McKettrick's Pride

by Linda Lael Miller

  She shook her head. “I want to call the hospice people back, though. He told me he didn’t need anything, but—well—I just want to make sure.”

  “I’ll take you to see him,” Rance said. “If you want to go, I can have the jet here within a few hours.”

  Again, she shook her head. “Probably not a good idea.” She drew back far enough to look into Rance’s face. “It’s just a feeling I got when we were talking,” she said, “but I think he wanted the doll and the phone call to be enough.” She sniffled, then smiled in a way that made Rance’s heart hurt. “What are you doing here, cowboy?”

  He nuzzled her neck. “I figured I’d take the scandal up another notch,” he said. “Come up here and lie in bed with you in the middle of the day.”

  She laughed, but it was a moist, fractured sound. “Nothing in Chicago,” she said, “prepared me for this particular element of small-town life.”

  He kissed her forehead. “You’re sure you don’t want a ride in my jet, little lady?” he teased.

  Her eyes, though puffy and red-rimmed, were as beautiful as ever. “Is that a double entendre?” she asked.

  He grinned. “If you want to interpret it that way, I guess there isn’t much I can do to stop you,” he said. If they’d been alone in the bed, he might have eased her sundress up and off, and made her forget all the heartache, if only for a little while. But Snowball was right there, keeping a vigil of her own, and Rance didn’t have the heart to send her away.

  Besides, Ayanna was right downstairs, and technically, the shop was open for business.

  “Thanks, Rance,” Echo whispered, tracing the outline of his mouth with one fingertip.

  “For what?”

  “For being here. For holding me.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Don’t you have to herd cattle or something?”

  He chuckled. Kissed her again. “No,” he said. “The fences are sound, so they’ll be pretty much where I left them when I get back to the ranch.”

  She sighed, closed her eyes and fell asleep.

  When he was sure she was settled, Rance eased out of her arms, got off the bed and stood looking down at her for a long time. Finally, he shook out the quilt folded at the end of the mattress, draped it over both Echo and the dog, and left.

  *

  ECHO AWOKE, BLINKING, to find herself alone on the bed, except, of course, for Snowball. The room was shadowy, though it was still light outside, and she felt starved.

  She got up, padded into the bathroom, recalling the gentle way Rance had taken off her shoes before taking her into his arms.

  Or had she dreamed that part?

  She yawned, splashed her face with cold water and headed downstairs, followed by Snowball.

  Ayanna was just closing the shop.

  “Feeling better?” she asked.

  Echo nodded sheepishly. “I’m sorry, Ayanna. For leaving you to run the place on your own and everything.”

  “I was fine,” Ayanna said, watching her closely. “Can I do anything, Echo? Maybe heat up some soup?”

  “I can do that,” Echo answered.

  “I don’t like leaving you alone. Is Rance coming back?”

  Is Rance coming back?

  So he had been there. She hadn’t been dreaming, then.

  “I don’t think so,” Echo said. “He was just—being a friend.”

  “Nothing wrong with that.”

  Once, in Chicago, Echo had caught the flu. Justin had taken a commuter flight, come to the apartment and shoved a take-out carton of won-ton soup at her.

  She’d been charmed, until she found out why he’d made the trip.

  “You’re not pregnant, are you?” he’d asked anxiously. “Because I’m really not ready for you to be pregnant.”

  “Echo?”

  She came back to the here and now, and noticed the look of concern in Ayanna’s eyes. “Sorry,” she said. “Just one of those little mental side trips.”

  “You’ve had a hard day,” Ayanna said. “Maybe I’ll just go pick up something to eat and stick around for a while.”

  “I’m really all right,” Echo insisted. She’d been alone most of her life, and she’d done okay, even during the rough times. But something had changed; she was fragile in a new and scary way. Secretly, she wished Ayanna would stay, or better yet, that Rance would come back. “Please, Ayanna, go home. You’ve done enough.”

  She put a hand to her forehead, pushed back her hair.

  Ayanna hesitated, then went to fetch her purse from behind the counter. “You have to promise to call me if you need anything.”

  Echo nodded. Once Ayanna had left, she went upstairs, changed into jeans and a tank top, and found Snowball’s leash. After their walk, they shared a peanut butter and jelly sandwich upstairs, and watched the one staticky channel Echo’s TV managed to drag out of the ether.

  When she couldn’t bear the boredom any longer, Echo shut off the television set, dug through boxes until she found a telephone and plugged it into the jack beside the bed.

  Sitting cross-legged in the center of the mattress, she called the number her uncle had written on the bottom of her birthday card and asked to speak to his nurse.

  The woman was cautious at first, but she warmed up when Echo’s name finally registered. “You’re Joe’s niece. The one he bought the doll for.”

  “That’s me,” Echo said after swallowing a couple of times. Margaret, still in her original carton, was propped on the nightstand, the glitter in her blue ruffled dress dulled by time, but winking faintly in the light of the lamp.

  “He was on the Internet day and night, looking for that thing,” the nurse said. “The rest of us helped when we could, but we didn’t really know what we were looking for. When he found that doll, I’ll tell you, the angels sang. Ordered it right up with his credit card. Then he didn’t know where to send it, and the search was on again.” A faint note of disapproval entered the woman’s voice. “It wasn’t easy tracking you down.”

  “My uncle and I weren’t close,” Echo said.

  “So I gathered,” the nurse replied.

  “Is there anything I can do for him? He implied that he’d rather I didn’t visit.”

  “He’s not up to a visit,” said the nurse. She sounded sad, and Echo wondered what it would be like to work with patients who were never going to get better and go home. “If you want to make things a little easier for him, you send him some pictures of yourself, and maybe a nice card.”

  Echo didn’t have any pictures, not recent ones, anyway, but she’d buy a card in the morning, along with a disposable camera, and have someone snap a few shots. Maybe she’d enclose the clipping from the Indian Rock Gazette—her and Snowball and the cake.

  “I’ll do that,” she said quietly. “If—if something happens, would you mind calling me?”

  “Not at all,” the nurse answered. “But there isn’t going to be a funeral. Joe doesn’t want any fuss made, and his family has already said their goodbyes.”

  How sad, Echo thought. When a person died, shouldn’t there be some kind of service? Shouldn’t there be people gathering in a church or a hospice chapel, sorry to see him go?

  But, she realized, her uncle hadn’t led that kind of life.

  He was divorced, and apparently he’d never remarried.

  He wasn’t close to his children.

  His sole remaining relative, a niece, was as much a stranger to him as he was to her.

  Echo took down the address for the care center, thanked the nurse and hung up.

  Snowball was lying at her feet, watching her.

  It was only a matter of time before Marge and Herb would roll in, in their RV, and take the dog away, too.

  Echo bit down hard on her lower lip.

  There was Rance, of course, but she couldn’t expect him to fill the empty spaces in her life. He had his daughters, cousins who cared enough about him to run background checks on prospective girlfriends. He had a ranch to run.
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  Sure, they’d made love on two different occasions, and it was better than good. He’d saved her from Bud Willand the night before, and today he’d held her until she fell asleep.

  But that didn’t make her his problem.

  If she wanted to fill in emotional gaps, she was going to have to do it herself. Get to know people, make more friends. Maybe get herself another dog, after the Ademoyes came for Snowball. God knew, there were plenty of strays out there needing a good home.

  She’d make one—for herself, first.

  Rent a little house with a backyard. Plant some flowers. Serve supper at a picnic table, the way Cora did.

  She looked around at the tiny apartment. It was cozy, and living there was a good economic move, given that her business wasn’t established. But it was never going to be a home.

  For once in her life, Echo wanted one, with all the trimmings.

  The thought kept her eyes dry until she fell asleep.

  *

  RANCE SADDLED SNOWBALL, right after the evening chores were done, along with his own gelding. Maeve didn’t wait for him to help her, she mounted up all by herself. For a moment, sitting there on the white mare’s back, she looked like Cassidy had at her age.

  He and Rianna rode the gelding, Rianna perched in front, as easy on that horse as a jockey on a favorite Thoroughbred.

  “Let’s run!” she cried.

  Rance reached around her to take the reins. “No running,” he said. “Snowball’s a little out of shape.”

  “Can we go to the graveyard?” Maeve asked, taking him by surprise.

  “Too far,” Rance said. “It’ll be dark in an hour or two.”

  “Can we go tomorrow?”

  Rance studied his daughter, thinking of all the things he didn’t know about her, would never know. “Why the sudden interest?” he asked.

  “It isn’t sudden,” Maeve informed him. “Granny takes us all the time. We put flowers on Mom’s grave.”

  Rance tried to remember the last time he’d done that, and couldn’t.

  “Tomorrow,” he agreed.

  They rode alongside the creek, as McKettricks had done for generations, Maeve leading the way. She was good on a horse, just as her mother had been. And Cassidy, too.

  “Is there anything you wanted for Christmas that you never got?” Rance asked, after trying the words out a dozen different ways in his head and never managing to get them right.

  Rianna turned to look up at him. “Daddy,” she said. “It’s June.”

  He laughed.

  But Maeve’s expression was solemn.

  Rance sobered. “What about you, Annie Oakley?”

  “You,” Maeve said.

  He frowned. “I’ve been around every Christmas of your life, kiddo.”

  “Not just at Christmas,” Maeve told him. “When we have a recital at the Curl and Twirl. Uncle Jesse always comes, but it isn’t the same.”

  The thought of Jesse at a baton-and-tutu extravaganza would have made Rance smile, under any other circumstances. As it was, he didn’t trust himself to say anything, so he rode alongside Maeve, reached across and held her against his side for a moment. It was a teasing gesture, the kind of thing he did when he was trying to jolly her out of some preadolescent mood, but for some reason, it choked him up.

  “You work too much, Daddy,” Rianna told him, looking back over her little shoulder and squinting against the dazzle of the sinking sun. “We don’t need the money, do we?”

  Rance cleared his throat. “No, short stop, we don’t need the money.”

  “Is it because we’re girls?” Maeve asked.

  “What the he—heck kind of question is that?”

  “Maybe if we were boys,” Rianna said, “you’d like us more.”

  Rance was poleaxed. He stopped the horse, because even though he’d ridden even before he could walk, he wasn’t sure he could stay in the saddle and talk, both at the same time.

  “What?” he rasped.

  Maeve stiffened her spine, McKettrick style. “We can do anything a boy can do.”

  “Except pee standing up,” Rianna put in.

  Maeve rolled her eyes. “Like that’s important,” she said.

  “Hold it,” Rance cut in. “I wouldn’t trade either one of you for a boatload of boys. And I don’t just like you, I love you.”

  When had he last told them that?

  They’d said it to him, a thousand times.

  He was thunderstruck by the realization that he’d invariably replied, Me, too, or, Back at you, kiddo.

  “You do?” Rianna asked.

  “Really?” Maeve asked.

  “Of course I do.”

  “You’re always gone,” Maeve reasoned.

  “To Taiwan or someplace faraway like that,” Rianna added.

  “Hey,” Rance said. “Listen up, both of you. I’m your father. And whether I’m here on the Triple M or in Timbuktu, nobody matters more to me than you two. Nobody.”

  Rianna believed first. Maeve was a slightly harder sell.

  “Until some big deal comes up,” she said. “Then it’s see you later, alligator.”

  The horses were impatient, wanted to keep moving. Rance held the gelding’s reins in one hand and leaned to catch hold of Snowball’s bridle with the other. “There might be times when I have to go away,” he told Maeve quietly. “Things happen that have to be handled—you’re old enough to understand that. I’ll admit I had a little trouble breaking the McKettrickCo habit, but from now on, I’m going to be a rancher. And a father. You have my word on that.”

  “How can you break the habit of being a McKettrick?” Rianna wondered aloud.

  Rance laughed.

  So did Maeve.

  Finally, probably because she was a good sport, not because she understood what was funny, Rianna joined in.

  “You can’t quit being a McKettrick, silly,” Maeve informed her sister, as they turned, by tacit agreement, to ride back to the barn. “Even when you get married, you’ll still be one.”

  “I’m never getting married,” Rianna announced, with the certainty of a seven-year-old. “I want to be like Echo when I grow up. I’m going to have a pink car and a white dog and sell pop-up books with horses in them.”

  Rance’s throat felt raw. All too soon, he knew, his daughters would grow up. They’d be women, not little girls, picking out wedding dresses and leaving on honeymoons. Yes, they’d still be McKettricks. But, like Jesse’s older sisters and Meg, they’d leave the Triple M. It would be a place they visited once in a while, when their busy schedules allowed.

  They’d have husbands, and kids of their own. Careers, too, probably.

  And even though all that was natural and good and right, a bleak feeling settled over Rance.

  Time was precious, and it slipped away faster than greased rope with a spooked cow at the other end. He’d acted as though Maeve and Rianna would always be little—next week, next month, he’d spend more time with them. But never now, when they were small, and still coping with the fact that they didn’t have a mother.

  Back at the barn, the girls got underfoot while Rance put the horses away, but he didn’t mind. They were there. They were seven and ten. And he was still the most important man in their lives.

  When the work was done, they went inside, switched on all the lights and ate cold cereal for supper, laughing because they knew Cora would have a fit if she found out.

  The night was good, and only one thing could have made it better.

  Having Echo there, too.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  THE NEXT MORNING, RANCE watched in silence, and from a slight distance, as his daughters stood solemnly at the foot of their mother’s grave. They had gathered wildflowers, outside the iron gate of the private cemetery, dandelions and bluebells and little pink things he couldn’t identify, and laid them beneath Julie’s headstone.

  He’d brought no such offering himself. Nothing could have matched those colorful weeds, clenched in sweaty
little palms, and released with the kind of unself-conscious love only a child can manage.

  Within a few minutes, there was a shift. Children know little of death; they are too alive for that. Maeve and Rianna scampered away to play among the statues and less spectacular markers of other McKettricks, long gone.

  Rance stood alone. The wad of paper, folded and stuffed into his shirt pocket, burned right through fabric to flesh, and beyond flesh to the heart of his pride.

  During the night, when the girls were enjoying the untroubled sleep of the profoundly innocent, he’d finally bitten the bullet, gone to Julie’s computer, and opened the file he’d known was there. Maybe she’d wanted him to find it, one day—or maybe she’d thought she had all the time in the world to delete it.

  It didn’t matter now.

  He touched the pocket. “I’m sorry, Julie,” he said in a raspy whisper.

  A fierce ache swelled behind his eyes, jammed up his throat.

  He heard Cora’s truck rattling up the winding dirt road. Saw her get out of it and come toward him, but he couldn’t speak. Couldn’t acknowledge her presence in any way.

  Reaching his side, she touched his arm.

  “It’s all right, Rance,” she said gently.

  He shook his head.

  Cora bent to lay a supermarket bouquet next to Maeve and Rianna’s wildflowers. When she straightened again, he felt her gaze burning like an August sun against his face.

  “Rianna called and told me you were coming up here this morning,” she said to him. “She also mentioned that you were on the computer all night, in Julie’s office. I may be all wet here, but my guess is, you finally read those e-mails.”

  Rance could only nod.

  “She didn’t love him, Rance,” Cora went on. “She was trying to get your attention. That’s why she didn’t delete the files.”

  At last, Rance found his voice, but it was ragged, and he wouldn’t have recognized it if it hadn’t come from his own mouth. “I know,” he said. And he did know, but his eyes burned, just the same. “I guess I’ve got nobody to blame but myself.”