“I can always bring Devon to Paris, if you’d rather,” Shelley said mildly. “Put her in boarding school. Soak you for alimony and child support until they lower you into the grave, and even after that. Or we can settle the matter right now. After all, Devon isn’t—”
“Shelley,” Keegan broke in. “Don’t.” Don’t say Devon isn’t my child.
“I guess I’ll be hearing from Travis Reid soon?”
“You’ll be hearing from Travis,” Keegan said bleakly. There was a weird, hollow sound on the phone. Devon was definitely listening in.
“Good,” Shelley said. More glass clinked, and Keegan heard her swallow. “Oh, and congratulations, Keeg. On your marriage, I mean. I hope you’re happier with this—Molly, wasn’t it?—woman than you were with me.”
“It would be impossible,” Keegan said evenly, “not to be happier with any woman than I was with you.”
“Have Travis express the documents, will you? I really want this apartment.”
Keegan couldn’t take any more. He thumbed the button, shut Shelley off. And then he just stood there, sick to the center of his soul.
Devon crept back down the stairs, looking defiantly guilty. “I told you she’d sell me for the right price,” she said. “Sign over my trust fund. That’s all you have to do.”
Keegan set the phone on the counter. Faced his daughter. “I’m not about to sign over your trust fund. And if you ever listen in on one of my private conversations again, cookie, the no-spanking rule goes right out the window.”
“You’re bluffing,” Devon said.
“Try me,” Keegan replied.
“Chill, Dad,” Devon counseled. “You’re just mad at Mom. I’m okay with all of it. Remember—I told you this would happen.”
Keegan sighed. Her reasoning was irrefutable—but how could a kid be “okay” with being sold, like some racehorse? No, she’d need professional help to square all this away, and he probably would, too. “If you’re going to live with me,” he said, “there are rules you’ll have to abide by. One of them is you don’t listen in on my phone calls. Got that?”
Devon flushed. “Got it.”
“Good.”
“But nobody’s been spanked on this ranch for something like a hundred trillion years.”
“There’s always a first time, kiddo.”
“Uncle Jesse and Uncle Rance would have your hide.”
“I can handle Jesse and Rance,” Keegan said. “Quit while you’re ahead.”
She plunked down on the one of the steps, drew up her knees, wrapped her arms around her skinny legs. DNA aside, the look in her eyes was pure, undiluted McKettrick.
“Am I worth ten million dollars to you?” she asked after a long silence.
Keegan poured himself a cup of lukewarm coffee, went over to the stairs and sat down beside her. “I’d die for you, Dev. What’s that worth?”
“Like, if the place was on fire, you’d come through the flames to get me out, no matter what?”
“No matter what.”
“If an ax murderer got in—”
“Dev? Another rule. No more horror movies on TV.”
She grinned. “Can we go up to Flagstaff tomorrow and get my clothes and books and stuff?”
“After the wedding,” Keegan said, wishing Molly were there so he wouldn’t have to face another night alone in his bed. Devon seemed relatively unscathed by the transaction with Shelley, but he wasn’t. He’d married the woman, for God’s sake. What did that say about him?
That he was a damn fool, that’s what.
And there was no reason to think he’d changed.
KEEGAN SPENT the next morning tying up loose ends in his office at McKettrickCo, while the rest of the company went about its business as if nothing had happened. As far as everyone on the payroll was concerned, nothing had happened. Word was already out that the acting CEO wasn’t planning on staff reductions, nor did he intend to eliminate Cheyenne’s work/study program.
It surprised Keegan how little there was to do, given how the job had consumed him for so long.
He was filling the last cardboard box when Travis appeared in the open doorway, with a file folder tucked under one arm.
“Just the man I wanted to see,” Keegan said.
Travis nodded, stepped into the office and shut the door. “Are you sure you want to go through with this thing?” he asked.
Though he had another agenda in mind, Keegan knew Travis was referring to the agreement with Psyche. His conscience jabbed him a little—he still hadn’t told Molly that they didn’t have to go through with the wedding in order for her to adopt Lucas.
“Yes,” he heard himself say. “I’m sure. Sit down, Trav.”
Travis drew up a chair, laid the file on Keegan’s desk with a slight slapping sound. “You’re crazy,” he said. “You’ve been through one bad marriage—why the hell would you want to do it all over again?”
“Molly isn’t like Shelley,” he answered, surprised at how defensive he sounded.
Travis raised one eyebrow. “And you’re so sure of that because…?”
Keegan set his jaw, relaxed it again. Sat back in his desk chair and cupped his hands behind his head. “I know what I’m doing, Trav,” he said. “Let’s leave it at that, at least for now. I want to talk about Shelley.”
“Shelley,” Travis repeated.
“She wants ten million dollars,” Keegan said.
Travis let out a long breath. “Of course she does,” he said. “She’s Shelley.”
“I want you to draw up an agreement. I get full custody of Devon. Shelley gets ten million dollars. No visitation, unless Devon specifically asks for it. No alimony, once the settlement has been paid, and no child support.”
“You’re serious?” Travis marveled.
“Dead serious. Draw up the papers, Trav. I don’t want to give Shelley time to change her mind.”
“Ten million dollars.” Travis shoved a hand through his hair. Whistled, low, through his teeth. “And I thought Jesse got screwed.”
Keegan knew all about the settlement Jesse had paid his first wife, Brandi. It was a different situation, because they’d been married for a grand total of a week, and there hadn’t been children.
“I want to raise my daughter,” he said.
Travis looked back over one shoulder, probably to make sure the door was closed, and spoke quietly. “One hitch, Keeg. Devon isn’t your daughter, not biologically. Suppose Shelley banks the ten million, then pulls that rabbit out of the hat? She could use it as grounds to break the agreement. Hell, so could the father, for that matter.”
“Devon’s father is dead,” Keegan replied.
Travis sat up a little straighter in his chair. “I thought you didn’t know who he was.”
“I figured it out,” Keegan said. He’d figured a lot of things out, lying awake in a cold and empty bed the night before. And nobody needed to tell him there was a distinct possibility that Shelley was pulling another fast one. “It was Thayer Ryan.”
“Thayer—Psyche’s Thayer? Keeg, that’s quite a leap. I know you’ve been under a lot of stress lately, but—”
“Frame it as an adoption,” Keegan said.
“Shelley could still change her mind.”
“She won’t. She gets a million when she signs the papers, and the rest after the adoption is final. She’s jonesing to buy some apartment in Paris, so she’ll deal.”
“You’ll have to tell Devon the truth,” Travis said. “Shelley’s likely to do it anyway, out of spite.”
Keegan sighed. “Yeah,” he said as the weight of the world settled squarely on his shoulders. “I know.”
“You’d better make damn sure your theory about Thayer Ryan is right. If some guy comes out of the woodwork and says Devon is his, you’ll be back in court.”
“I’ve already called Devon’s pediatrician in Flagstaff. They don’t even have to take blood to do the tests—saliva will do it. If Devon and Lucas are half brother and si
ster, the results will be all the confirmation any judge would need.”
Travis went pale. “You’ll need Psyche’s permission for that,” he said.
“Not after Molly and I are married and I become Lucas’s legal father, I won’t,” Keegan replied.
“This is pretty ruthless, Keeg. Step back from it a little—”
“I’ve done all the ‘stepping back’ I’m going to do,” Keegan said flatly. “You’re one of the best friends I’ve ever had, but you’re not the only lawyer in the world.”
“Keegan. This is me, Travis. Listen to me.”
Keegan reached for the file folder, opened it and began to read the terms of his and Molly’s agreement with Psyche.
Marriage.
Living under the same roof for a period of no less than one year.
In the event of a divorce, Keegan was to retain full custody of Lucas.
He reached for a pen, found the appropriate dotted line and signed his name with a hard flourish. Then he shoved the folder across the desk to Travis.
“Conversation’s over,” he said.
Travis swore under his breath, grabbed the file and stood. “Where’s Devon?” he asked.
“With Emma, at the bookstore,” Keegan answered. “Why?”
“Oh, I thought maybe you’d already shipped her off to some lab,” Travis snapped. With that, he left, slamming the office door behind him.
Keegan knew better than to think the argument was over.
Half an hour later Jesse crashed in, and Rance was right on his heels.
“Ten million dollars?” Rance yelled.
“Have you lost your fucking mind?” Jesse demanded at the same time.
“So much for attorney-client privilege,” Keegan said.
“Keegan,” Jesse bit out, “this is bullshit.”
“Why? You gave Brandi a million dollars to get out of your life. With Shelley, it’s cheap at ten times the price.”
“She’s going to nail you,” Rance seethed. “She’ll take the ten million and Devon, and break the kid’s heart in the process!”
“And what’s this crap about running DNA tests on Devon and Lucas?” Jesse wanted to know.
Keegan explained his theory about Devon’s paternity.
“You’ve really gone around the bend,” Jesse said when he’d finished. “Wait until Shelley comes home. Talk to her then. My God, Keeg, give yourself a chance to think.”
“You’re either with me on this or you’re not,” Keegan said calmly. His guts were churning, but Jesse and Rance didn’t need to know that. “Take your choice.”
Jesse pounded a fist down on Keegan’s desk, hard enough to make the cardboard box jump slightly. “Think. About. Devon.”
“Believe me, I am.”
“Shelley will tell her she’s not yours,” Rance said, very slowly and very quietly.
“Not if I tell her first,” Keegan said. He’d rather eat broken glass, but he’d do it. “The truth is always best, right?”
“Keegan,” Jesse said, “it will tear her apart.”
His eyes burned. His throat closed. “I know,” he said.
Rance’s jaw looked rock hard. “At least wait until Psyche’s…”
“Dead?” Keegan finished for him.
Jesse and Rance exchanged glances.
“Look,” Jesse said more reasonably. “I know you’re in a lot of pain right now. You’re not thinking straight, Keeg. Please. Just let the dust settle a little before you stir up another hornet’s nest.”
“I can’t,” Keegan said.
“We could hog-tie him,” Rance suggested to Jesse—only half kidding, judging by the expression on his face. “Lock him up in a shed someplace until he comes to his senses.”
“Not a bad idea,” Jesse replied.
“Give it your best shot,” Keegan said. “Right about now I’d love to take somebody apart, limb by limb, and one or both of you would do just fine.”
“Fine,” Jesse said through his teeth. He plucked Keegan’s desk clock out of the cardboard box, since he didn’t wear a watch, and checked the time. “Behind the barn. One hour. Rance and I will flip a coin to see who gets to kick the crap out of you first.”
“You’re on,” Keegan said.
Jesse banged out of the office.
Rance followed.
Keegan grinned and rolled up his sleeves.
MOLLY WAS SPOONING LUNCH into Lucas’s mouth when the kitchen telephone rang. Florence, busy dropping dumpling dough into a pot of simmering chicken soup, grabbed the receiver and grumbled a hello.
Her eyes widened as she listened.
Instinctively alarmed, Molly set aside the bowl and spoon. Wiped Lucas’s mouth with a napkin.
“I’ll tell her,” Florence said, watching Molly. “But I don’t know what she can do about it. Yes. Thank you, Myrna.” She hung up.
“What?” Molly asked, her voice trembling a little.
“Your future husband is about to tangle with his cousins behind the barn,” Florence said. “Myrna—she’s Wyatt’s mama, and she works at McKettrickCo, so she knows everything that goes on there—says she called her son right away, and he said it was McKettrick business, and he means to stay out of it.”
“You don’t mean they’re actually going to fight?” Molly asked, but she was remembering the night she’d rushed Psyche to the clinic. Remembering the way Jesse and Keegan had been shoving each other. If the receptionist hadn’t stepped in, they would surely have come to blows.
Florence gave a grim nod. “If you want that man of yours to look halfway decent in the wedding pictures,” she said sagely, “you’d better get out there to the ranch, and waste no time doing it.”
Molly got to her feet. Sat down again. “Do they do this kind of thing often? The McKettricks, I mean?”
“When the mood strikes them,” Florence said. “They’re a rowdy bunch, all things considered.”
Molly looked at Lucas. Back to Florence.
Florence tossed her the keys to her station wagon. “Go,” she said. “I’ll look after the baby.”
“I’ve never stopped a fight before,” Molly fretted, but she was already on the move, kissing Lucas on the forehead, grabbing her purse. “What do I do when I get there? And which barn? There are at least four on the Triple M—”
“Step between them,” Florence told her. “No McKettrick’s ever laid a hand on a woman in anger as far as I know. And it’ll be old Angus’s barn, the one at Keegan’s place.”
“How can I be sure that’s the right barn?” Molly asked anxiously, wrenching open the inside door to the garage.
“It’s a family tradition,” Florence said. “They’ve been settling their differences behind that barn for generations.”
“Call Emma and Cheyenne,” Molly said as she pushed the button to roll up the outside door.
“I reckon Myrna’s already done that,” Florence replied.
Molly rolled her eyes, scrambled into the station wagon, stuck the key in the ignition, started the motor and eased out onto the street, headed for the Triple M.
She was crazy to be doing this.
If the McKettricks wanted to bloody each other’s noses and blacken each other’s eyes, it was their own affair.
But despite this conviction, she kept driving, and once she passed the city limits, she put the pedal to the metal.
Did she even know the way to Keegan’s place? She’d been there only once, before the trail ride.
Rounding a bend, she spotted a pink Volkswagen up ahead, barreling over that dusty road with its wheels barely touching the ground.
As they passed the turnoff to Jesse’s place—Molly recognized the tilted blue mailbox—an Escalade shot out behind Molly and stayed right on her bumper.
The Volkswagen took a turn Molly probably would have missed, fairly flying over the ruts and potholes. Praying she was right about who was driving, Molly followed.
They rattled over the old bridge spanning the creek, the three vehicles li
ke a convoy rushing into battle.
Keegan’s house was up ahead, and there were two trucks parked at crazy angles in the yard, with Keegan’s black Jag jammed between them.
The Volkswagen screeched to a stop, and Emma bolted out of it and ran toward the barn, kicking off her high-heeled shoes as she went. The Escalade almost rear-ended Molly, and then Cheyenne streaked past her on foot, dark hair flying.
Molly got out of the station wagon and dashed after them.
Jesse was just flipping a coin when Molly rounded the corner of the barn. Rance and Keegan were there, too, and none of them was wearing a shirt.
“Heads,” Rance said.
“Sorry,” Jesse replied, immediately tucking the coin into the pocket of his jeans. “It was tails.”
“Wait a second,” Rance protested. “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”
Cheyenne rushed to Jesse before he could answer Rance’s question, and threw herself hard against his chest. “Stop it, right now!” she cried.
Gently Jesse gripped her shoulders and moved her aside.
Rance did the same when Emma approached him.
Molly looked at Keegan, and her heart sank. His face was hard, his feet were set wide and his fists were clenched. He’d made up his mind to fight, and no power on earth was going to stop him.
She turned to Jesse and Rance, desperate.
Were they going to gang up on Keegan, two against one? Didn’t they know this was all about Psyche, all because she was dying and he couldn’t do anything to help her?
Florence’s voice played in her mind. Step between them. No McKettrick’s ever laid a hand on a woman in anger, as far as I know.
Molly gulped and moved in.
Keegan didn’t even look at her. But he did stretch out an arm and move her aside, much as Jesse had done with Cheyenne, and Rance with Emma.
“Keegan,” she said. “Please…”
He didn’t so much as glance her way. “Not now, Molly.”
Someone took her arm; she looked around, saw that it was Cheyenne. She was glaring at Jesse as she spoke.
“If they want to act like idiots,” Cheyenne said, “let them.”
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