with just under eight thousand dollars.
The hell with him, Savannah thought wearily, and closed her eyes. Eight million couldn’t make her forget, and it sure as hell couldn’t buy her forgiveness. And no lawyer in a fancy suit with killer eyes and a silver tongue was going to change her mind.
Jared MacKade could go to hell right along with Jim Morningstar.
He’d had no business coming onto her land as if he belonged there, standing in her kitchen sipping lemonade, talking about college funds, smiling so sweetly at her boy. He’d had no right to aim that smile at her—not so outrageously—and stir up all those juices that she’d deliberately let go flat and dry.
Well, she wasn’t dead, after all, she thought with a heartfelt sigh. Some men seemed to have been created to stir a woman’s juices.
She didn’t want to sit here on this beautiful spring night and think about how long it had been since she’d held a man, or been held. She really didn’t want to think at all, but he’d walked across her lawn and shaken her laboriously constructed world in less time than it took to blink.
Her father was dead, and she was very much alive. Lawyer MacKade had made those two facts perfectly clear in one short visit.
However much she wanted to avoid it, she was going to have to deal with both those facts. Eventually she would have to face Jared again. If she didn’t seek him out, she was certain, he’d be back. He had that bull dog look about him, pretty suit and tie or not.
So, she would have to decide what to do. And she would have to tell Bryan. He had a right to know his grandfather was dead. He had a right to know about the legacy.
But just for tonight, she wouldn’t think, she wouldn’t worry, she wouldn’t wonder.
She wasn’t aware for a long time that her cheeks were wet, her shoulders were shaking, the sobs were tearing at her throat. Curling into a ball, she buried her face against her knees.
“Oh, Daddy…”
Chapter 2
Jared wasn’t opposed to farm work. He wouldn’t care to make it a living, as Shane did, but he wasn’t opposed to putting in a few hours now and again. Since he’d put his house in town on the market and moved back home, he pitched in whenever he had the time. It was the kind of work you never forgot, the rhythms easy to fall back into—ones your muscles soon remembered. The milking, the feeding, the plowing, the sowing.
Stripped down to a sweaty T-shirt and old jeans, he hauled out hay bales for the dairy stock. The black-and-white cows lumbered for the trough, wide, sturdy bodies bumping, tails swishing. The scent of them was a reminder of youth, of his father most of all.
Buck MacKade had tended his cows well, and had taught his boys to see them as a responsibility, as well as a way of making a living. For him, the farm had been very simply a way of life—and Jared knew the same was true of Shane. He wondered now, as he fell back into the routine of tending, what his father would have thought of his oldest son, the lawyer.
He probably would have been a little baffled by the choice of suit and tie, of paper drafted and filed, of appearances and appointments. But Jared hoped he would have been proud. He needed to believe his father would have been proud.
But this wasn’t such a bad way to spend a Saturday, he mused, after a week of courtrooms and paperwork.
Nearby, Shane whistled a mindless tune and herded the cows in to feed. And looked, Jared realized, very much as their father would have—dusty jeans, dusty shirt loose on a tough, disciplined body, worn cap over hair that needed a barber’s touch.
“What do you think of the new neighbor?” Jared called out.
“Huh?”
“The new neighbor,” Jared repeated, and jerked a thumb in the direction of Morningstar land.
“Oh, you mean the goddess.” Shane stepped away from the trough, eyes dreamy. “I need a moment of silence,” he murmured, and crossed his hands over his heart.
Amused, Jared swiped a hand through his hair. “She is impressive.”
“She’s built like… I don’t have words.” Shane gave one of the cows an affectionate slap on the rump. “I’ve only seen her once. Ran into her and her kid going into the market. Talked to her for about two minutes, drooled for the next hour.”
“How did she strike you?”
“Like a bolt of lightning, bro.”
“Think you can keep your head out of your shorts for a minute?”
“I can try.” Shane bent to help break up bales. “Like a woman who can handle herself and isn’t looking for company,” he decided. “Good with the kid. You can tell just by the way they stand together.”
“Yeah, I noticed that.”
Shane’s interest was piqued. “When?”
“I was over there a couple of days ago. Had a little legal business.”
“Oh.” Shane wiggled his eyebrows. “Privileged communication?”
“That’s right.” Jared hauled over another bale and nipped the twine. “What’s the word on her?”
“There isn’t much of anything. From what I get, she was in the Frederick area, saw the ad for the cabin in the paper down there. Then she blew into town, snapped up the property, put her kid in school and closed herself off on her little hill. It’s driving Mrs. Metz crazy.”
“I bet. If Mrs. Metz, queen of the grapevine, can’t get any gossip on her, nobody can.”
“If you’re handling some legal deal for her, you ought to be able to shake something loose.”
“She’s not a client,” Jared said, and left it at that. “The boy comes around here?”
“Now and again. He and Connor.”
“An odd pairing.”
“It’s nice seeing them together. Bry’s a pistol, let me tell you. He’s got a million questions, opinions, arguments.” Shane lifted a brow. “Reminds me of somebody.”
“That so?”
“Dad always said if there were two opinions on one subject, you’d have both of them. The kid’s like that. And he makes Connor laugh. It’s good to hear.”
“The boy hasn’t had enough to laugh about, not with a father like Joe Dolin.”
Shane grunted, gathering up discarded twine. “Well, Dolin’s behind bars and out of the picture.” Shane stepped back, checking over his herd and the land beyond. “He’s not going to be beating up on Cassie anymore, or terrorizing those kids. The divorce going to be final soon?”
“We should have a final decree within sixty days.”
“Can’t be soon enough. I have to see to the hogs. You want to get another bale out of the barn?”
“Sure.”
Shane headed over to the pen, prepared to mix feed. At the sight of him, the fat pigs began to stir and snort. “Yeah, Daddy’s here, boys and girls.”
“He talks to them all the time,” Bryan announced from behind them.
“They talk right back.” With a grin, Shane turned, and saw that the boy wasn’t alone.
Savannah stood with one hand on her son’s shoulder and an easy smile. Her hair was loose, falling like black rain over the shoulders of a battered denim jacket. Shane decided the pigs could wait, and leaned on the fence.
“Good morning.”
“Good morning.” She stepped forward, looked into the pen. “They look hungry.”
“They’re