The Fall of Shane MacKade Read Free Page B

ride.”
    She opened her mouth and made a squeaking noise. When Shane reached out for her arm to reassure her, she gave him a solid thwack with the briefcase. Before he had decided whether to laugh or swear, he felt a light tap on his arm.
    â€œExcuse me.” The pretty brunette cocked a brow and gave him a long, considering study. “I believe you may be looking for me.” Her mouth, which Shane noted was wide and full, curved into a dryly amused smile. “Shane, you said. That would be Shane MacKade?”
    â€œYeah. Oh.” He glanced back at the woman he’d accosted. “Sorry,” he began, but she was already darting off like a rabbit pursued by wolves.
    â€œI imagine that’s the most excitement she’s had in some time,” Rebecca commented. She thought she knew just how the poor woman had felt. It was so miserable to be shy and plain and not quite in step with the rest of the world. “I’m Rebecca Knight,” she added, and thrust out a hand.
    She wasn’t quite what he’d expected, but on closer study he saw he hadn’t been that far off. She did look intellectual, if you got past those eyes. Rather than practical shoes, it was a practical haircut, as short as a boy’s. He preferred hair on a woman, personally, but this chopped-off do suited her face, with its pointy, almost foxlike features.
    And she was probably skinny. It was just hard to tell, with the boxy, shape-disguising jacket and slacks, all in unrelieved black.
    So he smiled again, taking the long, narrow hand in his. “Regan said your eyes were brown. They’re not.”
    â€œIt says they are on my driver’s license. Is Regan all right?”
    â€œShe’s fine. Just some domestic and professional complications. Here, let me take that.” He reached for the big, many-pocketed bag she had slung over her shoulder.
    â€œNo thanks, I’ve got it. You’re one of the brothers-in-law.”
    â€œYeah.” He took her arm to steer her around toward the terminal.
    Strong fingers, she noted. And a predilection for touching. Well, that was all right. She wouldn’t squeak, as the other woman had—as she herself might have a few months before, when faced with a pure, unadulterated male.
    â€œThe one who runs the farm.”
    â€œThat’s right. You don’t look much like a Ph.D.—on first glance.”
    â€œDon’t I?” She sent him a cool sidelong look. She’d done a lot of mirror-practicing on that look. “And the woman who is probably even now hyperventilating in the nearest ladies’ room did?”
    â€œIt was the shoes,” Shane explained, and grinned down at Rebecca’s neat black canvas flats.
    â€œI see.” As they rode down the escalator toward baggage claim, she turned to face him. Flannel shirt open at the collar, she noted. Worn jeans, scarred boots, big, callused hands. Thick black hair spilling out of a batteredcap, on top of a lean, tanned face that could have been on a poster selling anything.
    â€œYou look like a farmer,” she decided. “So how long a drive is it to Antietam?”
    He debated whether or not he’d been insulted or complimented and answered, “Just over an hour. We’ll get your bags.”
    â€œThey’re being sent.” Pleased with her practicality, she patted the bag over her arm. “This is all I have at the moment.”
    Shane couldn’t get over the sensation—the uncomfortable sensation—that he was being observed, sized up and dissected like a laboratory frog. “Great.” It relieved him when she took shaded glasses from her jacket pocket and slipped them on.
    He was used to women looking at him, but not as though he were something smeared on a slide.
    When they reached his truck, she gave it a brief look, then gave him another as he opened the door for her. She granted him one of those cool smiles, then tipped down her glasses