KEEGAN NEEDED to think.
He wanted to get Molly naked and take her against the nearest wall.
He needed distance, and perspective.
After they’d gone to the little courthouse adjacent to Wyatt’s jail and applied for a marriage license, he and Molly parted ways.
Molly went back to Psyche’s place, and to Lucas.
Keegan headed for the Triple M.
Once there, he changed clothes, wolfed down a nuked breakfast sandwich only two days past its expiration date, and went out to the barn.
Spud’s feeder was full, and so was his waterer, but he still welcomed Keegan with a cheerful bray.
“Hey, buddy,” Keegan said. After fetching the clippers and a hasp, he went into Spud’s stall, picked up one of the donkey’s feet and began trimming hooves. It wasn’t hard work, but it required a certain amount of patience, and the critter bore it cheerfully.
“I’m getting married,” Keegan told the donkey.
Spud nuzzled his shoulder, maybe in sympathy. More likely, he was hoping for a lump of sugar or a carrot.
“Her name is Molly,” Keegan went on, clipping away, careful to avoid the tender flesh inside Spud’s hoof, called the frog. “She’s sexy as hell, but she’s about as stubborn as—well—a mule. No offense.”
Spud nickered. His brown eyes were full of trust.
Keegan set the clippers aside and took up the hasp, a metal file used to smooth the rough edges. The sound was rhythmic, and probably the reason he didn’t hear an arriving vehicle.
He was taken by surprise when Devon’s head popped up over the stall door. Her face was sunburned and there was a mosquito bite on her chin, but otherwise she looked as though she’d survived the campout and the ride down from Jesse’s ridge.
“Cheyenne dropped me off,” she said.
Keegan grinned, glad to see her. “Did you have a good time?”
“Excellent,” Devon answered. “We roasted marshmallows and Uncle Jesse told ghost stories, and Maeve and Rianna and I stayed up way late. Liam ate too many hot dogs and hurled all over the place, and Sierra had to wash him off in the creek.”
“Sounds typical,” Keegan said, pleased. He’d been doused a time or two in that creek himself as a boy.
“Can I get a pony?”
“Yeah,” Keegan replied. “But not this very minute.”
Devon grinned at Spud. “He’s getting a manicure,” she observed. “If he wasn’t a boy, I’d put nail polish on him.”
Keegan chuckled. “Go take a bath,” he said.
Devon sighed. “I have to clean out Spud’s stall first,” she replied. “It’s a mess. He’s pooped everywhere.”
“Makes sense to do that before you take a bath,” Keegan admitted, still smiling a little as he went back to filing Spud’s hoof.
Devon darted away, came back pushing the wheelbarrow and carrying a pitchfork over one shoulder. She began scooping, but Keegan knew she’d picked up on something in his manner by the way she kept stealing glances. She was an intuitive kid.
Keegan straightened, rested one arm on Spud’s back.
Devon stood still, too, leaning on the handle of the pitchfork. Waiting.
“I’m getting married in a couple of days, shortstop,” Keegan said.
She was silent for what seemed like a long time, but was probably only a second or two. “To Molly?”
He nodded.
“Is she going to live here after Psyche dies? With Lucas?”
Keegan nodded again. The suspense was killing him—Devon could come down in favor of the marriage, or she could feel threatened. Her position on the matter was vitally important to him, he realized. He hadn’t given that aspect much thought before—the whole idea of getting married, to Molly or anybody else, was so new that he was still trying to assimilate it himself.
“Will that mean Lucas is my brother?”
“Yes,” Keegan said. “Are you okay with that?”
“I guess you’ve probably always wanted a son.”
“Nothing beats a daughter,” Keegan told her. “But I won’t mind having a son, too.”
“He’ll be a McKettrick? Like me?”
“He’ll be a McKettrick,” Keegan confirmed. “Like you.”
Devon’s lower lip wobbled. “But he’ll get to live here all the time, and I won’t. You might start loving Lucas more than you love me, just because you get to see him every day.”
Keegan crossed the short distance to where Devon stood, still gripping the pitchfork, and laid his hands on her shoulders. “McKettrick-true, Dev,” he said quietly, his voice gruff. “I’m never going to love Lucas more than I love you.”
She pondered that, her expression so heartbreakingly serious that Keegan’s eyes burned. “Promise?” she asked.
“Promise.”
She tilted her head back to look straight up into his face. “I guess you should try to love Lucas just as much as you love me, though. That’s only fair.”
He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, held her close for a moment. Kissed the top of her head. “I’ll try,” he said.
“What about Molly? Do you love her, too?”
He’d known that question would come, and he’d dreaded it. He was already living one lie where Devon was concerned, and he couldn’t add another, even though it would have made things easier for both of them. “No,” he said.
Devon pulled back from him, let the pitchfork fall, forgotten, to the floor. “Dad!” she protested.
“People get married every day, all over the world, for reasons that have nothing much to do with love,” Keegan hastened to point out.
“You didn’t love Mom,” Devon argued staunchly, “and look what happened. There was a whole bunch of fighting and yelling, and then you moved out. You got divorced, and I got caught in the middle!”
“I know you did, Dev. And I’m sorry. I’d do anything to make it up to you.”
She bent to retrieve the pitchfork. Straightened again. “Then tell Mom you want me to live here, all the time, with you and Molly and Lucas.”
The plea in Devon’s eyes bruised Keegan’s heart, made his throat feel tight and raw. “I’ll tell her,” he said. “But you and I both know what she’s going to say. And whatever our differences are, Shelley’s and mine, she’s your mother, Dev.”
“She doesn’t want to be my mother. She just wants to use me to get back at you.”
It was a bare-bones, brass-knuckle truth, and to deny it would be to dishonor Devon. People underestimated kids, Keegan thought—and he was as guilty of that as anybody. Kids knew when they were being used. They knew whether they were loved or not. They sure as hell knew who wanted them and who didn’t.
He did.
Shelley didn’t.
It was that simple…and that complicated.
“Dev…” he said, because it was all he could get to come out of his mouth.
She straightened her shoulders, took a firmer grip on the pitchfork and started scooping poop. A tear trickled through the layer of trail grime and campfire soot on her cheek, and Keegan reached out to wipe it away with his thumb.
“She’ll do it for money, Dad,” Devon said. “Mom will give me to you for lots and lots of money.”
Keegan ached inside. Another hard truth. And the fact that Devon knew her own mother would essentially sell her, had probably figured it out long ago, both shattered and enraged him. He longed to deny it but couldn’t, not in good conscience, because it had cost his daughter so much to say it out loud. She’d been working up to it for a long time, at who knew what cost.
“You do understand, don’t you, Dev, that this is about her, not you?”
Devon nodded. “I know,” she said with a sniffle, shoveling more industriously than ever.
Keegan ruffled her hair. “Finish up and get your bath,” he said hoarsely. “There’s nothing in the house to eat, so we’re going to have to head into Indian Rock and load up on groceries.”
She nodded.
Keegan went back to trimming Spud’s hooves.
“You’ll talk to Mom?” Devon asked, without looking at him.
“I’ll talk to her,” Keegan said.
MOLLY CALLED HER DAD, once she’d bathed and dressed Lucas. Florence had moved the playpen onto the sunporch, and he was there now, keeping Psyche company.
Molly sat on the window seat in her room, staring at the rumpled bed she’d shared with Keegan McKettrick the night before, and trying to work up a little shame.
It wasn’t happening for her. She’d never met anybody who galled her more than Keegan did, but she’d never been made love to like that, either. Up until last night she’d honestly believed multiple orgasms were just some tagline Cosmo used to sell magazines.
Not so, she thought, listening to the phone ring—and ring—on the other end.
Her dad’s voice mail picked up. He probably wasn’t speaking to her, since his DMV record had been faxed to Joanie and she’d reported to Molly that his license was currently suspended. Ergo, she hadn’t bought the truck he wanted, and though she hadn’t talked to him directly since the last conversation, when she’d been sitting in the courtyard at the hospital in Flagstaff, she knew he was furious.
“This is Luke,” snapped a recorded voice. “Leave a message.”
Tears welled in Molly’s eyes. Damn, but she was tired of crying so much. It wasn’t like her at all; she’d always been strong, competent, in charge. Until she’d met Thayer Ryan, and he’d simultaneously screwed up her life and given her the greatest gift a man could give a woman—a child.
He’d taken Lucas away from her. Caught her in a weak moment, played on her guilt.
Now, miraculously, and at such a high price, Psyche was about to give that precious gift back to her.
“Dad, this is Molly,” she told some telephone company computer. “I’m getting married in a couple of days, and I thought maybe you’d like to—fly up here for the ceremony. Call me back, okay? Please?”
She hung up, then placed a call to Joanie. Sooner, rather than later, she was going to have to go back to L.A., gather her small staff and make arrangements to either close or move the office. She needed to put her house on the market, too, and tie up a hundred other loose ends.
Say goodbye to friends, and to special places.
It was going to be very hard.
When she was going to do all this was a closely guarded secret of the universe, and Molly hadn’t been let in on it.
“Shields Literary Agency,” Joanie chimed. “May I help you?”
“I wish you could,” Molly said.
Joanie’s tone softened and took on a confidential note. “Dave was in this morning,” she said. “He said he had a meltdown in Indian Rock, and got arrested by Andy of Mayberry. Did you really have him committed? Not that I’d blame you if you did. He’s crazy as a tick.”
Molly sighed. There were a lot of things she wouldn’t miss about running her hotshot agency, and Dave was one of them. He’d certainly filled up her bank accounts, though, and for that she was grateful. “I didn’t have him committed,” she said. “Just hospitalized. They must have stabilized his medication and discharged him right away.”
“He says you don’t want to be his agent anymore,” Joanie said.
“The Gospel according to Dave,” Molly replied. “I’ve had it with him.”
There was a long pause. “Could I be his agent, then?” Joanie asked tentatively. She served primarily as an office manager, but she had represented a few clients Molly hadn’t been able to take on, and she’d gotten them modest contracts, too.
Dave, certifiable though he was, was a very big fish. Molly, as a fledgling working in someone else’s agency, had signed just such a client, a romance novelist whose first book had been a runaway bestseller. After considerable negotiation, she’d gone out on her own and rapidly made a place for herself.
“Joanie,” she said, “if you can deal with the stalking and the drama and everything else that goes with the Davis Jerritt package, be my guest. You might call Denby, too. He’s definitely looking for an agent.”
“You mean it?” Joanie asked, almost breathless. She was a divorced mother with two teenage boys, and even though Molly paid her an excellent wage, she had trouble making ends meet. Representing Davis Jerritt would be no picnic, but Joanie was up to the challenge. And the commission checks would change her life.
Molly smiled. “I mean it,” she said. “But I called for another reason.” She paused, searching for words, and finally just took the plunge. “I’m getting married in two days, Joanie. I’d like you to be here, if you can. It’s a personal invitation—nothing to do with business.”
“You’re getting married?”
“Yeah.”
“To whom, may I ask?”
“His name is Keegan McKettrick.”
“McKettrick. I know that name.”
“I might have mentioned it. And you’ve probably heard of his company. McKettrickCo.”
“McKettrickCo? Holy doo-doo, Molly. He’s got to be rich!”
“Beside the point, Joanie. So am I.”
“You fell in love, and you didn’t tell me?” Joanie sounded stunned, as well as hurt.
“I didn’t fall in love,” Molly said. “I have to marry him if I want to adopt Lucas.”
“Molly, that’s insane. You can’t—”
“I completely agree. It’s insane. But if I want my son back, and I do, I have to do it.”
“Oh, my God. I suppose he’s some old coot, this McKettrick dude, with a paunch and a prescription for Viagra.”
Molly laughed, remembering the lovemaking. She felt it, like a visceral echo in her body, even then. “Not exactly.”
“Well, that settles it. I’ll be there tomorrow night. I’ve got to see this for myself.”
“How do you feel about being a bridesmaid?”
“No taffeta? No ruffles? No puffed sleeves?”
“I promise,” Molly said, smiling.
“What are you wearing?”
Molly remembered Psyche’s remark about her wedding dress. She’d forgiven it, figuring it wasn’t entirely undeserved, but it still stung. “Something not-white,” she said.
“Do not shop,” Joanie quipped with tender humor. “Reinforcements are on the way. That bugle you hear will be me, leading the cavalry.”
“Fly in to Phoenix and rent a car. Head north on Highway 17—you’ll see the signs for Indian Rock after an hour or so. And call me the instant you hit town.”
“I’m on it,” Joanie said, already audibly tapping at her computer keys. “One more thing, Moll. Is your dad coming?”
“Probably not,” Molly answered, closing her eyes.
“That might be a good thing,” Joanie replied gently. “See you tomorrow night. In the meantime, hang tough.”
“I’ll be listening for that bugle,” Molly said.
They both said goodbye and hung up.
Molly decided to do something constructive. She made the bed, then wiped off the smudges she’d left on the rails of the otherwise shining brass headboard while holding on for dear life as Keegan McKettrick proved the credibility of Cosmo.
DEVON PUSHED THE CART around the supermarket, apparently greatly cheered since she and Keegan had talked in Spud’s stall, or maybe just putting on an act. They loaded up on fresh vegetables, meat and a reasonable amount of junk food, and were just rounding the end of the last aisle when they practically collided with Molly.
She was pushing a cart of her own, with Lucas riding in the seat, his whole head having disappeared beneath a baseball cap with the tags still on it.
Molly’s cheeks went pink at the sight of Keegan, but she instantly turned a smile on Devon.
The kid seemed to bask in that smile, lean toward it like a flower too long in the shade.
“Hello, Devon,” Molly said.
Something got stuck in Keegan’s throat.
“I guess you and Dad are getting married,” Devon said.
Molly’s gaze linked briefly with Keegan’s, and there was something bruised in it, but something hopeful, too. “I guess we are,” she said.
“Can I be a bridesmaid?” Devon asked. As a general rule she didn’t waste a lot of time on preambles. But then, she was a McKettrick.
Molly beamed. “I’d like that,” she said. “My friend Joanie is coming to town tomorrow night, and we’re going shopping the next morning. Would you like to come along?” In the next instant her face changed; the smile wobbled, a little uncertain.
Devon looked up at Keegan. “Can I, Dad? Please?”
He mussed her hair, still damp from the much-needed shower she’d taken after they finished the Spud chores. “Sure,” he said.
Molly looked relieved and, to her credit, delighted. She also looked delectable in those shorts and that modest little tank top. “It’s settled, then.”
“It’s settled,” Keegan said. “Call me, and I’ll drop Devon off.”
“Or Molly could just come out to our place right now,” Devon said, as one inspired. “And bring Lucas, too. You can both get some practice living there.”
Molly blushed again.
Keegan enjoyed that immensely.
“We’ll be moving in soon, I suppose,” Molly told Devon.
“Right after the wedding,” Keegan said.
Immediately Devon remembered a favorite cereal she wanted to stock up on, and dashed off to grab a few boxes.
“Chicken?” Keegan asked Molly in an undertone.
She straightened Lucas’s ball cap, perhaps to remind Keegan the child was there. “Actually,” she said after a beat or two, “I think Florence is planning to serve Swiss steak for supper.”
Keegan leaned in, planted a light, nibbling kiss on Molly’s mouth, then nipped at her ear. “I can’t wait to welcome you to the Triple M,” he murmured, and loved the tremor that went through her. “I’m going to have you in my bed. I’m going to have you in my shower. And then I’m going to take you out where the grass grows deep and the ground is soft and there’s nobody for miles around, and I’m really going to have you.”
She shivered again, and blushed. Looking down, Keegan saw her nipples jutting against the front of the tank top.
“Keegan McKettrick,” she said, affronted and obviously aroused, “this is a supermarket. People are probably staring.”
He grinned.
Devon returned with an armload of cereal boxes and dumped the works on top of the other stuff in the cart, then headed for the check-out lanes. “Let’s go, Dad,” she called back over one shoulder. “You said you’d make spaghetti for supper, and I’m hungry.”
Keegan looked deep into Molly’s eyes. “Me, too,” he said.
Molly glanced fondly after Devon, then turned back to Keegan.
“Just remember one thing, Mr. McKettrick,” she said. “I can give as good as I get.” With that, she wheeled off down the aisle, and Keegan could have sworn there was extra sway in that saucy little backside of hers.
HE MADE THE PROMISED SPAGHETTI that night, after he and Devon had put away the groceries and fed Spud again. They were loading the dishwasher, and talking about buying horses to fill the empty stalls in the barn, when the telephone rang.
Something about the sound unnerved Keegan; it seemed unusually shrill to him. He might have braced himself for bad news about Psyche, but he knew by the double ring that it was long distance.
Shelley, he thought.
Devon seemed to have the same premonition. She went a little pale behind her sunburn, and dashed to answer.
Keegan leaned against the sink for a moment, sucked in a deep breath, listened as Devon said hello. Then she said she’d accept the charges.
He turned.
Devon met his gaze and nodded. “It’s Mom,” she said.
The pit of Keegan’s stomach plummeted. He wanted to have a conversation with Shelley, all right, but not over the phone. And not with Devon standing there listening to every word.
“Dad’s getting married,” Devon announced.
Keegan rolled his eyes.
Devon frowned. “Mom wants to talk to you,” she said, inevitably.
Keegan glared at Devon.
Devon grinned and held out the phone, but her eyes looked troubled.
“You’re getting married?” Shelley instantly demanded.
“Yes,” Keegan said.
“Do you love her?”
This was one time Keegan didn’t mind stretching the truth. “Yes,” he said.
Shelley was silent.
“Are you still there?” Keegan finally asked.
Devon was making a rolling, get-on-with-it motion with both hands.
Keegan glowered at her again. She subsided, but only slightly.
Unbelievably, Shelley began to sob.
“Shelley,” Keegan said calmly, and with more kindness than he would be expected to feel, given all this woman had put him through and, more important, all she’d put Devon through. “Get a grip.”
“I always…thought—maybe—”
“Shelley,” Keegan interrupted. “Put Rory on the phone, okay?”
“I c-can’t! We had a f-fight and he’s g-gone!”
Shit, Keegan thought. He made a shooing motion at Devon, wanting her to leave the room, but he knew by the stubborn look on her face that she wasn’t about to cooperate.
Shelley began to wail.
“Shelley,” Keegan repeated, more forcefully this time, “get a grip.”
“I’m—I’m stranded. He t-took my m-money and my c-credit cards—even the plane tickets…”
Keegan found a pen and a scrap of paper. “Tell me the name of your hotel. Phone number, too, of course.”
“Y-you’ll help me? After everything?”
“Of course I’ll help you, Shelley. You’re Devon’s mother.”
The clue train finally rolled into Keegan’s station. Shelley was drunk—or pretending to be. Most likely, this was some kind of con. Unfortunately, that didn’t change the situation.
“Th-thank you, Keegan.”
“Shelley, where are you?”
She gave him the name of her hotel. Posh place on a tree-lined boulevard overlooking the Seine. Keegan knew it well. “They won’t even l-let me back in the room,” Shelley stammered.
“Take a breath. You’re in the lobby now, right?” More likely the bar, said a voice in his head.
Just what he needed—input from the left brain.
“R-right.” She sniffled, began to sound a little more with it.
“Sit tight. I’ll get you back in your room, and arrange for a ticket home. And I’ll wire you some cash for cabs.”
“I don’t want to come home. I’ve realized that Paris is my true home.”
Keegan unclamped his back molars. “Okay, whatever.”
Suddenly Shelley was coherent. “I just need a room for the night, Keegan. And money, because I found this great little flat in the—”
So much for self-control. “Shelley, are you out of your freaking mind?”
“I just got a little—nostalgic—when Devon told me you were getting married again, that’s all. I thought I’d be the first—that Rory would…” Shelley’s personal roller coaster was climbing, and Keegan knew there’d be one hell of a plunge on the other side. Short of throwing himself on the tracks, he couldn’t think of a way to stop it.
“Look,” he said, “I’ll advance you next month’s alimony. I’ll cover your hotel bills. Anything. But you and I need to talk, Shelley. In person, about Devon.”
She was quiet again. “Then I guess you’ll have to come to Paris.”
“Zero chance of that.”
“Two months’ alimony,” she wheedled. “Along with the child support, that would be enough to get me into the flat.”
Keegan closed his eyes. “All right. Two months.”
“And the child support.”
“And the child support.”
Devon, seated at the kitchen table now, laid her head down on her arms.
“Who’s the lucky lady, Keeg?”
“Her name is Molly. Call me as soon as you’re back in your room.”
Shelley promised she would. Of course, she’d also promised to be a faithful wife, and a good mother to Devon.
He hung up, without a goodbye, and immediately dialed Shelley’s hotel in Paris. Within minutes, he’d made arrangements to cover her expenses. After that he made another call, and sent Shelley double the amount she’d asked for.
He wasn’t being noble. He was hoping to keep Shelley off his back for a while, that was all.
“Dad,” Devon said patiently when he’d hung up, “you are such a sucker. Rory’s probably right there with her. They just wanted more money, and Mom put on this big act.”
“Maybe so,” Keegan said. “But I can’t take the chance that she’s really stranded, shortstop.”
Devon looked puzzled. “Because Mom was your wife?”
“Because she’s your mom,” Keegan said.
“Is that some kind of McKettrick thing?”
Keegan chuckled. “It’s some kind of Keegan thing,” he replied.
“I heard you say you wanted to talk to her, about me,” Devon ventured. “Are you going to ask her to let you keep me?”
“Yes,” he said. “But not over the phone.”
“She didn’t mind cheating you over the phone.”
“Let it go, Dev.”
The shrill ringing sounded again.
“Hello,” Keegan snapped into the receiver.
“Hello,” Shelley said. “We—I’m back in the room. And the concierge says I can pick up the money you sent in the morning.”
“It’s all good, then,” Keegan said, suddenly weary.
“Keegan?”
He braced himself.
Waited.
“I know you want permanent custody of Devon.”
He didn’t answer, didn’t need to. Shelley had his complete attention, and she knew it.
“Ten million dollars,” she said lightly, “and she’s all yours.”