by Lisa Jackson
At last, after all these years, they would be married. Nothing else mattered. Just Skye and Hillary and the fact that he would finally have the family he wanted.
There was work to be done. Though the livestock had miraculously been spared, the stables were a total loss as was the machinery shed. The only good news was that Chester would get his new tractor; the old one had burned in the fire.
Jenner was still in Portland, where specialists were observing him. His spinal cord wasn’t severed, but he still couldn’t walk or move his legs. The doctors said he probably would be transferred back to the local hospital by the end of the month.
Dani was still riddled with guilt. “I would never have taken Hillary into the stables if I’d known,” she told Skye for the dozenth time. Sitting in the living room of Max’s house, a neglected cigarette dangling from her fingers, she looked like hell. Though she’d only suffered slight smoke inhalation and a few burns where sparks had eaten through her clothes, she was wasting away.
“You couldn’t have known. You were just putting the mare back in her stall.”
“But I should have seen something or heard something,” Dani said, sighing loudly. “If only I’d been more aware.”
“It’s not your fault!”
Dani closed her eyes. “I should have smelled the smoke, seen the flames. The fire chief thinks the fire broke out in the tack room and we were there just minutes before.” She hung her head and jabbed out her cigarette. “I never liked Jenner McKee, but I never wished this on him.” Biting her lips, she fought back tears. “And Hillary... When I think how close she came to being seriously hurt...”
Skye sat down in the chair next to hers. “You’ve got to quit beating yourself up over this, Dani. It was not your fault.”
“But it was someone’s,” Dani said, staring blankly out the window.
True, the fire had been intentionally set. Arson. At least it appeared that way. And now Sheriff Polk thought that Jonah McKee’s murder and the fire at the stables were tied together somehow, that some sick mind was trying its best to harm the McKees. Max had seen someone by the stables, someone he didn’t recognize, just minutes before the blaze. The sheriffs department and the private investigator, Rex Stone, were looking into new leads, and soon, Hammond Polk hoped, they’d find the culprit. Skye didn’t mention any of this to Dani; her state of mind was too frail as it was. Instead, she tried to cheer her up.
“Hillary’s fine and Jenner’s going to pull through. His prognosis is good. It looks as if his spinal cord wasn’t severely damaged. Dr. Bradshaw thinks that someday he’ll walk again. Maybe even ride a horse or two.”
“It’s not for certain,” Dani whispered.
“Nothing in life is. At least everyone survived. Even the horses. You rescued the herd.” It had been Dani’s and Jenner’s efforts that had saved the animals. “You almost lost your life doing it. I think the McKees owe you.”
“That’s a switch.” She let her gaze slide guiltily away. “I guess I should admit something,” she said, clearing her throat. “Something that’s been bothering me for a long time. Remember that twenty-five thousand dollars—the check Jonah wrote to you? I convinced Mom to take it. She did it for me, and... well, I figured the McKees owed it to us, but now...”
“Shh.” Skye took Dani’s hand in her own and decided it was time to break the news. She and Max had kept their secret to themselves because of all the trauma in their lives. “Don’t worry about it. That was a long time ago and now... now it doesn’t matter because I’m going to marry Max.”
Dani looked up at her sister and tears starred her lashes. “You are?”
“You bet. And nothing will stop me.”
“That’s right,” Max’s voice boomed as he walked through the open back door. Skye turned and found him carrying Hillary and smiling broadly. “This time I’m not going to let her wiggle out of it.”
Hillary grinned at Skye. “See. You’re gonna be a bride,” she said, her eyes bright at the prospect of a wedding. “Daddy says I can be the petal girl.”
“Flower girl,” Max corrected.
Skye grinned and winked at her sister. “And I’m hoping you’ll be my matron of honor.”
“I couldn’t—”
“Of course you could.”
“But what about Jenner?” Dani asked.
Max kissed his bride-to-be on her forehead. “Jenner will be best man, if I have to push his wheelchair down the aisle myself.” Max finally seemed relieved. Just that afternoon the doctors had told him that Jenner would walk again. It would take time and effort and lots of grit, but eventually he’d have full use of his legs. “It looks like, in time, he’ll be back on his feet.”
“Thank God,” Dani said, blinking against her tears.
Skye helped her sister to her feet. “Go home. Spend some time with Jeff. Things are gonna work out.”
“Since when are you such an optimist?”
Skye glanced at the man she loved and her heart seemed full enough to burst. “Since I decided to marry Max.”
Hours later, Skye helped tuck an exhausted Hillary into bed. The little girl cuddled up to her teddy bear and didn’t even fight the need to sleep that forced her eyelids down. Max kissed the soft curls on the top of her head and snapped out the light. Taking Skye’s hand, he led her through the master bedroom and through French doors to the balcony.
The moon was full, casting a silvery light through the forest. Max stood behind her, his arms around her waist, her head pressed against the base of his throat. “I have something for you.”
“What?” Skye looked up at him.
He reached into his back pocket and handed her a rolled piece of paper held together with a slim gold band. A solitary sapphire glimmered in the soft summer evening.
“What’s this?” she asked.
“Something for you to treasure the rest of your life.” He slipped the ring from the paper and over her finger.
“I already have something,” she said. “I have you.”
“Always?” he asked, drawing her closer. She unrolled the paper and began to read the letter he’d written to her.
Tears of happiness filled her eyes. “Always.”
Dearest Skye,
From the first moment I laid eyes on you seven years ago, I knew I wanted you for my wife. You touched me as no other woman has ever touched me and I was bewitched by you.
We lost something seven years ago and now we have a chance to get it back, sweeter now than ever.
I’ve made mistakes, probably more than my share, but I’ve never been guilty of not loving you. It has been my blessing as well as my curse, and I will gladly carry it with me to the grave.
From this day forward I vow that I will never leave you. No circumstance is great enough to keep me from you. We will raise our family and grow old together.
No other woman could ever take your place.
I love you with all my heart and I will never stop. You are the greatest gift in my life and I will cherish you forever.
Always,
Max
B Is for Baby
Prologue
Dear Miss Crandall,
I know you probably didn’t expect this letter and I must admit that I never thought I’d be writing to you, but I feel as if I have no choice because my grandson’s future—his very life—may depend upon it.
Before you disregard me as an old, overly melodramatic woman, please read the enclosed article and know that Jenner McKee, my late son’s boy, needs your help. Six weeks ago he was injured while trying to save my granddaughter and the livestock from a horrible fire at the Rocking M Ranch. He was pinned beneath a ceiling rafter that had fallen, his leg was crushed, and now the doctors aren’t sure if he’ll ever walk on his own again. I assure you I’m not stretching the truth. By all accounts, Jenner should be dead, as his father is, God rest his soul. I fear that if he finds no reason to look toward his future, his will to live may shrivel up altogether.
Bu
t there is hope. You see, I know your secret. Before his death, my son, Jonah, confided in me that you bore Jenner a son, but that you kept the secret of your pregnancy to yourself, never letting Jenner know that he was to be a father.
I believe with all my heart that if Jenner knew he had a boy of his own, he would find the will to live that he seems to have lost. I beg you, please, come home to Rimrock. Tell Jenner the truth. Let him see his son with his own eyes.
I’m afraid that if you don’t comply, I will simply have to take matters into my own hands, and I vow to you, as God is my witness, I will see to it that my grandson is told that he’s a father.
Please return. I’m afraid meeting his boy is Jenner’s only chance.
Sincerely,
Mavis McKee
FIRE DESTROYS MCKEE STABLES
An explosion and three-alarm fire ripped though the stables of the Rocking M Ranch owned by McKee Enterprises. Several firemen were injured in the blaze along with Dani Stewart, 28, Hillary McKee, 5, and Jenner McKee, 33. Stewart and the McKee girl were treated for smoke inhalation and released from the hospital. Jenner McKee is in critical condition at Dawson City Hospital, where he is being treated for smoke inhalation, second degree burns and injuries to his spine and one leg.
Due to McKee’s efforts, no horses were killed in the blaze, which destroyed the stables, a building housing machinery, as well as a pump house and part of a barn.
The cause of the blaze is under investigation, but Fire Chief Fred Swaggart hasn’t ruled out arson....
Chapter One
Sometimes you just plain run out of luck. Especially with a man like Jenner McKee.
Angrily, Beth Crandall stuffed the rest of her mail into the pocket of her jacket and kicked at a stone in the parking lot, sending it skittering across the wet asphalt to land near the row of dripping rhododendrons that was the barrier between one sixplex and the next.
As if she hadn’t tried to tell Jenner he had a son! A vision of Jenner, rugged and leather tough, flitted through her mind. Roguishly handsome, tall and lean, he’d used her as he’d used a dozen women before her, and she’d been foolish enough trust him.
She couldn’t imagine him injured...crippled. He’d been so vital, so alive, so strong.
She stared down at the embossed letterhead and wished she’d never seen the letter from Mavis McKee, never ripped open the envelope, never scanned the words that were bound to control her destiny.
For nearly three years she’d convinced herself that she’d never have to deal with anyone named McKee again, but she’d been wrong. So very wrong. “Fool,” Beth muttered as she climbed the steps to her second-story apartment in Oregon City.
The building was situated on a bluff overlooking Willamette Falls where the river tumbled over rocks and spillways to move steadily northward. On either bank were industrial buildings—factories and mills of different sorts with tall smokestacks that billowed steam into the gray sky. Highway 99 sliced along the shoreline, running parallel to the river and the railroad tracks that followed the Willamette’s path.
Yes, she was far away from the sleepy little town of Rimrock, Oregon where she’d grown up and spent a lot of her adolescent years adoring a lonesome cowboy rodeo star, the rebellious second son of the richest man in the county.
Jenner McKee. Her heart squeezed at the thought of him. Beth had told herself she’d gotten over her schoolgirl crush long ago, that in the past three years she’d matured and given up the silly dreams she’d built around a man who probably didn’t even remember her name.
And now he could find out about Cody.
Her insides turned as cold as ice. Numbly she walked to the edge of the cliff and looked over the railing to the sluggish gray waters of the Willamette. How had Mavis found her? Probably through Jonah McKee. Beth suspected that while he was alive, Jonah had kept track of her and her son.
Whether she liked it or not, she had no choice but to return, to come clean and admit to Jenner they had a son.
Otherwise, should she try to run, to hide Cody, she might lose her little boy forever. If Jenner decided he wanted custody, he could afford the most expensive lawyers in the state, he could buy witnesses and line the pockets of crooked judges, and Beth could lose her only son.
Her throat turned as dry as dust at the prospect.
How would it look to the judge?
In her mind’s eye, Beth conjured up her worst nightmare. She stood alone on one side of the courtroom; Jenner and his team of lawyers swarmed together on the other. Gone were his faded, worn Levi’s. Instead, he wore an expensive three-piece suit with a white shirt and solid-colored tie. His days’ growth of beard had been neatly trimmed away and he was solemn and serious, no longer the rough-and-tumble rodeo rider who had never spent more than two weeks in any one spot. He’d inherited part of the vast McKee fortune and owned property, a huge house, acres of ranch land, timber and mineral rights, as well. Along with ranch hands, he had a maid and nanny on his payroll.
The judge’s voice was stern. “Ms. Crandall, you’re the daughter of Harriet Forrester, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Let’s see...Crandall...that makes you her daughter from her second husband....”
“Her first husband,” Beth corrected.
“Winward was her maiden name?”
“Yes.”
“Humph.” The grim-faced judge leafed through a thick sheaf of documents and scowled, clucking his tongue sanctimoniously. “Harriet Winward Crandall Lambert Jones Forrester. My God, she’s gone through enough husbands, hasn’t she?”
In Beth’s mind’s eye, the judge smiled down at her, exposing yellowed teeth.
“I don’t see what my mother has to do with this hearing,” she countered, once again feeling the pain, the embarrassment she’d lived with all those years in elementary and high school. She’d heard the whispers, endured the taunts, knew that most of her classmates thought her mother was nothing more than a cheap hussy, a whore who went through husbands as quickly as some people went through toilet paper. At least that’s what Dale Bateman had said to her when they were in the fifth grade.
“It’s simple. You’re the daughter of a... well, a very colorful woman. Why, she’s practically legendary here in Rimrock, the way she’s slept with just about every single man in town, and Mr. McKee, here, is the son of one of the most revered men in three counties.” He leaned even closer, his judicial robes settling around his broad shoulders as he folded his hands and smiled. “Now, isn’t it true you didn’t tell Mr. McKee he had fathered a son?”
“Yes, judge,” she imagined herself saying in a strangled voice.
“And is it also true that you took money from Mr. McKee’s father—kind of a bribe to stay away from Jenner McKee?”
“Well, it wasn’t really a bribe—”
“But it helped you pay off your education debts, allowed you to make ends meet while you had the baby and started looking for a nursing job, didn’t it?”
“Yes, but—”
“Hold on a minute.” In her painful vision, she could see him adjusting his reading glasses to peruse thick stacks of depositions. “While you work during the day, Mr. McKee’s son is being cared for by an elderly woman who you only met once you moved into your apartment in the city.”
“Mrs. Taylor is far from elderly! She’s very active and has more energy than I do on some days. Besides, she loves Cody.”
The judge sighed loudly. “And did you, or did you not, keep your son hidden from his natural father?”
“Yes, but—”
The courtroom was suddenly as silent as the tomb. Only the paddle fans whirring softly overhead made any sound. Shaking his head, the judge picked up his gavel. “I hereby grant custody to Jenner McKee! Ms. Crandall will have visitation rights, of course—” The imaginary gavel pounded down with a bang. Beth jumped, her heart drumming in fear, and her fingers tightened around the rain-slicked railing of the overlook.
Losing Cody was her worst ni
ghtmare. One she’d had over and over again. In the past couple of years, she’d convinced herself that it was only that—a worrisome dream. She’d never been to a custody hearing, and certainly they were much more fair than the horrible one she’d envisioned. And yet... She shivered inside.
Don’t let Jenner get away with it! He never wanted Cody and he didn’t want you! Fight him, Beth! Don’t give up!
Hunching her shoulders against the rain, she headed back to her apartment. There was no reason to panic. Just because she’d received a letter from Jenner’s grandmother was no reason to believe that he’d changed. He might not care that he had a son.
Except now he’s injured—unable to walk on his own. That would change a man; make him realize what was important in life.
She stopped dead in her tracks as she reached the stairs to her second-floor apartment. What would Jenner do without the use of his legs? How would he function? She tried to imagine him behind a desk, pushing papers for McKee Enterprises, and she failed. He’d never be happy confined to a wheelchair, never be able to accept the fact that he couldn’t ride a wild rodeo bronco, or rope a calf, or best a man in a barroom brawl... or make love.
Beth’s throat caught and she took in a short, swift breath. She’d given up thinking about her one night with Jenner long ago, tried to forget how it felt to have him hold her, kiss her, touch her anxious nipples with his callused thumbs. Theirs had been a night of lovemaking, a single, special night that Jenner probably didn’t even remember, one that she had treasured for months.
But that was all in the past now. Before she had her new life here in the Willamette Valley. With Cody. At the thought of her son, she raced up the stairs, her heels ringing on the metal steps. Suddenly she had to see his smiling face, hold his small body close to hers, convince herself that he wasn’t going to be taken away from her.