McKettrick's Luck (30 page)

Cheyenne shook her head, and the smile fell away, dropping like a stone into a bottomless abyss. Jesse had turned white when she'd told him why she was there, in his house, the night before. His eyes had turned so cold that she'd felt embalmed. Frozen.

And there was the matter of the woman.

The leggy blonde.

The wife.

Ex or current—it didn't matter.

Jesse had asked, early on, if she'd ever been married. She'd answered honestly, with a no. He, on the other hand, had told an out-and-out lie. And, worse, it had been an
unnecessary
lie. He could have told her about—what was her name?—Brandi.

But he hadn't, probably because he was still involved with her. She'd been in his bedroom, after all. Clad in a T-shirt, the uniform of women who have just made love with a man.

Yes, it was definitely over with Jesse.

He'd never trust her again, and she felt the same way about him.

“I met his wife,” she said numbly.

“Jesse has a
wife?
” Keegan answered.

“No way,” Rance said.

“I
met
her,” Cheyenne said, miserable. Now, inadvertently, she'd opened another can of worms. How could Rance and Keegan, of all people, not have known Jesse was married? It only went to show just how deep his capacity for deception really went. “Her name is Brandi. She's drop-dead gorgeous.”

Rance closed one hand into a loose fist and tapped the conference table with it once, sharply.
“Damn.”

“I'll kill him if it's true,” Keegan vowed. “The legal ramifications—”

“It's true,” Cheyenne confirmed. She wasn't certain of many things, but she
did
know that Jesse either was or had been married. And her insides were scraped raw by the knowledge, by the incessant mental pictures of Jesse and Brandi making love.

She had no claims on Jesse, she reminded herself. Never had.

And he had no claims on her.

Rance's secretary rapped at the door. He had a phone call from Hong Kong. He knuckled the table again, in parting, and left to take care of business.

“Have dinner with me tonight?” Keegan asked when he and Cheyenne were alone.

She sighed. Shook her head. She'd already tried to play in the McKettricks' league once, and she'd been trampled. Besides, Keegan was her boss. “I don't go out with men I work for,” she said.

Keegan flashed a grin. “Then maybe I should have fired you.”

“I am beyond glad you didn't,” Cheyenne admitted.

He reached across the table, touched her hand. Keegan McKettrick was as handsome as any man she'd ever met, including Jesse, but there was no charge. “Okay, then,” he said. “We'll be friends. Would that be all right with you?”

“It would be wonderful.”

“Good.” Keegan stood, looked down at her for a few moments in thoughtful silence. “Let's get back to work, Ms. Bridges. I'd like to talk with your brother about joining the company, on a provisional basis, of course. Can he make it in today, or should I go to him?”

Cheyenne's heart wedged itself into her throat, and she had to swallow it before she could answer.

“I'll get him here,” she said.

“You can handle the chair?”

Jesse had been loading and unloading Mitch's wheelchair lately. She'd gotten used to it. Grown complacent. Time for that to change.

“Yes,” she answered.

Keegan took in her white linen suit. She'd put it on that morning, along with the usual panty hose and makeup, thinking she was dressing for her own funeral. Expecting to be thrown on the pyre.

“Let me help,” he said.

Cheyenne started to protest, then swallowed her pride and nodded. Then, standing shakily, she spoke again. “Could you excuse me for just a few moments?”

“Sure,” Keegan replied.

Cheyenne got up, walked past him, traversed the hallway and entered the women's restroom.

There, after checking the stalls for feet, she cried.

She cried until her mascara ran.

She cried until her throat hurt.

She cried until she was empty.

Then she scrubbed her face with a wet paper towel, sucked in a restorative breath and rejoined the real world.

 

T
WO HOURS LATER
, M
ITCH ROLLED
into McKettrickCo as if he meant to own it one day. He and Keegan had talked for forty-five minutes back at the house, on the front porch, while Cheyenne had stayed inside, giving them space, repairing her makeup, putting a load of laundry in the washer, washing up the breakfast dishes piled in the sink.

Miraculously, Nigel hadn't called on the landline.

Un
miraculously, Jesse hadn't called, either.

Best not to hold her breath waiting for
that
to happen.

It was the last thing she wanted, anyway.

Wasn't it?

After the porch conference, Mitch had wheeled inside, beaming, to get into his best clothes.

Now, as Mitch toured his cubicle, already outfitted with a serious computer, Cheyenne retreated to her office, trying to look busy. In truth, all ability to concentrate had deserted her. She was a person going through the motions.

At lunchtime, Myrna popped in, like the mother on
Bewitched.
“Jesse-alert,” she said, waggling her perfectly plucked eyebrows. “He just walked in with Travis.”

Cheyenne stiffened. “And I'm supposed to care because…?”

Myrna grinned. “I know about the Chinese food,” she said.

Cheyenne, who had been standing, sank into her chair, stricken.

“Shall I tell him you're out of the office?” Myrna asked in a conspiratorial whisper.

“I can't imagine why he'd ask,” Cheyenne answered, having recovered a little. “How did you know about the—the Chinese food?”

“I know everything.” It wasn't a boast. Myrna was a woman stating a fact.

Cheyenne's gaze strayed to the desk calendar, where Jesse had marked a big
X
on the deadline for full penetration. “Everything?”

Myrna's grin widened. “Everything,” she said.

Cheyenne blushed. “Oh, God,” she murmured.

Myrna laughed. “I was young once, you know,” she confided. “If I were you, that's one bet I'd be determined to
lose.
”

“I can't believe you said that.”

“Believe it,” Myrna said.

“If you know ‘everything,' then you must have known—”

“About Brandi?” Myrna gave a dismissive wave. “That was just sex.”

“How could you possibly—”

“Nothing gets by me,” Myrna said. “Zip. Nada. There are no secrets in Myrna-world.”

“Then—”

“Yes,” Myrna interrupted, pausing to peer down the hallway. “They're coming,” she whispered. Then, as a parting shot, she added, “So you're really not moonlighting for Meerland anymore?”

Cheyenne almost swallowed her tongue.

Myrna chuckled. “Incoming,” she warned, before stepping out into the hallway and shutting the door.

Cheyenne laid her head down on her desk and practiced deep breathing.

 

“D
AMN
, J
ESSE
,” Travis marveled when the two of them were shut up in his office. “I can see why you'd want to come to terms with Brandi, but a
million dollars?
Isn't that a little excessive?”

“Cheap at twice the price,” Jesse said. He tried to make his tone light, but the fact was, he felt dried up and hollowed out. It was as though his soul had hit the trail and left the rest of him in the dust for good.

“Good God,” Travis exclaimed. “It was a week of monkey sex in a Vegas hotel suite, Jesse, not a real marriage.”

“Do it,” Jesse bit out. “It won't make a dent, anyhow.”

“That isn't the point.” Travis was a lawyer, after all. He could be expected to argue, Jesse supposed.

He sighed. Rested one booted foot on the opposite knee. He'd dressed up for the visit to McKettrickCo, but not because he expected to run into Cheyenne.

Definitely not because of that.

“What
is
the point, then?” he asked.

“It
wasn't a real marriage,
” Travis reiterated.

“It was real enough to Brandi,” Jesse reasoned. “She's not a bad person, Trav. She works hard, selling shoes. She's in law school. She's getting married after graduation. For real.”

“All of which has
what
to do with her backing a semitruck into your bank accounts?”

“She could have pressed for a lot more money than I'm offering. She could have played along with Cheyenne and that Meerland yahoo. But she drove all the way from L.A. to Indian Rock to clue me in. The way I see it, she saved me a lot more trouble than she's causing.”

Now, it was Travis's turn to sigh. “You realize that you're going against the advice of your attorney, who also happens to be your best friend?”

“I get that, Trav,” Jesse said. “Just write it up, will you? So I can get out of here?”

“And go where?”

“Not to jump off a bridge, if that's what you're thinking,” Jesse answered. He was headed up onto the ridge, once he was through putting
paid
to the Brandi epic. He planned to assemble some gear, saddle up his favorite horse, gather the others like a pack string and ride for the high country.

No telling when he'd be back.

The land had patched up his soul before. It would do it again.

Travis fixed him with a look that said he wanted an answer, and he wouldn't give up until he got it.

“I'll be on the ridge,” Jesse said, willing to give up that much because Travis was his friend, but no more.

Travis nodded to show he understood and pulled a pen from the inside pocket of his spiffy suit coat and reached for a legal pad. “You'd better be back in time for the wedding,” he said.

Jesse grinned. “I'll be there.”

“Good,” Travis replied. His jawline looked a little tight, but he seemed to be coming around to Jesse's way of thinking. “Now, we've got a figure for the settlement. What's Brandi's side of the agreement?”

 

C
HEYENNE WAS JUST SHUTTING
down her computer when Mitch came in to get a look at her office.

He gave a low whistle. “Pretty bodacious,” he said.

Cheyenne smiled. “I like it,” she answered.

Mitch turned to shut the door, then scanned the room again. His gaze snagged on the bamboo-shoot-with-panda on her desk, and a small frown creased his forehead.

“What's this?” he asked rhetorically.

“Myrna gave it to me,” Cheyenne said, skipping the obvious answer, distracted now, rifling through a desk drawer for a file she'd downloaded and printed out earlier. “Welcome-aboard kind of thing.”

“Nanny-cam,” Mitch said.

Cheyenne laughed. “Right,” she scoffed. Where was that file? She was sure she'd put it in her desk drawer.

“I mean it,” Mitch insisted. “See for yourself.”

Cheyenne looked up, saw that Mitch had pulled the panda off the bamboo shoot. Fishing into a little slit in the stuffed animal's back with his fingers, he brought out a tiny technological wonder with an infinitesimal lens on the front.

“So
that's
how she knew.”

“Who?” Mitch asked, frowning. “That's how who knew what?”

Cheyenne snatched the camera out of her brother's hand, held it in front of her face and looked into the little glass eye staring back at her. “The game is up, Myrna,” she said. “And if you've got any other bugs planted around here, you'd
better
tell me, because I'm going to take this little piece of equipment straight to Keegan if you don't.”

“Wow,” Mitch said, full of apparent admiration. “That Myrna is really something.”

“She sure is,” Cheyenne agreed.

A quick, nervous tap sounded at the door.

“Come in, Myrna,” Cheyenne called.

Myrna slunk in, red-faced. “I need twenty-four hours,” she said. “To gather up the surveillance equipment, I mean.”

“Twenty-four hours,” Cheyenne agreed, feeling implacable. “Not one second more.”