The Fall of Shane MacKade by Nora Roberts Page B

what goes into my own. Why would I pick up a pack of chicken parts at the market?”
    She made some sound and looked back over her shoulder, toward the pigpen. Reading her perfectly, Shane grinned. “Want to stay for dinner?”
    â€œNo, thank you,” she said faintly.
    He just couldn’t help himself. “Ever been to a hog butchering? It’s quite an event. Real social. We usually hold one out here once a year, hook it up with a fund-raiser for the fire department. Hog butchering and all-you-can-eat pancake breakfast.”
    She pressed a hand to her unsteady stomach. “You’re making that up.”
    â€œNope. You haven’t tasted sausage until—”
    â€œI’m thinking about becoming a vegetarian,” she said quickly, but pulled herself together. “That was nicely done, farm boy.”
    â€œIt was a little too hard to resist.” Appreciating her quick recovery, he gave her hand a quick squeeze. “You had this look in your eyes like you were calculating every squeal and cluck, filing it away somewhere for a report on the average American farm.”
    â€œMaybe I was.” She shielded her eyes with the flat of her hand so that she could study his face. He really was a most remarkable-looking male. “Details interest me. Sodo reports. Enough details, and you have a report. A good report equals a clear picture.”
    â€œSeems to me somebody who’s into details, reports and clear pictures wouldn’t be out chasing ghosts.”
    â€œIf scientists hadn’t been interested in explaining the unknown, you’d still be working your land with a stone ax and offering sacrifices to the sun god.”
    With that she stepped into the barn. Stalls and concrete floors that sloped. Hay, motes of dust that tickled the nose. The light was dimmer here, and the scent of animal stronger.
    Rebecca strolled toward the stalls, then let out a shriek as an enormous bovine head poked over a door and mooed at her.
    â€œShe’s got an infection,” Shane said, and wisely disguised a chuckle with a cough. “Had to separate her from the rest of the stock.”
    Rebecca’s heart was slowly making its way from her throat back down to its proper place. “Oh. She’s huge.”
    â€œActually, she’s on the small side. You can touch her. Here, top of the head.” Taking Rebecca’s reluctant hand, he held it between his and the cow. Rebecca was hard-pressed to decide which texture was tougher.
    â€œWill she be all right?”
    â€œYeah, she’s coming along.”
    â€œYou treat the stock yourself? Don’t you use a vet?”
    â€œNot for every little thing.” He liked the feel of her hand under his, the way it tensed, then slowly relaxed. The way her fingers were spread now and stroking curiously over the uninterested cow. “You don’t run to the doctor every time you sneeze, do you?”
    â€œNo.” She smiled, turned her head. “But I don’t imagine you can find cow antibiotics at the local pharmacy.”
    â€œFeed and grain store carries most of what you need.” But what he was interested in at the moment was the wayshe looked at him. So cool, so objective. She presented a challenge he couldn’t resist. Deliberately he skimmed his gaze down to her mouth. “What do you do with all those degrees Regan says you have?”
    â€œCollect them.” With an effort, she kept her voice light. “And use them like building blocks, to get to the next.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œBecause knowledge is power.” Remembering that, and using the knowledge that he was teasing her with his easy sexuality, gave her the power to step aside. “You know, I am interested in the farm itself, and when we’ve got more time I hope you’ll show me more of it. But what I’d really like to see now is the house and the kitchen where the young soldier died.”
    â€œWe mopped