The Fall of Shane MacKade

  “I didn’t hear you come home.”

  “Just got here.” She hadn’t slept. He could see the fatigue in her eyes, the shadows under them, and detested the stab of guilt. “You’re shivering. You’re barefoot, for God’s sake. Go back inside. Go to bed.”

  “You look tired,” she said, knowing her voice was more brittle than cool.

  “I’m hung over,” he said flatly. “Some of us humans get that way when we drink too much. Aren’t you going to ask me where I’ve been, who I’ve been with?”

  She lifted a hand, rubbed it gently over her heart. It still beat, she thought vaguely, even when it was shattered. “Are you trying to hurt me?”

  “Maybe I am. Maybe I’m trying to see if I can.”

  She nodded and turned back toward the house. “You can.”

  “Rebecca—” But she was already closing the door behind her, leaving him feeling like something slimy that had crawled from under a rock. Cursing her, he headed toward the milking parlor.

  They stayed out of each other’s way through the morning. Rather than work in the kitchen, she closed herself in the guest room and focused fiercely on the job at hand. So they would part at odds, she thought. Perhaps that was best. It might be easier, in the long run, to hide behind resentment and anger.

  From the window in her room, she saw him. He didn’t seem to be working. Marking time, she decided, until she cleared out. Well, he would have to wait a little longer. She wasn’t leaving until the day was over.

  “Where are you, Sarah?” she murmured, pacing the room, which was beginning to feel like a cell. “You wanted me here. I know you wanted me here. For what?”

  As she passed the window, she looked out again. He was walking across the yard now, past the kitchen garden, where he had late tomatoes, greens, squash. He stopped, checked something. For ripeness, she supposed.

  It was painful to look at him. Yet too painful to contemplate looking away. Had she really believed she could take the experience of love and loss as some sort of adventure—or, worse, as an experiment on the human condition? That she could examine it, analyze, perhaps write about it?

  No, she would never, never get over him.

  When he straightened from the little garden and walked toward one of the stone outbuildings, she turned away. No, she wouldn’t wait until the end of the day after all. That was too cruel. She would speak to him again, one last time, and then she would go.

  She’d send for the equipment, she told herself as she went downstairs. She would make her exit with dignity, albeit with dispatch. To Regan’s, she told herself, breathing carefully. To run back to New York just now would look cowardly. It was pointless to make him feel bad, to let him know he’d had her heart and broken it.

  Let him think that it had simply been an experience, one that was over now, one they could both remember fondly.

  She was never coming back. At the base of the stairs, she stopped to press her hand to her mouth. Never coming back to this town, this battleground, this house. Though she would be in full retreat, she would not run.

  She never glanced at the monitors, the gauges. Down the hall, she trailed her fingers over wood and paint, as if to absorb the texture into memory.

  At the kitchen doorway, the power punched like a fist….

  Stew cooking. The distant pop of gunfire…

  Weak, she leaned against the wall as the door opened.

  She knew it was Shane. The rational part of her mind recognized the shape of him, the stance, even the smell. But with some inner eye she saw a man carrying a bleeding boy….

  My God, my God, John. Is he dead?

  Not yet.

  Put him on the table. I need towels. Oh, so much blood. Hurry. He’s so young. He’s just a boy.

  Like Johnnie.

  So like Johnnie. Young, bleeding, dying. The uniform was filthy and wet with blood. The new stripe of his rank was still bright on the shoulder of the tattered jacket. There was a rustle of worn paper from a letter in the inside pocket as she peeled the uniform away to see the horror of his wounds.

  Just a boy. Too many dying boys…

  Rebecca saw it, could see the scene in the kitchen perfectly. The blood, the boy, those who tried to help him. There, the letter in Sarah’s hands, the paper worn where it had been creased and recreased, read and reread. The words seemed to leap out at her….

  Dear Cameron…

  “They couldn’t save him,” Shane said carefully. “They tried.”

  “Yes.” After the breath she’d been holding was expelled, Rebecca pressed her lips together. “They tried so hard.”

  “At first, he only saw the uniform. The enemy. He was glad that a Yankee had died there. Then he saw the face, and he saw his son in it. So he brought him home. It was all he could do.”

  “It was the right thing to do, the human thing.”

  “They wanted that boy to live, Rebecca.”

  “I know.” Her breath shuddered out, shuddered in. “They fought as hard as they could. All the rest of that day, through the night, sitting with him. Praying. Listening to him, when he could speak. Shane, there was too much love in this house for them not to try, not to fight for that one young boy’s life.”

  “But they lost him.” Eyes grim, Shane stepped forward. “And it was like losing their son again.”

  “He didn’t die alone, or forgotten.”

  “But they buried him in an unmarked grave.”

  “She was afraid.” Tears trembled out, rolling down Rebecca’s cheeks. “She was afraid for her husband, for her family. Nothing meant more to her. If anyone found out that boy had died here, and John a Rebel sympathizer who’d lost a son to the Yankees, they might have taken John from her. She couldn’t have stood it. She begged him not to tell, to dig the grave at night so no one would ever know. Oh, she grieved for that boy, for the mother who would never know where or when or how he died. She read the letter.”

  “Yeah, then they buried the letter from his mother with him.”

  “There was no envelope, Shane. No address. Nothing to tell them where he had come from, or who was waiting for him to come home. Just the two pages, the writing close and crowded as if she’d wanted to jam every thought, every feeling into them.” A breath shuddered out. “I saw it. I could read it, just as Sarah did… Dear Cameron.”

  Shane’s eyes went dark, his stomach muscles tightened, twisted. “That’s my middle name. Cameron was my grandfather’s name. Cameron James MacKade, John and Sarah’s second son. He was born six months after the Battle of Antietam.” Shane took a steadying breath. “The name’s come down through the MacKades ever since. Every generation has a Cameron.”

  “They named their child after the boy they couldn’t save.” Helplessly Rebecca rubbed the tears from her cheeks with the flats of her hands. “They didn’t forget him, Shane. They did everything they could.”

  “And then they buried him in an unmarked grave.”

  “Don’t hate her for it. She loved her husband, and was afraid for him.”

  “I don’t hate her for it.” Suddenly weary, Shane scrubbed his hands over his face. “But it’s my life now, Rebecca, my land. I can’t change what happened, and I’m sick of being haunted by it.”

  She offered a hand. “Do you know where he’s buried?”

  “No, I’ve always shut that part out.” As he’d tried, most of his life, to shut it all out. All those wavering memories, those misty dreams. “I never wanted any part of this.”

  “Why did you come in now, tell me now?”

  “I don’t know, exactly.” Resigned, he dropped his hands. “I saw him, beside the smokehouse. Bleeding, asking me to help him.” He drew a long breath. “It’s not the first time. I couldn’t not come in, not tell you anymore. You’re part of it. You knew that all along.”

  “He’s buried in the meadow,” she murmured. “Wildflowers grow there.” She reached for his hand again, tightened her fingers on his. “Come with me.”

  They walked out to
ward the meadow, through the bright wash of sun. The mountains were alive with color, and the flowers underfoot were going to seed. There was the smell of grass and growing things. When she stopped, the tears still fell quietly.

  For a moment, she could say nothing, could only stare down at the ground where she had once dropped her first clutch of wildflowers.

  “They did their best for him. Not far from here, another man killed a boy simply because of the color of his uniform. These people tried to save one, despite it.” She leaned into Shane when he circled her shoulders with his arm. “They cared.”

  “Yeah, they cared. They still can’t leave him here alone.”

  “We make parks out of our battlefields to remember,” she said quietly. “It’s important to remember. He needs a marker, Shane. They would have given him one, if they could have.”

  Could it be as simple as that? he wondered. And as human? “All right.” He stopped questioning and nodded. “We’ll give him one. And maybe we’ll all have some peace.”

  “There’s more love than grief here,” she murmured. “And it is yours, Shane—your home, your land, your heritage. Whatever lives on through it, through you, is admirable. You should be very proud of what you have, and what you are.”

  “I always felt as though they were pushing at me. I resented it.” Yet it had eased now, standing there with her in the sun, on his land. “I didn’t see why I should be the one to be weighed down with their problems, their emotions.” He looked over the fields, the hills, and felt most of his weariness pass. “Maybe I do now. It’s always been more mine than any of my brothers’. More even than it was my father’s, my mother’s. We all loved it, we all worked it, but—”

  “But you stayed, because you loved it more.” She rose on her toes and kissed him gently. “And you understand it more. You’re a good man, Shane. And a good farmer. I won’t forget you.”

  Before he realized what she was doing, she’d turned away. “What are you talking about? Where are you going?”

  “I thought you might like some time alone here.” She smiled, brushing at the tears drying on her cheeks. “It seems a personal moment to me, and I really have to finish getting my things together.”

  “What things?”

  “My things.” She backed away as she spoke. “Now that we’ve settled this, I’m going to stay with Regan for a few days before I go back to New York. I haven’t had as much time to visit with her as I’d planned.”

  She might as well have hit him over the head with a hammer. The quiet relief he’d begun to feel at facing what had haunted him was rudely, nastily swallowed up by total panic.

  “You’re leaving? Just like that? Experiment’s over, see you around?”

  “I’m only going to Regan’s, for a few days. I’ve already stayed here longer than I originally intended, and I’m sure you’d like your house back. I’m very grateful for everything.”

  “You’re grateful,” he repeated. “For everything?”

  “Yes, very.” She was terrified her smile would waver. Quick, was all she could think, get away quick. “I’d like to stay in touch, if you don’t mind. See how things are going with you.”

  “We can exchange cards at Christmas.”

  “I think we can do better.” Through sheer grit, she kept that easy smile on her face. “Farm boy, it’s been an experience.”

  Mouth slack with shock, he watched her walk away. She was dumping him. She’d just put him through the most emotional, most wrenching, most stunning experience of his life, and she was just walking away.

  Well, fine, he thought, scowling at her retreating back. Dandy. That made it clean. He didn’t want complications, or big, emotional parting scenes.

  The hell he didn’t.

  She’d reached the kitchen door and just stepped over the threshold when he caught up with her. A tornado of temper, he snagged her shoulders, whirled her around.

  “Just sex and science, is that it, Doc? I hope to hell I gave you plenty of data for one of your stinking papers.”

  “What are you—”

  “Don’t you want one last experiment for the road?”

  He dragged her up hard against him, crushed his mouth down on hers. It was brutal, and it was fierce. For the first time, she was afraid of him, and what he was capable of.

  “Shane.” Shuddering, she wrenched her mouth free. “You’re hurting me.”

  “Good.” But he released her, jerking away so that she nearly stumbled. “You deserve it. You cold-blooded—” He managed to stop himself before he said something he wouldn’t be able to live with later. “How can you have slept with me, have shared everything we’ve shared, and then just turn around and walk, like it meant nothing to you but a way to pass some time?”

  “I thought—I thought that’s how it was done. I’ve heard people say that you stay friends with all the women you’ve—”

  “Don’t throw my past up at me!” he shouted. “Damn it, nothing’s been the same since you came here. You’ve tangled up my life long enough. I want you to go. I want you out.”

  “I’m going,” she managed, and took one careful step, then another, until she’d reached the doorway.

  “For God’s sake, Rebecca, don’t leave me.”

  She turned back, steadied herself with one hand against the jamb. “I don’t understand you.”

  “You want me to beg.” The humiliation was almost as vicious as the temper. “Fine, I’ll beg. Please don’t go. Don’t walk out on me. I don’t think I can live without you.”

  She put a hand to her head as she stared at him. All she could see was all that emotion swirling in his eyes. Too much emotion, impossible to decipher. “You want me to stay? But—”

  “What’s the big deal about New York?” he demanded. “So they’ve got museums and restaurants. You want to go to a restaurant, I’ll take you to a damn restaurant. Now. Get your coat.”

  “I—I’m not hungry.”

  “Fine. You don’t need a restaurant. See?” He sounded insane, he realized. Hell, he was insane. “You’ve got that fancy computer, the modem and all those gizmos. You can work anywhere. You can work here.”

  She wasn’t used to having her brain frazzled. In defense, she latched on to the last thing he’d said. “You want me to work here?”

  “What’s wrong with that? You’ve been getting along here, haven’t you?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Leave your equipment set up everywhere.” He threw up his hands. “I don’t care.” In a lightning move, he leaped forward and lifted her off her feet with hands under her elbows. “I don’t care,” he repeated. “I’m used to it. Set up a transmitter in the hay barn, put a satellite dish on the roof. Just don’t leave.”

  The first hint of a smile curved her lips. Perhaps relationships weren’t her forte, but she believed she was getting the idea. “You want me to stay here?”

  “How many languages do you speak?” Sheer frustration had him shaking her. “Can’t you understand English?” He dropped her back on her feet so that he could pace. “Didn’t I just say that? I can’t believe I’m saying it, but I am. I’m not losing you,” he muttered. “I’m not losing what I have with you. I’ve never felt this way about anyone. I didn’t want to, but you changed everything. Now you’re in my head all the time, and the thought of you not being where I can see you or touch you rips my heart out. It rips my damn heart out!” he shouted, spinning toward her with blood in his eye. “You’ve got no right to do that to somebody, then leave!”

  She started to speak, but the look on his face when she opened her mouth stopped her cold.

  “I love you, Rebecca. Oh, God, I love you. And I have to sit down.”

  His knees were buckling. He was sure he’d crawl next. To get some control, he pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. Whatever the humiliation, he would take it, as long as she stayed.

  Then he looked up, looked at her. And she was weeping. His heart stopped thudding, split apart and sank.
>
  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’ve got no right to treat you this way, talk to you this way. Please don’t cry.”

  She took a sobbing breath. “In my whole life, no one has ever said those words to me. Not once, in my whole life. You can’t possibly know what it’s like to hear them from you now.”

  He rose again, resenting everyone who had ever taken her for granted, including himself. “Don’t tell me it’s too late for me to say them. I’ll make it up to you, Rebecca, if you let me.”

  “I was afraid to tell you how much I love you. I thought you wouldn’t want me to.”

  He took a moment before he tried to speak, a moment to let what she’d said seep in and heal his dented heart. “I want you to. I need you to. You’re not going.”

  She was shaking her head when he pulled her into his arms. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “You’re in love with me.”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “Thank God.” He covered her mouth with his while joy fountained through him. “I’ve been falling for you since I picked you up at the airport. You were so snotty, I couldn’t resist you.” A thought intruded, made him wince. “Rebecca, last night—”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Yes, it does. I was with my brothers, down at Devin’s office. I got drunk and slept it off on the cot in the back room. I was angry about what was happening here, and what had happened inside me, for you. Stupid.” He lowered his brow to hers. “I didn’t know if you just let go a little, it could all be so right. You were always meant to come here. Do you believe that?”

  “Yes.” She cupped her hands on his cheeks. The full power of it struck her like light. “We’re connected.”

  “That’s one way to put it. I like ‘I love you’ better. I really like that. Who’d have thought?”

  “I like it, too, better than anything.” Blissful, she snuggled into his arms. “And I won’t leave my equipment spread around the house. Since we’re going to be living together, we need some sense of order.”

  “Living together.” He tipped her face back, kissed her forehead, her nose, her lips. “Wrong. We’ve already been there, sort of. You’re going to marry me.”

  “Marry.” Her head spun. “You.” Her legs turned to water. “I have to sit down now.”

  “No, you don’t. I’ll hold you up.” That lightning MacKade grin flashed before he began to trace kisses over her face, move his hands up and down and over her. Damn, but she was cute when that brain of hers clicked off. “Marry me, Rebecca,” he murmured. “You might as well say yes. I’ll just talk you into it.”

  Marriage. Family. Children. Shane. Why would he have to talk her into something she wanted more than anything in the world? “I can’t think.”

  “Good.” They’d keep it that way awhile, he decided, and nipped gently at her jaw. “I love you. Mmm…pretty Rebecca, I love you. Say, ‘I love you, too.’”

  The muscles in her thighs went lax. “I love you, too.”

  “Marry me, Rebecca.” His curved lips skimmed over hers, down her chin and back again. “Be my wife, have my children, stay with me. Say yes. Say, ‘Yes, I’ll marry you, Shane.’”

  “Yes.” The strength came back into her arms as she threw them around his neck. “Yes, I’ll marry you, Shane.”

  He nibbled around to her ear. “Say, ‘I’ll cook for you night and day, Shane.’”

  “I’ll—” Her eyes popped open. The most momentous event of her life ended in laughter. “Sneaky. Very sneaky, farm boy.”

  “It was worth a shot, Becky.” Laughing with her, he gathered her into his arms and swept her in circles. “But I’ll take the best two out of three.”

  Epilogue

  Sunlight glinted off snow and the ice that crusted over it, so that the land sparkled clean and pure. They would all be there soon, Rebecca thought. All the MacKades, with their noise and their energy. And they would come here, to the meadow where a simple stone marker rose out of the untrampled snow and cast its thin gray shadow over white.