Shane's eyes went dark, his stomach muscles tightened, twisted. "That's my middle name. Cameron was my grandfather's name. Cameron James Mac-Kade, John and Sarah's second son. He was born six months after the Battle of Antietam." Shane took a steadying breath. "The name's come down through the MacKades ever since. Every generation has a Cameron."

"They named their child after the boy they couldn't save." Helplessly Rebecca rubbed the tears from her cheeks with the flats of her hands. "They didn't forget him, Shane. They did everything they could."

"And then they buried him in an unmarked grave."

"Don't hate her for it. She loved her husband, and was afraid for him."

"I don't hate her for it." Suddenly weary, Shane scrubbed his hands over his face. "But it's my life now, Rebecca, my land. I can't change what happened, and I'm sick of being haunted by it."

She offered a hand. "Do you know where he's buried?"

"No, I've always shut that part out." As he'd tried, most of his life, to shut it all out. All those wavering memories, those misty dreams. "I never wanted any part of this."

"Why did you come in now, tell me now?"

"I don't know, exactly." Resigned, he dropped his hands. "I saw him, beside the smokehouse. Bleeding, asking me to help him." He drew a long breath. "It's not the first time. I couldn't not come in, not tell you anymore. You're part of it. You knew that all along."

"He's buried in the meadow," she murmured. "Wildflowers grow there." She reached for his hand again, tightened her fingers on his. "Come with me."

They walked out toward the meadow, through the bright wash of sun. The mountains were alive with color, and the flowers underfoot were going to seed. There was the smell of grass and growing things. When she stopped, the tears still fell quietly.

For a moment, she could say nothing, could only stare down at the ground where she had once dropped her first clutch of wildflowers.

"They did their best for him. Not far from here, another man killed a boy simply because of the color of his uniform. These people tried to save one, despite it." She leaned into Shane when he circled her shoulders with his arm. "They cared."

"Yeah, they cared. They still can't leave him here alone."

"We make parks out of our battlefields to remember," she said quietly. "It's important to remember. He needs a marker, Shane. They would have given him one, if they could have."

Could it be as simple as that? he wondered. And as human? "All right." He stopped questioning and nodded. "We'll give him one. And maybe we'll all have some peace."

"There's more love than grief here," she murmured. "And it is yours, Shane—your home, your land, your heritage. Whatever lives on through it, through you is admirable. You should be very proud of what you have, and what you are.''

"I always felt as though they were pushing at me. I resented it." Yet it had eased now, standing there with her in the sun, on his land. "I didn't see why I should be the one to be weighed down with their problems, their emotions." He looked over the fields, the hills, and felt most of his weariness pass. "Maybe I do now. It's always been more mine than any of my brothers'. More even than it was my father's, my mother's. We all loved it, we all worked it, but—"

"But you stayed, because you loved it more." She rose on her toes and kissed him gently. "And you understand it more. You're a good man, Shane. And a good farmer. I won't forget you."

Before he realized what she was doing, she'd turned away. "What are you talking about? Where are you going?"

"I thought you might like some time alone here." She smiled, brushing at the tears drying on her cheeks. "It seems a personal moment to me, and I really have to finish getting my things together."

"What things?"

"My things." She backed away as she spoke. "Now that we've settled this, I'm going to stay with Regan for a few days before I go back to New York. I haven't had as much time to visit with her as I'd planned."

She might as well have hit him over the head with a hammer. The quiet relief he'd begun to feel at facing what had haunted him was rudely, nastily swallowed up by total panic.

"You're leaving? Just like that? Experiment's over, see you around?"

"I'm only going to Regan's, for a few days. I've already stayed here longer than I originally intended, and I'm sure you'd like your house back. I'm very grateful for everything."

"You're grateful," he repeated. "For everything?"

"Yes, very." She was terrified her smile would waver. Quick, was all she could think, get away quick. "I'd like to stay in touch, if you don't mind. See how things are going with you."

"We can exchange cards at Christmas."

"I think we can do better." Through sheer grit, she kept that easy smile on her face. "Farm boy, it's been an experience."

Mouth slack with shock, he watched her walk away. She was dumping him. She'd just put him through the most emotional, most wrenching, most stunning experience of his life, and she was just walking away.

Well, fine, he thought, scowling at her retreating back. Dandy. That made it clean. He didn't want complications, or big, emotional parting scenes.

The hell he didn't.

She'd reached the kitchen door and just stepped over the threshold when he caught up with her. A tornado of temper, he snagged her shoulders, whirled her around.

"Just sex and science, is that it, Doc? I hope to hell I gave you plenty of data for one of your stinking papers."

"What are you—"

"Don't you want one last experiment for the road?"

He dragged her up hard against him, crushed his mouth down on hers. It was brutal, and it was fierce. For the first time, she was afraid of him, and what he was capable of.

"Shane." Shuddering, she wrenched her mouth free. "You're hurting me."

"Good." But he released her, jerking away so that she nearly stumbled. "You deserve it. You cold-blooded—" He managed to stop himself before he said something he wouldn't be able to live with later. "How can you have slept with me, have shared everything we've shared, and then just turn around and walk, like it meant nothing to you but a way to pass some time?"

"I thought—I thought that's how it was done. I've heard people say that you stay friends with all the women you've—"

"Don't throw my past up at me!" he shouted. "Damn it, nothing's been the same since you came here. You've tangled up my life long enough. I want you to go. I want you out."

"I'm going," she managed, and took one careful step, then another, until she'd reached the doorway.

"For God's sake, Rebecca, don't leave me."

She turned back, steadied herself with one hand against the jamb. "I don't understand you."

"You want me to beg." The humiliation was almost as vicious as the temper. "Fine, I'll beg. Please don't go. Don't walk out on me. I don't think I can live without you."

She put a hand to her head as she stated at him. All she could see was all that emotion swirling in his eyes. Too much emotion, impossible to decipher. "You want me to stay? But—"

"What's the big deal about New York?" he demanded. "So they've got museums and restaurants. You want to go to a restaurant, I'll take you to a damn restaurant. Now. Get your coat."

"I—I'm not hungry."

"Fine. You don't need a restaurant. See?" He sounded insane, he realized. Hell, he was insane. "You've got that fancy computer, the modem and all those gizmos. You can work anywhere. You can work here."

She wasn't used to having her brain frazzled. In defense, she latched on to the last thing he'd said. "You want me to work here?"

"What's wrong with that? You've been getting along here, haven't you?"

"Yes, but-"

"Leave your equipment set up everywhere." He threw up his hands. "I don't care." In a lightning move, he leaped forward and lifted her off her feet with hands under her elbows. "I don't care," he repeated. "I'm used to it. Set up a transmitter in the hay barn, put a satellite dish on the roof. Just don't leave."

The first hint of a smile curved her lips. Perhaps relationships weren't her forte, but she believed she was getting the idea. "You want me to stay here?"

"How many languages do you speak?" Sheer frustration had him shaking her. "Can't you understand English?" He dropped her back on her feet so that he could pace. "Didn't I just say that? I can't believe I'm saying it, but I am. I'm not losing you," he muttered. "I'm not losing what I have with you. I've never felt this way about anyone. I didn't want to, but you changed everything. Now you're in my head all the time, and the thought of you not being where I can see you or touch you rips my heart out. It rips my damn heart out!" he shouted, spinning toward her with blood in his eye. "You've got no right to do that to somebody, then leave!"

She started to speak, but the look on his face when she opened her mouth stopped her cold.

"I love you, Rebecca. Oh, God, I love you. And I have to sit down."

His knees were buckling. He was sure he'd crawl next. To get some control, he pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. Whatever the humiliation, he would take it, as long as she stayed.

Then he looked up, looked at her. And she was weeping. His heart stopped thudding, split apart and sank.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I've got no right to treat you this way, talk to you this way. Please don't cry."

She took a sobbing breath. "In my whole life, no one has ever said those words to me. Not once, in my whole life. You can't possibly know what it's like to hear them from you now."

He rose again, resenting everyone who had ever taken her for granted, including himself. "Don't tell me it's too late for me to say them. I'll make it up to you, Rebecca, if you let me."