She’d barely turned the Open sign around, unlocked the door and moved behind the counter to unlock the till when Joe Dolin walked in.
The quick spurt of alarm came first. Then she soothed it by reminding herself that he was here, and Cassie wasn’t.
He’d put on weight even in the three years she’d known him. There was muscle there still, but it was cushioned by too many six-packs. She imagined he’d been an attractive man once, before his square face had bloated and his moody brown eyes had sunken behind bags.
He had a chipped front tooth she didn’t know was courtesy of a younger Rafe’s fist, and a nose that had been broken by Rafe, and several others.
With disgust, she remembered that he had tried, once or twice, to touch her. Had watched her, more than once or twice, with greedy eyes and a knowing smile.
Regan hadn’t even told Cassie that. And never would.
She braced herself for the altercation, but he shut the door quietly, took off his billed cap and held it humbly in his hands, like a peasant before the queen.
“Regan. I’m sorry to bother you.”
The penitent sound of his voice and bowed head almost softened her. But she remembered the bruises on Cassie’s neck. “What do you want, Joe?”
“I heard Cassie’s staying with you.”
Just Cassie, she noted. Nothing about his children. “That’s right.”
“I guess you know about the trouble.”
“Yes, I know. You beat her, and you were arrested.”
“I was awful drunk.”
“The court may find that an excuse. I don’t.”
His eyes narrowed and flashed, but he kept his head down. “I feel terrible about it. Done nothing but worry about her for days. Now they’ve fixed it so I can’t even go near her to tell her so. I come to ask you a favor.”
He lifted his head then, and his eyes were moist. “Cassie sets a lot of store by you.”
“I set a lot of store by her,” Regan said evenly. She would not let the sight of a man’s tears blur her judgment.
“Yeah, well. I was hoping you’d talk to her for me. See that she gives me another chance. I can’t ask her myself, long as there’s that damn restraining order. But she’ll listen to you.”
“You’re giving me credit for influence over Cassie I don’t have, Joe.”
“No, she’ll listen to you,” he insisted. “She’s always running off at the mouth about how smart you are. You tell her to come on home, and she’ll do it.”
Very slowly, Regan placed her palms on the counter-top. “If she’d listened to me, she would have left you years ago.”
His unshaven jaw tightened. “Now, you look. A man’s got a right—”
“To beat his wife?” she snapped. “Not in my book, he doesn’t, and not in the law’s. No, I won’t tell her to come back to you, Joe. And if that’s all you came in for, you’ll have to leave.”
His lips peeled back, showing clenched teeth, his eyes hardened like marbles. “Still all high-and-mighty. You think you’re better than me.”
“No, I don’t. I know I’m better than you. Get out of my shop or I’ll have Sheriff MacKade throw you in jail for harassment.”
“A woman belongs to her husband.” He crashed his fist on the counter, hard enough to have a crack splitting through the glass. “You tell her to get her skinny butt home, if she knows what’s good for her. And what’s good for you.”
Fear trembled in Regan’s throat, and was swallowed, hard. As if it were a talisman, she closed a hand around the crayon in her pocket. “Is that a threat?” she asked coolly. “I don’t believe your parole officer would approve. Shall I call him and ask?”
“Bitch. You’re nothing but a frigid, dried-up bitch who can’t get herself a real man.” He wanted to hit her, to feel his fist pound into that ice-queen face. “You get between me and my wife and both of you’ll find out what it’s like. When I finish with her, I’ll come after you. We’ll see if you’re so high and mighty when I’m finished.”
He jammed his hat back on his head, spun to the door. “You tell her what I said. You tell her I’m waiting. She’d better have that bastard MacKade tear up those papers and be home by suppertime.”
The instant the door slammed behind him, Regan slumped against the counter. Her hands were shaking, and she hated it, hated being afraid, hated being vulnerable. She grabbed the phone, had nearly followed through on her first instinct to call Rafe when she stopped herself.
That was wrong, she thought, carefully replacing the receiver. For so many reasons it was wrong. Wouldn’t his first reaction be to hunt Joe down, to fight? He’d probably get hurt and certainly more fighting wasn’t going to solve anything.
She straightened and drew a few calming breaths. Where was her pride, her sense of control? She had always handled herself and any situation that came her way. Her feelings for Rafe shouldn’t—couldn’t change that intrinsic part of her. She wouldn’t allow it. So, she would do what was right, what was practical, and what was necessary. Regan picked up the phone and dialed the sheriff’s office.
“He was almost pitiful at first.” The tea sloshed in her cup. With a grimace, Regan set it down again. “I guess he spooked me more than I’d thought.”
“Shake all you want,” Devin told her, and frowned at the crack in her counter. It could have been worse, he thought grimly. A lot worse. “I have to say, I didn’t think he was fool enough to pull a stunt like this.”
“I don’t think he’d been drinking.” Regan cleared her throat. “At least he wasn’t drunk. He got steadily more angry, steadily more abusive.” She reached for her tea again. “I don’t have any witnesses. It was just him and me.”
“You file charges, I’ll go after him.”
Her lips trembled upward. “It sounds like you’re looking forward to it.”
“You don’t know the half of it.”
“I’ll file charges. Cassie?”
“I had one of my deputies go to the diner as soon as you called. He’ll hang out there and get paid for drinking coffee and flirting with Ed. I’ve got another one driving by the school.”
“The kids.” Her blood ran cold. “You don’t think he’d go after the kids?”
“No, I don’t think he gives two damns about them.”
“You’re right.” She tried to feel relieved. “He never said a word about them. Only Cassie. It was as if his children didn’t exist. Well, I’ll lock up and go with you now, if that’s all right.”
“The sooner the better. Odds are he’s at home, knocking back a bottle and waiting for her.”
Once the complaint was official, Regan detoured to the market. She had a feeling both she and Cassie were going to need a lift that evening. Comfort food was in order. Spaghetti and meatballs, she decided, and double-fudge brownies.
While she waited for her purchases to be bagged, she tried not to chuckle at the darting looks and whispers. The gossip brigade, she thought, was in full march.
Mrs. Metz, all two hundred and twenty pounds of her, waddled over. “Why, Regan Bishop, I thought that was you.”
“Hello, Mrs. Metz.” Here, Regan thought, was the brigade’s head scout. “Do you think we’re going to get hit with snow again?”
“Ice storm,”