McKettrick's Luck (17 page)

Hell, no, he didn't feel threatened, though he wasn't about to say as much. There were dozens, if not hundreds, of these mini-tournaments springing up all over the country, in local casinos and even online. The pros bought in, for a hefty fee, and, as last year's winner, Jesse was comped by the organizers, expected to defend his title.

“And you're going to play?” he asked as a frisson of excitement shivered down his spine.

“Why not?” she said. “It's just a friendly game.” Was she trying to convince him of that, or herself? It felt like something more to Jesse, though the truth of it was he didn't think any of the townswomen had an ice cube's chance in hell of getting beyond the local casino just up the road.

He kissed her again, but briefly this time. He didn't want to push his luck with Cheyenne; she was as skittish as a field-born filly, and there was still the issue of those five hundred acres standing between them. He was a good judge of character, but Cheyenne was a puzzle. She might really like him—or she might be angling to get that land.

“I could make coffee,” she said uncertainly.

Jesse wanted to go inside with her—wanted any excuse to stick around for a while. But he sensed that it was time to step back, take a breath. “Another time,” he told her.

He waited until she went into the house, then got back in the truck and started for home.

 

A
YANNA WAS IN THE KITCHEN
, where she'd set out two cups and put a kettle on the stove to boil. Mitch had apparently gone straight to bed.

“You were eavesdropping on Jesse and me from the living room,” Cheyenne accused, smiling.

Ayanna blushed guiltily.

My God,
Cheyenne thought.
She's still young. She's still pretty. She had a wonderful time at the party.

“I was
not
eavesdropping,” Ayanna insisted, but her color was still high, and her eyes sparkled with cautious mischief.

Cheyenne pointed to the cups. “I doubt you'd offer Jesse tea,” she said. “You knew he wasn't coming inside, and furthermore, you're gearing up for serious girl talk.”

Ayanna looked both pleased and embarrassed. “All right, so I might have walked past the screen door at an opportune moment and
accidentally
overheard a tiny part of the conversation—”

Cheyenne crossed the kitchen floor, with its buckling linoleum, and hugged Ayanna. “‘Accidentally'?” she asked, grinning. “Did you have fun tonight?”

“Yes,” Ayanna said, “and so did Mitch. So did
you,
from the looks of things. You and Jesse made such a nice-looking couple, dancing like that.”

“Don't make too much out of this, Mom,” Cheyenne warned gently. “I'm not in the McKettricks' league, and I suspect Jesse's just trying to see how far I'll go to get him to sell me those five hundred acres.”

“Did it ever occur to you that he might actually
like
you?” Ayanna asked, huffily. “You're not an adolescent anymore, adoring him from a distance and pinning his picture up on your wall. You're a beautiful, accomplished woman, and he'd be lucky to have you.”

“Mom,” Cheyenne said.

“Well, it's true,” Ayanna insisted.

“You might be a little prejudiced.”
I don't want you to get your hopes up,
she added silently.
Happy endings are for storybooks. This is real life.

“And
you
might be a little jaded.” The kettle boiled, and Ayanna snatched it from the burner, and filled Gram's cracked but beloved old cups with hot water. “What's this about you playing in a poker tournament?”

“You only ‘overheard' part of the conversation?” Cheyenne teased, carrying the cups to the table. The water was turning a lovely dark pink, and the scent of raspberries rose with the steam.

The two women sat down across the table from each other. Cheyenne flashed on a memory of playing five-card stud there, when she was barely big enough to see over the edge. She and her dad had used matchsticks and pennies in place of chips.

“I thought you hated poker,” Ayanna said, blowing on her tea and dodging Cheyenne's gaze.

“Sierra invited me to join her and some of her friends for a friendly game, that's all.”

Ayanna shifted uncomfortably on her chair. “Cheyenne, you know I never tell you what to do, but I shouldn't have to remind you that your father—”

Cheyenne sat up a little straighter. “I'm not my father,” she said. Then, aware that those years when Cash Bridges had spent his days and nights playing cards had surely been even worse for Ayanna than they had for her, she softened. Reached across the table to squeeze her mother's hand. “I'm not going to turn into a compulsive gambler, Mom,” she promised.

Ayanna leaned forward. “I want you to make friends here, of course,” she said, quietly earnest. “But a poker tournament?”

Cheyenne sighed. “If a miracle happens, and one of us gets all the way to the big game in Vegas, and
wins
on top of that, the money will go to build a wing onto the clinic in Indian Rock.”

Ayanna seemed relieved. “Talk about a long shot,” she said.

Cheyenne laughed. “They don't get much longer,” she answered.

Unless, of course,
added a little voice in her mind,
you happen to be Jesse McKettrick, born under a lucky star.

“Keegan as much as offered me a job tonight,” Cheyenne confided, after a few moments of reflective silence. “At McKettrickCo.”

Ayanna's face lit up. How she could stay so optimistic, so hopeful, after all they'd been through as a family, was a mystery to Cheyenne. “Really? Doing what?”

“I'd be setting up a human resources department,” Cheyenne answered slowly, wishing she hadn't mentioned the opportunity until she'd had more time to think about it.

“Which means?” Ayanna prompted.

Cheyenne smiled, but her misgivings made her lips wobble slightly. “Keegan wants to start a work-study program. Train some of the local people to join McKettrickCo—especially kids.”

“That's wonderful!” Ayanna paused, studying Cheyenne's expression. “Isn't it?”

“Maybe,” Cheyenne said. “According to Keegan, some of the family wants the company to go public. That could mean a leadership change, and the whole project might be scrapped.”

“Oh,” Ayanna whispered, looking downcast. But then she brightened again, with a resilience Cheyenne both admired and envied. “Mitch could apply,” she said.

Cheyenne reached across the table to touch the back of her mother's hand. Felt it tremble beneath her fingertips.
She's afraid,
Cheyenne thought.
Because I'm always the naysayer. I'm always the devil's advocate.
“Mom,” she said carefully, “it's early. My contract with Nigel still has a while to run, and he probably won't let me out of it.”

Something seemed to cave in, insideAyanna. Her shoulders drooped, and the light in her eyes dimmed a little. “Couldn't you try?” It was a forlorn question.

“I can try,” Cheyenne conceded.

“Call him,” Ayanna urged, immediately jumping up to fetch Cheyenne's bag from the top of the clothes dryer, where she'd set it down. “Get your cell phone out and call Nigel right this minute!”

“Now? Tonight? It's late—”

Ayanna cut her off. “No excuses,” she said. “You won't know what he's going to say until you ask.”

Suppressing a sigh, Cheyenne opened her bag, excavated for the phone and punched in Nigel's number.

“Good news, I hope?” he said, picking up on the first ring.

“I've been offered a job at McKettrickCo,” Cheyenne said, figuring she might as well just get it out there, on the table.

“Wonderful!” Nigel enthused.

Cheyenne blinked. “What?”

“We can attack them from within,” Nigel said. “Find their weak spot and—”

“Wait,” Cheyenne said. “I'm not suggesting a spy mission. It would mean resigning from Meerland, Nigel. Giving back the cell phone and the computer and the company car.”

“Well, we'd certainly want it to
look
that way,” Nigel gushed.

“Nigel,” Cheyenne said patiently, “you aren't listening to me—as usual. I wouldn't be working for you anymore. In any capacity.”

A stunned silence followed.

“Nigel?”

“In that case,” Nigel mused. “I would have to enforce your contract.”

Cheyenne sagged against the back of her chair, rolled her eyes for her mother's benefit. Ayanna, ready to skip down the Yellow Brick Road a moment before, looked deflated again.

“Unless, of course,” Nigel went on, once he'd given the threat time to sink in, “you were actually still in my employ. Then it would be a case of corporate intrigue.”

“It would be
spying,
” Cheyenne insisted. “And, besides, the land you want to develop belongs to Jesse, not McKettrickCo.”

“Maybe on paper,” Nigel said, “but I know how these families work. It's all about the money, and the common good. If you were on the inside, you could learn things that would be invaluable to me.” He paused, and the distance between them seemed to shiver with some disturbing energy. “I know this all seems pretty bottom-of-the-bag to you, Cheyenne, but believe me, all is not lost.”

Suspicion flashed through Cheyenne. There it was again. That intimation that he knew something, that he'd found some way into the McKettrick stronghold. He'd said a similar thing earlier, after dropping off the company car.

“What—?” she began.

But he headed her off again. “You wouldn't be thinking of going over to their side, would you?”

“Their side?”

“You know what I mean. Jesse is attractive. He's rich. It's not hard to connect the dots. You hook him, move onto the ranch, and live in style from then on. Is that your plan, Cheyenne? Well, just remember that we have a binding contract, and I
will
seek redress if you don't honor it.”

“I'm not trying to ‘hook' anybody—that's your style, not mine—and contract or no contract, you can't force me to spy!”

Ayanna went pale.

“I'm not asking you to spy,” Nigel lied blithely. “I just want you to keep your ear to the ground, that's all. I'll just check my PDA, here—yes—you're committed to Meerland until the first of September. It's what—June 15? That gives you two and a half months. Not such a bad deal, really. You'll have to give back the car, but you'll still be collecting double paychecks.” His voice changed to a smarmy purr. “Tell me, Cheyenne, what's so terrible about that?”

“It's sneaky and dishonest, that's what!” She might just as well have said nothing at all.

“You're not really accomplishing much as things stand, are you?” Nigel pressed. “It's time for definitive action. If you don't do this, Cheyenne, I'll not only sue you for breach of contract, I'll be forced to resort to more drastic measures.”

“
What
drastic measures?” Cheyenne demanded.

“You'll know soon enough,” Nigel said cheerfully.

“
Damn
it, Nigel—”

“When I hired you, I didn't want to demand a contract. But my grandmother pointed out the fallacy of that. There were big accounts at stake. You could have pulled them out from under me at any time, without that written agreement, gone out on your own, and left me high and dry. Suffice it to say, Cheyenne, I'm glad I made you sign on the dotted line.”

Cheyenne closed her eyes. The contract in question was in a storage unit in San Diego, along with just about everything else she owned, locked away in a file cabinet, but she didn't need to read it to know Nigel had her. The thing was ironclad; if she undermined Nigel's business in any way, he could take her to court.

No judge would back him up, at least not when it came to corporate espionage, but in the meantime, she'd not only go broke paying lawyers, she'd be in debt for the rest of her life.

“I hate you, Nigel,” she said.

“Right now, I'm not too crazy about you, either,” Nigel replied. “Crunch time, sweetheart. Show me what you're made of.”

With that, he hung up in her ear.

J
ESSE CHECKED ON THE HORSES
, found them all settled in for the night, and headed for the house. Inside, he flipped on the kitchen lights, rummaged through the fridge for a beer, and listened to the silence. The place seemed to pulse around him.

“Shit,” he said, just to hear a voice. Tough luck that it was his own.

His glance slid automatically to the phone on the wall next to the coffeepot, where it had been ever since he'd been too short to reach it. He'd told Cheyenne he'd call her the next day, but damned if he didn't want to do it now.

Maybe she was asleep.

In bed.

In a thin nightgown, or even naked.

Don't go there,
he thought.

And what the hell would he say if he
did
call her?

Sorry to bother you?

Hope I didn't wake you up?

Are you naked?

Whatever he said, she'd know he couldn't get her out of his head. Couldn't even wait until morning, like a normal human being.

Talk about tipping his hand.

Nope, he had to play this one close to his chest.

He snatched up the phone receiver, thumbed through the missed-calls list. Maybe she'd called him after he'd dropped her off at home.

The numbers were familiar. His mother. One of his poker buddies trying to get up a game.

Brandi.

He sighed. Much as he'd yearned for some conversation, he didn't want to talk to any of those people. His folks were getting old, though—in their midsixties—and one of them might have broken a hip or something.

He listened to his mother's message.

She wanted to know how he was. He hadn't called in a while. She and his dad were fine. What did he think about taking the company public?

All quiet on that front. He hit the delete key and made a note to call his parents back in the morning.

He'd been right about the second call. Utah Slim Jackson was passing through town with some friends and looking for a game. If Jesse wanted in, he'd better get himself down to Lucky's, pronto.

Jesse grinned and the mechanical operator said, “To return this call, please dial eighty-eight.” He dialed.

“Big money changing hands in this here smoky room,” Utah Slim said. Away from the poker tables, Utah was an insurance salesman named Milton. “Save you a seat?”

“Save me a seat,” Jesse confirmed.

There was still Brandi's message to get through.

She'd want to rhapsodize about her poor but honest lover, the future doctor. She probably needed money, and he could send that tomorrow, via the Internet. With only a twinge of guilt, Jesse hung up without hearing what she had to say.

He climbed the stairs to his room, exchanged his party duds for old jeans, a T-shirt and a baseball cap. Swapped out the fancy boots for shit-kickers, and he was good to go.

He stopped off at the barn, filled all the feeders for morning and made sure the automatic waterers were working. The horses were all down for the night, and a few of them nickered at him, but most paid him no mind at all.

He got back into the truck, started the engine and headed for town.

 

T
HE SLEEPLESS NIGHT WOULD HAVE
made more sense, Cheyenne thought, studying her haggard face in the bathroom mirror, if she'd been worrying about Nigel suing her up one side and down the other, but the embarrassing truth was that she hadn't. She'd been reliving Jesse's red-hot kisses, over and over, and waiting for her fever to break.

It hadn't.

At dawn, she'd finally given up, crawled out of bed and dragged herself to the shower. After that, she'd put on her bathrobe and made breakfast for Ayanna, who wanted to get to work early, and for Mitch. Her brother went on and on about last night's party, and wondered aloud if he ought to call Bronwyn and see what she was “up to.”

Cheyenne was too distracted to comment.

“Don't you dare call that girl before nine o'clock,” Ayanna told her son, stopping to plant a kiss on the top of his head as she whizzed by his wheelchair. She paused in the kitchen doorway, gave Cheyenne a worried glance and rushed out.

“You'd better get dressed before Jesse stops by to build those rails or something,” Mitch told her sagely, after giving the bathrobe a disapproving once-over.

“Thanks for nothing,” Cheyenne retorted. She had an appointment with Keegan at nine-thirty, and that meant full regalia—power suit, panty hose, makeup and high heels. She had to force herself to stay in the kitchen, finish clearing the table and wash the dishes. Jesse
did
have a way of dropping in unannounced, and even though they definitely weren't dating, the thought of him seeing her in that ratty old robe gave her the horrors.

The dress-for-success getup would be worse, though.

She was dashing for her room when the phone rang.

Nigel?

She hesitated, then snatched up the receiver. “Hello?”

“Cheyenne? This is Sierra. I was just calling to remind you about poker practice. Lucky's. Lunch at eleven-thirty, then a few practice games.”

“Right,” Cheyenne said. She'd have to stop somewhere between McKettrickCo and Lucky's, and change into jeans and a top. No way she'd show up looking like a contestant on
The Apprentice.
“It was a great party, Sierra. Thanks again for inviting us.”

“Our pleasure,” Sierra told her warmly. “See you at Lucky's.”

“See you,” Cheyenne echoed.

At nine twenty-five she pulled into the lot at McKettrickCo. She sat there, in Nigel's company car, her palms damp on the wheel, her stomach churning.

Maybe she'd just tell Keegan straight out that she was still legally bound to Nigel, and he wanted her to spy for him.

Excellent idea.

Keegan would send her packing.

Jesse wasn't about to sell the land.

Nigel's deal was toast, whatever trick he
thought
he had up his sleeve, and that meant his company would implode like an outdated Vegas casino standing on prime real estate. She not only wouldn't have the bonus, she wouldn't have a job, either.

Hello, Square One.

She sighed. Okay, so she was stuck. She'd wait Nigel out, tell him absolutely nothing about the inner workings of the McKettrick family, in the unlikely event that she stumbled across any such information in the first place, and send his paychecks back when her contract was up. In the meantime, she'd accept the job if Keegan offered it, set up the work-study program and earn every penny she was paid. If the corporation went public, she might survive the transition—or be given her walking papers by a new board of directors.

It was a crapshoot. Six of one, half a dozen of the other, as her dad used to say. Nothing to do but play the cards she'd been dealt and bluff like crazy.

Cheyenne drew a deep breath, let it out slowly, plastered an I'm-ready-to-conquer-the-world smile on her face, and headed for the door.

Her reflection in the polished glass gave her pause—she'd pinned her hair into a tight bun at the back of her head before leaving the house, as usual. She'd always thought the style made her look businesslike and efficient, but today the effect seemed severe instead.

Despite her careful makeup, there were shadows under her eyes, and her smile looked desperately perky.

She swallowed, lowered her head to concentrate on getting her face under control, and nearly collided with a tall, dark-haired man as she opened the door.

“Whoa,” he said and grabbed her by the upper arms before she could fall over backward. “Sorry—I was looking over my shoulder and I didn't see you there—”

Cheyenne straightened her short black-and-white tailored jacket. The suit was a knockoff, bought at a trunk sale, but it looked good and she'd skipped meals for three weeks to buy it. “Rance?” she asked, squinting up into a smiling, square-jawed face.

He nodded, pushed the door open and squired her inside. “Hello, Cheyenne,” he said. Then he flashed her one of those patented McKettrick grins. “Keegan told me you weren't coming in until around two this afternoon. Sneaky sidewinder.”

Cheyenne blushed. “Maybe I misunderstood,” she said. “I thought Keegan and I were supposed to meet at nine-thirty.”

“You were,” Rance said. “He was just trying to get rid of me. How are you, Cheyenne? Caught a glimpse of you at the party last night, but I didn't get a chance to say hello.”

“I'm fine,” she replied, suddenly shy.

He chuckled. “Oh, you surely are that, all right,” he said.

“I thought you were going out for doughnuts,” Keegan remarked from a nearby doorway, obviously addressing his cousin.

“I'll just bet you did,” Rance replied.

“We always send out,” put in the receptionist, standing behind her counter.

“You do that, Myrna,” Rance said, keeping one massive hand cupped under Cheyenne's elbow as he steered her toward Keegan and, presumably, the inner office where they would discuss her employment.

Myrna winked at Cheyenne. “Double-glazed?” she asked. “Chocolate-frosted? Bavarian cream?”

“I beg your pardon?”

The older woman laughed. “Doughnuts. What kind would you like?”

“Oh,” Cheyenne said, blushing again. What was it about Indian Rock that made her face heat up all the time? “Nothing for me, thanks.”

“No wonder you're skinny,” Myrna said with a sigh, picking up the phone.

“Coffee, too,” Rance added.

“Get your own coffee,” Myrna told him. “Do I look like a maid?”

Grinning a little, Keegan turned and led the way to a conference room at the end of the hall. Seated at a large table, Cheyenne looked at Keegan and then at Rance and, again, considered telling them the truth.

The meeting lasted forty-five minutes.

Myrna delivered the doughnuts and, with a concessionary air, three cups of coffee.

Keegan outlined his ideas for the work-study program and asked Cheyenne some penetrating questions. He seemed impressed with her responses, and so did Rance, and she felt guiltier with every passing minute.

“The job is yours if you want it,” Keegan told her.

Rance nodded agreement. “When can you start?”

Don't do this,
Cheyenne's conscience protested.

“Tomorrow?” she said.

Keegan smiled. “Great,” he said. “You'll need a company car, of course. We'll have one sent down from Flag today.”

Cheyenne had been expecting to share the patchwork van with her mother, so the offer of a car came as a happy surprise. Conversely, it also made her feel worse. “Thank you,” she said.

Keegan and Rance rose from their chairs.

She shook hands with both of them.

“I'll show you your work space on the way out,” Rance said.

Keegan glared at him.

Rance took her elbow again, grinning.

Even with the high salary and the car, Cheyenne had been expecting a cubicle at best. Instead, she had a corner office with a desk almost as big as her front yard. She resisted an urge to sit down in the pricy leather chair and take a couple of spins.

“It's great,” she said.

Rance escorted her all the way to her car.

“I'd ask you to lunch,” he told her, with charming bluntness, “if I hadn't seen you dancing with Jesse last night. Welcome aboard, Cheyenne.”

She nodded, shy again. “Thanks.”

She zoomed to the supermarket, where Ayanna worked, grabbed her change of clothes out of the backseat and rushed inside, headed for the restroom.

She was in a stall, shinnying out of her panty hose, when the outside door opened and she heard her mother's voice.

“Cheyenne, are you sick?”

“No,” Cheyenne answered. “I'm taking off my panty hose.”

Ayanna laughed, but she sounded a little nervous. “How did the meeting go? Did you tell Keegan that Nigel asked you to spy on them?”

Cheyenne squatted, checking the other stalls for feet. All clear, unless somebody was standing on a toilet seat. “Gee, Mom,” she said through the door, stepping out of the panty hose and pulling on her jeans. “Why don't you just go to Customer Service and ask if you can use the microphone? That way, you could announce it to half of Indian Rock.”

“Sorry,” Ayanna said, in an after-the-fact whisper. “Did you tell them, Cheyenne?”

“No,” Cheyenne told her.

Ayanna gasped. Cheyenne didn't need X-ray vision to know her mother had slapped one hand over her mouth in shame and horror.