Revenge (25 page)

A grandson who no one was supposed to know about.

Lela promised to pick up the mail and water the plants, then left Beth clinging to her son. How many other people knew about Cody? Who else knew that Jenner McKee was a father? She'd hoped that once Jonah was dead, she'd be free of the McKees forever, but the damned letter had only proved that there would always be an invisible cord, as strong as steel, binding her to the richest family in Rimrock.

Beth felt the urge to run, to flee to some distant spot where no one would ever find her. But that was impossible. With the McKee wealth, influence and connections, she would never truly be safe. No, she had no choice. She had to go back to Rimrock, face Jenner, and tell him he had a two-year-old son.

 

“Just leave me the hell alone!” Jenner roared, his voice thundering through the halls of the old ranch house.

“Why should we?” Casey, his younger sister, snapped back. “So you can pour yourself into a bottle?”

Growling obscenities that would make a sailor blush, Jenner gave the damned wheelchair a kick and watched the useless contraption roll across the wood floor to land with a thud against the couch. “Good riddance.” Grabbing his crutches, he stumbled to his feet. His left leg dragged, refusing to move on its own. “What I do is my business,” Jenner said as he swayed, his weight shifting precariously. Gritting his teeth, he managed to balance on the crutches. He, who had once had the ability to stay astride a thousand pounds of ripsnorting, mean horseflesh, reduced to this. Hell. The doctors had predicted he might never walk again and he'd proved them wrong. He could walk, damn it, but he had to use the stupid crutches. And he limped. Badly.

He tried to turn his back on his muleheaded little sister, but she was having none of his stubborn streak. She stormed up to him, her hazel eyes sparking with fury, her chin thrust forward. A little thing, she had a temper that matched his own. A McKee trait. “Mom, Max, and Grandma and me—we're only trying to help,” she said, poking him in the chest. “Why do you think Max is working like crazy getting that apartment fixed up for you? And Mom, with what she's going through since Dad died, it's a wonder she can put up with your mood swings. Then there's Grandma. She's as fit to be tied as I've ever seen her. The least you can do is smile once in a while.”

“Did I ask for any of your help? Huh? Did I beg you to try to cheer me up, bring me food on trays, offer to push me around in
that?”
he sneered, raising up one crutch and pointing at the wheelchair. “Hell, no!” The crutch landed on the floor again, rubber tip sliding slightly on the polished wood. “I didn't ask you or Mom or Mavis for anything.”

“You're an ingrate, that's what you are!”

“And that's the way I like it!” Jenner hobbled across the room to the window where he could stare out at the blackened remains of the stable. His skin crawled when he thought about the damned fire where he should have died. Even in the growing dusk, he saw the charred rubble and ash that had once been shelter for the McKee horses. Two other buildings—the machine shed and a pump house—had also been engulfed in the hideous flames that had devoured the stables. His head suddenly pounded with the shrill sound of neighs of terrified horses, the thunder of steel-shod hooves kicking in panic, the wail of his own screams....

Damn it all. He turned quickly, nearly fell over, and moved toward the bar, his father's bar, where a bottle of opened whiskey beckoned.

“Oh, great. Just what you need.”

“What I
don't
need is a lecture.” Propped upright with the crutches, Jenner poured himself a short glass from a bottle his father had barely tapped before he died.

“I just want you to pull yourself together!”

“Like you have? Hell, you don't even know why you're still in Rimrock. You're always spoutin' off about leaving but you never quite make it to the door, do ya?”

Jenner caught Casey's gaze in the mirror mounted above the brass sink and liquor cabinet. Concern engraved her skin with little lines around the corners of her mouth, and he suddenly felt like a heel. But he didn't want her worries. Nor her pity. He just wanted everyone to go away and leave him alone. Managing a hard smile, devoid of even the tiniest hint of humor, he lifted his glass. “Cheers.”

“Jenner—”

“I don't need a mother, all right? I've already got one. And you don't have to nag like a wife
—that
I'll never need.” He tossed back his drink and poured a second. Dark clouds gathered in his sister's usually clear eyes. “Keeping count?” he mocked.

“You're impossible.”

“Damned straight!” He downed half of the second drink, savoring the smoky flavor that hit the back of his throat and burned a welcome path down to his stomach. His blood began to warm and his muscles relax. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, unshaven, hair too long, except in the places it was growing in again in fuzzy patches where it had been singed by the flames. There was a scar near his right ear. His skin had been seared by an ember, but he'd been lucky. Or so the doctors had tried to convince him. With a snort, he eyed the whiskey bottle again.

“Have you ever wondered what you're going to do with the rest of your life?” Casey asked.

No doubt about it, she as a pest. “Have you?” he countered.

“Every day.”

“And you get nowhere. Face it, Casey, you're spinning your wheels.”

Even the insult didn't fend her off. She bristled a little and said, “I'm taking care of you. And Mom. Besides, we're not discussing me. You're the one who has to think about the future—to come up with some kind of game plan for the rest of your life.”

Turning slowly to face her, he felt his fingers tense around the glass. “If you want to know the truth, Casey, I don't really give a damn.”

She clenched her teeth. “You know, I believe you. I was going to offer to stay with you since Mom and Grandma have gone into town to meet Rex Stone, but—”

“What, my company's no good?” he mocked. “Gee, Casey, you make the popcorn and I'll turn on the TV. If we're lucky, we might not miss the final round of ‘Jeopardy' and after that we could have us a rousing game of checkers.” He drained his glass. “Well, no, that sounds a little too strenuous. I think I'll just have another drink instead.”

“Do what you want. I'm tired of baby-sitting!”

He laughed then cringed a little at the hollow sound it made ricocheting through the hallways of the house where he'd grown up.

Muttering something under her breath about hardheaded, good-for-nothing men, Casey stalked out of the room.

Jenner snagged the bottle, settled into his father's favorite oxblood leather chair, and relaxed a little. He clutched his empty glass. Though the whiskey beckoned, he ignored the temptation. Instead, he laid his head against the back of the seat and closed his eyes. Why did she have to bring up the rest of his life?

The damned thing was he couldn't even think about tomorrow.

 

Beth's old Chevy Nova wheezed a little as she pulled into the driveway of the little bungalow she'd called home for most of her life. The house hadn't changed much and was still painted white with green shutters complemented by a black shingled roof. The lawn needed mowing, but the flower beds, her mother's pride and joy, were a virtual rainbow of pansies and petunias that flanked the sidewalk and peeked from low-growing shrubs next to the house.

“Come on, Cody,” she said, sneaking a glance at her son as she cut the engine. “Let's stretch our legs.”

“Stretch legs!” Cody said, his blue eyes shining as he held out his chubby little arms to her. A rambunctious toddler, he smiled easily, ran full tilt most of the day, and repeated everything that was said to him.

Slinging her purse over her shoulder, Beth climbed out of the car. Cody impatiently started work on the buckles to his car seat. “Out! Out!”

“Hold on a minute, peanut.”

“Not peanut.”

“Okay, okay.” She unstrapped Cody from his car seat and hugged him close. “So where are we?”

He turned sparkling eyes up at her. “Where are we?”

“Grandma's house.” Balancing him on her hip, Beth walked up the cement path to the front porch. The screen door opened before she could reach for the doorbell, and Harriet Forrester, beaming at her only grandchild, stepped onto the front porch.

“I was wonderin' when you'd show up,” she said as she pried Cody out of Beth's arms. “How are you, big fella?” Nuzzling her grandson, Harriet sighed happily. “Oh my, how Grandma's missed you.”

Just forty-nine, Harriet looked a decade younger. Her brown hair was devoid of gray and cut into a pageboy that feathered softly around her chin. Her eyes were still clear and green with only a trace of webbing near the corners. She'd always been a beautiful woman, a woman men noticed. Not shy of the altar, Harriet had been married more times than Beth could imagine. Her current husband of the past six years was Zeke Forrester, who had three ex-wives himself and was a foreman at the sawmill.

“My Lord, he's grown,” Harriet said, clucking her tongue and pressing a kiss into Cody's downy blond curls. “Why, you're just getting to be Grandma's big boy, aren't you?” With a smile at her daughter, she said, “Come on inside. I've got coffee brewing, or if you'd prefer a soda, there's a six-pack in the fridge. I've got beer, too, and oh, why don't we open a bottle of wine? It's been so long since you've been here! We've got to celebrate, don't we, pumpkin?” She pressed another kiss to Cody's forehead and breezed into the kitchen, where Cody wiggled until Harriet set him on his slightly unsteady feet.

“I don't think I should have anything to drink,” Beth said, reminding herself of her mission. Her palms turned sweaty at the thought of finally facing Jenner with the truth.

“Just a glass...” Harriet opened a drawer and searched for a corkscrew. A bottle of chilled rose was sweating on the counter near the sink.

Beth hesitated, then decided she'd better get the worst over with. She didn't want to chance losing her nerve.

“No, Mom, really. I've got to drive out to the ranch and visit Jenner McKee.”

Immediately her mother's sunny disposition faded. “Oh, God. You're going to tell him,” she said stonily as she gripped the open drawer for support. The age lines that hadn't been apparent before seemed to suddenly appear at the mention of Jenner's name.

“I have to.”

“Do you?” Harriet cast a glance at Cody, who was already exploring the open pantry. She began to chew on her lower lip and shook her head as if she was having a silent argument with herself. “They'll want Cody, you know. And whatever the McKees want, they get. It's kind of the law of the land, or code of the West, or whatever you want to call it.” Cody reached for a can of peaches. “Oh, dear, I've got mousetraps in there.” Harriet scurried after her grandson and hauled him out of the pantry.

“I think it's only right that Jenner should learn the truth from me rather than his grandmother. It's something I have to do, my duty. Besides, I think it's time to close that chapter of my life.”

“You're not closing a chapter, you're opening a can of worms and mark my words, those McKees will want Cody.”

“They can't have him,” Beth said.

“It's not that simple.”

Cody was already wriggling to get back to the floor.

“What's Jenner going to do—try to buy him from me?” Beth laughed, but even to her own ears the sound was hollow and lifeless. She'd thought about it a million times—what Jenner would do if he ever found out he had a son, a baby boy. Each time the thought had crept into her mind, she felt a chill as cold as death course through her blood. She was in no position to fight the McKees, but she shouldn't have to. Cody was hers, and though Jenner had inadvertently fathered the boy, he had no claim to him. Of course the courts would see it differently, especially if the courts were run by judges whose election coffers had been filled with McKee money.

“You don't know what Jenner might do,” Harriet said, kicking the door to the pantry shut and reaching into the cookie jar. “He's a McKee, isn't he? And even if he didn't get along with Jonah, Jenner's as ruthless and self-righteous as the rest of the clan. Look how the family won't give up on the fact that they think Jonah was murdered.
Murdered!
In a town the size of Rimrock. That's the craziest notion I've ever heard.” She handed Cody a peanut butter cookie.

“Jonah made his share of enemies,” Beth said.

“Haven't we all?”

Beth held her tongue. Her mother's face was suddenly crossed with an expression of extreme sadness and pain. Beth didn't have to be reminded of the rumors that had surrounded the older woman. For as long as Beth could remember, she'd heard the harsh whispers, noticed the raised eyebrows, witnessed the good, churchgoing women of Rimrock turn their backs on Harriet Winward Crandall Lambert Jones Forrester. Tongues had wagged about Rimrock's most flamboyant divorcee. Between marriages to her four husbands, Harriet had dated many of the locals, though, as far as Beth knew, she'd drawn the line at married men. Harriet's view of marriage was that it was binding and monogamous as long as both parties were happy, but at the first sign of rough going, it was over. Harriet was a free spirit who didn't believe in relationships that were too difficult. When either party was dissatisfied, it was time to call it quits and move on.

Beth, on the other hand, had a romantic, fairy-tale belief that marriage should last a lifetime; that despite the ups and downs, a couple should cling to each other, give to each other, help each other through any crisis. Even though, considering her ill-fated relationship with Jenner, she'd been proved wrong already.