McKettrick's Heart (27 page)

Jesse let the pinto's lead rope drop and went back into the trailer for the third time. Came back with a fat little bay pony with a splash of white on his rump.

“Devon's,” he said. “I figured she and Lucas could share him for a while.”

Keegan was almost overcome. “Damn, Jesse,” he managed.

“You can't run a ranch without horses,” Jesse said, slapping him on the back. Then he squinted, examining Keegan's battered face. “Man,” he marveled, “you
are
going to look bad in the wedding pictures.”

M
OLLY STOOD
at Joanie's bedroom window, gripping the sill and staring down into the backyard, where Keegan awaited her. The man she shouldn't marry. The man she shouldn't love.

Florence was there, too, with Lucas. Psyche sat in a wheelchair, in the shade of a great oak tree, hands folded in her lap. Devon worked the small crowd, showing off her bright yellow dress and the corsage on her wrist, moving from Jesse to Rance to Cheyenne to Emma and others, too. But always back to Keegan.

The bond between Keegan and his daughter was a shining thing, visible to anyone who took the trouble to look, and Molly felt both reverence and envy. She missed her dad keenly on this day of days, wished he could have been half as committed to her as Keegan was to Devon.

“You look pretty spiffy,” Joanie told her, gently interrupting her thoughts.

Molly turned from the window, looked down at her own soft yellow dress, the strappy high-heeled sandals she'd bought to match the day before in Flagstaff. Joanie had done her hair, pinned it up in a soft arrangement, set a wreath of tiny roses and baby's breath on her head and secured it with bobby pins.

“Why do I want to do this so much?” she asked softly. “When I know it's going to break my heart?”

“Because of Lucas,” Joanie reminded her, squeezing both her hands. “And because you love Keegan.”

Molly bit her lower lip, nodded once, fitfully.

“Don't ruin your lipstick,” Joanie said.

Molly laughed, and for once it didn't come out as a sob.

Maybe she'd cried all her tears.

Maybe pigs really
could
fly.

“I guess we'd better do this thing,” she said.

Joanie nodded.

They were both silent during the elevator ride down to the first floor, and the walk through the house.

“Showtime,” Joanie said when they reached the sunporch.

The minister had taken his position outside, under an arbor draped with climbing roses, the intertwined vines of separate plants producing a bright tangle of pink, yellow and white. Not unlike a marriage, Molly thought, especially one that involved children.

Keegan was just in front of the minister, resplendent in a tailored gray suit, his face bruised and swollen. Jesse and Rance stood beside him, dressed to the nines and looking as though they'd been in a knock-down, drag-out fight behind a barn on the Triple M.

Which, of course, they had.

“Ready?” Joanie asked.

Molly drew a deep breath, huffed it out. “Yes,” she said.

No. Well, maybe. Oh, God, what am I doing?

A bridal bouquet, matching Molly's not-white dress, waited on the table, where the peonies had been. Beyond that loomed Psyche's hospital bed, a sad and poignant reminder that this was no ordinary wedding.

It was the fulfilling of a dying woman's last wish.

Joanie pressed the bouquet into Molly's hands, kissed her on the cheek and headed outside.

It was an awkward processional. Devon skipped to take her place, and Joanie followed with a determined stride.

There was no music.

Molly waited on the back step until Joanie beckoned.

Keegan's gaze caught hers and held as she stepped slowly toward him.

Molly kept walking, head held high. Reached Keegan's side.

The minister cleared his throat.

“Dearly beloved,” he began, “we are gathered here, in the presence of God and these witnesses…”

Molly didn't hear another word until the minister got to the do-you-take-this-man part. Keegan elbowed her gently, grinned down at her.

“Do you take this man?” he whispered.

“Yes,” Molly said, addressing him, not the minister.

There was a silence.

Molly tried again. “I mean, I do.”

“Do you, Keegan, take this woman to be your lawful wedded wife?”

Lawful wedded wife,
Molly thought.
Yikes.

“I do,” Keegan answered in a deep, quiet voice. For a man basically being forced into marriage, he was remarkably calm. Or was he simply resigned?

“Then by the power vested in me,” the minister said, “I now pronounce you man and wife. Keegan, you may kiss your bride.”

Gently Keegan turned Molly to face him. Curled the fingers of one hand under her chin, and bent to touch his mouth to hers.

Considering his swollen lips, he did an outstanding job.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the minister said, “may I present to you Mr. and Mrs. Keegan McKettrick.”

Devon began to jump up and down, unable to contain her exuberance.

And Molly was fiercely grateful, in that moment, that the child was willing to make her welcome. It was no small blessing.

When Keegan reluctantly released Molly, Jesse stepped forward and kissed her cheek, and so did Rance, both of them grinning out of faces as battered as Keegan's own. Emma and Cheyenne hugged her, and finally Joanie.

Molly accepted their congratulations, then sought out Psyche, sitting small and fragile and brave in her wheelchair, under the generous, sheltering branches of the tree.

“Take good care of him,” Psyche said solemnly, her eyes shining with a mixture of joy and sorrow.

“I'll be a good mother to Lucas,” Molly replied.

“I know,” Psyche said, looking up at her with clear, resigned eyes. “I was talking about Keegan. There's a lot he probably hasn't told you, Molly. About the way his parents died, and about Devon's mother—please, give him every chance to find his way to you.”

Molly's throat tightened. Gently she laid her bridal bouquet in Psyche's lap. “Thank you, Psyche. Thank you for forgiving me, and thank you for Lucas—and for…”

“Keegan?” Psyche smiled, raised the bouquet to breathe in its fragrance. “He's not an easy man to deal with, but he's easy to love—isn't he?”

Molly swallowed, glanced back over her shoulder. Keegan was in a huddle with Jesse, Rance and Travis Reid. When she turned back to face Psyche, she whispered. “Yes. Yes, he is.”

Tears stood in Psyche's eyes. “Love him, Molly. Love Keegan not just for yourself, but for me, too.”

Molly couldn't speak. She could only nod.

Psyche handed back the bouquet. “This belongs to you,” she said. “So does Keegan. And Lucas? He was really yours all along. I just borrowed him for a while.”

Molly's vision blurred, and by the time she'd blinked the tears away, Florence had arrived, standing behind Psyche, taking hold of the wheelchair handles.

She rolled Psyche toward the house.

Molly watched, stricken by the same emotions she'd seen in Psyche's eyes moments before, as Keegan broke away from Jesse, Rance and Travis to take over for Florence. He gripped the handles of Psyche's chair in strong, competent hands, bent to whisper something in her ear.

She giggled and wiped her eyes.

“Somebody wants to congratulate you,” a feminine voice said, and Molly turned to see Emma and Cheyenne standing close behind her, Emma holding Lucas. He strained toward Molly, and when she took him into her arms, he immediately reached for the floral wreath on top of her head.

She loosened the pins and let him have the circlet of flowers.

“Welcome to the family, Molly,” Cheyenne said gently. “You're a McKettrick now.”

Molly
had
chosen to take Keegan's name. She told herself it was because Lucas would be a McKettrick as soon as the papers were filed and recorded.

“Thanks,” Molly managed, but even with Lucas safely in her arms, legally her child, she couldn't help looking toward the sunporch. Psyche's wheelchair stood abandoned at the bottom of the steps; Keegan must have carried Psyche inside to her hospital bed.

Cheyenne touched her shoulder. “Molly?”

She turned back to meet Cheyenne's steady gaze. “We'll be here for you. Emma and me. We just—we just want you to know that we understand.”

Emma nodded, her eyes bright, and sniffled.

The sound of a door shutting drew Molly's attention back to Keegan. He'd just left Psyche, and his poor, bruised face was a bleak mask.

Cheyenne took Lucas.

Emma gave Molly a little shove in Keegan's direction. “Go to him,” she whispered.

And Molly went.

Keegan barely seemed to see her, at least at first. In fact, they nearly collided. At the last second he caught her shoulders in his hands, steadied her.

Molly forced herself to look directly into his eyes.

Neither of them said anything.

Then Keegan kissed her forehead. “It'll be all right,” he said.

And Molly wondered if he was trying to convince her of that—or himself.

 

H
E WAS MARRIED.

Married.

Propping his chin on top of Molly's head, there in the middle of Psyche's backyard, Keegan looked up at the sky. The day had been beautiful, but now the wind was picking up, and dark clouds were rolling in from the west, dimming the sunlight.

Instinctively he held Molly a little tighter.

Here comes the rain,
he thought.

Molly pulled back a little way, offered him a tentative smile. “I guess we'd better take this party inside,” she said as the first drops of water began to fall.

He nodded. There would be no honeymoon—there wasn't time for that. Travis had faxed an agreement to Shelley's lawyer earlier that day, and all hell was bound to break loose any minute. He had to be ready to deal with that, and to shelter Devon from the fallout as best he could.

And Psyche was dying.

He and Molly would spend the first night of their marriage alone, at the ranch house. Devon was going home with Jesse and Cheyenne. Lucas would stay with Florence and Psyche—days, hours, even minutes with the child had become a precious commodity.

Keegan gazed down at his bride.

Molly deserved so much more than he could give her.

So much more.

He took her hand, tugged her toward the house.

The wedding party swelled around them, a laughing horde, running ahead of the rain.

After that, there was cake.

Pictures were taken.

Keegan wasn't tracking very well; he just wanted it all to be over.

He wanted to be alone with Molly.

His wife.

Other guests arrived, alone and in groups, to share in the celebration. Wyatt and his mother, Myrna. Cora Tellington and Doc Swann. Rianna and Maeve.

Hadn't Rance's girls been at the wedding?

Keegan couldn't remember. The whole thing had been a blur to him, something to be navigated, gotten through, like a blinding blizzard or a sandstorm.

At a tug on his sleeve, he looked down.

Devon smiled up at him. “Molly said you fell down in the barn,” she said. “That's how your face got so messed up.” She paused, frowned. “Did Uncle Jesse and Uncle Rance fall down, too?”

Keegan laughed, and it helped. Released some of the tension that had plagued him since—when? Since Molly had erupted into his life? Since he'd learned that Psyche was sick, and there would be no saving her? Since he'd sensed the demise of McKettrickCo as he knew it?

Since the day Jesse's and Rance's dads had broken the news that his folks were dead.

“No, shortstop,” he told her, his voice husky. “Molly was just trying to spare your delicate sensibilities. Your uncles and I got into it behind the barn, day before yesterday.”

Devon's eyes widened. “Why?”

“Why did we fight?”

“Yeah.”

“Because we're stupid sometimes,” Keegan said. “And because we're McKettricks.”

Travis, one ear to his cell phone, beckoned to Keegan.

Keegan bent to kiss the top of his daughter's head. “Get some cake,” he said. And then he left her.

Travis snapped the phone shut, acknowledged Keegan with a nod that told him nothing, led the way into Psyche's father's study and closed the door behind them.

“Shelley doesn't like the adoption angle,” Travis said.

The bottom of Keegan's stomach fell open.

“But for five million up front, with the rest payable after the adoption is final, she'll sign.”

“She'll do it?”

“Keegan, we're talking about
five million dollars
here. And it might be a trick.”

“No,” Keegan said. “We're not talking about five million dollars. We're talking about
Devon.
”