Revenge (21 page)

“You can call me Skye.”

“Skye?” Hillary repeated, looking through the windshield to the heavens. “That's a weird name.”

“Hillary!” Max's tone was harsh, but Skye laughed and shushed him with her gaze.

“Well, it's not nearly as pretty as Hillary.”

“I hate my name,” Hillary announced. “Kelsy Craig says it sounds snotty!”

“What does Kelsy know? It's a beautiful name,” Skye said, still laughing as Hillary crawled across her lap and plopped herself down next to the driver's seat, wedging her little body between Skye's and Max's, and buckling her seat belt. “Know who else I am—besides a doctor?”

Hillary scowled and thought hard, as if Skye had asked her a trick question. “Who?”

“Dani's sister.”

“The horse lady?” Hillary's eyes rounded in awe.

“The very same.”

Hillary glanced up at her father for confirmation. “It's the truth,” he said.

“Do you do tricks on horses, too?”

“To tell you the truth, Hillary, I avoid them as much as possible.”

“Are you afraid of 'em?”

“Just careful,” Skye said, and it was apparent from Hillary's reaction that being a doctor just didn't measure up to being an honest-to-goodness trick rider.

They planned to have dinner in one of Hillary's favorite restaurants, which was located in a shopping mall that had been made out of a converted theater and Quonset hut. In the middle of the mall a carousel with bright colors and lights was spinning and filling the little mall with organ music.

“I wanna ride!” Hillary enthused.

“After dinner.” Max guided his daughter into the restaurant. It was painted in primary colors and offered slides, a small maze and differently shaped mirrors to amuse the children while their specialty pizzas were being prepared.

They ate in a booth painted with circus monkeys and smiling tigers. The pizza was hot, even if it wasn't the best Skye had ever tasted, and Hillary was anxious to eat her food quickly and join a group of noisy children running gleefully through the maze.

“So this is how you spend your Friday nights,” Skye teased.

Hillary squealed in joy as she barely recognized her reflection in a wavy mirror that distorted her image.

“Most of the time.” He stared at her across the table. “Sometimes we get really wild and see a Disney flick.”

She caught the gleam in his eyes and her throat turned to dust. What was it about him that captivated her so? That made her think with her heart rather than her head?

Curls streaming behind her, Hillary ran up and threw herself into her father's arms. She climbed onto his lap and stole a slice of pepperoni from his forgotten piece of pizza.

“You're a thief, Hillary McKee,” he accused as she chewed the morsel in front of him.

“You didn't clean your plate. Mommy says we gots to always clean our plates, but Mary and Carey they just make a big mess when they eat.”

“Not like their big sister, eh?” Max said, beaming down at his daughter.

Skye felt a tug on her heartstrings. For years she'd been jealous of Colleen for giving Max what she couldn't and now she felt foolish. Hillary, spoiled though she was, was an adorable child, and if Max hadn't married Colleen, he never would have experienced the joy of becoming a father.

At that moment, her pager beeped and Skye excused herself to go find a telephone. She called her exchange, found out that one of the Donner kids had swallowed a half bottle of aspirin and was en route to the clinic here in Dawson City.

She made her way back to the table where Max and Hillary were just gathering up the remains of the pizza in aluminum foil.

“Something wrong?”

“Lenny Donner got into the medicine cabinet. Somehow he pried off the childproof cap and downed a few more aspirin than he should have. I'm meeting them at the Urgent Care Clinic here.”

“Let's go.” Max drove through the streets of Dawson City with Hillary babbling on and on about riding horses with Dani. He let Skye off at the emergency doors, then parked the truck. By the time he walked into the clinic, she'd already disappeared into one of the examining rooms. He felt a mild irritation at having his evening ruined. Though he realized that her patients had to come first, he couldn't help feeling jealous that her chosen profession could take her away from him at a moment's notice.

He read to Hillary from a children's book, then when she got restless, they wandered down the hallways and outside, only to circle back to the reception area where patients were waiting to be admitted.

“Let's go!” Hillary demanded finally.

“We will, soon.”

“Where's Skye?”

“Helping someone,” Max explained, glowering at the closed doors.

“Who?”

“A patient—a little boy who accidentally poisoned himself.” Suddenly Max was ashamed of himself. What if he had discovered Hillary with a half-filled bottle of pills, or on the floor unconscious, or in the middle of a seizure? Wouldn't he want the best medical personnel available for his little girl? Swearing under his breath, he felt like a selfish fool. He picked up Hillary and held her close, silently thanking God that she was well and whole.

As Skye finally emerged from the back of the building, she was talking to Vickie Donner who was carrying her young son. The boy would be fine now that his stomach had been pumped, but Vickie was still shaken by the incident. They passed Max in the waiting room and Vickie shot him a hateful glance before scurrying outside.

Once Vickie had driven away, Skye turned to Max and found him holding onto his child as if fearing for her life.

“Sorry about the interruption,” she said, offering a smile.

“Goes with the territory I guess.” But there wasn't any spark in Max's eyes.

Hillary yawned widely. “Can we go home now?”

“Sure we can, pumpkin.” Max pressed a kiss to Hillary's crown of curls and once again Skye witnessed the incredible bond between father and daughter. She knew how much it pained him that Hillary didn't live with him, realized that he hated being what he described as a part-time father, only allowed to be with his child on weekends or whenever Colleen needed a break.

“How's the boy?” Max asked, once they were back in his truck.

“Fine now, but it was a good thing his mother knew what he'd been into.”

Hillary snuggled next to her father as they drove away from Dawson City, and by the time Max turned into the driveway of the old house, she was snoring softly, her little lips moving as the breath rushed in and out of her lungs.

“She's precious,” Skye said, touching Hillary's soft curls.

“The one thing I did right with my miserable life.” Tenderly he brushed a stray wisp off Hillary's cheek and Skye felt the same old longing, the desire to have a child of her own. Her throat clogged with yearning and she blinked rapidly against a sudden rush of tears.

“I'll see you later,” she whispered, and he leaned over to brush his lips with hers.

“You could come home with me.”

She glanced at Hillary, sleeping so peacefully against her father. “Not tonight.”

“She'll have to know sometime.”

“Will she?”

The question hung between them in the soft summer-night air.

Max reached up and lifted a handful of Skye's thick hair. “She will if you're going to become her stepmother.”

“Her what?” Skye asked, astounded.

“I want you to marry me, Skye.” His eyes held hers in the darkness. “And this time I won't take no for an answer.”

Skye swallowed hard, joy leaping in her heart, love burning through her blood. She wanted to say yes and to hell with everything else, but Hillary, asleep between them, was a consideration. Could Skye be a part of this little girl's life, share her with her natural mother, keep her mouth shut when Colleen insisted upon something she disagreed with? And surely Max would want more children as did she. But not at this point in time. Now that she was committed to the clinic, could she become a full-time mother? Could she juggle the responsibilities of career and motherhood and do either justice?

“I don't know, Max,” she said. “My first impulse is to say yes and let the chips fall where they may, but there are so many other people to think about, other responsibilities.”

“Your job.”

“My career. I have the clinic—”

“I own it. Don't worry about that.”

“Patients—”

“There are other doctors.”

“You...you want me to give it up?” she whispered, torn inside.

“Not completely, but can't you do it part-time?”

“I'm a doctor, for crying out loud, not a waitress! This is my profession!” And there it was, the old double standard, rearing its ugly head. He'd been raised to be in command, to be the boss, and he'd never want a wife whose career would threaten his control or be treated in equal terms as his. She stared into his eyes, dark with anger, and knew that it would never work. She'd been a fool to believe that love—their special love—could conquer all.

“I guess you've given me your answer,” he said, throwing the pickup into gear.

She swallowed back the tears that rose in her throat and the angry fear that she'd never find love again. “I guess I have.” Before she broke down completely, she threw open the door, stepped onto the gravel and slammed the door shut.

He tromped on the gas pedal and took off, the taillights of his truck becoming red blurs as she watched him leave through the sheen of her tears.

“Fool,” she said, dashing the damning tears away. How could she ever expect him to love her with that deep, soul-jarring love that she felt for him. To Max, love was one-sided. His way or no way. There wasn't room for compromise.

“Goodbye,” she whispered brokenly. Clearing her throat, she squared her shoulders and refused to be one of those sobbing, pitiful women who clung to desperate dreams that would never come true.

But as she walked up the steps to the porch, the night closed around her, and she knew, deep in the darkest recesses of her heart, that her life would never be the same.

“I
hate to say it, but it looks like that private detective your mama hired knows his stuff.” Sheriff Hammond Polk reached into the back pocket of his uniform, drew out a tin and found a pinch of chewing tobacco which he stuffed behind his lower lip. He looked a little sheepish for a big man who was used to intimidating people by one hard look cast their way. An outdoorsman, he seemed out of place in the offices of McKee Enterprises. “Yep, makin' us look like buffoons, reopening the investigation and all, but I guess it had to be done.”

In frustration, Max ran stiff fingers through his hair. “No one believed that Dad was murdered.”

“I know.” Polk settled into one of the chairs near the corner of the desk. “Damn it all, I didn't want to believe it myself. Murder? In Rimrock? The world's gone to hell in a hand basket, if you ask me.”

“What do you want us to do?”

“Not much. Just cooperate. Answer the deputies' questions, let 'em have access to all your files. I'd rather not work with Rex Stone—always considered him an arrogant SOB—but since he caught us with our pants down, so to speak, I'd rather work with him than against him. That way the department won't suffer any more embarrassment.” He shifted uneasily in his chair and rubbed his heavy jaw.

“Do you have any suspects?” Max asked as the enormity of the situation settled on his shoulders. This was murder they were discussing. Someone had intentionally edged his father's car off the road. Doom settled in his already-battered heart.

“We got a couple of leads, nothin' substantial, but we're questioning anyone who was at the Black Anvil the night your father didn't make it home. Some of the regulars were there, of course, but there were a couple of other fellas, as well, out-of-towners and the like. We've talked to them before, but we're gonna do it again, just in case we missed somethin'. Wouldn't want Stone to beat us to the punch.” He placed his meaty hands on the arms of the chair and pushed himself upright. “I'll be talkin' to your ma about this.” Squaring his hat on his head, he sketched a salute and left.

Murdered.
The word kept echoing through Max's head and he wondered how it could have happened. The thought was unfathomable. True, his father had manipulated people and created more than his share of enemies. But murder? What had Jonah done that would make anyone want to kill him?

Max finished the dregs of his cold coffee, scowled at the bitter taste and set the cup aside. He tried to concentrate on some of the problems at the company. Two of the buildings in town needed to be renovated, but the tenants didn't want to deal with the inconvenience and noise of construction. They'd put together a petition claiming that they liked the aging Taylor Building and the three-storied old hotel just the way they were. The tenants were unhappy about the prospect of improvements that would mean an increase in their monthly rents. It didn't matter that the buildings were all but condemned, with the electrical wiring as well as the plumbing in both buildings needing to be completely redone.

There was a problem at the ranch, as well. A buyer for the cattle had backed out of the deal.

And then there was Skye. His jaw tightened and his mood turned even blacker.

It had been nearly a week since he'd last seen her at her house and those days had crept by at an agonizingly slow pace. He'd spent the weekend with Hillary, taking her fishing, playing catch with her, even participating reluctantly in a tea party. He'd watched as she'd tried to ride one of the older horses at the ranch with Dani Donahue Stewart as her instructor. He'd managed to speak civilly to Dani, though the two of them had never really gotten along. Throughout their short conversation, Max had tried to ignore the fact that Dani was Skye's sister, but it had proved impossible.

Eventually he'd taken an unwilling Hillary back to Colleen's house and left with the same heart-wrenching sense of loneliness that was with him every time he turned his back on his little girl. Hillary's tears tore at his soul, her trembling lower lip causing him the worst kind of mental anguish, and her outstretched arms were an invitation he was unable to ignore. Colleen and he would always be at odds, fighting for his only child.

A chill as cold as January settled over him.

Hillary and Skye—the only two things that made his miserable life worth living. The only two things that he never could have.

He gave himself a swift mental kick. How could he have been so stupid to have proposed to Skye, for God's sake, and why would he dare think that she would give up her life, a life she'd carved out for herself, for him and his daughter? He swatted at a fly buzzing lazily near the window and felt the urge to stretch his legs, get out of the office, run away from all the hassles at the company.

His father, curse the old man, had been right. Skye was not the right kind of woman for him. Too stubborn. Too independent. Too...too much like him. “Son of a bitch,” he growled under his breath as he grabbed his jacket and headed for the door. He needed to get out of here; the walls were closing in on him. In just a few hours he could pick up his daughter. Together they'd have the best weekend in the world and he wouldn't dwell for an instant on Dr. Skye Donahue.

 

Skye lost five pounds in one week. Her appetite was nonexistent and she worked herself around the clock, from the minute she arose in the morning at 5:00 a.m. until she finally tumbled into bed near midnight.

After her usual morning run, she spent a full day at the clinic, and following a quick dinner, she tore into her work at the old apartment house. She spent her evenings cleaning, spackling, painting and wallpapering until her arms ached and her mind spun in weary circles. With every ounce of strength in her body, she forced herself to keep busy, to work until she dropped, so that she wouldn't second-guess herself about Max.

She wouldn't allow herself to fall in love with him. It would be too easy and only bring her heartache. But avoiding him proved impossible. Rimrock was a small community. Everyone knew everyone else's business and the fact that Max's brother lived upstairs didn't help. If that wasn't enough, the clinic was leased through one of the companies that Max owned.

No matter how much she tried to deny it, she was entangled with the McKees and would be as long as she stayed in Rimrock.

Maybe coming back home had been a mistake, she thought as she emptied the pockets of her lab coat and dropped it in the hamper near the back door of the clinic. She'd never been a second-guesser, but dealing with Max was more than a challenge. It was a downright impossible task.

As she locked the clinic on Friday night, she rubbed the tension from the muscles of her neck. A dry wind blowing in from the east blew her hair over her face as she walked back home. It was time to treat herself. She considered all her options before settling for a hot bubble bath, a glass of cold Chablis and a good book. She'd go to bed at a decent hour for a change and will herself to keep thoughts of Max and all she'd given up at bay.

Or she'd confront him. Clear the air and tell him what she thought. If she was going to spend the next twenty years or so in Rimrock, she and one Maxwell McKee needed to get a few things straight.

 

Max swung the ax with such force that it split the knotty piece of oak clean through. He kicked the halves aside and grabbed another short log before hoisting the ax over his head and breathing hard. Again the sharp blade sliced through the air and cleaved the mossy chunk into two pieces.

“Looks to me like a bad case of sexual frustration.” Jenner's voice carried on the stiff breeze and Max grimaced. The last thing he needed,was some advice from his hellion of a brother.

“Yeah, and what would you know about it?”

“Plenty.” Jenner swaggered toward the woodshed where Max was making kindling. “If this doesn't work, you can take up long-distance running or maybe shadowboxing.”

“Thanks for the advice,” Max snarled.

“Well, there's always cold showers, but they only work for so long.”

Max tossed down the ax. Already spoiling for a fight, he would've liked nothing better than to knock Jenner on his denim-clad, know-it-all butt. He flexed his fists and Jenner had the irreverence to laugh.

“Man, you've got it bad.”

“What?”

“Woman fever.” Jenner leaned his shoulders against the unpainted siding of the old shed and propped the heel of one boot on the rough, weathered boards.

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Then I'll make it simple. Dr. Skye Donahue.”

“That's finished.”

“Sure.” Jenner's eyes silently accused him of being a first-class idiot.

Max wasn't in the mood for his brother's unspoken insults. He wiped the sweat from his brow on his shirt, which he'd hung from a nail, and picked up the ax.

“You know, you've been hell to get along with.”

“Good thing you don't live with me.”

“Yeah, good for me, but what about Hillary?”

Max stopped short. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“It means that for the first time in your life you've been so caught up in your own problems that you've ignored her. You weren't this bad during the divorce.”

“I haven't—”

“Where is she now?”

“In the house with Mom.”

Jenner's mouth compressed. “She's in the corral with Dani Stewart, trying to learn how to be a damned trick rider.”

“Hell!” Max glanced at his watch and realized that for the first time since Hillary started taking lessons, he wasn't standing at the fence rail, watching and encouraging his daughter.

“Face it, Max. Right now you're no damned use to any of us.”

Max didn't listen, just shoved his arms through the sleeves of his shirt and ran, shirttail flapping in the breeze, past the stables toward the corral. Night was settling in, shadows stretching long on the dusty ground, leaves turning in the wind. He thought he saw someone crouching behind a horse trailer parked near the brood-mare barn, but when he looked again, the person had disappeared. Probably just Chester or one of the hands finishing up. It bothered him a little, but he didn't have time to figure out who was trying to duck out of last-minute chores.

As he rounded the corner of the barn, he saw Hillary seated high in the saddle, her chubby little fingers tight on the reins, while Dani, lead rope in hand, commanded the mare to walk in a wide circle. Max's frozen heart melted at the sight of his daughter.

Skye was right about one thing. He loved kids, and if he had his choice, he would have half a dozen of them running around the ranch, yelling, fighting, playing and raising hell as he and his sister and brother had done. The tire swing in the backyard had never been taken down, the sandbox was still intact, and the trails that ran through the woods and along the banks of Wildcat Creek might be overgrown but still existed, as did the rope that hung from a branch of an old oak tree near the swimming hole. All waiting for his children. He gritted his teeth as he realized he'd have no more. Hillary was his one and only, and just a part-time daughter at that.

Damn, what a mess.

“Daddy, Daddy!” Hillary called out upon spying him. Perched atop an aging palomino mare, she grinned widely. “Watch me!”

“You got it, pumpkin.”

Dani clucked her tongue, and the mare moved into a slow trot around the circle. Hillary's curls bounced around her face and she laughed in delight. “Faster, faster,” she yelled, kicking at the mare's sides.

“First you have to learn to handle her at this pace,” Dani said, her smile never faltering.

“But I want to go faster!”

“We'll get there,” Dani promised. She smiled up at Hillary before she spied Max and her grin faltered slightly.

Max didn't really understand her animosity. He knew that she hated all things McKee, except Casey, whom she'd come to trust, and Hillary. Dani seemed to have mellowed over the years, though her marriage to Jeff Stewart was rumored to be stormy. Several times in the past year, they'd separated, only to get back together again. Max didn't know the details; he figured it was none of his business. All he knew was that, in the past few months, she seemed to have thawed somewhat where the McKees were concerned.

“You look great,” Max called from the fence.

“I'm gonna be a rodeo rider.”

He laughed. “And I thought you wanted to be a bride.”

“A bride
and
a rodeo rider.”

 

Skye's heart knocked as she drove through the gates of the Rocking M. Twilight had turned the sky a deep, slumberous purple shade and the first twinkling lights of stars were visible in the heavens.

A stiff breeze played in the trees that lined the drive, causing the leaves to rustle in quiet whispers. Skye's palms were damp on the steering wheel of the Mustang as the sprawling ranch house and stables came into view.

Beneath the anticipation singing through her blood was a nameless fear. What if Max refused to listen to her? What if he threw her off the ranch? What, oh, God, what if he hated her?

She saw him the second she pulled into the parking area. He was standing at the fence, his tanned arms folded over the top rail, jean-covered hips thrust out, boots crossed at the ankle, his eyes trained on the paddock. His hair ruffled in the evening wind.

Skye's breath caught for a second, as it always seemed to do when she first caught sight of him. She had never really stopped loving him, probably never would, and yet their paths, which seemed to cross so often, didn't lead in the same direction. Tears burned at the back of her eyes, but she told herself to stop moping.