"Look at me." His voice was rough, raw, his fingers dug deep in her hips. "Look at me. I want to see your eyes."

She opened them, and through her wavering vision saw his face. It was tensed, strained. Beautiful. "Come inside me. Now, for God's sake, Shane. I need you."

"Who are you?"

"Yours," she said, then cried out when he lowered her onto him.

She couldn't breathe, was sure her heart had stopped. Her body curved back like a pulled bowstring. Staggered, undone, she stroked her hands up her own quivering body, from belly to breasts, then up over her hair, where they linked as if to anchor her.

He'd never seen anything more beautiful, more arousing, more exciting, than Rebecca lost in pleasure. He watched her head fall back, saw the intensity of the climax that ripped through her. To savor the moment, he held himself still, let her absorb every instant of that first assault of sensation.

Then she began to rock, and that rhythmic demand spurred him to match it. Faster, until speed was all that mattered. When he could no longer wait for her, he clutched her hands, took her, and dragged her under with him.

When his mind cleared a little, he realized that the sun had set and the room was soft with shadows. And that he had never in his life felt more content.

He waited until she lay still, her body sprawled limply over his, her breathing almost steady.

"So, where do you want to go now?"

Her laugh started out low in her throat, then rumbled out, the way he liked it best. "Why don't we try that mountain chalet? Snow would be a nice change of pace."

"Good thinking. After dinner, we can—"

"After dinner, hell." Eyes wicked, she lifted her head and began to nibble on him.

"Ah, listen, baby, I..." His breath hitched when she slid down and scraped her teeth over his nipple. "Maybe if you could give me a few minutes to..." Her hand slid lower, much lower. His oath was soft, reverent.

"You've got a reputation to uphold," she murmured, deciding she liked the idea of playing seductress with an exhausted man. "I've heard around town that you're... let's say insatiable."

"Yeah, well. People exaggerate. A little." Ten minutes, he thought. No, five, he told himself, watching her neat, narrow, naked body slither over his. He just needed five minutes to recover. "Listen, why don't we— Man, you're getting good at that."

She looked up, laughing, thrilled with herself. "I have a photographic memory, in case you've forgotten, and a very quick mind."

"You're telling me. Anyway, why don't we take a shower, or maybe a little nap? I don't think I'd be much good to you at the moment." He gulped in air when her busy mouth trailed lower. He wondered if his eyes crossed. "Then again, maybe I could handle it after all."

"I think we can count on it."

They did take a shower, later. She watched Shane stick his head under the spray and groan in appreciation. From behind, she wrapped her arms tight around him and pressed her mouth to his wet back.

"Jeez, woman, do I look like a rabbit?" But he turned to her, always willing to try.

"No." Laughing, she lifted her hands to his streaming hair. "That was to thank you."

"Okay." He dumped shampoo on her hair and scrubbed. "For what?"

She blinked as lather dripped, stinging, into her eyes. "You must have been tired and hungry when you came in. But you wanted to take my mind off things."

"Yeah, it was a hardship, all right. I don't know how I got through it." Amused, he nudged her under the spray.

"I mean it." She sputtered, tried unsuccessfully to wipe her eyes. "You were wonderful. I'll never forget it."

"That's what they all say." He grinned when she turned and gave him a narrow-eyed stare. "Kidding."

"You know, of course, that most accidents in the home occur in the bathroom."

"I've heard that. Gotta watch your step."

"Watch yours."

He put his hands on the tile and boxed her in. "Remember the first time we made love in here? Sure you do, you don't forget anything."

She lifted her brows. "You're not going to distract me that way."

"I could if I wanted." He lowered his mouth to hers. "But if I don't eat, I'm going to fall down."

"How about if I make you soup?"

He looked pained. "Do you have to?"

She sniffed, ducked under his arm and stepped out of the stall. "Cook your own dinner then."

"You know what I've noticed?" Casually he turned off the shower, reached for a towel. "You pick up things in a snap. I mean, you ask a million questions, figure it out, file it all away. I'd bet you could go out there in the morning and handle the milking without a hitch."

"Don't get any ideas," she warned him, and toweled off, then bundled herself into a robe.

"I've seen you work a crossword puzzle in something under two minutes. That time we went to the market and you bought groceries, you had the money out before the total came up. To the penny."

She shrugged, picked up a comb from the side of the sink and ran it through her hair. "So, I'm good at parlor tricks."

"You could probably build a nuclear reactor in the living room if you put your mind to it. But you can't fry an egg." Watching her, he wrapped the towel around his hips. "Or, more accurately, you don't want to fry an egg, so you don't bother to figure it out."

She flicked a glance oyer her shoulder. "Caught me. Now what's your point?"

"I'll cook, and you build the nuclear reactors."

She smiled, but he saw the hint of clouds in her eyes. "Rebecca." Patient, he cupped her face in his hands. "Your brain is only one of the very appealing things about you. I like watching you think almost as much as I like watching you when you can't think. Whatever it took to get you to this point doesn't matter. Because you're here."

She let out a sigh. "It's hard to stop wishing you could be normal."

"Baby, you are normal. It doesn't mean you can't be special."

That was so simple, she thought. And so sensible. And so like him. Rising on her toes, she touched her lips to his. "Thanks."

"Anytime."

She blew out a breath. "Okay, let's go downstairs. You can give me my first cooking lesson."

Chapter Eleven

"I really appreciate the time, Savannah."

Savannah stretched out her long legs and glanced at the tape recorder Rebecca had set on the table between them. "It's no problem. I've got the time."

Rebecca scanned the living area of the cabin. It was bright and cluttered. Layla sat on the rug nearby and made engine noises as she raced a large plastic truck. "A woman with an active son and two kids in diapers can't have much time to spare."

"It only gets crazy around here ten or twelve times a day." Savannah slid a glance toward her daughter. "This seems to be a lull."

"How do you manage?" Rebecca blurted out. "I mean, three children—a new baby, your work, your home, your life."

"The first trick is to enjoy it. And I do. Since they're not here to get cocky about it, I'll tell you that my men do their share."

"You have a beautiful family." Hearing the wist-fulness in her own voice, Rebecca shook it off. "Let me explain what I'm after. The book I'm working on deals with Antietam specifically, the battle, of course, but the angles I'm most interested in are the legends that surround this area, and personal experiences."

"Ghost stories."

"To some extent. The MacKade connection," Rebecca continued. "Regan and Rafe. They were both drawn to the inn, shared extraordinary experiences. Rafe came back to town for the inn, and Regan was drawn to it through him. The inn also played a major part in Cassie and Devin's lives and their relationship. I've interviewed each of them separately, and each corroborates the other's feelings and experiences. Some of those experiences were shared, some separate, but all seem to touch on the story of the two corporals."

"And you want me to tell you mine."

"Yes. I interviewed Jared this morning in his office. Oh, and I wanted to tell you I loved your paintings. Especially the one of the woods."

"Thanks. It was—is—the woods for us. If you want to use the word connection, I suppose that's ours." Savannah narrowed her eyes as she thought back. "The inn has a very strong pull. What Regan and Rafe have done there, and with Cassie and Devin living there, it's, I don't know, funneled off a great deal of the sadness. It was a sad place for a long time. But Regan tells me you tracked down some information on the Confederate corporal."

"Franklin Gray, yes."

"You said that Abigail had him identified and sent home to his family." Thinking of it, Savannah nodded. "That was very brave of her. And very kind."

"Abigail had children of her own. She must have imagined what that boy's mother would have felt. The never knowing. The Yankee boy's family would never have known. The other corporal..." Rebecca sighed, with just a hint of frustration. "That's all I've ever been able to pin down on him so far—he fought for the Union and was a corporal. At least that's the information that's been passed down through the MacKades."

"What the MacKades did for that wounded boy was brave and kind, too," Savannah commented. "But you need to find him, don't you? To learn his name, see his grave. To settle it."

"I suppose I do. They were killed so long ago, yet it seems... unfinished. They fought and died at each other's hands, two ordinary young men who never really lived. But their deaths affected so many other people. And it seems they still do. Isn't that part of what you feel in the woods, Savannah?"

Savannah tilted her head. "What do you consider the strongest emotions, Rebecca?"

"Love and hate. Everything else stems from that."