The Fall Of Shane MacKade: the classic story from the queen of romance that you won’t be able to put down. Нора Робертс

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СКАЧАТЬ 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.”

      Chapter 2

      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.”

      “You’re too hard on yourself.”

      “I was a mess,” Rebecca said firmly. “A cliché, the dowdy prodigy with a sharp brain and bad shoes. I walked into the nearest beauty salon, gave myself no time to think, to rationalize, to intellectualize, and threw myself on their mercy. Who’d have thought a decent haircut could make such a difference to the way I felt? It seemed so shallow. I told myself that even when I walked out with several hundred dollars’ worth of skin creams.”

      She laughed at herself as she realized that, after all this time, she was still savoring that moment. “Then I realized that if appearances weren’t important, it couldn’t be a problem to present a good one.”

      “Then I’ll say it again. You look wonderful.” Regan reached out for Rebecca’s hands. “In fact, since you’re happy with the change, I’ll be perfectly honest and tell you I wouldn’t have recognized you. You’re absolutely striking, and I’m so glad to see you looking so fabulous.”

      “I have to say this.” She gave Regan’s hands a hard squeeze. “Regan, you were my first real friend.”

      “Rebecca.”

      “My very first, the only person I was close to who didn’t treat me like an oddity. I’ve wanted to tell you for a long time what that meant to me. What you meant to me. But even with you, I had a hard time getting that kind of thing out.”

      “You’re making me cry again,” Regan managed.

      “There’s more. I was so nervous coming here, worrying that the friendship, the connection, might not be the same. But it is. Hell.” Rebecca gave a lavish sniff. “Got any tissue?”

      Regan СКАЧАТЬ