The Heart Of Devin MacKade: the classic story from the queen of romance that you won’t be able to put down

By the time it was over and the new calf was teetering on its spindly legs, Devin was a mess. His shirt was ruined, his arm was bruised from being contracted inside the cow’s birth canal. And he stank.

In the stall, Shane was equally dirty, and he was whistling cheerfully as he administered inoculations to the annoyed baby. “There you go, pal. That didn’t hurt much.”

Disgusted, Devin stared at him. It had been a hard, messy job, and it wasn’t over. The stall would have to be cleaned out and fresh hay spread, and the calf would need watching for the next couple of hours.

And there was Shane, kneeling in the muck, happy as a fool.

He’d been letting his hair grow lately, Devin noted, and he’d pulled a tail of it through the opening in the back of his grimy cap. His green eyes, shades paler than Devin’s, were dreamy, and his mouth was curved next to his dimple. He was sinfully good-looking, even for a MacKade. And he was the baby of the family, even younger than Devin, which meant that his older brothers had been honor-bound to kick his butt well and often.

As he continued to whistle, Devin gave serious thought to doing so now. “What the hell are you so happy about?”

“Nice healthy calf, from the look of him.” Despite the calf’s strong objections, Shane was holding him still and examining his eyes and ears. “Mama’s doing fine now. What’s not to be happy about?”

“She damn near broke my arm.”

“She couldn’t help it,” Shane said reasonably. “Besides, I told you I’d take that end. You insisted.”

“Yeah, right. This place is a mess.”

“Birthing’s not neat.” Shane stood and rubbed his filthy hands on his equally filthy jeans. He stepped out of the stall and leaned against the open door. “Besides, I thought this might sweat the mood out of you.” His grin was cocky, confident—all the more reason for Devin to want to punch it in. “Women trouble, right?”

“I don’t have women trouble.”

“That’s ’cause you don’t have any women—which, I might add, is an embarrassment to all of us. Why don’t you take one of mine? I’ve got plenty.”

Devin answered the suggestion with the crude and expected response before he stepped over to the sink to wash his hands.

“No, really. You know who I think would be good for you? Frannie Spader. She’s got all this red hair that just sort of tumbles all over the place, and the cutest smile. And when you get past the hair and the smile, she’s got a body that can make a man whimper. I don’t think you’ve done nearly enough whimpering lately.”

“I’ll pick my own women. I don’t need your damn castoffs.”

“Just being brotherly.” He slapped Devin on the back before reaching for the soap. “Of course, if you weren’t so damn brotherly yourself, you could probably be making time with little Cassie—”

It was a tribute to Devin’s speed, and Shane’s innocence, that the blow caught Shane solidly on the jaw and sent him flying. He landed hard, shook his head. Before he could ask Devin what the devil had gotten into him, he was assaulted by a hundred and seventy-five pounds of furious, frustrated male.

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