McKettrick's Luck (14 page)

“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 about 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.”

G
OLD 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 worked 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.

“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.