Revenge (19 page)

Her pale hair shone in the moonlight and she strode quickly up the walk and steps. A radiant smile tugged at her lips and her eyes seemed to dance in the moonlight. If she noticed his rage, she hid it well. She motioned toward the house with a sweep of her arms. “So this is what it looks like finished. You know, I always wondered.”

“Did you?” Sarcasm edged his voice as he held the door open for her and followed her inside. “I'll bet you didn't lose too many nights' sleep over it.”

Skye stopped dead in her tracks, then slowly turned to face him. The laughter in her eyes had vanished. “Am I missing something here?” she asked with a quiet authority she must've practiced in medical school. “Near as I recall, when I left you this morning, I thought everything was fine.”

“Not quite.”

“If you're still angry because of the letter, I can explain. I talked to my mom. She admitted that—”

“It's not the letter, Skye,” he said harshly and saw confusion gather in her gaze like storm clouds. “In fact, I think your mother did me a favor by giving the letter to the old man.”

“A favor? Why?” Was it his imagination or did she appear wounded?

He drew the check out of his pocket and slapped it into her palm. “Look what I found in the company records. It's funny, don't you think? My dad told me he'd paid you to get the hell out of Rimrock, but I never believed him. Looks like I was wrong. Again.”

The color draining from her face, she stared down at the damning piece of paper and curled it in her fingers. “I didn't take a dime, Max.”

“The check was deposited in your account.”

“I swear, I never knew about it.”

“Oh, hell, Skye, don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about. The money went out of the company account and into yours.”

“No way.” She carried the check into the kitchen and smoothed it over the counter, then flipped it over. Though she hadn't signed it, the check had been deposited to her account. She recognized the account number and her heart sank. So it was true.

“Don't lie to me.”

“I'm not lying.” She cleared her throat and sighed, dying a little inside. “I—I think maybe my mother used the money. This account is one we had together. It was set up so, in case of either party's death, the other could get the funds in the account. When I left for Portland, the account was still active, but the statements went to Mom, here in Rimrock. I never used it. I started a new account in a bank in the city. Mom signed on it, as well, but she never deposited anything or wrote a check from it. She used the account here in Rimrock—this one—” she held up the check and shook it under his nose “—and I used the one in Portland.”

“So you're trying to tell me that your
mother
took the payoff,” he said with a sneer of disbelief.

Skye shook her head slowly. “No. I don't think she would do that—”

“Well, someone did. It's gone, okay? And the last time it was seen, it was in your account.”

“Look, Max, I don't know what happened.” She left the check on the counter and felt a chill deep in the middle of her bones. How could her mother have betrayed her so? “You may as well know the rest of it,” she said, dropping into one of the kitchen chairs and staring sightlessly out the window to the moon-drenched night.

“What rest of it?” he said and trepidation entered his voice. It was obvious he didn't believe her, but Skye didn't back down. It was time everything was out in the open. Everything.

Cold as death, she said, “Before I left town, I had it out with your father. He offered me money, even wrote out a check, but I wouldn't take it. Then he threatened my mother and Dani—told me that if I didn't get out of your life, he'd make theirs hell.”

“This is crazy. My old man would never...” His voice trailed off and he leaned against the refrigerator, arms crossed over his chest, eyes narrowed on her like a judge ready to pass sentence.

“He would and he did,” Skye said, explaining about her emotional conversation with Jonah. All the angry words, the threats and accusations rushed back into her mind and she didn't pull any punches. “He was up-front about it all,” she admitted as Max's skin paled. “He didn't like me and thought I wouldn't be the kind of wife you wanted.”

“And you let him bully you?” Max said with a snort of disbelief. “I don't think anyone's ever coerced you in your life, Skye. You've always stood up for what you believed in, fought for what you thought was right. I can't imagine that one old man could make you turn tail and run.”

“That wasn't the only reason, no,” she admitted, wondering if she had the guts to tell him her darkest secret. Linking her fingers together, she silently prayed for strength.

His jaw tightened into an uncompromising line, and in that moment he looked so much like his father that Skye wondered how she could love one man so deeply while hating the other. “What was the other?” he demanded.

The seconds ticked by on the clock mounted over the stove. The dog whined to be let in. A soft summer breeze sifted through the screen, carrying the scents of mown hay and pine into the room. “I knew you wanted a family.”

“So did you, if I remember correctly.”

If you only knew how desperately!
“I know, but it was different because... because—”
Oh, God, help me!
“—because I can't have children.” She told herself she wouldn't cry, that she'd accepted her fate, that she could compensate for her childlessness, that her career meant everything to her, that someday she could adopt. But she couldn't fight the old pain she'd kept locked in a forgotten corner of her heart and she had to blink quickly to keep hot tears of regret from splashing down her cheeks.

“You can't—”

“I'm barren, okay? Infertile. I couldn't give you that all-important McKee son.”

“So?” he asked, dumbfounded.

“So?” she repeated. Her chin wobbled slightly. “I know how much you love kids, Max. I've seen you with your daughter and your father told me that—”

“My father
knew about this?”

“Yes.” She sniffed loudly, then lifted her chin. “He found out because of the insurance and the payments to the doctors. I had a bad case of appendicitis, and later, P.I.D., pelvic inflammatory disease. It often renders women infertile.”

Max's face twisted with silent rage. “Why didn't you tell me?” he said, his voice a low whisper.

“I couldn't.”

“Why not? Didn't you trust me?”

“Yes, but—”

“Did you think I'd really care?” He crossed the room, reached around the chair and drew her to her feet. All traces of anger had disappeared from his face. “It wouldn't have mattered.”

“Oh, Max, of course it did. You talked about kids. Our kids. When this house was just floorboards and studs, you showed me the bedrooms that you wanted to fill.”

“And I still do. But we could have adopted. Maybe it made a difference to my father, but it didn't to me. I just wanted to be with you, Skye,” he vowed, his voice suddenly husky. “I didn't care about all the rest of the B.S.”

A huge lump formed in her throat as his arms surrounded her. Those tears she'd fought so valiantly spilled from the corners of her eyes.

“Did you really think I was like Jonah?”

“I didn't know. I didn't want to believe it, but you were following in his footsteps, being groomed to be the next president of the company. You went with him everywhere, did what he told you to do and even put together a few deals that weren't entirely ethical.”

He stiffened, but his arms didn't abandon their possessive circle around her. “You know about those, do you?”

“Some of them. Jonah threatened to take you down with him if I were to turn him in. So...”

“Oh, God, Skye.” He buried his head against her shoulder and kissed her nape. She felt the tension and anger constricting his muscles. “I didn't realize what Jonah was pulling at first and I blame myself for being so blind. I should have looked at all the files on separate projects instead of just the current information. I was working hard, but not smart. I didn't understand until much later, after you'd gone, that good ol' Jonah P. McKee had coerced some of the people he worked with. When I found out, I hit the roof, and Jonah changed his tactics a little.”

“Just a little?”

“There are a lot of people in Rimrock who had reason to hate him, who probably wanted to see him dead. I don't really blame them, but I've got someone going through all the old files. McKee Enterprises will make restitution, if possible. In some cases, it's too late. The people have moved on or died, but in others, we'll be able to make a difference.”

Skye felt her heart soar. Did she dare believe him? She gazed into his eyes—eyes tortured by the mistakes of his youth—and her doubts fled. When he leaned over to kiss her, she wound her arms around his neck.

The kiss was warm and filled with promise.

He lifted his head and she sighed as their gazes met.

“Maybe I should show you the rest of the house,” he suggested, his lips curving into a crooked and decidedly illicit smile.

“Maybe,” she agreed.

He kissed her softly on the lips, leaving her trembling for more. “Come on,” he urged, threading his fingers through hers and leading her toward the stairs. “You won't believe what I've done with the master bedroom since the last time you were here.”

“T
hat should do it.” Skye finished taking out the final stitch, leaving a clean little scar just behind Robby Mason's left ear. “Next time your brother comes after you with a slingshot, duck!”

“That won't happen again, Dr. Donahue,” Robby's mother, Amy promised. Amy and Skye had gone to high school together before Amy dropped out to get married. “The slingshot's long gone—hauled away with last week's garbage. I can't thank you enough.”

“No thanks necessary,” Skye said, though she glowed under the other woman's appreciation. Most of the patients accepted her, but a few still insisted upon seeing Dr. Fletcher and resisted the idea of a young woman as their family physician. “Robby's going to be just fine.”

“Good. Now, Robby, run along and wait for me out front,” Amy said softly. She was a small, soft-looking woman with ample hips, a large bust and worried brown eyes. Her face was pretty but scarred, the result of being bitten by a wolf pup when she was just a girl.

“Ask Nurse Tagmier for a balloon,” Skye suggested to the boy.

“A red one?” Robby asked, his eyes round.

“Any color you want.”

He raced out the door, the sound of his sneakers muffled by the carpet. Once he'd disappeared, Amy, wringing her hands nervously, turned back to face Skye. “There's something I want to talk to you about.”

“Something to do with Robby?”

“No.” Amy colored and it was obvious that the subject was difficult for her. “It's about me.” She cleared her throat and kept her eyes downcast in embarrassment. “About my scars. I think you probably know the story. My pa used to raise wolf pups. Well, most of the animals were tame and wouldn't hurt a flea, or at least they wouldn't take a nip out of anyone they knew. But years ago, when I was only five, I got to playing too hard with one of the fiercest little pups in a litter and ended up being bitten pretty badly. Doc Fletcher tried to fix me up, but I've always had scars.”

Skye had heard the story more than once and, as a child, had been horrified by Amy Purcell's disfiguring scars—the result of her father, Otis's fascination with breeding wolves. Eventually she'd gotten used to her classmates, their personality quirks as well as their physical flaws, and she'd become blind to Amy's disfiguration just as she had to the fact that Eddie King had been born with webbed feet.

Now, since Amy had brought up the subject, she realized how devastating the scars must be, both physically and emotionally. One cheek was more hollowed than the other, and several scars, faded with time and half-hidden under a thick layer of makeup, webbed jaggedly across the right half of her face. Behind her glasses, her right eye drooped slightly.

“I was wondering if you had the name of a plastic surgeon, someone who might be able to fix all this.” She forced a smile, but couldn't hide the desperate pleading in her eyes.

“I know just the right person,” Skye said, giving Amy a confident smile. “When I was an intern in Portland, one of the best people on the West Coast worked out of Columbia Memorial Hospital.” She searched in the pockets of her lab coat, came up with one of her freshly printed business cards and wrote the name and telephone number of Dr. Jason Phelps.

Amy took the card, biting her lower lip and trying to hide the hope that was already evident in her expression. “You think he'll take me as a patient?”

“I'm sure of it. Sometimes his bedside manner is a little gruff, but he knows what he's doing. You can have him call me if there are any problems.”

Amy clutched the card as if it were the Bible. “Thank-you, Dr. Donahue.”

“It's Skye, Amy. Okay? We've known each other too long to be so formal.”

“All right, Skye.”

“Take care of those boys now.”

“I will.” Still blushing, Amy hurried down the hall toward the waiting room and reception area.

Skye made a note on Robby's chart as her newly hired nurse, Belinda Tagmier, a petite brunette with a smattering of freckles over an upturned nose, poked her head into the examining room. “Believe it or not, that was the last one,” she said with a grin. “We can go home.”

“What, no emergencies?” Skye said, clicking her pen closed and tucking the file under her arm. “No scrapes, bruises, fevers, turned ankles?”

“None so far.”

“Good. How about I buy you a drink?” Skye asked as they walked out of the room. She dropped the file on the desk in her office on the way to the employee lounge. “Let's see—there's cola, diet cola, the uncola or orange. Go ahead. Live it up. It's on me.”

“I'll have to take a rain check,” Belinda said with a grin. “Dale's due home tonight after being three weeks on the road. I'm going to cook him a candlelight dinner, open a bottle of wine and wear his favorite dress....”

“Another time,” Skye agreed as Belinda grabbed her purse, sweater and keys.

“Oh, I almost forgot.” Belinda searched one of the large pockets in her white nurse's uniform. “Let's see. Here it is.” She extracted a business card and handed it to Skye. “Some guy left it at the reception desk. He showed up, demanded to speak with you, and when we finally convinced him that your schedule was loaded, handed me this. Asked that you call him.”

Skye read the card. Rex Stone, Private Investigator. Several phone numbers, including home, office and mobile, were listed. “A private detective?” she said, and then she knew. Somehow the man was linked to the investigation surrounding Jonah McKee's death. Her heart seemed to drop to the floor. She didn't want to think about Jonah or the fact that he may have been murdered.

“Look, I'll see you tomorrow.” Belinda slipped through the front doors and locked them behind her. Skye was alone in the clinic. Ralph Fletcher only worked until two each day now and the office staff left promptly at five, after switching the phones to the answering service. The cleaning crew arrived around midnight. Skye checked her watch. Six-fifteen. “Not bad.” It was the first night since she'd landed in Rimrock that she'd been able to lock up before dark.

Turning the bothersome card over several times, she walked back to her office. She tried to catch the investigator at home and left a brief message on his machine. That accomplished, she slid his card into the top drawer of her desk, then took the time to go through the files of the final three cases she'd seen and dictate memos that the secretary would type and file in the morning.

All in all, the second week had gone more smoothly than her first few days in town. Except for her relationship with Max. That was still complex. It was too easy imagining herself in love with him just as she had been before. But was it wise? They were older now; their dreams and lives had changed. She had her career; he had his. And he had a child and a business enterprise to run, while she had her ailing mother and the clinic to worry about.

With a sad smile, she realized that she really didn't have time to fall in love.

 

“Somethin's buggin' the hell out of you,” Jenner said as he tossed the last bag into the bed of his truck and took a look around the Rocking M. “And don't try to tell me you're worried about the fact that Stone's got Sheriff Polk believing that Dad was murdered. It's more than that.” His mouth quirked up at the corners. “If you ask me, you've got woman trouble. You want to talk about it?”

Irritated by the way Jenner had of always seeing though him, Max glared into the back of his brother's old truck. Two duffel bags, a bedroll and one box of shaving gear and cooking utensils. All Jenner owned in the world—well, almost. There were still three quarter horses, a few saddle blankets and various pieces of tack, but Jenner believed in traveling light. “Nothin' to say.”

“Let me guess. You don't like me movin' in with the lady doc,” Jenner said, his eyes glinting in the moonlight.

“I couldn't care less.”

“And you're the worst liar in the county. You've been seein' her again and she's got your head all turned around and that ticks you off.” Jenner yanked open the door of the truck. “I'm glad you don't mind me takin' the apartment over there ‘cause that Skye, she's one nne-lookin' woman. Got herself a good job and a body on her that won't quit and—”

Before he could finish, the door was slammed shut and Max had his brother pinned against the cab. Max's reaction had been instinctive and fierce. The thought of another man with Skye, even his own brother, was too much to bear. “You leave her alone,” he growled, his hands tightening in the folds of Jenner's shirt.

“Just as I suspected. You're still carryin' a torch.” Jenner's crooked grin was downright insolent. Max knew there was nothing his brother liked better than a fight. They'd wrestled and boxed and tried to beat each other up for years before Max had gone away to school. Jenner's muscles flexed beneath his clothes and his nostrils flared as if he smelled a fight in the air.

“She's just not the kind of woman you're used to,” Max said, backing up and silently cursing himself for letting his emotions take over.

Jenner's eyes darkened perceptibly. “You don't know what kind of woman I'm used to,” he said, and there was something in the way he said the words, a quiet tone of emotion, that Max didn't understand.

Jenner had always been a love-‘em-and-leave-'em kind of guy. Except for that one time with Beth Crandall, when Jenner had been the one left. What was it he'd told Max once? That the old man had screwed them both over when it came to women? Had Jonah intervened in Jenner's love life the way he had in Max's? Didn't seem possible. Jenner was too much a lone wolf to lose his heart to anyone or anything. Even Beth Crandall.

“Just back off,” Max warned.

“If you're so interested in the lady doctor, why don't you take her out?”

“It's not that easy,” Max admitted. Yes, he'd been with her twice, made love to her each time until dawn, but he'd rationalized his actions as pure lust and the love of a challenge. She'd left him years ago and now he was getting a little of his own back.

The trouble was that Jenner was right. All those old feelings he'd denied for so long were back full force. He couldn't look into Skye's warm hazel eyes without seeing the future. His future. “Nothing's easy.”

“Isn't it? Hell, the old man's dead. He can't do anything to you. It's over, man. All that old garbage. You can do whatever you damned well please. With Skye Donahue or not.” Jenner climbed into his truck, slammed the door shut, pumped the gas and twisted the key in the ignition. Backfiring like a rifle shot, the old pickup took off, leaving a plume of blue smoke and the stench of burning oil. And he was going to Skye's house. A knot twisted in Max's gut. He'd told himself he wasn't going to go chasing after Skye again, that he needed time to think things through, to cool off, but it was impossible to keep cool with that woman.

“Damn it all,” he growled as he crossed the lot, jumped into his old rig and headed into town. He'd rather forget about her, but he couldn't. Ever since making love to her, he'd been tormented by thoughts of her, erotic memories that would bubble to the surface of his mind at the most inopportune times.

Like now.

 

Skye read Mrs. Newby's list of complaints and repairs for the fourth time. The woman was crazy, expecting Skye to replace everything from light bulbs to the carpet as well as buy new appliances and repaint every wall. She wanted her rooms soundproofed and a security system installed on the doors and windows. She thought built-in shelves and a satellite dish to receive broadcasts from Louisiana, her home state, would be nice. How about security lights around the perimeter of the building? And about that cat, the gray tabby that hissed at her every time she walked up the stairs, well, he would have to go. Mrs. Newby was allergic to cats and didn't welcome the prospect of having her stockings snagged or her legs scratched by the beast.

“Dream on,” Skye muttered, and wondered how she would get through to the sweet little lady.

There was a knock on the door and Skye found a petite, red-haired woman in her early thirties standing in the hallway. “I'm Tina Evans,” she said with a sincere smile. “I just wanted to come down and introduce myself and thank you for the basket of goodies that you left with Paula the other day.”

Skye liked the woman instantly. “You're welcome.”

“I hope that Paula's music doesn't bother you. Because of my hours, I sometimes have to leave her alone. More than I'd really like to.”

“She's been fine. Really,” Skye said, cocking her head toward the living room. “Come on in. I've got a pitcher of iced tea in the refrigerator if you're thirsty.”

Tina's grin widened. “It sounds like heaven! I've been working a double shift over at Oakley's Diner in Dawson City. One of the other gals called in sick, so I got elected to fill in. I sure can use the money, but as I said, I hate to leave Paula alone so much. She was okay, wasn't she?” Tina asked nervously, glancing up at the ceiling as if she could see through the floorboards into her apartment.

“I've only been home a little while, but I'm sure that if she was in any trouble, Mrs. Newby would have let me know about it. Pronto.”

They sat at the table and chatted. Skye learned that Tina, originally from Des Moines, had been divorced for two years. Her ex-husband had disappeared with another woman and he hadn't paid a dime of child support. Ever since her parents' separation, Paula had become belligerent and confused. She was having trouble in school and seeing a counselor every other week. Her only interest seemed to be music. “She's a handful,” Tina admitted. “Don't let anyone tell you the teenage years are easy. If they do, they're either liars or they've never raised any kids, let me tell you!”