The curtains were drawn back, which would surely fade the upholstery with that strong sunlight. But it was neat. She'd taught her daughter to be neat.

After all, cleanliness was next to godliness.

Still, she didn't care for the bright colors, or all the folderols sitting about. It was showy. She sniffed to indicate her disapproval and sat down on one of the living room chairs, her back broomstick-straight.

"I'll say again, it's a poor choice for you to live in a man's house who isn't your husband."

It was an old argument, and Cassie answered by rote. "I lived in Mr. Halleran's house for nearly ten years."

"And paid good rent."

"I earn my keep here. What's the difference?"

"You know very well the difference, so I'll not mention it again."

Until the next time, Cassie thought wearily. "Would you like some iced tea, Mama?"

"I can get through an hour without sipping or snacking." Constance set her purse firmly on her lap, crossed her ankles above her sensible shoes. "Sit down, Cassandra. The children are in school, I take it."

"Yes. They're doing very well. They'll be home in about an hour. I hope you'll stay and see them."

"It's you I've come to see." She unsnapped her bag with fingers adorned with only a thin gold band. There was no glint to it, no shine. As, Cassie thought, there had been no glint or shine to her parents' marriage. She often thought, after a visit with her mother, that her father had died simply to escape it.

But she said nothing, waiting as her mother drew out an envelope. She didn't have to see the handwriting to know who it was from.

"This is the latest letter I received from your husband. It came in this morning's mail." Constance held it out. "I want you to read it."

Cassie folded her hands in her lap, linked her fingers. "No."

Eyes narrowed with righteous anger, Constance studied her daughter. "Cassandra, you will read this letter."

"No, ma'am, I won't. He's not my husband."

Constance's thin, pale face went dark with temper. "You took vows before God."

"And I've broken them." It was hard, so hard, to keep her voice and hands from trembling, to keep her eyes level.

"You take pride in that? You should be ashamed."

"No, not pride. But you can't make me sorry for breaking them, Mama. Joe broke them long before I did."

She refused to look at the letter, refused to feel this bitter anger, that even so small a part of him had come into her home. Instead, she kept her eyes on her mother's face.

"Love, honor, cherish. Did he love me, Mama, when he beat me? Did he honor me when he used his fists on me? Did he cherish me when he raped me?"

"You will not speak that way about your husband."

"I came to you when I had nowhere to go, when he'd hurt me so badly I could hardly walk, when my children were terrorized. And you sent me away."

"Your place was at home, making the best of your marriage."

"I made the best of it for ten years, and it nearly killed me. You should have been there for me, Mama. You should have stood up for me."

"I stood up for what was right." Constance's mouth was a thin line. "If you forced him to discipline you—"

"Discipline me!" Stunned, even after all the time that had passed, Cassie leaped to her feet. "He had no right to discipline me. I was his wife, not his dog. And not even a dog deserved to be treated the way I was. He would have disciplined me to death, if I hadn't finally found the courage to do something about it. Would that have satisfied you, Mama? I'd have kept my vows then. Till death do us part."

"You're overdramatizing. And whatever happened before is done. He's seen his mistakes. It was the drink, the women who tempted him. He's asking for your forgiveness, and hopes that you will keep your vows, as he intends to."

"He can't have my forgiveness, and he can't have me. How can you do this to me? I'm your daughter, your only child." Cassie's eyes were no longer haunted, but steely. "How can you take the side of a man who hurt me and betrayed me and made my life a misery? Don't you want me to be happy?"

"I want you to do what's expected of you. I expect you to do as you're told."

"Yes, that's all you ever wanted from me. To do what I was told, to be what you expected me to be. Why do you think I married him, Mama?"

Cassie couldn't believe the words were coming out of her mouth, but they wouldn't be stopped. Just as the emotions that pushed them from her heart to her throat and through her lips wouldn't be stopped.

"It was to get away from you, to get out of that house, where nobody ever laughed, nobody ever showed any affection."

"You had a good home." This time it was Constance whose voice trembled. "You had a decent Christian upbringing."

"No, I didn't. There's nothing decent or Christian about a house where there's no love. My children won't be raised that way, not anymore." Cassie spoke calmly now, amazed that she could, fascinated that she felt nothing at all. "You're my mother, and I'll give you all the respect that I can. All I'm asking is for you to give me the same. I don't want you corresponding with Joe anymore."

Constance got to her feet. "You would dare tell me what to do?"

"Will you stop writing him, Mama? Will you stop writing the prison authorities?"

"I will not."

"Then you're not welcome in my home. We have nothing else to say to each other.''

Staggered, Constance could only stare. "You'll come to your senses."

"I have come to them. Goodbye, Mama."

Cassie walked to the door and held it open. She stiffened when Constance swept by. And then the trembling began.

Slowly, unsure of her footing, Cassie walked to the table. She braced herself on it as she lowered herself into a chair. Wrapping her arms tight around her body, she began to rock.

She was still sitting there when Devin came to the door, ten minutes later. He started to give a friendly rap on the wooden slat of the screen. But then he saw her, saw the way her shoulders were hunched and curled and the quick, monotonous rocking of her body, as if she were trying to still something inside herself. Or comfort it.

He'd seen her like that before, sitting in his office with her face battered. All he knew was that she was hurt, and he was through the door like a bullet.

"Cassie."

She sprang to her feet. He saw alarm mix with the hurt. Even as he reached out, she scooted back, out of his way.

"Devin, I didn't hear you come up. I was— I should—" Her mind raced for excuses, for the barrier of appearances. As always. Pale with grief, her eyes swimming with it, she stared at him. Then she began to move quickly. "Let me get you some iced tea. It's fresh." She was hurrying for glasses, for the pitcher, her movements jerky. "I've got some cobbler. I just made it this morning."

She jolted like a spring when his hands came down on her shoulders, and the glass she had just filled smashed on the tiles. The cat that had been napping under the table took off in a blur of fur.

"Oh, God, look what I've done." Her breathing hitched, and the feeling in her chest tightened. She couldn't stop it. "I have to— I have to—"

"Leave it." He struggled to keep his voice easy as he turned her to face him. She was shaking hard, trying to pull back. Not this time was all he could think. Not this time. "Come here," he murmured. "Come on now."

The instant he drew her into his arms, the dam broke. She wept against his shoulder, the fast, hot tears soaking his shirt. He kissed her hair, stroked her back. "Tell me. Tell me what's wrong, so I can help."

It wasn't coherent, nor was it complete, but he understood the gist when she stuttered out words between sobs. Bitter fury curled inside him as he soothed her, kissing her wet cheeks.

"You did what you had to do. You did what was right."

"She's my mother." Cassie lifted her ravaged face to his. "I sent her away. I turned my mother away."

"Who turned who away, Cass?"

Her breath sobbed out again, and her hands balled into fists on his shoulders. "It's not right."

"Get away from her." The screen door slammed as Connor burst through it. His own hands were fisted, and his face was flushed with fury, taut with violence. All he saw was a man holding his mother, and his mother crying. "If you touch her I'll kill you."

"Connor!" Shock had Cassie's voice ringing sharp. Was this her baby, with his fists raised and his eyes fierce? She caught a glimpse of Emma at the door, her frightened face pressed to the screen. "Don't speak that way to Sheriff MacKade."

Every cell on alert, Connor stepped forward. "Take your hands off my mother."

Intrigued, Devin merely lifted a brow and let his arms fall to his sides.

"I said not to speak that way," Cassie began.

"He was hurting you. He made you cry." Connor bared his teeth, a ten-year-old warrior. "He better leave right now."

"He wasn't hurting me." Though she was shaken to the core, Cassie stepped between them. "I was upset—Grandma upset me—and Sheriff MacKade was helping to make me feel better. I want you to apologize, this minute."

Devin saw the boy's arms drop, and knew when the angry flush on Connor's cheeks turned to shame. With his eyes on the boy, he laid a hand on Cassie's shoulder.

"I'd like to talk to Connor. Alone." Anticipating her protest, he gave Cassie's shoulder a quick squeeze. "Cass, the baby's crying. Why don't you and Emma go see to him?"

"Nate. I forgot." At her wit's end, Cassie dragged a hand through her hair.

"Why don't you go on?" Devin said, giving her a gentle nudge. "Con and I are going to take a walk."

"All right. Come on, Emma, Nate's crying." But she took a deep breath as she held out a hand for her daughter. "I expect you to apologize, Connor. You understand?"