McKettrick's Pride

by Linda Lael Miller

  At five o’clock, she closed the shop, went upstairs to change her clothes and took Avalon out for a second walk.

  Back home, they shared a grilled cheese sandwich, and Avalon plodded to the airbed, exhausted.

  Echo was tired, too, but she knew if she tried to sleep, she’d start thinking about Rance, so she spent the next three hours filling orders for her mail-order clients. When she took that pile of padded envelopes to the post office on her lunch hour Monday, she’d have to take care that Cora didn’t see her.

  One look at those packets and Cora, being as perceptive as Rance, might just recognize the size and shape, and put two and two together.

  Echo huffed out a sigh. “Get real,” she muttered. “Nobody is that perceptive.”

  But she wondered.

  She finished her work, checked the locks downstairs, took a cool shower and crawled into bed.

  She tallied the day’s receipts in her head.

  She made out a mental grocery list.

  She turned onto her left side, then onto her right.

  The apartment was too hot.

  She tossed back the covers.

  Sweltering.

  She got up and opened one of the back windows to let in a breeze.

  That didn’t help, either, because Echo Wells had her own heat wave going, and it had nothing whatsoever to do with summer weather in northern Arizona.

  *

  KEEGAN WAS PROBABLY RIGHT, Rance reflected, leaning on the top rail of the fence overlooking the long-empty pasture behind his house. He’d lost his mind, buying all these damn cows.

  Who did he think he was? Angus McKettrick, the legendary old man who had founded the Triple M, way back in the 1800s?

  Still, the night air felt good, and there were a million stars shining overhead, and it was a fine thing to listen to the cattle setting down in the deep grass.

  He turned, looked back at the house. It was dark, except for a few of the downstairs windows. Rianna and Maeve had long since fallen asleep, reading the books Cora had helped them pick out at Echo’s grand opening.

  Echo.

  It was a good name for her, he decided. Just when he thought he’d put her out of his mind, she’d come back to him and set all his senses to vibrating.

  According to Maeve and Rianna, the name was made up. She had another, and evidently it was a secret, and a person had to know her well before she’d say what it was.

  Rance intended to get to know Echo Wells’s real well.

  He sighed, took off his hat, shoved a hand through his hair. He’d done hard physical labor that day, for the first time in more years than he cared to think about, and he needed a shower, bad. Like as not, every bone and muscle in his body would be aching like a son of a bitch by morning.

  Hell of a thing if he couldn’t mount a horse tomorrow, he thought, because he was all stove up like some broken-down old bronc-buster with too many rodeos behind him.

  He grinned.

  Maybe he wouldn’t be able to mount a horse, but he wouldn’t have much trouble mounting Echo. Lay her down in the sweet grass, and cowboy-up.

  Somebody did her a real number, he heard Keegan say. She’s breakable.

  With a cousin like Keeg, a man didn’t need a conscience.

  “Shit,” Rance muttered, and resettled his hat.

  “Something on your mind?”

  He started a little. “Think of the devil,” he said, “and he’ll appear.”

  Keegan chuckled and stepped up beside him, out of the darkness, then leaned against the fence. “You’d better hire some ranch hands,” he told Rance, “if you’re serious about playing the old-time McKettrick.”

  Rance sighed. “It’s going to sound strange,” he said quietly, “but sometimes it feels as if they’re still here—Angus and the boys. Once or twice, just at twilight, I’d swear I saw a horse and rider where they couldn’t be.” He braced himself, expecting Keegan to call him a sentimental fool, or worse, but it didn’t happen.

  “I know what you mean,” Keegan said. “I’ve had one or two experiences like that myself. Maybe Sierra’s right. Could be, time isn’t what we think it is. Past, present, future—maybe it’s all now.”

  “You been listening to that spook-talk again?” Rance asked. Sierra was convinced that she and Travis were sharing Holt and Lorelei’s old place with some of her ancestors. Said Doss and Hannah McKettrick were as alive as anybody—and they’d been married in 1919.

  Sierra wasn’t the first person in the family to make a claim like that, either. Eve, Sierra and Meg’s mother, had always sworn strange things went on in that house, and Meg believed it, too.

  One summer, when they were kids, Meg had hauled off and sucker-punched Rance, right in the nose, for saying she was crazy, believing in ghosts.

  He hadn’t minded the pain or the blood, he reflected, with a slight smile, but he’d sure as hell hated being slugged by a girl, especially since he couldn’t hit her back.

  Keegan let the question pass and put one of his own. “Do you think I ought to try to get custody of Devon?”

  Rance didn’t look at Keegan. His cousin had just said a hard thing, and he needed to stand with it for a little while.

  “Is that what you want, Keeg?” he asked when the time seemed right.

  Keegan sighed. “I know I miss that kid something awful,” he answered. “That old house over there on the other side of the creek is big, and it’s empty. I guess that’s why I work the way I do. Because then I don’t have to think about how lonesome I get whenever I stand still for too long.”

  Rance hesitated, then slapped a hand to his cousin’s shoulder. “I know all about empty houses,” he said.

  “You’ve got Rianna and Maeve,” Keegan pointed out.

  “Yeah,” Rance said. “They’re my own kids, but I couldn’t tell you much beyond that. I hardly know them, Keeg.”

  They were silent for a long while, just listening to the sounds the cattle made and the babble of the creek behind them.

  “They’re female,” Rance said.

  “Most girls are,” Keegan replied.

  “Cora has to translate practically everything they say. Who’s this Barbie broad, anyway?”

  Keegan laughed aloud. “Barbie’s a doll, Rance.”

  Rance frowned, confused. “You dating her or something?”

  Keegan gave another guffaw. “The toy kind,” he explained when he caught his breath. “Devon has about fourteen of them.”

  “Oh,” Rance said, bemused.

  “Thanks,” Keegan told him, after another lengthy silence.

  “For what?”

  “Making me feel like less of an idiot. Compared to you, I’m an expert on kids.” Keegan’s grin flashed. “So, thanks again.”

  Rance chuckled. “Don’t hold your breath waiting for me to say ‘you’re welcome.’”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CORA CAME TO GET THE GIRLS first thing the next morning, meaning to take them to Sunday school, like she always did. Having breakfasted on Rance’s cooking—burned toast and runny eggs—they were more than ready to go. He wasn’t too sure about Rianna’s outfit—she had on flowered pants and a striped shirt—but Maeve looked presentable, if uncertain, in a yellow dress.

  “Lord have mercy,” Cora said, taking in Rianna’s getup.

  Rance gave his mother-in-law a sidelong glance. He had to clean up the kitchen, and then ride the pasture fences to make sure they were still sound; it had been two decades, at least, since there were cattle on the place.

  Cora smiled. “I could stay and attend to these dishes,” she volunteered.

  Rance shook his head. “You go on to church,” he said. “And be sure to remind the Lord about that mercy you mentioned. I could use a little.”

  She laughed.

  “I am not going to be seen in public with you,” Maeve told her sister. “You look like a clown.”

  Rianna put out her tongue.

  Maeve advanced on her.

  “Girls,�
�� Cora said firmly.

  They both subsided.

  “How do you do that?” Rance asked Cora, genuinely baffled. “They’ve been about to tear each other’s hair out by the roots all morning. I had to threaten them with boarding school to get them to behave.”

  “You’ll learn,” Cora told him. She sounded confident, which was way more than Rance could claim.

  She shooed the girls out, and paused on the threshold to study Rance. The door of Cora’s truck slammed in the near distance, silencing the birds. Maybe they were waiting, like Rance was, for a blood-curdling, smashed-finger scream from either Rianna or Maeve.

  “You’re doing fine, Rance,” Cora said gently. A slight grin tilted up one corner of her mouth. “But I wouldn’t mention boarding school again.”

  He sighed. “It seemed like a better option than, say, prison.”

  Cora laughed. “There’s a picnic after church today,” she said. “It’ll probably run into the evening, so maybe Rianna and Maeve ought to spend the night with me.”

  “Good idea,” he answered, trying to sound casual.

  “You have a good time with Echo and don’t worry about a thing.”

  He’d been scraping plates at the sink. Now he stopped and stared at Cora in irritated amazement. “Do you have the whole town of Indian Rock bugged or something?” he asked.

  She indulged in a little smirk. “I know all, I see all,” she said. “Plus, Echo told me the two of you were going riding this afternoon.”

  With that, Cora closed the door, leaving Rance alone with his thoughts, his shortcomings as a father, and a stack of pans he’d have to sandblast to get clean.

  *

  WEAR JEANS IF YOU WANT to ride a horse.

  Rance’s sultry implication had been running through Echo’s mind most of the night.

  She put on a sundress, without any underwear.

  Then she changed into jeans and a T-shirt, with underwear.

  Avalon watched the whole process from the airbed, looking bored. They’d taken a good long walk together, that morning, and the dog had eaten well. Now she seemed to want a nap more than anything else.

  Echo was torn. She didn’t like leaving Avalon home alone, but the animal was pregnant—her belly was beginning to bulge with the proof, now that she’d filled out a little. It didn’t seem right to drag her along to the Triple M, especially since Rianna and Maeve weren’t going to be there.

  The obvious solution was to call Rance and beg off, make some excuse, and spend the day restocking the shelves downstairs and filling more orders from the web site. There was, of course, the added benefit of avoiding all risk of ending up in Rance McKettrick’s bed.

  If that could be considered a benefit.

  “I haven’t had sex in two years,” Echo confessed to Avalon.

  Avalon yawned luxuriously.

  “Of course you wouldn’t sympathize,” Echo said. “You’re going to have puppies.”

  Avalon rested her muzzle on her forepaws and eyed Echo sleepily.

  “Not to mention that I’ve gotten so desperate for companionship that I carry on conversations with dogs.”

  Avalon yawned again and closed her eyes.

  Echo sighed and went back to her closet.

  *

  RANCE HAD FORGOTTEN THE challenge he’d issued when he’d told Echo to wear jeans if she wanted to ride a horse. When he got to the bookstore, at ten minutes to one, and saw what she had on, it all came back to him.

  Silky pants with wide legs—pink, of course—and a lacy top that managed to look demure while hugging her upper body like a second skin. Over one arm, she carried a pair of freshly pressed blue jeans.

  How the hell was he supposed to interpret that?

  “I don’t like leaving Avalon by herself,” she said, instead of hello.

  “Bring her, then,” Rance replied, still stupefied by all that blatantly feminine fabric—and the smooth skin he imagined beneath it.

  “She’s in no condition to go trailing all over the countryside behind a couple of horses.”

  “Are we going to need horses?” Rance asked. It wasn’t a jibe; he honestly didn’t know.

  The pink of Echo’s blouse leaped into her face and pulsed there. “I have no idea,” she said. “Do we have to decide right now?”

  Rance shook his head, managed a smile. We have all night, he wanted to say, but he wasn’t about to push his luck. One wrong move on his part, and she’d decide to stay home and baby-sit the dog.

  Avalon settled the question by coming downstairs, with one end of her leash in her teeth.

  “I guess she wants to go along,” Echo said.

  “Fine by me,” Rance replied.

  Five minutes later, the three of them were in the SUV, Avalon riding in the back seat with the leash coiled beside her.

  Echo put the window part way down, and the wind played with the tendrils of hair that were always escaping from her braid.

  They went through the drive-in for burgers and fries, ate in the parking lot and headed for the ranch. Avalon, having consumed a quarter-pounder, belched copiously and then lay down for a snooze.

  Rance, feeling unaccountably anxious, decided to take Echo on a tour of the Triple M before heading home. She’d seen Travis and Sierra’s place, of course, so he took her by Jesse’s, high on its hill, with the old schoolhouse Jeb McKettrick had built for his bride still standing.

  If Jesse and Cheyenne were around, Rance saw no sign of them, and he wasn’t in the mood to visit, anyhow. He told Echo what he knew about Jeb and Chloe, and she listened with a wistful smile.

  “What a wonderful story,” she said when he’d finished.

  He showed her the swimming hole where he and Jesse and Keegan had passed so many carefree days, and every other site he could think of, besides the graveyard.

  Finally, there was nothing to do but head for his place.

  There, in the driveway, he brought the SUV to a stop and shut off the motor. Then he just sat there, wondering what to do next.

  If Jesse and Keegan could have seen him right then, they’d have ribbed him until he was laid to rest in Rafe and Emmeline’s section of the cemetery.

  They might have stayed right where they were, he and Echo, if Avalon hadn’t whimpered to get out of the rig.

  Even then, they both stood in the driveway, looking everywhere but at each other, while the dog squatted.

  Echo broke the impasse, gazing into the pasture beyond the house, where some forty head of cattle were munching grass. Rance planned to purchase at least a hundred more, and hire a couple of ranch hands to help him ride herd on them.

  She walked toward the fence, and Rance followed, as did the dog.

  “No chasing,” Echo told Avalon.

  The dog sat down, panting.

  Watching Echo out of the corner of his eye, Rance tried to imagine her living there, on the Triple M. Feeding cows from the back of a truck, mucking out stalls. He couldn’t picture her doing those things—she was a city girl, even if she had moved to Indian Rock. She’d be unhappy on the ranch, just like Julie was.

  She surprised him. “It’s so beautiful out here,” she said. “Makes me wonder how you can stand to leave.”

  He watched her, until she caught him. Then he looked away, pretended an interest in the cattle. “There’ve been times,” he confessed, “when I couldn’t stand to stay.”

  “Why?”

  He was a long time answering, because he’d so often asked himself the same question. “This land is a part of me,” he said, feeling his way. “Like another body, beyond flesh and blood and bone. So I guess maybe it was myself I wanted to escape.”

  She took it in slowly, the mountains, the trees, the wide expanses of grass, then she turned those mystical eyes of hers on him. He felt exposed, opened up, as though his soul had been laid bare to her. He’d never experienced anything like it before, even with Julie, and it scared him. At the same time, beneath the fear, exhilaration stirred.

  “Do y
ou know how lucky you are?” she asked. “You live on sacred ground, Rance. You belong in this place, with these people. You’re part of a story that reaches back for generations.”

  He’d always known he was lucky, but hearing it put that way gave him an emotional jolt. “Why do they call you Echo?” he said, because he figured it was his turn to ask a question, and because he needed to catch his balance.

  She hesitated, but she didn’t hedge. “When I went to live with my aunt and uncle, after my parents were killed, so I’ve been told, I repeated everything anybody said to me. My uncle nicknamed me Echo, and it stuck.”

  Rance wanted to touch her, take her into his arms, shield her from anything and anybody who might do her harm. But he knew he couldn’t protect her—he’d learned that lesson with Julie. “What’s your real name?”

  She smiled, and turned her head, not just looking at the land now, but breathing it in. Storing it up, as though to take some part of it away with her. “I might tell you one day,” she said. “Not now, though.”

  He had to accept that. He took her hand. “Let’s go saddle up a couple of horses,” he told her. “Of course, you’re going to have to get out of those fluffy pants.” He hadn’t intended the statement as an innuendo, and he felt the heat of embarrassment creep up his neck.

  Echo laughed, touched his arm. “It’s okay, Rance,” she said. “I know what you meant.”

  They went back to the SUV, where she’d left her jeans, the dog trotting behind, happily sniffing the ground. Inside the house, he filled a mixing bowl with water and set it on the floor while Echo changed clothes in a nearby bathroom.

  Avalon seemed content to stay behind and snooze in a patch of sunlight on the kitchen floor when they headed for the barn.

  He saddled Snowball, Cassidy’s old mare, for Echo, and Comanche, his own pinto gelding, for himself. He knew Echo had never ridden before, but she was game to try, and that impressed him.

  He helped her mount up, out in front of the barn, and she sat grinning in the saddle, obviously nervous, but excited, too.

  Echo.

  It was a pretty enough name, but now that he really thought about it, it didn’t suit her. It belied her substance, sounded hollow. And this woman was anything but hollow.