Return of Rafe MacKade by Nora Roberts

Author:Nora Roberts [Roberts, Nora]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Romance, Adult, Nora Roberts, Cowboy
ISBN: 9780373076314
Google: d-xeTfILiikC
Amazon: 0373076312
Barnesnoble: 0373076312
Goodreads: 682150
Publisher: Gale Group
Published: 1995-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

* * *

They didn't speak of it. When they parted in the morning, both of

them were determinedly casual. But they thought of it. And they

worried.

Rafe watched her drive off as the sun struggled over the

mountains to the east. When she was gone, when there was no

one to see, he rubbed the heel of his hand over his heart.

There was an ache there that he couldn't quite will away. He had

a very bad feeling that she was the cause of it, and that somehow,

in a matter of hours, he'd gotten in over his head.

God, he missed her already.

He swore at himself for that, then swore again for reaching like a

trained dog for the cigarettes that weren't there. Both were just

habits, he assured himself. If he wanted, he could just go buy a

pack of cigarettes and smoke his brains out. Just as he could

snatch her back anytime.

Sex was a powerful bond. It wasn't surprising it had caught him,

as well.

It didn't have to be any more than that. They'd tidied that up,

hadn't they? A man was entitled to be a little shaky after

thirty-odd hours of sex and solitude with a gorgeous woman.

He didn't want anything more. Neither did she.

It was a relief and a pleasure to find a lover who wanted no more

and no less than he did himself. A woman who didn't expect him

to play games, make promises neither expected to be kept, say

words that were only words, after all.

Scowling, he grabbed a shovel and began to deal with the snow

that piled the walk. The sun was strengthening, and he worked

fast, so that even with the bite of the northern wind he sweated

satisfactorily under his coat.

She'd probably head straight for the shower, he mused, tossing

heavy snow off the path. Wash that pretty doe-colored hair of

hers.

He wondered what it looked like wet.

She'd dig some of those neat, classy clothes out of her closet.

Nope, he thought, correcting himself. Regan would never dig.

She'd select. Quiet colors, simple lines. One of those

professional-woman's jackets, with a pin on the lapel.

She'd fix her face, nothing too obvious. Just hints of blush along

the cheekbones, a touch of color above those ridiculously long

lashes. Then lipstick—not red, not pink, a kind of rose that

accented those full lips and that sassy little mole beside them.

Halfway down the walk, he stopped, leaned against the shovel

and wondered if he was losing her mind. He was actually thinking

about her makeup.

What the hell did he care what paint she slapped on before she

went down to open the shop?

She'd put on the kettle for tea, or have cider simmering so that

the place smelled of apples and spices. Then she'd go through the

day without giving him a thought.

Snow flew as he attacked it. Well, he had plenty to do himself,

and no time to brood about her.

He'd reached the end of the walk, and the end of his patience,

when Devin rattled up the lane in the sheriff's cruiser.

"What the hell do you want?" Rafe shouted. "Haven't you got

somebody to arrest?"

"Funny how a little blizzard quiets things down." Leaning on the

open car door, Devin watched his brother with amusement.

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