McKettricks Bundle

by Linda Lael Miller

  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.

  “Yo, Jesse!” he whooped.

  Jesse ruffled the little boy’s hair. “Yo, Liam,” he said. “Seen any ghosts lately?”

  Liam looked from Jesse’s face to Cheyenne’s and back again. “Tobias,” he said, with patient goodwill, “is not a ghost. He’s a real boy.”

  “This is my friend, Cheyenne,” Jesse said. “Cheyenne, Liam McKettrick. He sees dead people.”

  “I do not,” Liam protested, but he looked pleased by the accusation just the same. He reached out, snatched Cheyenne’s free hand. “Come on,” he said. “My mom says she wants a look at the woman who could get under Jesse McKettrick’s skin.”

  Cheyenne’s gaze shifted briefly to Jesse’s face, then back to Liam. “Your mom,” she said lightly, “must have me mixed up with somebody else. Nevertheless, I’d really like to meet her.”

  Jesse watched as Liam pulled Cheyenne into the crowd, and followed at a pace designed to let a fresh rush of blood recede from his neck. He’d rather have been invisible, so naturally Travis waylaid him, handed him a beer.

  Jesse took it gratefully.

  Travis’s gaze followed Cheyenne as she and Liam zeroed in on Sierra, who was greeting guests at the edge of the yard. “Is she the one?”

  Jesse bristled. “The one what?”

  Travis chuckled. “Take it easy,” he said. “I mean, is she the one who wants to buy your land?”

  “Yeah,” Jesse answered, letting out his breath. Shoving a hand through his hair. He hadn’t worn a hat, but now he wished he had because then he could have pulled the brim down low on his forehead, hiding his eyes. “That’s her.”

  Travis slapped him on the back. “I’ll be damned,” he said.

  “What?” Jesse snapped.

  “There’s more going on here than a real-estate deal, that’s what,” Travis replied.

  Jesse recalled Liam’s remark about Sierra wanting to meet the woman who’d gotten under his skin. “Not a damn thing more,” Jesse protested. “The rumor mill must be in high gear, if you think that.”

  Travis’s smile was easy. “I don’t have to depend on rumors for my information,” he said smugly. “All I had to do to figure this one out was watch the two of you walking up the driveway.”

  “All right, so I like her,” Jesse said, lowering his voice in case anybody in the crowd was eavesdropping. “I like a lot of women. It’s nothing more than that.”

  Travis looked unconvinced. He slapped Jesse’s shoulder again. “You’d better go and say howdy to Sierra,” he said. “She’ll track you down and demand an accounting if you don’t.”

  Jesse scanned the gathering again and, sure enough, Sierra was approaching, with Cheyenne at her side. There was no sign of Liam.

  Reaching them, Sierra stood on her toes to plant a sisterly kiss on Jesse’s cheek. Her dark blue eyes gleamed with amusement as she looked up at him, and her short brown hair shone. “I hear Liam put his foot in his mouth,” she said, twinkling.

  Jesse’s gaze slid to Cheyenne. She shook her head, smiling a little.

  He shifted his attention back to Sierra.

  She laughed. “Cheyenne didn’t say a thing,” she said. “Liam told me.”

  Jesse grinned at her. Yeah, he was a little rattled, but he’d had a soft spot for his long-lost cousin, and for Liam, ever since he’d met them one day last January when they’d pulled up in an old car, a pair of wayfaring strangers just finding their way home. “Nice party,” he said. “Is there anything to eat?”

  “Chuck wagon’s over there,” Sierra responded, with another smile, linking her arm through Travis’s, but looking at Cheyenne again. “Let’s talk some more, after you’ve eaten,” she said. “I want to tell you about the poker tournament.”

  Cheyenne seemed taken aback, but before she could ask any questions, Sierra and Travis were moving on, breaking into a laughing circle of friends.

  “What tournament?” Cheyenne asked, sounding worried.

  “No idea,” Jesse said. “Let’s go get some supper.”

  The caterers were serving everything from corn bread and beans to filet mignon out of a rig designed to look like a chuck wagon. People came and went from a dozen or so picnic tables, imported for the occasion, and Jesse was glad to see that Ayanna and Mitch were already eating. Ayanna was talking to Cora Tellington, Rance’s mother-in-law, while Mitch sat at a little distance. Bronwyn, the kid from the Roadhouse, sat cross-legged in the grass next to him, talking a blue streak.

  Liam, Keegan’s daughter, Devon, and Rianna and Maeve, Rance’s girls, chased each other between the tables, shrieking with laughter.

  Jesse felt unusually selfconscious as he and Cheyenne got into the chow line. He knew everybody was curious; he’d caught several of them looking his way.

  Cheyenne filled a plate, and Jesse followed suit.

  They found a spot under a maple tree and sat on the ground to eat.

  The band kicked it up a notch, and people started dancing under a canopy of trees in the side yard.

  “This is quite a house,” Cheyenne said, and Jesse was grateful for the opening because for once in his life, he didn’t have the first idea what to say.

  “It’s old,” he said. “When Holt—Sierra’s great-great-great-etcetera grandfather—bought the place, it was part of another ranch. Later, when he reconciled with old Angus, our common ancestor, it became part of the Triple M.”

  Cheyenne was quiet for a few moments. “What did you mean when you asked Liam about ghosts?” she asked. “He mentioned someone—Tobias, was it?”

  Jesse grinned. “He claims he sees another kid around the place sometimes. One of his and Sierra’s ancestors. Sierra’s done a lot of research on the family connection, and says she’s had some strange experiences herself.”

  Holding a chicken drumstick in one hand, Cheyenne assessed the long, hulking log place. All the houses on the ranch were made to last, constructed in the same way, with thick, sturdy walls and big windows, hardwood floors and massive stone fireplaces. “That McKettrick history again,” she said.

  Jesse nodded. “Tobias is right there in the family tree, so he existed all right. He died a couple of years ago, a very old man, in Santa Fe, New Mexico.”

  “In Santa Fe?” Cheyenne sounded a little disappointed. “Why not on the Triple M, or at least in Arizona?”

  “Lots of the McKettricks leave the land,” Jesse said. It was a fact of life, and something he still didn’t understand. “I guess if they’d all stayed, the place would be jammed to the outside fence lines. There’s a pretty big bunch in Texas, around San Antonio, but most of them are scattered all over the world.”

  Cheyenne nodded. “That’s where the home offices of McKettrickCo are,” she said. “In San Antonio, I mean.” Then she paused, as though she wanted to say something more, but wasn’t sure about it. She met Jesse’s gaze again. “You don’t seem very interested. In the company, I mean.”

  “Rance and Keegan are interested enough for all three of us,” Jesse said.

  Cheyenne bit her lower lip. “Did something happen? Some kind of rift?”

  Jesse shook his head. “I was never a businessman,” he told her.

  “So all you want to do, for the rest of your life, is ride horses and play poker?”

  “I’d like to have a wife and family sometime,” he said, watching as the kids snaked by again, in a long, noisy chain, holding hands. “Nobody has everything.”

  Cheyenne nodded. Mitch was in the middle of the dancing, with Bronwyn, and her gaze went straight to him. “Maybe he’ll forget about riding the horse,” she said, and then looked as though she wished she hadn’t spoken.

  “Not likely,” Jesse said.

  They’d finished their food. He took Cheyenne’s plate, stacked it on top of his own, got to his
feet, and helped her up with his free hand. He disposed of the plates, dropping them into one of several barrels provided for the purpose. Again, Cheyenne cast a look around the party, and he wondered what—or who—she was on the lookout for.

  His question was answered almost immediately when Keegan came strolling over, looking a lot less buttoned-down than usual in jeans, a blue shirt and polished boots.

  Cheyenne smiled warmly.

  Jesse’s stomach clenched.

  “Hello, Cheyenne,” Keegan said. It wasn’t an idle greeting; from the look of him, and the tone of his voice, he’d clearly been anticipating this encounter, maybe for a long time.

  Jesse moved a little closer to Cheyenne.

  “Hello, Keegan,” Cheyenne responded. Did she just bat her eyelashes, Jesse wondered, or was it a trick of the rapidly fading light?

  Jesse cleared his throat.

  Keegan ignored him. “Is this a good time to talk?” he asked Cheyenne.

  She nodded.

  At last, Keegan acknowledged Jesse. Up till then, he’d have thought he’d gotten his wish to be invisible. “Would you excuse us for a few minutes, Jesse?”

  Like he had a choice. Cheyenne was already moving to Keegan’s side. They were about to walk away—together—whether he “excused” them or not.

  Jesse gave a terse nod.

  Keegan and Cheyenne had gone a few steps when Keegan returned. “I’ll give her back,” he said in an undertone. A grin flickered in his eyes, never touching his mouth.

  Jesse didn’t respond, not verbally, anyway. He just glowered. Watched as the two of them moved off, approached a table on the far side of the yard, sat down facing each other. Keegan was careful to pull back Cheyenne’s chair, Jesse noted.

  “Jesse?” It was Mitch. “How about saddling that horse for me?”

  Jesse sighed inwardly. Rubbed his chin. Had trouble looking away from Keegan and Cheyenne. He knew the confab was probably about a job at McKettrickCo, and he had nobody to blame for that but himself. He’d been the one to come up with that brilliant idea.

  Just the same, if he could have gone over there, grabbed Cheyenne by the hand and taken her away without making a scene, he would have done just that.

  “Sure you’re up to it?” he asked Mitch. “After the tractor incident, I mean?”

  Mitch nodded. “Yes,” he said. “I’m sure. If the guy from the rental place hadn’t already taken that thing back, I’d ride it again, just to prove I could.”

  “Who says you have to prove anything to anybody?”

  “I’ve got a lot to prove to myself,” Mitch said quietly.

  “Okay,” Jesse answered. After one last glance in Cheyenne’s direction, he set off for the barn, with Mitch trundling and bumping along beside him in the chair. Travis had been teaching Sierra and Liam to ride, and he kept a couple of rocking horses on the place. Either of them would be safe for Mitch to mount.

  The doors stood open, and the interior lights were on.

  Jesse flipped the switch for the floodlight in the smaller corral, the one Travis used to train horses, grabbed some gear out of the tack room, and tossed it all down outside Pony-boy’s stall door. “How about a little exercise?” he said to the gelding.

  Pony-boy nickered and bobbed his head. He was a buckskin, more than twenty years old; Travis had picked him up at an auction for a song, mainly because nobody else wanted him, and the next stop would have been the slaughterhouse. The horse had proved gentle enough for Liam and Sierra, both of them greenhorns, and if Travis trusted the animal, so did Jesse.

  While Mitch watched from the breezeway, Jesse went into the stall, leaving the door open so the rest of the tack would be in easy reach, and tossed a saddle blanket onto Pony-boy’s slightly swayed back. Stroked the animal’s neck and spoke quietly to him.

  During the saddling process, Jesse chanced to glance toward Mitch, and the combination of determination, fear and pride he saw in the younger man’s face gave him pause.

  “Maybe we ought to wait for Cheyenne,” Jesse said, offering Mitch an out if he wanted one.

  Mitch shook his head. “This isn’t about Cheyenne,” he retorted. “It’s about me.”

  Jesse nodded to show he understood. Offered a spare grin. “Maybe it’s a little about Bronwyn, too,” he ventured. “She already likes you, Mitch. She’s all but hired a skywriter to let you know. You don’t have to impress her by riding a horse.”

  “Don’t I?” Mitch countered, as Jesse led Pony-boy out of the stall, ready to ride. “Have you looked at her? She could have any guy she wanted. She probably just feels sorry for me, because I’m in a wheelchair.”

  Jesse stopped, turned, looked straight in Mitch’s face. “Whoa back a second,” he said quietly. “I’ve known Bronwyn and her family for a long time. They’re a real decent bunch. She’s shown an interest in you. It’s not an act, and it’s not pity. She really wants to be your friend, Mitch, and I’d be willing to bet the chair isn’t a factor.”

  Mitch bit his lower lip, the way Jesse had seen Cheyenne do.

  “I need some help getting on that horse,” Mitch said after a few moments of silence. “After that, I can handle it.”

  “Let’s go out to the corral, then,” Jesse said. The picture of that tractor overturning in the Bridgeses’ yard, and Mitch tumbling helplessly onto the ground, was still fresh in his mind.

  Don’t let this be a mistake, he thought.

  The smaller of the two corrals was well lit. Jesse opened the gate, led Pony-boy through and waited while Mitch made his way over uneven ground.

  By the time Jesse had gotten Mitch into the saddle, a few small groups of spectators had gathered along the fence rails outside the corral, and more were wandering that way.

  “Stay clear of the chair until I can move it,” Jesse told Mitch. “Pony-boy’s a good fella, but the machinery might spook him.”

  Mitch nodded.

  Jesse set his feet in the stirrups.

  “How do I make him go?” Mitch asked.

  “You don’t,” Jesse answered, “until I’ve moved that chair.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Mitch said with a nervous chuckle. “Right.”

  Jesse spotted Ayanna Bridges standing on the lowest rung of the fence, but there was no trace of Cheyenne. Ayanna waved, and Jesse waved back.

  He pushed the chair back out of the corral, returned to Pony-boy’s side.

  “You got any grip at all in your legs?” Jesse asked, looking up at Mitch.

  Mitch shook his head. He was sweating a little.

  “Then hold on with your mind,” Jesse said. “Just as if your legs worked. The horse will feel it, and he’ll respond.”

  “Okay,” Mitch agreed.

  Jesse gave Pony-boy a light swat on one flank, and the animal ambled across the corral. Mitch gripped the saddle horn with both hands, but his face was brighter than the motion light fixed to the side of the barn.

  “Use the reins,” Jesse coached, standing in the middle of the corral while Mitch circled. “Lightly, though. Just enough to let him know which way you want to go.”

  “Is it all right to yell?” Mitch called.

  Jesse took a step toward the horse and rider. “Why? Are you scared?”

  “No,” Mitch said. “I’m happy.”

  Jesse grinned broadly. “Then go for it.”

  Mitch Bridges cut loose with a Yippee! that would have done an old-time cowpuncher proud.

  SOMEBODY YELLED, BUT IT WAS a peripheral sound, one Cheyenne barely noticed.

  The job Keegan described to her, at their table under the trees, sounded better than good. There was only one problem, as he saw it—the distinct possibility that McKettrickCo would go public within the next six months to a year, and if that happened, Keegan said forthrightly, he couldn’t guarantee that her position wouldn’t be eliminated after the changeover. In the meantime, though, she’d have benefits and a competitive salary, and work she could feel good about doing.

  Her contract with Ni
gel had another few months to run, and he wasn’t likely to let her out of it. Unless, of course, his company folded in the meantime.

  “Take some time to think about it,” Keegan said. “I don’t need an answer tonight.”

  Cheyenne nodded. Looked around. They were practically alone, except for the caterers. Even the band had stopped playing and wandered off, leaving their instruments unattended.

  Keegan looked momentarily puzzled—until he turned toward the barn. A bright light burned, setting the corral aglow, and there was Mitch, riding a horse.

  Riding a horse.

  Cheyenne went from a standstill to a sprint, her heart pounding in her throat, and wriggled through the milling guests to the fence, climbing up onto the first rung next to her mother.

  “Shhh,” Ayanna whispered. “He’s doing fine.”

  Cheyenne, who had been about to scramble over the top rail and put a stop to the whole dangerous experiment, swallowed and forced herself to look at Mitch.

  His poor, useless legs dangled on either side of the horse, but his spine was straight, and his head high, and he was beaming. Somehow, he urged the animal into a trot.

  “Easy,” Jesse warned, but he was grinning as he stood in the middle of the corral, watching.

  “I’m going to kill him,” Cheyenne whispered. Jesse McKettrick had boundless confidence in his own physical prowess, probably with good reason, but what he didn’t have was the right to take reckless chances with Mitch’s safety.

  “He knows what he’s doing,” Ayanna assured her.

  “I’m talking about Jesse, not Mitch,” Cheyenne bit out.

  “So am I,” Ayanna said. “Look at him. He’s calm, but if anything went wrong, he’d have control of that horse in a millisecond.”

  A millisecond, Cheyenne thought bitterly, was all it had taken to snap Mitch’s spine. He’d been lucky that day with the tractor, but an accident that might leave a healthy person with nothing more than bruises could kill Mitch.

  “Has everybody around here gone crazy?”

  Ayanna smiled at her daughter’s anxious words. Her gaze tracked Mitch proudly as he reined in close alongside Jesse.

  “I guess I’m done now,” Mitch said. Then, looking absolutely translucent with joy, he pretended to sweep off a hat and wave it at the crowd, like some cowboy movie star taking center stage at a rodeo.