Then Devin had kissed her. But he didn't kiss like Rafe at all. No, not at all. She still had her fingers against her lips, and could still feel the heat there. No, she'd never been kissed like that before, by anyone. As if the man's life had depended on it. She'd never imagined Devin...

Oh, but she had, she remembered, letting her unsteady hand fall into her lap. She had imagined, just the night before. Had she dreamed her way into this?

What had happened here was certainly reality. Her heart was pounding still, and her skin was hot. She'd been so shocked by what he'd done, the way he'd grabbed her, the way his mouth had covered hers, she hadn't been able to move.

How long had it lasted? Thirty seconds, a minute? She couldn't say, but so much had happened inside her. She was still shaky from it.

He'd been sorry. Of course he had, she thought, and leaned back, closed her eyes and tried to catch her breath. He hadn't meant to kiss her. It had just been some sort of spontaneous reaction. A male reaction. Then he'd found her lacking and let her go. Apologized. He was a good and honorable man, and he'd apologized for doing something he hadn't really meant to do.

It was just a kiss, she reminded herself, but had to press a hand to her jittery stomach. Now she'd spoiled things, because she hadn't been able to shrug it off, or laugh it off like a normal woman. Any more than she'd been able to respond to him and make him want to kiss her again.

She would make an effort, Cassie ordered herself, to behave as though nothing had happened. The very next time she saw him, she would smile and make natural conversation. She was getting better at those things. She simply couldn't bear it if they couldn't be friends anymore.

She got up on still-wobbly legs to finish her polishing. And didn't think of Joe Dolin at all.

Devin worked like a fiend the rest of the day and all of the next. He drove his deputies insane, and drove out to the farm to extend the same courtesy to his younger brother.

Of course, he told himself he'd come out to work. There were crops to be tended, and several of the cows that hadn't yet calved were due to drop. He found his services welcomed when one of the cows delivered breech.

By the time it was over and the new calf was teetering on its spindly legs, Devin was a mess. His shirt was ruined, his arm was bruised from being contracted inside the cow's birth canal. And he stank.

In the stall, Shane was equally dirty, and he was whistling cheerfully as he administered inoculations to the annoyed baby. "There you go, pal. That didn't hurt much."

Disgusted, Devin stared at him. It had been a hard, messy job, and it wasn't over. The stall would have to be cleaned out and fresh hay spread, and the calf would need watching for the next couple of hours.

And there was Shane, kneeling in the muck, happy as a fool.

He'd been letting his hair grow lately, Devin noted, and he'd pulled a tail of it through the opening in the back of his grimy cap. His green eyes, shades paler than Devin's, were dreamy, and his mouth was curved next to his dimple. He was sinfully good-looking, even for a MacKade. And he was the baby of the family, even younger than Devin, which meant that his older brothers had been honor-bound to kick his butt well and often.

As he continued to whistle, Devin gave serious thought to doing so now. "What the hell are you so happy about?"

"Nice healthy calf, from the look of him." Despite the calf's strong objections, Shane was holding him still and examining his eyes and ears. "Mama's doing fine now. What's not to be happy about?"

"She damn near broke my arm."

"She couldn't help it," Shane said reasonably. "Besides, I told you I'd take that end. You insisted."

"Yeah, right. This place is a mess."

"Birthing's not neat." Shane stood and rubbed his filthy hands on his equally filthy jeans. He stepped out of the stall and leaned against the open door. "Besides, I thought this might sweat the mood out of you." His grin was cocky, confident—all the more reason for Devin to want to punch it in. "Women trouble, right?"

"I don't have women trouble."

"That's 'cause you don't have any women—which, I might add, is an embarrassment to all of us. Why don't you take one of mine? I've got plenty."

Devin answered the suggestion with the crude and expected response before he stepped over to the sink to wash his hands.

"No, really. You know who I think would be good for you? Frannie Spader. She's got all this red hair that just sort of tumbles all over the place, and the cutest smile. And when you get past the hair and the smile, she's got a body that can make a man whimper. I don't think you've done nearly enough whimpering lately."

"I'll pick my own women. I don't need your damn cast-offs."

"Just being brotherly." He slapped Devin on the back before reaching for the soap. "Of course, if you weren't so damn brotherly yourself, you could probably be making time with little Cassie—"

It was a tribute to Devin's speed, and Shane's innocence, that the blow caught Shane solidly on the jaw and sent him flying. He landed hard, shook his head. Before he could ask Devin what the devil had gotten into him, he was assaulted by a hundred and seventy-five pounds of furious, frustrated male.

They were well matched, knew each other's moves and rhythms. The barn echoed with grunts, the smack of flesh against bone, curses, as they rolled over the dusty concrete floor.

"Oh, for heaven's sake."

The female voice, and the disdain in it, didn't register on either of the combatants. Shane dropped his guard just long enough to be rewarded with a split lip, and answered it by bloodying Devin's nose.

"But, darling, it looks like they've just gotten started."

"I mean it, Rafe." With a heavy sigh, Regan MacKade shifted the gurgling baby on her hip. "Break it up."

"Women," he muttered. But he would break it up his way, which was to dive into the fray, and get in a few licks of his own. Knowing he couldn't enjoy himself for long, he managed to shove Shane aside and sit on Devin.

"Stay out of this." Swiping at blood, Shane hauled himself to his knees. "It's between him and me."

"Maybe I will." Rafe was having quite a bit of trouble holding Devin down. To prove he meant to, he covered Devin's grimy face with the flat of his hand and gave it enough of a shove to have his head rapping against the concrete. "And maybe I want to play," he added. "What's it about?"

"Ask him." Already cooling off, Shane flexed his sore hand. "I was just talking to him, and he punched me."

"Well, I want to punch you half the time you're talking to me," Rafe said reasonably, and looked down to see that Devin's eyes were clearing. He hadn't meant to rap his brother's head quite that hard. "What were you talking to him about?"

"Stuff. Women."

Devin's vision was coming back, and so was his temper. He started to heave Rafe aside when Regan's firm, no-nonsense voice stopped him.

"That's just enough of this ridiculous behavior, Devin. You should be ashamed of yourself."

Still on top of him, Rafe looked down and grinned. "Yeah, Dev, you should be ashamed of yourself."

"Get the hell off me."

"You going to be a good boy?" With a laugh, Rafe leaned over and kissed him. He was quick, and agile, and sprang away before Devin could retaliate.

"A fine thing," Regan said from the doorway of the barn, making Devin think twice about jumping Shane again. She stood there in tailored slacks and a crisp spring blazer, a wide-eyed baby on her hip, a polished leather shoe tapping. "Wrestling in the barn like a couple of bad-tempered boys. Look at the two of you—you're filthy, bloody, and your clothes are torn."

"He started it." Wisely, Shane held back a laugh, and tried to look humble. "Honest, Regan, I was just defending myself."

"I'm not interested in who started it," Regan said regally, and deflated her brother-in-law with one snippy look. "I believe we were invited to dinner."

"Oh, yeah." Shane had forgotten about that. "We had a little trouble with a birthing. Breech calf. We just got finished."

"Oh." Instantly Regan was all concern. Tossing back a curtain of honey-brown hair, she hurried inside. "Is it all right?"

"Just dandy. Hey, Nate."

"No, you don't." Even as the cooing baby held out his arms to his uncle, Regan turned aside. "You're filthy. The two of you go clean up."

Devin eyed Shane narrowly, then hissed out a breath. "I felt like pounding somebody. You were available. You also have a big mouth."

Shane dabbed at the blood on his lip. "You sucker-punched me."

"So?"

"So I owe you one."

"That's it boys, kiss and make up."

When both Shane and Devin turned on Rafe, Regan gritted her teeth. "Stop right there. If nobody punches anyone else, I'll cook dinner."

"Good deal," Shane decided.

"But you're not coming in the kitchen until... What's that noise?"

"What noise?" Devin unclenched his ready fist and listened. The whimpering sound was soft, barely audible over little Nate's babbling. Homing in on it, he strode halfway down the barn and looked into another stall. "Looks like it's the day for birthing. Ethel's having her babies."

"Ethel." Like a frantic papa, Shane bolted down the barn, and all but fell into the stall beside his laboring pet. "Oh, honey, why didn't you call me? Jeez, she's already had two."

"Fred's probably out passing out cigars." At the entrance to the stall, Rafe leaned over and kissed his wife, then his son. "I know just how he feels."

Seeing the panic in Shane's eyes, Devin shook his head. They'd witnessed or assisted in countless births with the stock over the years, but that meant nothing now. This was Ethel, and she was as close to a true love as Shane had ever known. He stepped in, crouched down beside his brother.