McKettrick's Choice (8 page)

L
ORELEI'S CHIGGER BITES
itched something fierce, but she wasn't about to scratch with Holt McKettrick looking on.

Raul looked the visitor over, then let the rifle dangle at his side. Gave a brief nod of wary greeting.

Holt put his hand out, and Raul hesitated before clasping it briefly.

Angelina smiled. “Welcome,” she said, and she sounded as if she meant it. “Have you had breakfast, Mr. McKettrick?”

“Yes, ma'am,” McKettrick replied. “But I wouldn't mind some stout coffee.”

“Raul,” Angelina said, “build a fire.”

“The stove isn't working,” Lorelei felt compelled to explain, and then blushed, wishing she hadn't said anything.

Holt eyed the crooked chimney, jutting above the roof at an unlikely angle. “I'll have a look,” he said, and set off in the direction of the house.

Sorrowful immediately got to his feet and followed.

“Fine-looking man,” Angelina commented mildly,
watching Holt walk away. Raul occupied himself searching for dry wood. “Might be a match for you.”

Lorelei's face burned. “Don't be silly,” she said and, picking up her skirts, hurried over to supervise the chimney project. All she needed was for Mr. McKettrick to fall through her roof and do further damage.

“I don't suppose you have a ladder,” Holt mused, standing at the western corner of the house, where the log beams met and crossed each other.

Lorelei hated admitting the oversight. For all her list-making and practical purchases at the mercantile, she hadn't thought of a ladder, nor had Mr. Wilkins suggested one.

“No,” she said, pushing a lock of hair back from her face.

Holt headed for the front door, which stood open, and stepped inside without hesitation.

Lorelei hated for him to see the pallets on the floor, the stacked crates and boxes, the dust and cobwebs, but there was no stopping him.

He stood in the middle of the room, taking it all in. “I've seen worse,” he said, and made his way past a variety of obstacles to take hold of the rusted chimney. Before Lorelei could say a word, he'd pulled out the section between the stovetop and the ceiling. A shower of cold ash, dust and soot rained down on both of them.

Lorelei was about to protest when he grinned at her, fair taking her breath away, and carried the stove pipe outside. She followed, dusting off debris from her slept-in dress as she went.

Raul had a fire going on the creek bank, and Angelina went inside, smirking a little as she swept past Lorelei. When she came out, she was carrying the coffeepot and a canister.

Holt raised the stove pipe on end and gave it a couple of good thumps on the ground. Dust, twigs, broken egg shells and a couple of dead mice landed in a heap at his feet. Covered in soot and ash, he looked damnably pleased with himself.

Lorelei felt her heart soften and firmed it right up by an act of will.

Whistling, Holt went back into the house, the dog on his heels.

Fickle creature, Lorelei thought. She'd fed that hound every night for two years, and here he was following a stranger around.

Holt came out again, carrying the broom. Without so much as a glance in Lorelei's direction, he climbed to the roof, using the ends of the logs for footholds, tested the shingles with one foot and then proceeded to stand upright and pull the chimney free.

Lorelei realized she was holding her breath and drew in some air.

Taking up the broom again, Holt turned the bristle side up and jammed the handle into the hole.

Dust billowed out the front door.

Sorrowful barked joyously.

Holt replaced the chimney, tossed the broom to the ground, and started down. Sorrowful thought it was a game, took the broom handle in his teeth and ran madly around in a circle with it.

“Fool dog,” Holt said affectionately, tousling the animal's misshapen ears as he passed.

Lorelei had to smile, but she told herself it was the dog's antics that made her feel suddenly and inexplicably happy. Nothing whatsoever to do with Holt McKettrick.

She followed him into the cabin, watched as he put the stovepipe back in place.

“That ought to do it, he said, dusting his hands together. He was filthy, covered in grime, and there were little twigs in his hair.

“Look at this mess,” Lorelei fretted.

“You're welcome,” Holt said.

Sorrowful tried to come inside, but he was still holding the broom handle in his teeth, and it thumped against the door frame, stopping him at the threshold. He looked abashed when several subsequent attempts failed.

Lorelei laughed, and so did Holt.

She went to the door and relieved Sorrowful of the broom. Feeling suddenly shy, she did the obvious thing and began to sweep.

To her surprise, Holt stopped her, gripping the handle.

“Lorelei,” he said quietly. “Go home. There's trouble coming at you from two directions.”

She looked up into his handsome, earnest face and remembered their conversation at the cemetery behind St. Ambrose's. He'd been putting yellow roses on a grave when she caught sight of him, his head bowed, but for poor Olivia, it was too little, too late. Holt's abandoned mistress had been left to raise a child alone—his child—on a dressmaker's wages.

She'd best not let herself get too taken with this man, Lorelei admonished herself. He might be engaging, and competent, but in the most important sense, he was no better than Creighton.

“Are you threatening me, Mr. McKettrick?”

“Threatening you?”
he echoed, in furious amazement.

She stiffened. “This is my land. If you and Mr. Templeton can't make peace, you'll have to fight around me.”

 

“C
OFFEE'S READY
,” Angelina said, from the doorway. The air was charged inside that cabin, and she supposed she should just back away, but something compelled her to stay.

Mr. McKettrick had been holding on to the broom handle. Now, he let it go with a thrusting motion.

The yellow dog whimpered.

“I can't stay,” McKettrick said, glaring into Lorelei's pink and stubborn face. “I've got a cattle ranch to run.”

With that, he turned his back on Lorelei and came toward the door with such purpose that Angelina hastened out of his way.

The dog hesitated, looking mournfully up at Lorelei, and then followed Mr. McKettrick.

Lorelei took to a furious spate of sweeping, and looked so forlorn that Angelina nearly wept. The poor child.

“I think he is a good man,” Angelina dared, very softly.

Lorelei would not look at her. She just kept swinging that broom, raising more dust than she cleared away. “You are entitled to your opinion, Angelina,” she said tightly.

Angelina sighed. She'd practically raised Lorelei, joining the judge's household a few days after his wife went away to that hospital in San Francisco. She and Raul had never been blessed with children of their own, and they'd often pretended, just between themselves, that Lorelei was their daughter.

“Raul and I, we are getting old,” she said tentatively.
“You'll need someone to look after you when we're gone.”

A tear slipped down Lorelei's cheek, and she rubbed it away with a quick motion of one shoulder. “I can look after myself,” she said, concentrating on her fruitless sweeping.

Angelina crossed to her, took the broom gently from her hands, gathered her close. Lorelei resisted at first, then allowed Angelina to hold her. “Don't you want a husband, Chiquita?” the older woman asked softly. “Don't you want babies of your own?”

Lorelei gave a single, raw sob. Angelina remembered her as a little girl, patiently rocking her dolls to sleep, and her heart ached.

“Poor Chiquita,” Angelina crooned softly. “You are too stubborn and too proud. You lost your way when Michael died. Now, you must find it again.”

Lorelei sniffled and drew back, out of Angelina's embrace. A smile wobbled on her mouth, failed to stick and fell away. “I've tried that,” she said, “and look what happened. I found Creighton in bed with someone else, on our wedding day. I'm just no good at this love business.”

Angelina shook her head. “I think you knew Creighton Bannings was not meant to be your husband. That's why you chose him. It kept your father quiet for a while, but you knew all along that there would never be a wedding.”

Lorelei's lovely blue eyes widened. She started to speak, then swallowed whatever she'd been about to say.

“You buried your heart with Michael Chandler,” Angelina went on gently. “You must take it back.”

“He was wonderful, Angelina,” Lorelei whispered,
and fresh tears gathered along her lower lashes. “He made me laugh. He would never have betrayed me.”

“Chiquita,” Angelina said, taking one of Lorelei's hands in both of hers, “he is
dead.
Holt McKettrick is alive. How long will you hide in a tiny corner of yourself, refusing to come out and take your chances like the rest of us?”

Lorelei stared at her for a long moment, her throat working. Then she smiled determinedly and looked around at the boxes of goods from the mercantile.

“I can't remember if I bought calamine lotion,” she said brightly. “These chigger bites are driving me insane.”

T
WO MILES UPSTREAM,
Holt got off his horse, hung his hat on the saddle-horn, and started for the creek bank, unbuttoning his shirt as he went. He couldn't go to town and hire Gabe a decent lawyer covered in stove dirt, and there wasn't time to go back home for a bath and fresh clothes.

He'd just have to shake them out as best he could and sluice himself off in the stream.

Sorrowful lay down on the bank to watch, his muzzle resting on his forelegs. If that dog had had eyebrows, he would have raised them.

“Go on home,” Holt said, stripping to the skin and wading into the slow-moving water. “I shouldn't have let you follow me.”

Sorrowful whimpered, but he didn't move.

Holt realized it was Lorelei he was mad at, and here he was, taking it out on an old hound dog. “All right, you can stay,” he grumbled, splashing himself industriously, “but you'll never make it on your own. I'll have to hoist you up into the saddle with me, and won't we be a sight, riding into San Antonio like that. A real pair to draw to.”

The dog snapped at a passing fly, then settled into the grass again, waiting. Perking up his sorry ears when Holt spoke again.

“I don't know what you see in that woman,” Holt complained, slogging up the bank and wondering how long it would take to dry off so he could put his clothes back on. Hell of a thing if he got caught out here, say by some of Templeton's crew, naked as a whore doing business. “I clean out her chimney—risk my neck climbing on that broken-down roof of hers to do it—and she doesn't even say ‘thank you.'”

Sorrowful commiserated with a little whine.

Holt shook out his pants and pulled them on, then did the same with his shirt, fumbling with the buttons. He shook a finger at Sorrowful.

“If I didn't have so damned much to do,” he vowed, “I'd get falling-down, piss-assed drunk!”

Sorrowful raised himself on his hind legs and stretched, yawning.

“Am I boring you?” Holt demanded.

The dog stood on all fours now, switching that pitiful tail of his back and forth.

Holt strapped on his gun-belt, and saw a buggy in the distance, careening along the old cattle trail that passed as a road.

“Who's that?” he asked, feeling uneasy.

The dog didn't answer, which was probably for the best.

 

L
ORELEI STOOD
with her back straight, watching the buggy approach. Angelina flanked her on one side and Raul on the other, but she knew she was going to have to fight this battle on her own. Her stomach was jump
ing and her heart was thudding in her throat, but she was ready.

Her father's face was the color of raw liver as he wrenched on the reins and set the brake lever with a hard motion of one foot.

He was a bulky man, though not very tall, and Lorelei felt a touch of pity as he climbed awkwardly down to the ground.

“You're as crazy as your mother was!” he bellowed, after a few sputtering attempts at speech.

Lorelei flinched. It wasn't the first time he'd made a statement like that, but this time the words struck her like stones. She drew herself up. Waited.

“I will have you committed!” he thundered, storming toward her, and for one terrifying moment, she thought he might actually strike her. Or drop over from apoplexy, right at her feet.

“I am of sound mind and body,” she said evenly. “And I can prove it.”

The judge flung his arms out wide. “Oh, you're doing a fine job of that!” he raged. “Look at you—look at this place!” He turned his narrowed gaze on Angelina, and then Raul. “And as for
you pe
ople—stabbing me in the back after all I've done for you!”

“Father,” Lorelei interceded, “please be calm. There's a vein jumping in your right temple. I fear it might rupture.”

The judge pointed toward his buggy. “Enough of this nonsense, Lorelei. Get into that rig this instant. We're going back to town!”

“No,” Lorelei said. “I will not.”

Her father took a step toward her, and Raul moved to block his way.

Lorelei was touched by Raul's gallantry; he was afraid
of the judge, like most everyone else in San Antonio, and not without reason. Still, he wanted to protect her.

The judge tugged at his tie. He was dressed much too warmly for such a hot day, and he was sweating copiously. The vein in his temple still pulsed visibly. “Hitch up that wagon, Raul,” he said in a dangerous tone, so low that Lorelei had to strain to hear it. “Take your wife and get as far from San Antonio as you can, because your hide isn't worth a nickel around here. Not after what you've done.”

The muscles in Raul's shoulders quivered, but he stood his ground.

Angelina, meanwhile, took the judge's arm. “Come,” she said. “Sit down. We'll discuss the matter calmly—”

He shook her off, and the look in his eyes was so full of hatred that Lorelei, standing beside Raul now, recoiled when her father's gaze sliced to her.

“You've been a trial to me from the day of your birth,” he snarled. “Well, I wash my hands of you, do you hear me?
I am through.
”

Inwardly, Lorelei winced, but if Raul could face down a tiger, so could she.

Angelina whispered some sad imprecation in Spanish.

“Your mother,” the judge went on ruthlessly, “was a madwoman and a slut. You're no better.”

“Why do you keep saying that?” Lorelei asked, feeling as though she'd been lashed.

The judge indulged in an ugly little smile. “Ask Angelina,” he said. “She'll tell you about it. Won't you, Angelina?”

Out of the corner of her eye, Lorelei saw Angelina lower her head.

“Angelina?” Lorelei whispered.

But Angelina shook her head. “Not now,” she said weakly. “Not now.”

The judge came to stand directly in front of Lorelei, leaning in so close that she could feel his breath on her face, hot as the winds of hell itself. “You'll fail, Lorelei,” he told her softly. “You'll run through that money you filched from my bank account in no time at all. You'll have Templeton trying to drive you out from one side, and John Cavanagh's ‘son' from the other. Do not think for
one blessed moment
that I'll take you in after this.”

Lorelei didn't dare speak, or even move. If she broke down and cried, she might never be able to stop.

Her father turned, walked unsteadily back toward the buggy. Once he'd gotten in and taken up the reins, he turned to deliver one last salvo.

“From this day forward,” he said, “you are no longer my daughter.”

Angelina put an arm around Lorelei, holding her up.

She watched mutely as the judge drove away.

“Come, Chiquita,” Angelina said presently. “You must sit down. I'll make you a cup of tea.”

Lorelei watched her father out of sight, his words echoing in her head.

From this day forward, you are no longer my daughter.

Angelina patted her hand. “Come,” she repeated, and when Lorelei looked at her face, she saw that Angelina was weeping.

“Tell me what you know about my mother,” Lorelei said, digging in her heels. She would not take another step until she got an answer, and Angelina must have known that, because she exchanged a sorrowful look with
Raul. He touched Lorelei's shoulder, lightly, briefly, and walked away, leaving the two women alone.

“She did not go to a hospital, Chiquita. She went to an asylum. She's not in that grave behind St. Ambrose's.”

Lorelei's knees nearly buckled. She'd been visiting an
empty
grave all these years? “That's impossible—all if it is impossible!”

“I knew Selma very well,” Angelina said calmly, her face wet with the memories. “I raised her, just as I raised you.”

Lorelei reeled. Had her mother been a
madwoman?