McKettrick's Luck

by Linda Lael Miller

  “McKettrick luck,” Jesse said. “It’s never failed me yet.”

  Cheyenne felt a sort of fascinated envy. “Must be nice,” she said, and then wished she’d kept her mouth shut.

  “Luck isn’t something you’re born with,” Jesse told her. “It’s a choice.”

  She couldn’t keep the skepticism out of her voice. “A choice?”

  “Yes,” he answered. And she couldn’t figure out whether the look in his eyes was a caress or an expression of sympathy.

  “You’re crazy.”

  The corner of his mouth jutted upward. “Maybe so,” he conceded. “But I figure I’m lucky because I expect to be. And since I could just as well expect to be the unluckiest SOB on earth, that makes it a choice.”

  “I could choose all I wanted to, and I’d still be Cash Bridges’s daughter,” Cheyenne heard herself say. She took a great swallow of water, but it was too late to wash the words back down her throat.

  “Who you are has nothing to do with your dad,” Jesse reasoned, “and everything to do with you. If you’ve decided it’s a bad thing to be ‘Cash Bridges’s daughter,’ though, then that’s the way it will be.”

  “What are you, some kind of philosopher?”

  “No,” Jesse grinned. “I just think a lot.”

  Cheyenne got out of her chair to pace. And to get a little farther from Jesse, because he had a way of pulling her into his orbit, like some central star system with whole galaxies revolving around it.

  When she’d expended enough nervous energy, she stopped, looked down at Jesse. “Why did you come by our place this morning?” It had just occurred to her to ask.

  “I have a knack for being in the right place at the right time,” Jesse said. “Just part of my charm.”

  Cheyenne took another swig from the water bottle. Swallowed. “You must have had a reason.”

  “I decided Mitch’s ramp needed side rails. So I bought some lumber, loaded it in the back of my truck, and headed for your house.”

  “Why?”

  “I just told you why.”

  “I mean, why are you so determined to help?”

  “It’s what we do, out here in the country. Or have you forgotten that, living in the big city?”

  “Don’t try to come off as a country boy, okay?” Cheyenne said, but she was relaxing. It was a strange paradox, his having that effect on her, when nobody had ever rattled her more than Jesse McKettrick did. He made her stomach jump and her palms sweat. “You’ve led a sophisticated life—traveled all over the world.”

  “So I have,” Jesse allowed. “But Indian Rock is home. Always has been.”

  Cheyenne began to pace again.

  After an eternity, Dr. Krischan returned. “Nothing broken,” he said, watching Cheyenne. “Mitch can go home.”

  Jesse got to his feet. “See you at the shindig tonight, Doc?”

  The other man chuckled. “I’ll be there.”

  “Good to know,” Jesse said, with a nod toward the back, where Mitch was, “since the kid is hell-bent on taking up bronc busting.”

  Cheyenne stiffened.

  “I’m kidding,” Jesse told her.

  She sighed.

  A nurse wheeled Mitch out of the examining area in a clinic chair, and once they reached the truck, Jesse took over. As much as he unsettled her, Cheyenne was touched by the way he lifted Mitch onto the passenger seat without making it seem like a big deal. From his manner, anybody would have thought he dealt with paraplegics every day.

  Humiliation was a virtual way of life for Mitch, but with Jesse, things were different. Jesse treated Mitch with quiet respect and utter normality.

  Once they were home, and Mitch was back in his chair, Jesse righted the rented tractor, got on it and finished spading up the weeds. Ayanna came home for lunch, and while Mitch was inside regaling her with an account of what had happened, Cheyenne sat on the porch step and watched Jesse in action.

  “How do you do it?” she asked when he finally parked the tractor and came over to sit beside her.

  “Do what? Drive a tractor?”

  “You know that isn’t what I mean,” Cheyenne said. “You make Mitch feel—well—normal. How do you do that?”

  “It’s easy, Cheyenne,” Jesse answered gently. “He is normal.”

  “He—” Cheyenne stopped herself. She’d been about to point out that Mitch was confined to a wheelchair, and list all the things he couldn’t do. But Jesse was right. Her brother wasn’t a medical case. He wasn’t a label. He wasn’t a number on a chart somewhere.

  He was a person. Somewhere along the line, with all the crises and all the worry, she’d forgotten that.

  “Guess I’d better unload the wood for those rails,” Jesse said, standing up. “I’ll have to put them up another time, though. I promised Travis I’d help him unload a bunch of rented chairs after lunch, and he’s probably watching the road for me. See you at six.”

  “See you at six,” Cheyenne echoed. The words sounded hoarse, and she cleared her throat.

  Jesse pulled the boards out of the back of the truck, stacked them neatly, got behind the wheel and drove away.

  Cheyenne rose off the porch step and went inside the house.

  She found Ayanna alone in the kitchen, looking unusually tired and a little glum.

  “Mitch is going through his suitcases,” she told Cheyenne, “looking for something to wear to the party tonight.”

  Cheyenne smiled, crossed to her mother and put an arm around her shoulders. “You doing okay?” she asked. “I know it was probably a shock, but Mitch really is all right—”

  Ayanna bit her lip. The shadows under her eyes seemed to deepen. “I know he is,” she said. “It’s not that. It’s—I’m not sure I can do this job, Cheyenne.”

  Cheyenne’s heart ached. “Then quit,” she replied gently. “There must be something else you could do.”

  Tears brimmed along Ayanna’s lower lashes, and she gave a brave little nod that made Cheyenne feel even worse. “Mama begged me to go to secretarial school,” she said. “I wish I’d listened. But, oh, no—I was young and in love with Cash Bridges, of all people, and I knew everything—”

  Cheyenne gave her a hug. “You could attend junior college in Flagstaff,” she said. “It’s never too late.”

  “Of course it’s too late,” Ayanna responded, with a combination sniffle and laugh. “Or is it?”

  “Only if you decide it is,” Cheyenne said and heard the echo of Jesse’s voice in her own words.

  “You’re right,” Ayanna said, perking up. “I’ll stop by the library after work and pick up a catalog.”

  Cheyenne nodded. Suddenly, she wanted that five hundred acres Jesse wouldn’t sell with a new ferocity. Okay, so she didn’t like the idea of cutting down ancient trees to put up condos, or of damming the creek. She’d make sure the McKettricks retained water rights, in perpetuity. And she’d find a way to make up for the condominiums. Gather some investors, once she went out on her own, and build a beautiful assisted-living center for senior citizens, perhaps, or try to bring some sort of light industry to Indian Rock.

  Of course there was still the problem of Jesse—he’d made up his mind not to sell, and it would take drastic measures to change that.

  “I’d better get back to the store,” Ayanna said. Grabbing up the keys to that ratty old van with a resignation that made Cheyenne even more determined, she left.

  Cheyenne was still standing in the middle of the kitchen floor when the telephone rang.

  “Hello?” she answered, prepared to summon Mitch or explain that her mother wasn’t home. No one besides Nigel ever called her, and he probably would have used her cell number.

  “Cheyenne?” a man’s voice asked. It was familiar—like Jesse’s, but not Jesse’s. In the next moment, she understood why. “This is Keegan McKettrick.”

  “Keegan,” Cheyenne said, smiling. “Are you looking for Jesse? He was here earlier, but he left a little while ago. Said something abo
ut helping unload chairs for the party—”

  “Actually,” Keegan said, “I wanted to talk to you.”

  Cheyenne waited, confused.

  “Jesse says you might be interested in coming to work for McKettrickCo.”

  At first, Cheyenne’s temper flared. She’d told Jesse, quite clearly, after their ride to the top of the ridge the other day, that she wasn’t looking for charity. Now, in light of her renewed determination to buy the land and collect the promised bonus from Nigel so her mother wouldn’t have to box groceries like some teenager and Mitch could live with some dignity, the glimmer of an idea sparked.

  “What kind of job did you have in mind?” she asked.

  “Human resources,” Keegan answered. “Jesse said something else the other day—made me think. I’d like to set up some kind of work-study program, maybe in conjunction with the high school. Train some local people to run computers and the like. I need someone to head it up.”

  Cheyenne sank into a chair, slightly dizzy. “Why do you think I’d be qualified?”

  There was a smile in Keegan’s voice when he replied. “I checked you out on the Internet,” he said. “You’ve got a degree, and your current job requires a lot of initiative and creative thinking. That’s what I’m looking for. Maybe we could talk about it tonight? At the party?”

  Cheyenne’s palm grew moist, where she gripped the old-fashioned receiver. “I’ll be looking forward to it, Mr. McKettrick,” she said.

  “Keegan,” he corrected. “See you tonight.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  GOLD HOOPS GLISTENED on Cheyenne’s earlobes, and her hair, glistening ebony in the light from the bulb over the front door, fell in loose waves around her shoulders. She wore new jeans and a close-fitting white top, and Jesse’s breath caught at the sight of her, the way it did when he drew a royal flush in a high-stakes game.

  His knees felt a little unsteady as he got out of the truck and walked toward her. Damn. Why hadn’t he stopped off at the florist’s and picked up a bouquet?

  She smiled. “Mom and Mitch are still getting ready,” she said.

  “No hurry,” Jesse replied, still feeling shaken. “You look great.”

  She took in his getup—best boots, fairly new jeans, a white shirt open at the throat—and favored him with another smile. It settled over him, that beneficent smile, felt like an undeserved gift. “Thanks,” she said. “You look pretty spiffy yourself.”

  The sounds of activity came from inside the house. Voices, murmuring, cheerfully rushed. The gathering of things. Mitch and Ayanna were just on the other side of the screen door, but they might as well have been in the next universe, as far as Jesse was concerned. Only Cheyenne seemed real; the house—the first faint shadows of twilight in the cottonwoods—the ground under his feet—all of that might have been an illusion.

  “Thanks,” Jesse remembered to say, and the word came out hoarse.

  “Would you like to come in?” Cheyenne asked.

  Jesse didn’t want to move. Didn’t want anything to change. The moment was golden, and he wanted to stay in it for good.

  He shook his head.

  Cheyenne turned to open the screen door, so Mitch could roll through in his chair, followed by Ayanna. Both of them looked so eager that Jesse would have invented a party if there hadn’t been one waiting out on the ranch.

  “Hey, Jesse,” Mitch called, heading down the ramp.

  Jesse held his breath. He’d played it cool that morning, when he’d seen Mitch go flying off the tractor, but inside, he’d been as panicked as Cheyenne. He wished he’d put the rails on the ramp before setting it up and fastening it to the porch.

  “Hey, buddy,” he responded, a beat or two late.

  Ayanna, resplendent in turquoise and silver conchas, beamed at him. “Thanks for helping Mitch today,” she said. “I appreciate it.”

  Jesse nodded, feeling shy. Since he’d never felt shy in his life, he was confounded by the emotion, couldn’t have called it by its name until he’d reflected on it for a while. “Not a problem,” he said.

  It was a project, getting Mitch installed in the backseat with Ayanna and loading the wheelchair in the truck bed. By the time Jesse finished all that, Cheyenne had already climbed in on the passenger side.

  He’d been close to her before, but for some reason, her proximity made every nerve in Jesse’s body jump. Her scent found a place inside him, nestled in to stay. What was it? Perfume—shampoo? Or did she just naturally smell that way, sort of soft and flowery and clean?

  The drive to the ranch seemed shorter than usual. Jesse concentrated on the road, even though he knew it so well he could have driven it in his sleep. He figured if he looked at Cheyenne, his eyes would get stuck and he’d run them all into a ditch.

  The Chinese lanterns that he and Travis had spent the afternoon hanging from tree limbs glimmered up ahead, in festive shades of red and green and yellow and blue. Cars and pickups, along with a limo or two, lined both sides of the long driveway leading up to the main house, and the music was loud enough to set Jesse’s inner ears vibrating.

  “What a sight,” Ayanna marveled from the backseat.

  No one else spoke.

  Jesse drove up in front, put the truck in park, and got out to open doors for Cheyenne and Ayanna, then unload the wheelchair. Once he’d gotten Mitch situated, he’d head back down, find a place to leave the truck and walk back.

  It wasn’t dark yet, and wouldn’t be for a couple of hours. Still, the lights of the party shimmered in Cheyenne’s eyes as she took it all in. Jesse had the odd notion that she was stashing the spectacle away somewhere, inside herself, like a keepsake.

  Mitch headed for the center of the party as soon as he’d landed in his chair, and Ayanna followed.

  Cheyenne lingered beside Jesse, watching them go with a slight, sad smile. “They’re so happy,” she mused.

  “I’ll park the truck,” Jesse found the words to say. “You go ahead.”

  Cheyenne turned, assessed the line of cars zigzagging like a chain of staples almost to the main road. Shook her head. “I’ll go with you,” she said and climbed back into the truck before Jesse had a chance to talk her out of it.

  Jesse got behind the wheel again, and fought a powerful urge to drive and keep on driving, until there was no one else around except him and Cheyenne.

  “Are we just going to sit here?” Cheyenne prompted wryly when they didn’t move.

  He shifted the rig and gave it some gas. His neck felt hot, and he still wasn’t sure that, now that he had the truck in motion, he wouldn’t just keep going. There was so much he wanted to say to Cheyenne, so much he wanted to ask. And damned if he could corral any of it into words.

  Cheyenne laughed softly. “Is something wrong?”

  Jesse shook his head, but he didn’t risk looking her way.

  They parked at least half a mile from the house, in the field, and got out to walk back. Cheyenne fell in step beside Jesse, and it only seemed natural to take her hand. He was inordinately glad when she didn’t pull away.

  The music seemed to roll out to meet them, thrumming. Cheyenne tilted her head back to look at the darkening sky.

  “I’d forgotten how bright the stars are out here,” she said.

  Jesse chanced a sidelong glance at her. He’d spent whole nights lying on a bedroll up on the ridge overlooking those five hundred acres, with his horse grazing nearby, watching the constellations shift like slow-moving pinwheels, but he didn’t want to talk about that. First, because it was a private thing, one he didn’t readily share, and second, because it would mean bringing up the land, and that was a subject best avoided, at least for that night.

  “Do you like living in the city?” he asked because it seemed like a safe question, and it was something he really wanted to know.

  “It has its perks,” she said. “Restaurants. Book stores. Live theater. I just never seem to have time to enjoy them.”

  The obvious response was that she wo
rked too much, if that was the case, but he didn’t want to head in that direction, either. “I have a place in New York,” he said. “I go there when I need an urban fix.”

  He felt her surprise, even before she stopped, and because they were holding hands, he had to stop, too.

  “New York City?” she said, in the same tone as the voice-over in those salsa commercials.

  Jesse chuckled. “They do allow cowboys, you know,” he said.

  She pulled on his hand until he had to look at her, and then he felt as though he was about to tumble right into her eyes. “What do you do there? In New York, I mean?” she asked.

  “Hang out with friends, mostly,” he said, baffled by her interest, and a little nettled by her continued surprise. “I like to take in a show, hit some of my favorite restaurants, and check out the bookstores.” He paused, smiled. “Yeah,” he said. “I do read. Without even moving my lips.”

  For the first time that evening, she looked flustered. “I didn’t mean—”

  “It’s okay, Cheyenne,” Jesse told her, pulling her into motion again. Earlier, he’d considered hijacking her, taking her somewhere for coffee, just to talk. Now he had the presence of mind to realize that Keegan and Rance and probably Travis would notice the disappearance and either razz him until three weeks after the end of time or just corner him someplace and ask him too many questions. “Do you get to New York often?”

  She sighed. “For the occasional meeting,” she said. “Most of them last all day, then there’s the obligatory business dinner. By the time that’s over, I usually go back to the hotel and crash.”

  “Maybe you ought to go just for fun sometime,” Jesse suggested.

  She looked puzzled, as though the concept of doing anything just for enjoyment had never crossed her mind. “Just for no reason?”

  He laughed. “Fun is a reason, Cheyenne.”

  She blinked. “I guess you’re right,” she said.

  They’d reached the edge of the lawn by then, and thus the fringes of the party. Liam, Sierra’s seven-year-old son, came dashing toward them, the colored lights of the lanterns flashing on the lenses of his glasses.