“I will. Shane?”
“Ahead of you, like always.” He already had Regan’s coat, and he helped her into it. “I’ll drive you home and fix that door for you.”
“Thanks.” With a smile, she kissed his cheek. “Baboons or not, the MacKade brothers aren’t half-bad.”
“Baby—” he put an arm around her waist to lead her out “—we’re all bad. Later, Dev.” When he’d helped her into his truck, he paused. “Rafe’ll come around. He just needs to go punch something.”
“That’s the answer?”
“Hey, it works.” He slammed her door, then circled the truck to climb behind the wheel.
“You’d have gone with him. After Joe.”
“We’d have all gone with him.” Shane glanced in the rearview, then whipped the truck into a quick and illegal U-turn. “Dev and Jared would have spouted off for a while about law and order. We’d have shoved each other around. Then we’d have gone with him.” With some regret, he shook his head. “It would’ve been fun.”
“Fun.” She could almost laugh as she let her head sink back on the seat.
“Nobody messes with a MacKade woman.”
“Oh, really? And is that my status at this point?”
He caught the tone, and then, with a wary glance, the martial look in her eyes. “I just meant…seeing as you and Rafe… That is, the way he’s…” Even a MacKade knew the value of retreat. “I ain’t touching this one.”
He pulled up at the base of her stairs and looked up to study the door. “Looks like somebody beat me to it.”
“What?” She was still simmering.
“I’ll check it, but it looks from here like it’s already been fixed.” He got out of the truck, climbed the stairs. “Yep. Few nicks and scratches, but it’s back on its hinges.” As a precaution, he tried the lock, gave it a good shove. “Solid. Rafe probably took care of it.”
“I see.” It did nothing to appease her. “I’ll have to be sure to thank him, won’t I?”
“Yeah.” Shane retreated again, backing down the stairs. “Are you going to be all right? Want me to get you anything, or hang around?”
“No, no, I’m fine. Just fine.” It wasn’t pleasant to take out her keys, but she did it, turned the lock. “I appreciate the ride.”
“No problem.” As he hurried back to his truck, Shane decided Rafe had a problem. A big one. It gave him a reason to smile all the way through town.
Chapter 10
It felt good to beat on something. Even if it was only a nail. To prevent himself beating on something, or someone else, Rafe had closed himself inside the east-wing bedroom. The look in his eye had warned any and all of his men to keep their distance—if they wanted to keep their teeth.
The sounds of construction bumped against the walls, a sound just violent enough to suit his black mood. Rafe ignored the nail gun at his disposal and beat in nails with hammer and muscle. Every new stud that he secured with nails and a swing of his arm was Joe Dolin’s face.
When the door opened behind him, Rafe bared his teeth without looking around. “Get the hell out. Stay out or you’re fired.”
“Go ahead and fire me.” Regan slammed the door at her back. “Then I can say what I have to say to you without damaging our professional relationship.”
He looked over his shoulder now, briefly. She’d changed, he noted. Not just the slacks, but everything—shirt, blazer, jewelry. From her hair to her shoes, she was neat as a pin.
But he remembered exactly how she’d looked, frazzled, pale, with blood on her clothes.
“You don’t want to be here right now.” He set another nail, shot it home.
“You couldn’t be more accurate on that, MacKade, but I’m here.”
She’d had to shower first, had to scrub herself everywhere and throw out every stitch she’d been wearing when Joe touched her. But she was steady again, and ready to deal with Rafe MacKade.
“I want to know what the hell is wrong with you.”
If he told her, she was liable to laugh in his face. And that, he was dead sure, would push him over that final edge.
“I’m busy, Regan. Weather’s cost me a full day.”
“Don’t hand me that. Look at me when I’m talking to you, damn it.” When he didn’t, just kept battering nails into wood, she fisted her hands on her hips. “Why did you leave Devin’s office that way? Just leave?”
“I had things to do.”
To illustrate her opinion of that, she kicked at a toolbox. “I suppose I’m to thank you now for fixing my door.”
“I’ll bill you.”
“Why are you mad at me?” she demanded. “I didn’t do anything to—”
Her breath sucked in as the hammer sailed across the room and crashed into a newly framed wall.
“No, you didn’t do a damn thing. You just got yourself tossed around, bruised, bloodied up and damn near raped. Why the hell should that bother me?”
Someone had to be calm, she told herself. Obviously, the way his eyes were glowing, it was going to have to be her. “I know you’re upset about what happened.”
“Yeah, I’m upset.” He picked up the toolbox, heaved it, because it made more sense than throwing her around. Metal and steel crashed and scattered like small bombs. “I’m just a little upset. Now get out.”
“I won’t.” Instead she angled her chin. “Go ahead, big guy, throw something else. When you’ve got it out of your system, we’ll have a civilized conversation.”
“You’d better get it through that thick head that there’s nothing civilized about me.”
“Oh, that’s coming through loud and clear,” she tossed back. “What’s next? You want to take a shot at me? That should prove you’re a bigger man than Joe Dolin.”
His eyes went black. For an instant, a heartbeat, she thought she saw hurt mixed with the rage. And it shamed her. “I’m sorry.” Fumbling, she lifted her hands. “You didn’t deserve that. I didn’t mean that.”
Now there was only rage, viciously controlled. “You usually say what you mean.” He held up a hand before she could speak again. “You want to have a conversation, fine. We’ll have a damn conversation.”
He strode to the door, simmering when she flinched. Yanking it open, he bellowed to every corner of the rambling house. “Out! Everybody out, now!”
He slammed the door again, satisfied by the scramble of feet and the clatter of tools.
“There’s no need for the work to stop,” she began. “I’m sure this will only take a few minutes.”
“Sometimes it just can’t be your way.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“No, I don’t guess you do.” Disgusted, he hauled open the door again. “Somebody give me a damn cigarette,” he shouted. But as there was no one brave enough to approach, he ended up slamming the door again.
Regan watched, quietly fascinated, while he paced and swore. His shirt was shoved up to the elbows, a tool belt was slung at his hips like a holster. He’d wrapped a bandanna around his forehead to catch