"I'm not simple," she said quietly. "Not the way you mean."

"This is simple." Boots dispatched, he rose to pull off his shirt, unhook his belt. "I want you. I break out in a sweat just thinking about you. That's basic, Rebecca. That's simple."

It was love, every bit as much as need, that had her moving to him, wrapping her arms around him. "I'm here." She lifted her head and drew his mouth down to hers.

She gentled him, as he would a skittish animal. Soothing hands, welcoming lips. He told himself that if this was familiar, this sinking into her, this allowing her to smooth away his worries, it was because he had lain with her here only that morning.

But as he fell into the sweet, seductive rhythm of loving her, it was as if there had been no one before, would be no one after. Only the texture of her skin would stay in his memory, the taste of her mouth, the sound of her sigh.

And as she rose to meet him in that fluid movement of comfortable sex, part of his mind fretted that he would never want, could never want, anyone else.

Even as he tumbled over that last edge of pleasure, he held himself back from a bigger, more dangerous fall.

Chapter Nine

I've now had three events at the farm. The last was during the night. I felt such grief, such tearing grief. There was a candle by the bed, burning. For a moment, I thought there was a figure standing by the window. Just standing, looking out at the night. While the grief was in me, it was also there, shimmering around that figure. A shared, yet separate, pain. I thought it was Shane, and started to get out of bed to go to him. But he was asleep beside me. And there was no one standing there at all.

I knew, clearly, that it was John and Sarah, and that their son was dead. I knew this even before Shane stirred restlessly beside me. He dreams, as I do, and he feels, as I do, but he doesn't want to speak of it. They're part of him, the people who lived here, who remain here in some fashion. Not only through blood, but through spirit. I wonder why they seem to be part of me, as well.

It upsets him, so I didn't tell him. Perhaps this is wrong. It's certainly unprofessional. But I'm learning that love has its own way. I love him so much, and in my own limited fashion would protect him from what haunts him.

I wonder what his feelings are for me, but I don't ask. I have to protect myself, as well. I can talk to him about anything but that. Anything at all. And I never run out of words. He's in the fields now. There is always so much work that must be done, yet he never seems to tire of it, or resent it. For myself, in this first, dizzying rush of love, I realize I could spend every second of every day with him and still not have enough time. It's a wonderful, liberating and humbling thing, this love. I'm so grateful I've had the chance to experience it.

If I could, I would take one moment, any single moment at all that I've had with him, crystallize it, preserve it, and carry it with me. Then, in all the years to come, I could take it out, not just to remember, but to relive.

Love gives you the oddest fantasies.

Rebecca heard the bark of the dogs, and the voices. Like a woman hiding a secret treasure, she saved her document and changed screens. Devin opened the door, followed by boys and dogs and all the noise that comes with them.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to bust in on you."

"That's all right." Automatically she lowered a hand to rub at the dogs, who came to greet her. "I was just finished."

"Cassie's just like the rest of the women in the county. Figures Shane must be starving." He set a dish on the counter. "She sent over an apple cobbler."

"It's great," Bryan informed Rebecca. "We had some of the other one she made already." Obviously at home, he poked into the refrigerator.

"Are you writing your book?" Connor approached more slowly, his eyes on her laptop.

"Not right now. Do you use a computer?"

He was studying hers with naked envy. "We get to use them in school sometimes. But they're not like this one."

"This one's loaded. Want to try it?"

He goggled. "Really?" He looked at his father, then put his hands behind his back. "I don't know how to work this kind."

"Nothing to it." Recognizing the look in his eyes, she laughed and took his hand to draw him closer. "I can show you. I've got everything backed up."

"Now you've done it," Devin murmured. "He's going to start pining for one."

"I can get you a deal on a used one." With a grin, she rose and pointed at her chair. "Sit down and give it a go. You must know the basic functions."

"Sure." The first thing he did was type his name. Connor MacKade.

"Does it play any games?" Bryan wanted to know.

"Nope. It's just a workhorse."

Losing interest immediately, Bryan cast his eyes on the cobbler.

"Forget it," Devin warned. "We came by to give Shane a hand with the haying," he told Rebecca. "You can expect the rest to descend before long."

"Oh." She glanced toward the window. "He's out there now, mowing it."

"Baling it," Devin told her. "First you mow, then you rake, then you bale."

"Right."

"You guys head out when you're done here. And don't pester Dr. Knight."

She followed him out to the porch and paused outside the door. "Devin, you lived here a long time."

"Most of my life."

"Have you ever had any unusual experiences? Of a paranormal nature," she added when he flashed a grin.

"You're asking if I think the place is haunted. Sure it is."

She shook her head. "You say that so casually."

"I've lived with it. You get used to it."

"Not everyone,"

He followed her gaze to where Shane guided the tractor over the mowed hay. "Shane's got a stubborn streak."

"So I've noticed."

"And when it comes down to it, he's got a sensitive nature." Devin grinned again. "He'd bloody my nose for that one. But he does. Lived on a farm all his life, but he suffers if an animal's in pain, or if he loses one. Can't take it as a matter of course. There's a lot of leftover emotion in this house. It gets to him."

"Yet he lives here."

"He loves it," Devin said simply. "Every stone. Can you picture him anyplace else?"

She looked out to the hayfield again, smiled. "No. No, I can't. I could help him with what's here. If he'd let me."

"Maybe you could." Devin sighed. He was used to women falling for Shane, but it was easy to see that Rebecca was different. He doubted that she'd walk away unscathed when the time came. "I'd better go give him a hand."

She made some sound of agreement, and watched for some time before she went back into the house.

Devin told himself it wasn't his business as he walked across the field. In the easy rhythm of familiarity, he fell into step behind the baler. They worked together in silence until Shane shut off the motor.

"Rafe and Jared coming?"

"Should be on their way."

Shane nodded, squinted at the sky. "It's going to rain. We've only got another hour or two to get this in." But his gaze wandered to the house and stayed there.

"Damn it, Shane." Disgusted, Devin pulled out a bandanna and mopped his brow. "You're sleeping with her."

"Who?"

"Don't give me that. Aren't there enough women to dangle after around here without sniffing around Regan's friend? She's not even your type."

Shane worked to keep his temper in check. "You've always said I don't have a type."

"You know what I mean. That's a serious woman. Serious women have serious feelings. If she's not in love with you already, she will be. Then what the hell are you going to do?"

It cut just a little too close to the quick. Shane had always been careful to keep women from falling in love with him—seriously in love, in any case. And he knew he wasn't being careful with Rebecca.

"That's my business, isn't it? Mine and Rebecca's. I didn't push her into anything."

To drown out any more unwelcome advice, he cranked up the tractor again.

He wasn't going to talk about it, and he certainly wasn't going to worry about it. He meant to go on as he always had, and that meant, at this moment, getting the haying done before the rain hit.

He was grateful when the rest of his family showed up. It meant extra hands to load the hay wagon, drive it to the barn and off-load it. It also meant everyone was too busy working to pester him about his private life.

A man was entitled to a private life.

He cooled down considerably when it looked as if the job would be done before the storm hit. And when he could see children playing in the yard, dogs racing around and women going in and out of the house. Then there was the soothing quality of the steady vibration of the tractor under him, the voices of his brothers, that sweet, strong scent of hay. The clouds rolling in from the west shadowed the mountain, and the winter wheat he'd planted would welcome the rain.

In the kitchen, someone would be cooking, he mused, glancing over his shoulder to check the progress of the hay wagon. It wouldn't be Rebecca. She'd be playing with one of the babies. And when he walked in, covered with hay dust, she'd look over and smile.

She had the prettiest smile.

By the time they were hauling bales from wagon to barn, Shane had convinced himself that Devin was not only out of line, he was off base.

"So." Rafe took a break, gulping down some of the ice water from the cooler just inside the barn. "I didn't get a chance to talk to Rebecca. How's the ghostbusting?"

"She's into it." Sharp prickles of dry hay poked through his work gloves as Shane heaved a bale. "She gets pretty intense about something that's just a hobby."