath. “Used to be a restaurant. Your place used to be a hardware store.”

“I guess even small towns have their changes.”

“Yeah.” He couldn’t have said why it annoyed him. “Like Italian?”

“Yes. But the closest Italian place is across the river, into West Virginia. We can just meet at Ed’s.”

“No. Italian. I’ll come by about six-thirty.” Needing to gauge his time, he pulled a watch from his pocket. “Yeah, I can do six-thirty.”

“That’s a nice one.” Without thinking, she crossed over, took his wrist gingerly in two fingers to get a better look at the pocket watch. “Hmm…American Watch Company, mid-1800s.” Already appraising, she turned the watch over to study the case. “Sterling, good condition. I’ll give you seventy-five for it.”

“I paid ninety.”

She laughed and shook back her hair. “Then you got a hell of a bargain. It’s worth a hundred and fifty.” Her gaze danced up to his. “You don’t look like the pocket-watch type.”

“Wear one on your wrist on the job, they end up smashed.” He wanted to touch her. She looked so neat and tidy that the idea of mussing her up was enormously appealing. “Damn shame my hands are filthy.”

Alerted, she released his wrist, brushed one hand against the other. “So’s your face. But you’re still pretty.” After shifting her briefcase strap more comfortably on her shoulder, she stepped back. “Six-thirty, then. Don’t forget the files.”

She’d changed three times before she caught herself. A business dinner, Regan thought as she dropped down on the padded stool of her vanity, was a business dinner. Her appearance was certainly important, but it was secondary.

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