Revenge

by Lisa Jackson

  “I don’t get it. This girl...woman...she’s nothing to me. Or you—” He stopped suddenly, understanding his grandmother’s motivation. She had to think that the kid was his! But why? How had that Beth woman gotten to her? In the past hour or so since she’d left, he’d begun to wonder about her. She’d seemed so straightforward, so sure of herself. But to trick an old lady...

  “What’s she told you?”

  “Nothing. As I said, I contacted her.”

  This wasn’t making sense and yet Jenner was beginning to get that same feeling in his gut that he’d experienced more than once years ago when his old man had tried to pull his strings. “What did you say in the letter?” he growled.

  She hesitated a second, then glanced down at the age spots on her hands as her fingers curled over the smooth handle of her black cane. “That she should come visit you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because of the boy.”

  “Her son.”

  “Your son, Jenner.”

  “Mine? How do you know? Hell, Mavis, I don’t even remember the woman and now she’s got you believing that the kid’s got McKee blood running through his veins. Don’t you see this is all a setup? For the love of God, when will you learn to keep your nose in your own business?”

  “Just as soon as you learn to walk again!” Mavis inched her chin up a notch, then picked up her cane and nudged the crutches lying by the chair. “Without those!”

  Jenner ground his teeth together in frustration and stared at the flames hungrily licking the logs. As he gazed into the fire, he felt his skin crawl with the gut-wrenching fear that interrupted his sleep and had been with him ever since the stables had burned.

  “That boy is yours!” Mavis insisted stubbornly.

  “Unless I’m mistaken,” he said slowly, “you weren’t there when it happened, so how the hell do you know?” Furious with the woman, he climbed to his feet, grabbed the crutches that his grandmother so disdained and moved toward the window to stare out at the charred rubble of the stables. He still remembered the blinding heat, the smell of scorched horsehair, the squeals of the terrified animals. Miraculously none of the livestock had been killed, only a few horses singed by falling embers, but all in all, no lives, either human or animal, had been lost. A fireman had sustained minor burns and two others had suffered smoke inhalation, but only Jenner had been permanently damaged.

  Bulldozers were scheduled to scrape up the remains now that the fire department and insurance adjusters were finished with their jobs. The fire chief was convinced the burning of the stables was arson; the insurance company was balking at paying because they suspected that one of the McKees had intentionally set the blaze to collect on the policy.

  Jenner snorted in disgust. Fools. The whole lot of them. No one at the ranch would risk injury to millions of dollars worth of horseflesh for the price of the building. He suspected the insurance company was stalling.

  His grandmother cleared her throat. “I wrote Beth a letter telling her how you were doing,” she maintained calmly.

  “How’d you even know about her?” Jenner itched to shake some sense into Mavis.

  “Your father didn’t keep any secrets from me.”

  “My father?”

  “He told me about the boy.”

  “Jonah knew?” Again Jenner felt that prickle at the back of his scalp, the signal that things weren’t as they seemed. “How?”

  “He made it his business to know everything about his children. You may have forgotten Beth Crandall, but Jonah didn’t, and when he found out she was pregnant—”

  “How, Mavis?” Jenner demanded. “How could he know? Hell, isn’t anything sacred?”

  “Ralph Fletcher was one of his closest friends. They did business together.”

  “And Doc Fletcher didn’t mind that he was breaking a confidence with his patient by gossiping with Jonah?”

  “I don’t think he saw it that way. Ralph was just being loyal to his friend.”

  “Bullsh—” Jenner grabbed a crutch, lifted it and pointed the rubber tip squarely at his grandmother’s chest. “This is just crazy! That kid can’t be mine! How does Ralph Fletcher or anyone else know who I was with?”

  Mavis cleared her throat. “Your father knew—well, guessed really. He was in Portland on business that weekend and he saw you with Beth. He always stayed in the Armitage Hotel. You should have thought of that before you registered.”

  “The Armitage?” Vaguely, Jenner remembered. “That’s quite a leap, isn’t it?”

  “He just put two and two together.”

  “He couldn’t have seen me.”

  “But you can’t remember, can you? So how do you know?”

  Jenner dropped the crutch as he realized that he was trying to destroy his grandmother’s dream. While his older brother, Max, had been Jonah’s favorite, Mavis had always been partial to Jenner and his rebellious ways. And she wanted a McKee grandson. Max’s daughter, Hillary, was fine, but Mavis wanted a boy to carry on her own son’s name, especially since Skye couldn’t have children. So she’d found herself one. Sick at the thought, Jenner shook his head. “I can’t remember, but I’ll tell you this. I’m careful, Mavis. Damned careful. I’ve never trusted a woman who told me she was taking care of birth control. I don’t take those kinds of chances.”

  “Every time?” she asked.

  Thunder seemed to roll in his head. “I don’t think this is the kind of conversation I should be having with my grandmother.”

  “It is when we’re talking about my great-grandson.”

  “There is no great-grandson!”

  “Well, it’s a good thing your father had more sense than you. He checked things out. The timing’s right, the boy’s blood type is right and Beth wasn’t involved with anyone else. Cody’s yours, Jenner, and it’s time you were responsible for him.”

  Jenner snorted in disbelief and gnashed his back teeth together. His father, Jonah P. McKee, had been a first-class bastard.

  “You had no right to contact her,” he growled, angry at his grandmother, the world and God for letting him survive the fire. The damned fire.

  “I had every right.”

  “I don’t want to see her again.” Jenner’s voice brooked no argument, but the old lady wouldn’t back down.

  “You might not have a choice. If you want your son.”

  “He’s not my—”

  “At least look at him. My guess is that he’ll look like a McKee. There’s a family resemblance that goes on for generation after generation. If that’s not good enough, have a blood test or one of those newfangled paternity tests where they match your genes....”

  She really believed it. Always a stubborn woman, Mavis was getting downright ornery in her old age. But she wasn’t foolish and she wasn’t one to kid herself. If she believed the boy was really his...oh, hell. His insides cramped at the thought of it. A child? By a woman he couldn’t remember? A woman who would just as soon shoot him as talk to him? His throat was suddenly sandpaper rough and Mavis was prattling on.

  “You may have given up on yourself, Jenner, but I haven’t. And the doctors might be satisfied that you’re not paralyzed, that your legs, well, at least one of them, seems to be healing, but that’s not good enough for me and it certainly shouldn’t be good enough for you! Keep in mind you’re a McKee, and we never give up.” Two high spots of color darkened her cheeks, and she thrust her chin upward a fraction as if she expected him to understand that McKees were considered royalty in the small town of Rimrock, Oregon. In Jenner’s estimation, her pretensions were worth about as much as a pile of manure.

  He forced the words over his tongue. “So you’ve suspected for some time now that I have a son and you didn’t say a word.”

  “Because of your father.”

  “What did he have to do with it?” Damn the old man. Even dead, Jonah was still pulling Jenner’s strings.

  She sighed wearily. “Jonah had such high hopes for you, Jenner, but you wer
e always thwarting him, fighting him every step of the way. Sometimes he thought you rebelled just to get his goat.”

  “So he hid the fact that I had a son?” Jenner was incredulous. He’d known his father played dirty, but he never expected this. Without another word, Jenner hobbled across the room, snagged his keys from the mantel and headed toward the front door.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Mavis demanded.

  “Finding out the truth.”

  “But how—?”

  Jenner nearly collided with his mother, who was carrying a tray laden with coffeepot and cups and thick pieces of berry pie oozing purple juice. She took one look at his face and the keys dangling from his fingers and her skin turned the color of chalk. “Jenner? What’s going on?”

  “Ask her,” he said, cocking his head toward the den where his grandmother was watching him with a satisfied smile playing upon her thin lips.

  “But you can’t leave. You’re not supposed to drive—”

  “Don’t wait up for me.”

  “Stop! You can’t—”

  “I might not be back.”

  “You can’t just leave.”

  “Watch me.” He shoved past Virginia and threw open the front door. A cool autumn breeze cut through his open shirt, but he hardly noticed. He plunged the crutches in front of him and moved as quickly as possible to his old pickup parked by the garage.

  “Jenner!” His mother’s voice trailed after him. “Jenner McKee, you come back here right now!”

  “You can reach me at the apartment!” he yelled back.

  “But you can’t possibly climb the stairs.... You can’t just take off...oh, my God.”

  Jenner tossed the damned crutches into the pickup bed and hoisted himself into the cab. Slamming the door, he ignored his mother and grandmother standing on the porch, pumped the throttle, switched on the ignition, and shoved the truck into reverse.

  The old Dodge lurched before he managed to work the clutch as well as the gas and brakes with his right leg. The left leg was useless, but he wasn’t going to let that stop him.

  Not until he’d hunted down Beth Crandall and figured out just exactly what kind of game she was playing.

  Chapter Three

  “I take it things didn’t go all that well.”

  “That’s the understatement of the year.” Beth threw her purse onto an old rocker and tried to quiet the anger that screamed through her brain. She’d been a fool to try to talk to Jenner McKee, and in her heart of hearts she’d known it. But she’d let Mavis’s letter convince her that telling Jenner he had a son was the noble, right thing to do. Well, it was done and it was a far cry from anything noble or right.

  “That bad?” Harriet, curled in a corner of the couch, dog-eared a page of the mystery novel she’d been reading and kicked off the afghan that had covered her feet. A thin black cigarette smoldered unattended in a glass ashtray on an end table.

  “He didn’t remember me and he didn’t want to believe that he had a son.”

  “Oh. Well, you want to talk about it?”

  “Not really. It’s over and done with. Something I won’t have to worry about ever again.” She should have felt relieved, but the undercurrent of rage that had been with her ever since she’d left the Rocking M still lingered, simmering in her blood, ready to ignite.

  “Maybe you’d like that glass of wine now.” Harriet took a final drag from her cigarette and rolled onto her feet.

  “I don’t think so, Mom. How was Cody?”

  “An absolute angel.” Through the haze of exhaled smoke, Harriet jabbed out her cigarette. Her face brightened at the mention of her grandson. “We had a ball. Any man who doesn’t want to claim that child for a son should have his head examined. Oh, by the way, Stan called. Said he’d be up until eleven if you wanted to call him back.”

  Beth felt a little niggle of guilt when she remembered the message she’d left for Stan on his answering machine. He’d been out of town and she hadn’t wanted to call him at his hotel in Buffalo, so she’d just left a quick recording telling him that she’d gone to visit her mother for a few days and would call when she returned.

  She should have been elated that he’d phoned her, but all the doubts that had been with her since she’d started dating him assailed her. She told herself that Jenner had upset her, that seeing him made Stan all the more attractive, but she couldn’t convince herself.

  In the kitchen, she dialed Stan’s number from memory and felt a slight disappointment when the call began ringing through. What could she tell him? That she’d met with Cody’s father? That now she was free from the past? That an unfinished chapter of her life had now been completed?

  “Hello?” Stan’s voice sounded distant.

  “Hi.”

  “Beth!”

  She cringed when she heard the joy in his voice and felt a pang of remorse that she didn’t love him with the wild abandon that he deserved. At fifty-eight, Stan Cole was twice her age, had been married for fifteen years and divorced for eighteen. His children were grown and he had two grandchildren already with a third on the way. An insurance salesman, he would retire before he reached sixty-five. He loved to ski and camp and he was kind to Cody.

  “What’re you doing in Rimrock? I thought you hated it over there:” Was it her imagination or was there a trace of irritation in his usually calm voice?

  Hating herself, she hedged. “You know my job ended and I thought Cody and I should spend a little time with my mom before I started the old eight-to-five grind again.”

  “Oh...so when are you coming home?”

  “I’m not sure....”

  “Monday?”

  “Probably not,” she said.

  “Tuesday then. I’ll meet you—”

  “Stan, let me give you a call later. When my plans are set.”

  “Oh, well, of course. I just thought we could get together. I could take you out to dinner. Tuesday is two-for-one night at The Countryside—”

  “I know, but I can’t promise Tuesday or even Wednesday, for that matter. Mom and I have a lot of catching up to do.” As she wound the telephone cord around her fingers, she tried not to hear the wheedling tone of his voice or the disappointment in his sigh.

  “Well, all right. Do whatever it is you have to. I just miss you, you know. I’ve been out of town over a week.... Well, how is your mother?”

  Why don’t you ask about Cody?

  Beth shot a glance at Harriet, who had taken her position in the corner of the couch again. She’d turned on the television, probably so that she wouldn’t have to eavesdrop. “She’s fine. Happy to see us.”

  “Good, good. I guess I’ll just catch up on my work and when you get home we can go out.”

  “I’d like that.”

  “I’ll put in a word with Lela, see if she can watch Cody.”

  “No. I’ll talk to her when I get home,” Beth said, leaning against the wall and staring out the window into the night. Street lamps washed the yards and sidewalks in a thin blue light and a neighborhood cat slunk through the shadows.

  “Come home soon, honey.”

  “I will,” she promised and hung up with an empty feeling in the pit of her stomach. He hadn’t even inquired about Cody; only brought up the boy because he was anxious to find a sitter for him. The uneasy feeling that Stan would be happier if Cody didn’t exist settled over her heart. Not that Stan was ever cruel or callous toward her son. But he just seemed to accept and tolerate Cody.

  “Trouble?” her mother asked when she walked back into the living room.

  “No. Things are fine.” No need to worry Harriet any more than she already was. Fine lines crossed Harriet’s usually smooth forehead.

  “You’re sure?”

  “Everything’s just a little unsettled right now—”

  The roar of a truck’s engine drowned the rest of what Beth was saying. Tires screeched as the vehicle swung wide at the corner and braked to a stop in front of the house.


  “What the devil?” Harriet said, twisting on the couch to peer through the venetian blinds. “Oh, my God—”

  A door slammed.

  “Brace yourself, honey,” Harriet said as she hastily closed the blinds. “It’s Jenner McKee and he looks mad enough to spit nails.”

  Now what? Beth’s stomach cramped as she heard the sound of Jenner’s uneven footsteps on the front porch, and she steeled herself for another emotion-wrenching confrontation. The bell rang insistently as she opened the door and found Jenner leaning on the tops of his crutches, his eyes blazing with fury. “Son of a—” He caught her stare. “You and I have unfinished business.”

  “I don’t think so.” She stood her ground, not moving an inch, but he shoved his way through, maneuvering his crutches so that she was forced to step aside.

  “Where is he?”

  “Who?”

  “The kid who’s supposed to be my son!” he growled, glaring at her. Beneath the anger and rage, there were questions in his eyes as if he didn’t quite believe everything he’d heard tonight.

  “I thought you were convinced I was trying to fleece you.”

  “You might be.”

  “So why’re you here?”

  His face twisted with frustration. “Because you’ve managed to convince my grandmother that the boy’s mine.”

  “I’ve never met your grandmother.”

  “But you wrote to her—”

  “She wrote to me,” Beth clarified. “In fact, she threatened me.”

  “You’re trying to make me believe an eighty-seven-year-old woman scared you?” He snorted at the absurdity.

  Beth’s patience snapped. “You have no right to barge in here and start making accusations.”

  “You started this.”

  “No way. Your grandmother did.” She crossed the room, snatched her purse from the seat of the rocker and dug through the contents until she came to Mavis’s letter. Holding it out like a shield, she walked back to the door and handed him the envelope. “Read it. You might find it interesting.” She flicked on the lights and crossed her arms over her chest as if protecting her heart.