The Fall of Shane MacKade by Nora Roberts Page A

though he did look dangerous. It was, she would realize later, absolute sexual shock.
    There were smears of grease on his arms, arms that gleamed with sweat and rippled with muscle. Arms, she thought dazedly, that were stunningly naked. He wore a thin tank-style undershirt that had probably once been white. It was a dull, washed-out gray now, snug, ripped and tucked into low-slung jeans that were worn white at the knees. He had a blue bandanna wrapped around his forehead as a sweatband, with all that wonderful black hair curling over it in a glorious tangle.
    And he was smiling. A smile, Rebecca was sure, that reflected an easy knowledge of his effect on the female system.
    â€œBite,” she repeated, fighting off the erotic cloud that covered her like fine rain.
    â€œThat’s right, sweetie.” He tucked the wrench into his back pocket as he walked to her. She looked so cute, he thought, standing there in her shapeless jacket, those gold eyes squinting against the sun. “They’re greedy. If you don’t have food in your hand when you stick it in, they’ll make do with your fingers.” Casually he took her hand in his, examined her fingers one by one. “Nice fingers, too. Long and slim.”
    â€œYours are dirty.” She was amazed the words didn’t come out in a croak.
    â€œI’ve been working.”
    â€œSo I see.” She managed a friendly smile as she drew her hand free. “I don’t mean to interrupt.”
    â€œIt’s all right.” He ruffled the dogs, who had come backto join the company. “The rake needed some adjustment, that’s all.”
    Her brows shot up. “You get that dirty fixing a rake?”
    His dimple flashed. “I’m not talking about a stick with tines on the end, city girl. Been over to the inn?”
    â€œYes. I met Cassie. She showed me through. She’s going to give me a lift back to Regan’s when I’m ready. Since I was in the neighborhood…” She trailed off and looked back into the pen. “I’ve never seen pigs close up. I wondered what they felt like.”
    â€œMostly they feel like eating.” Then he smiled again. “They’re bristly,” he told her. “Like a stiff brush. Not very pettable.”
    â€œOh.” She would have liked to see for herself, but wanted to keep her fingers just as they were. Instead, she turned around and took a long scan of the farm. “It’s quite a place. Why haven’t you planted anything over there?”
    â€œLand needs to rest for a season now and again.” He glanced toward the fallow field near the woods. “You don’t really want a lecture on crop rotation, do you?”
    â€œMaybe.” She smiled. “But not right now.”
    â€œSo…” He laid a hand on the fence beside her. A standard flirtation ploy, Rebecca thought, and told herself she was above such maneuvers. “What do you want?”
    â€œA look around. If I wouldn’t be in your way.” Instinct urged her to hunch her shoulders, shift away, but she kept her chin up and her eyes on his.
    â€œPretty women aren’t ever in the way.” He took off the bandanna, used it to wipe his hands before sticking it in his pocket. “Come on.”
    Before she could evade, or think to, he had her hand in his. The texture of his palm registered. Hard, rough with calluses, strong. As they skirted around a shed, she had a glimpse of a large, dangerous-looking piece of machinery with wicked teeth.
    â€œThat’s a rake,” he said mildly.
    â€œWhat were you doing to it?”
    â€œFixing it.”
    He headed toward the barn. Most city people, he knew, wanted to see a barn. But when they passed the chicken coop, she stopped.
    â€œYou raise chickens, too. For eggs?”
    â€œFor eggs, sure. And for eating.”
    Her skin went faintly green. “You eat your own chickens?”
    â€œSweetie, at least I know