Revenge (7 page)

Max's first reaction was to tell him it wasn't any of his business, but he decided to keep his temper under rein. “I just asked her for a date. I don't think that's getting involved.” Max wished he'd kept his big mouth shut about seeing Skye, but he detested sneaking around and surely his father could already see that he was interested in her.

“She's not the right woman for you!” Jonah shoved open a gate and spied Chester, one of the hands who worked the fields. “Saddle up Duke,” he barked, and Chester nodded before heading off to the stables.

“Skye and I are just going to dinner, not that it's any of your business.”

“You have a history with women.”

“So do you.”

Jonah spun on his older son and grabbed Max by the front of his shirt. Though no taller than his son, Jonah carried an extra seventy pounds on his large frame. “Who the hell do you think you are?” he growled, his lips barely moving, his breath smelling of expensive whiskey. “What I do is my business.”

“And what I do is mine.” Max shoved away from his father. “I may have to live here until my house is built, and I work for you, but don't think for an instant that you own me!”

“Don't I?” Jonah hoisted the butt of the rifle to his shoulder and fired. The bullet ripped through the center of the target. “Just remember,” he said, sighting down the barrel, “I made you what you are. It was my money that sent you to college and law school, my money that bailed you out of that mess in Seattle, and my land where you're building your house. Think again before you say I don't own you, 'cause I do, son—lock, stock, and barrel.”

“No way. I could've taken the job in San Francisco.”

“Yeah, but you didn't, did you? Why? Because you didn't want to sweat your butt off in the city when you knew that you could come back home and have everything handed to you.”

“If that's the way you feel,” Max said, his voice as low as the wind rolling off the hills, “then you can take your job, your property, even your damned house and shove them all to a very dark spot where—”

“Strong words.”

“And I mean every one of them. We had a deal, Dad. I'd come back and help you with the business and you'd let me live my life the way I want to.”

Jonah's jaw tightened and he squeezed off another round. The target ripped near the center. “You're making a mistake with the Donahue girl.”

“I don't think so.”

“Damn it all.” He reloaded, then sighted the rifle again. “You're as bad as your sister and brother. I thought, hell, I prayed, that you'd be different.”

“You mean you prayed that I could be manipulated? That I'd do whatever you wanted with no questions asked? You'd better understand something right now—if I don't agree with what you're doing, I'm going to call you on it. If I think you've made a mistake, I'll let you know. And if you start meddling in my personal life, I'll walk. Got it?”

Closing one eye, Jonah fired and missed the target entirely. “Son of a bitch,” he growled, glaring at the bull's-eye. “You're a fool, Max. It can all be yours, you know. This whole damned ranch, the business, everything.”

“What about Jenner and Casey?”

“Jenner's made his bed, and as for Casey... she's...well, she's a woman.”

“A bright woman.”

“But she can't give me grandsons with the McKee name, now can she?”

“She can if she doesn't get married.”

Jonah turned away from the scope of his rifle and glared with pure malice at his elder son. “There will be no bastards in this family, Max, at least none that anyone ever learns about. You understand?”

“You can't control people.”

“I can damned well try.” Jonah's grin was wide. “I bought you, didn't I?”

Before Max could answer, bootsteps and hooves crunched in the gravel yard, and Chester, leading Jonah's favorite gray gelding, unlatched the gate. The nervous horse was already sweating as if he smelled the hostility simmering in the air and knew he was going to be ridden hard over punishing terrain. He pulled at the bridle, but Chester held him in check.

Swinging into the saddle, Jonah shoved his rifle into the scabbard.

“Goin' huntin'?” Chester asked as he rolled a blade of dry grass from one side of his mouth to the other.

“Be back at nightfall.”

“It's not quite hunting season,” Max said, and Jonah favored his son with a hard glance.

“I don't give a damn. In town, I play by the rules, but out here I make my own. This is my property and I own everything on it including you, my boy.” With that, he shoved his heels into Duke's sides and took off at a dead gallop, heading toward the timber-laden foothills.

“Mean old cuss, ain't he?” Chester observed.

“Stupid, if you ask me. Bullheaded, proud and just plain stupid. Thinks he can bend the world to his way instead of the other way around.”

“He'll git his,” Chester predicted as his eyes narrowed on the distant speck that was Jonah McKee. “They always do.”

The observation was disturbing. Chester was and always had been a loyal employee.

“Yep, they always do.” Chester turned and headed back to the barn with his slow, purposeful gait. Max decided he wasn't going to let the fight with his father ruin his night. After all, wasn't that what the old man wanted? Brushing the dust from his shirt, he jogged back to the garage.

It was true that everything he'd earned had been paid for with McKee money, but he wasn't owned, nor could he be manipulated or bought. Max's life was his own—to do with as he pleased—whether Jonah knew it or not. He'd see whomever he wanted. And right now all he could think about was Skye. During the day, with her in the office, he found it difficult to concentrate. Her perfume lingered in the air, her musical voice swept over the hum of computers and ringing of phones, and her eyes sparkled with a special light, which made him want her all the more. He couldn't seem to get away from her. Even at night, visions of her crept after him and stole into bed with him, making sleep impossible. He was hot and hard and knew he wouldn't be satisfied until he'd made love to her. Even then, he doubted he'd be sated. No, Skye Donahue was the kind of woman that you just kept lusting after. The more you had of her, the more you wanted.

Max wasn't inexperienced as far as women were concerned. For as long as he could remember, they'd been chasing him. He wasn't stupid enough to kid himself and knew the reasons that most of the girls found him irresistible. Coupled with his rugged, ranch-tough looks was the general knowledge that he had money. Lots of it. That he stood to inherit a fortune. And that alone made girls and women alike seek out his company.

As he slid into the soft leather seats of his BMW convertible, he frowned. The car had been a graduation gift from his father, and though Max loved the sporty silver machine that hugged the mountain roads as he drove hell-bent for leather, then roared down the straightaways while the speedometer hovered around a hundred miles an hour, he suddenly felt as if the sleek car was a rich boy's toy, that it had been offered as a gift but had come with a subtle price tag.

He eyed the expensive dash and grimaced. No wonder his father thought he could be bought. If not money, then a fast car, or a powerboat, or some other high-priced toy. He squeezed his eyes shut and knew that above all else he had to be independent and respected within the company before he could ever hope to run the family business.

And it started with this car.

Glancing at his watch, he felt a sudden surge of power. There was still time, but not much. He fired up the powerful engine, let out the clutch and took off. Gravel spun beneath the tires and he left a plume of dust in his wake.

Jonah McKee was in for a big surprise. A surprise that would knock that smug, knowing grin clean from his face. Max felt a glow of satisfaction at shaking off some of the shackles of his father's wealth. It was high time he proved himself to be his own man, and he'd start tonight, first with the car and then with Skye.

Skye. His blood pounded though his veins a little faster as he thought of her. His fingers tightened over the steering wheel. As he drove through the heat of late afternoon, his thoughts spun ahead to the night stretching out before him. A night with Skye. He slipped a pair of aviator sunglasses over the bridge of his nose and smiled to himself.

Tonight he was going to take Skye to the most expensive restaurant in Dawson City and after that... His blood heated at the prospect because, though he'd tried for the better part of two weeks, he couldn't wipe the image of making love to her from his mind.

 

Skye was a nervous wreck. She tried on three outfits before settling on a denim skirt, white blouse and a wide black belt.

“This is crazy, you know,” Dani said as she leaned against the doorway of their cramped bedroom, the same one they'd shared before Skye had gone away to school. “Going out with a McKee is about as sensible as drinking strychnine.”

“Very funny.”

“I'm not trying to be.”

“Don't worry about me,” Skye said, brushing her hair. “I can take care of myself.”

“I always thought so. Until now.” Dani shoved herself away from the doorframe and Skye let out her breath. She didn't need her sister giving her any advice. She'd opened her ears to the gossip surrounding Rimrock's most eligible bachelor. Most of the single women in town would gladly give their eyeteeth for a date with handsome, successful and incredibly wealthy Max McKee, but beneath the speculation about his money and sexual prowess, there had been an undercurrent of something darker, something dangerous. There were stories of women, none substantiated as far as Skye could tell, and hearts broken. She'd heard whispers about illegitimate children and Max's callous disregard for anything but his own pleasure.

The stories sounded more like rumor than fact, but her mother had always warned her that where there was smoke, there was surely going to be fire.

“Skye?” her mother called from the living-room couch. “You about ready?”

“Almost.” She frowned at her reflection in the oval mirror over a long bureau, then took a few last strokes through her hair.

“Good. 'Cause you don't want to keep Max waiting.” Irene Donahue was the only person in Rimrock who seemed pleased she was dating Max. “Come on out and let me see how you look!”

Feeling like a fourteen-year-old primping to get ready to go to her first dance instead of a twenty-three-year-old woman who had been accepted into medical school, she walked into the living room for inspection.

Her mother, propped by pillows and sucking juice through a straw, grinned at the sight of her. “Well, well, don't you look pretty?”

Dani snorted. Dressed in tight jeans, a tank top, her bare feet curled beneath her as she sat in their mother's favorite dilapidated rocker, Dani scowled darkly. “Like a lamb to the slaughter.”

“Don't you go ruinin' Skye's good time.”

“She won't,” Skye said, shooting her sister a glance.

Dani shoved herself upright and stalked through the house to the back porch. Skye heard the hiss of a match being struck and knew that Dani was lighting up away from their mother's watchful eyes. Irene Donahue knew that Dani smoked, gave weekly sermons on lung cancer and heart disease, but in the end gave up and only insisted that Dani enjoy her cigarettes outside the house.

“She's always been a handful,” Irene said. Just then the sound of an engine came in through the open window and the glow of headlights splashed against the wall. The older woman visibly brightened. “Looks like he's here,” she said eagerly, as if it were she, not her daughter, who was going out. “You two have a good time, won't you?”

“The best.”

“And never mind Dani.”

“Believe me, I won't,” Skye said and hurried to the little entry hall just as the doorbell chimed. She pressed her palms on her skirt, then threw open the door. At the sight of him, her throat tightened and her already-hammering heart clicked into double time. His gold-streaked hair had been combed, but was beginning to fall forward over his eyes, and his features, still all angles and planes, were more relaxed than they were in the office.

“Would you like to come in?”

He shrugged. “For a second, I guess.”

She stepped out of the doorway and he passed by, only to be confronted by Skye's sister. Dani's eyes were at half-mast and her lips were twisted into a funny little pout. “Well, if it isn't his highness, Prince Maximilian.”

He snorted a laugh. “It's Maxwell, but don't tell anyone. You can just call me Master.”

Dani lifted an eyebrow. “I didn't know anyone named McKee had a sense of humor.”

“It's a family trait we try to keep hidden.”

“You don't have to try to be so rude just to impress him,” Skye said, tired of her sister's antics.

Irene was waving from the couch. “Max, come on in. Ignore the girls. They're always bickering. Would you like some juice, or maybe some tea?”

Max shook his head. “Another time. We've got reservations.”

“Well, go on then,” Irene said with an easy smile she reserved for anyone with the McKee name. “Have a good time.”

As they left, Max wrapped his fingers possessively around the crook of Skye's arm and held the door for her. Dani was still lurking in the hall, taking in the scene with angry eyes.

“What was that all about?” Max asked before opening the door of an old pickup painted with a flat gray primer.