by Lisa Jackson
“It’s true.”
“So...how’s it going with Hillary?” Skye asked, eager for any bit of information on Max and his imp of a daughter.
Dani snorted. “That kid’s a pistol. She wants to start with a flat-out gallop, and then maybe she’ll consider letting the horse walk or trot.” She hesitated a minute, then added, “You know I’ve never been a fan of Max McKee, but I’ll say this about him—he loves that kid. Would spoil her rotten if he could.” She looked away suddenly and her throat worked. “It’s refreshing to see a man who cares for his children.”
Skye knew Dani was thinking of her own child, the one she’d given up years before. To this day, Dani had never told a soul the name of the baby’s father. She hadn’t had a boyfriend at the time she’d gotten pregnant, and any time she was asked about the man, she clammed up, refusing to talk for hours. The subject was better left alone. “What does Colleen think about the lessons?” Skye asked, her heart wrenching a little to think that another woman had become Max’s wife.
“She’s busy with those twins of hers. Talk about brats! Jeez, they’re a handful. And she’s not crazy about Hillary taking up the reins. Even though she grew up on a ranch, Colleen’s avoided horses, and anything to do with them, like the plague. Her brother nearly broke his neck in a bad fall when he was about twelve and she’s always worried that something will happen to Hillary.” Dani finger combed her reddish curls. “It’s Max who just can’t say no to his daughter, and right now that kid’s determined to become a trick rider.”
“Trick rider?”
“That’s what she says. She knows I did some of that kind of stuff a long time ago and she’s heard that Jenner was in the rodeo, so she’s decided to be either a rodeo queen or a bride when she grows up.”
Skye inwardly groaned. She’d heard about Hillary’s ambitions before. Somehow she turned the conversation away from Max and his daughter.
Hours later, when Skye left her mother’s cottage, she was completely wrung out. Thoughts of Max, Hillary, Colleen and Jonah jumbled in her mind and her emotions ranged from rage to worry. Could she blame her mother for trusting Jonah, the man she loved? Whether Skye wanted to believe it or not, Irene was right; Skye couldn’t have married Max seven years ago. And if she had, there would be no Hillary. So why did she feel so betrayed?
She nosed her Mustang into the street and passed by her apartment house. It looked cold and gloomy and Max’s truck was nowhere in sight. She turned the wheel and headed into the driveway, when she started having second thoughts. What better time to deal with Max than right now? After last night, they were involved in a relationship whether or not either of them wanted to be. It was time to set some ground rules.
Max slammed the receiver back onto the phone and swore roundly. Where the hell was she? He’d stopped by the clinic earlier, but it was already closed. Impatiently he’d waited at Skye’s house for half an hour and felt like an intruder while that damned cat of hers had skulked in the bushes, glaring at him with unblinking green eyes. When Skye hadn’t appeared, Max had driven to the Rocking M, checked in with Chester who was still arguing the merits of a new tractor and had finally wound up here, in his own house. Alone.
So what was she doing? Jealousy took a stranglehold on his heart and he laughed at himself. God, he was a fool.
The canceled check burned a hole in his pocket. Twenty-five thousand dollars. Payoff money. He ground his teeth in frustration and wanted to kick at something—anything. Judas that she was, she’d taken the money and turned her back on him.
When he thought of how much he’d loved her, how he’d planned to live the rest of his life with her, how he’d hoped to marry her and father her children, he burned deep inside with a rage that demanded to be unleashed.
So what are you going to do now? his nagging mind taunted. All day long, memories of making love to her had crept through his brain, weaving through his thoughts and bringing a smile to his lips. She’d been so vibrant and willing and warm. Then he’d found the check, and by all rights she should disgust him. The thought of making love to her should be repulsive. He should never want to see her again.
But his foolish heart wouldn’t listen. Even now he could picture her lying beneath him, her hazel eyes dark with desire, her chest rising and falling in rapid tempo, her skin covered with a sheen of perspiration.
“Damn it all to hell,” he growled, dialing her number again and waiting, only to hear her machine answer. “Damn it all to goddamned hell!”
Atlas, lying on the braided rug under the kitchen table, thumped his tail against the floor just as the sound of a car’s engine roared through the open window. Tires crunched on the gravel of his private lane. Atlas bounced to his feet and began sending up an alarm as headlights flashed in the night.
Max’s teeth ground as he saw the Mustang roll up the driveway. Atlas was barking out of his mind.
“Quiet!” Max ordered as he opened the door. The dog streaked through. “Well, speak of the devil,” he said, walking onto the porch and watching Skye stretch out of her old car.
Her pale hair shone in the moonlight and she strode quickly up the walk and steps. A radiant smile tugged at her lips and her eyes seemed to dance in the moonlight. If she noticed his rage, she hid it well. She motioned toward the house with a sweep of her arms. “So this is what it looks like finished. You know, I always wondered.”
“Did you?” Sarcasm edged his voice as he held the door open for her and followed her inside. “I’ll bet you didn’t lose too many nights’ sleep over it.”
Skye stopped dead in her tracks, then slowly turned to face him. The laughter in her eyes had vanished. “Am I missing something here?” she asked with a quiet authority she must’ve practiced in medical school. “Near as I recall, when I left you this morning, I thought everything was fine.”
“Not quite.”
“If you’re still angry because of the letter, I can explain. I talked to my mom. She admitted that—”
“It’s not the letter, Skye,” he said harshly and saw confusion gather in her gaze like storm clouds. “In fact, I think your mother did me a favor by giving the letter to the old man.”
“A favor? Why?” Was it his imagination or did she appear wounded?
He drew the check out of his pocket and slapped it into her palm. “Look what I found in the company records. It’s funny, don’t you think? My dad told me he’d paid you to get the hell out of Rimrock, but I never believed him. Looks like I was wrong. Again.”
The color draining from her face, she stared down at the damning piece of paper and curled it in her fingers. “I didn’t take a dime, Max.”
“The check was deposited in your account.”
“I swear, I never knew about it.”
“Oh, hell, Skye, don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about. The money went out of the company account and into yours.”
“No way.” She carried the check into the kitchen and smoothed it over the counter, then flipped it over. Though she hadn’t signed it, the check had been deposited to her account. She recognized the account number and her heart sank. So it was true.
“Don’t lie to me.”
“I’m not lying.” She cleared her throat and sighed, dying a little inside. “I—I think maybe my mother used the money. This account is one we had together. It was set up so, in case of either party’s death, the other could get the funds in the account. When I left for Portland, the account was still active, but the statements went to Mom, here in Rimrock. I never used it. I started a new account in a bank in the city. Mom signed on it, as well, but she never deposited anything or wrote a check from it. She used the account here in Rimrock—this one—” she held up the check and shook it under his nose “—and I used the one in Portland.”
“So you’re trying to tell me that your mother took the payoff,” he said with a sneer of disbelief.
Skye shook her head slowly. “No. I don’t think she would do that—”
; “Well, someone did. It’s gone, okay? And the last time it was seen, it was in your account.”
“Look, Max, I don’t know what happened.” She left the check on the counter and felt a chill deep in the middle of her bones. How could her mother have betrayed her so? “You may as well know the rest of it,” she said, dropping into one of the kitchen chairs and staring sightlessly out the window to the moon-drenched night.
“What rest of it?” he said and trepidation entered his voice. It was obvious he didn’t believe her, but Skye didn’t back down. It was time everything was out in the open. Everything.
Cold as death, she said, “Before I left town, I had it out with your father. He offered me money, even wrote out a check, but I wouldn’t take it. Then he threatened my mother and Dani—told me that if I didn’t get out of your life, he’d make theirs hell.”
“This is crazy. My old man would never...” His voice trailed off and he leaned against the refrigerator, arms crossed over his chest, eyes narrowed on her like a judge ready to pass sentence.
“He would and he did,” Skye said, explaining about her emotional conversation with Jonah. All the angry words, the threats and accusations rushed back into her mind and she didn’t pull any punches. “He was up-front about it all,” she admitted as Max’s skin paled. “He didn’t like me and thought I wouldn’t be the kind of wife you wanted.”
“And you let him bully you?” Max said with a snort of disbelief. “I don’t think anyone’s ever coerced you in your life, Skye. You’ve always stood up for what you believed in, fought for what you thought was right. I can’t imagine that one old man could make you turn tail and run.”
“That wasn’t the only reason, no,” she admitted, wondering if she had the guts to tell him her darkest secret. Linking her fingers together, she silently prayed for strength.
His jaw tightened into an uncompromising line, and in that moment he looked so much like his father that Skye wondered how she could love one man so deeply while hating the other. “What was the other?” he demanded.
The seconds ticked by on the clock mounted over the stove. The dog whined to be let in. A soft summer breeze sifted through the screen, carrying the scents of mown hay and pine into the room. “I knew you wanted a family.”
“So did you, if I remember correctly.”
If you only knew how desperately! “I know, but it was different because... because—” Oh, God, help me! “—because I can’t have children.” She told herself she wouldn’t cry, that she’d accepted her fate, that she could compensate for her childlessness, that her career meant everything to her, that someday she could adopt. But she couldn’t fight the old pain she’d kept locked in a forgotten corner of her heart and she had to blink quickly to keep hot tears of regret from splashing down her cheeks.
“You can’t—”
“I’m barren, okay? Infertile. I couldn’t give you that all-important McKee son.”
“So?” he asked, dumbfounded.
“So?” she repeated. Her chin wobbled slightly. “I know how much you love kids, Max. I’ve seen you with your daughter and your father told me that—”
“My father knew about this?”
“Yes.” She sniffed loudly, then lifted her chin. “He found out because of the insurance and the payments to the doctors. I had a bad case of appendicitis, and later, P.I.D., pelvic inflammatory disease. It often renders women infertile.”
Max’s face twisted with silent rage. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he said, his voice a low whisper.
“I couldn’t.”
“Why not? Didn’t you trust me?”
“Yes, but—”
“Did you think I’d really care?” He crossed the room, reached around the chair and drew her to her feet. All traces of anger had disappeared from his face. “It wouldn’t have mattered.”
“Oh, Max, of course it did. You talked about kids. Our kids. When this house was just floorboards and studs, you showed me the bedrooms that you wanted to fill.”
“And I still do. But we could have adopted. Maybe it made a difference to my father, but it didn’t to me. I just wanted to be with you, Skye,” he vowed, his voice suddenly husky. “I didn’t care about all the rest of the B.S.”
A huge lump formed in her throat as his arms surrounded her. Those tears she’d fought so valiantly spilled from the corners of her eyes.
“Did you really think I was like Jonah?”
“I didn’t know. I didn’t want to believe it, but you were following in his footsteps, being groomed to be the next president of the company. You went with him everywhere, did what he told you to do and even put together a few deals that weren’t entirely ethical.”
He stiffened, but his arms didn’t abandon their possessive circle around her. “You know about those, do you?”
“Some of them. Jonah threatened to take you down with him if I were to turn him in. So...”
“Oh, God, Skye.” He buried his head against her shoulder and kissed her nape. She felt the tension and anger constricting his muscles. “I didn’t realize what Jonah was pulling at first and I blame myself for being so blind. I should have looked at all the files on separate projects instead of just the current information. I was working hard, but not smart. I didn’t understand until much later, after you’d gone, that good ol’ Jonah P. McKee had coerced some of the people he worked with. When I found out, I hit the roof, and Jonah changed his tactics a little.”
“Just a little?”
“There are a lot of people in Rimrock who had reason to hate him, who probably wanted to see him dead. I don’t really blame them, but I’ve got someone going through all the old files. McKee Enterprises will make restitution, if possible. In some cases, it’s too late. The people have moved on or died, but in others, we’ll be able to make a difference.”
Skye felt her heart soar. Did she dare believe him? She gazed into his eyes—eyes tortured by the mistakes of his youth—and her doubts fled. When he leaned over to kiss her, she wound her arms around his neck.
The kiss was warm and filled with promise.
He lifted his head and she sighed as their gazes met.
“Maybe I should show you the rest of the house,” he suggested, his lips curving into a crooked and decidedly illicit smile.
“Maybe,” she agreed.
He kissed her softly on the lips, leaving her trembling for more. “Come on,” he urged, threading his fingers through hers and leading her toward the stairs. “You won’t believe what I’ve done with the master bedroom since the last time you were here.”
Chapter Twelve
“That should do it.” Skye finished taking out the final stitch, leaving a clean little scar just behind Robby Mason’s left ear. “Next time your brother comes after you with a slingshot, duck!”
“That won’t happen again, Dr. Donahue,” Robby’s mother, Amy promised. Amy and Skye had gone to high school together before Amy dropped out to get married. “The slingshot’s long gone—hauled away with last week’s garbage. I can’t thank you enough.”
“No thanks necessary,” Skye said, though she glowed under the other woman’s appreciation. Most of the patients accepted her, but a few still insisted upon seeing Dr. Fletcher and resisted the idea of a young woman as their family physician. “Robby’s going to be just fine.”
“Good. Now, Robby, run along and wait for me out front,” Amy said softly. She was a small, soft-looking woman with ample hips, a large bust and worried brown eyes. Her face was pretty but scarred, the result of being bitten by a wolf pup when she was just a girl.
“Ask Nurse Tagmier for a balloon,” Skye suggested to the boy.
“A red one?” Robby asked, his eyes round.
“Any color you want.”
He raced out the door, the sound of his sneakers muffled by the carpet. Once he’d disappeared, Amy, wringing her hands nervously, turned back to face Skye. “There’s something I want to talk to you about.”
“Something to do with Robby?”
“No.” Amy colored and it was obvious that the subject was difficult for her. “It’s about me.” She cleared her throat and kept her eyes downcast in embarrassment. “About my scars. I think you probably know the story. My pa used to raise wolf pups. Well, most of the animals were tame and wouldn’t hurt a flea, or at least they wouldn’t take a nip out of anyone they knew. But years ago, when I was only five, I got to playing too hard with one of the fiercest little pups in a litter and ended up being bitten pretty badly. Doc Fletcher tried to fix me up, but I’ve always had scars.”
Skye had heard the story more than once and, as a child, had been horrified by Amy Purcell’s disfiguring scars—the result of her father, Otis’s fascination with breeding wolves. Eventually she’d gotten used to her classmates, their personality quirks as well as their physical flaws, and she’d become blind to Amy’s disfiguration just as she had to the fact that Eddie King had been born with webbed feet.
Now, since Amy had brought up the subject, she realized how devastating the scars must be, both physically and emotionally. One cheek was more hollowed than the other, and several scars, faded with time and half-hidden under a thick layer of makeup, webbed jaggedly across the right half of her face. Behind her glasses, her right eye drooped slightly.
“I was wondering if you had the name of a plastic surgeon, someone who might be able to fix all this.” She forced a smile, but couldn’t hide the desperate pleading in her eyes.
“I know just the right person,” Skye said, giving Amy a confident smile. “When I was an intern in Portland, one of the best people on the West Coast worked out of Columbia Memorial Hospital.” She searched in the pockets of her lab coat, came up with one of her freshly printed business cards and wrote the name and telephone number of Dr. Jason Phelps.
Amy took the card, biting her lower lip and trying to hide the hope that was already evident in her expression. “You think he’ll take me as a patient?”
“I’m sure of it. Sometimes his bedside manner is a little gruff, but he knows what he’s doing. You can have him call me if there are any problems.”
