Revenge (34 page)

Maybe it was time to move on.

But where? Sure as hell not back to the rodeo circuit, and he could never again hire on as a hand at a ranch. The owner would take one look at his leg and... Damn it all, he needed a drink. A stiff one.

Forcing his bad leg up to the bar, Jenner settled on a stool. “The usual,” he said to the bartender.

Swiping the bar with a wet towel, Jake glanced down at Jenner's leg. “Actin' up again?”

“It's a pain in the butt. Literally.”

Within seconds, a frosty mug and an open bottle sat in front of him. “Maybe you'd better get a second opinion on that knee and hip.” Jake poured the brew into the mug.

“For what?”

“See if a little surgery will fix 'er up. Maybe then you could join the circuit again.”

Jenner shook his head. “That's over for me,” he said.

“Doesn't have to be.”

“I've had enough surgeries. More'n my share.”

The beer was cold and wet. Jenner sipped slowly and saw his reflection in the mirror—a broken-down, crippled cowboy who liked liquor a little too much.

His attention was drawn to the end of the bar where Wanda Tully, the waitress, was waiting for an order. Her pale blond hair looked silver in the dim light and she flashed Jenner her thousand-watt smile. Returning it with a sketchy wave, he wondered why he had no interest in Wanda. Twice divorced and working two jobs, she was a good woman who flirted with him just about every time he came through the door. Her legs were long, her breasts high, and though she was a little worn around the edges, she was still pretty. Wanda was a simple woman, one who would never place any demands on him, and right now he didn't need complications the likes of which he felt every time he was with Beth.

Yet, even here, nursing his beer, feeling Wanda's interested gaze sliding in his direction, he couldn't shake Beth's image from his mind. Her hair, a rich shade somewhere between dark brown and red, was long and full, and her cheekbones flared becomingly above hollow cheeks and full lips able to ease into a wide, sincere smile that seemed meant only for him.

“Son of a bitch,” he growled, reaching for a handful of salty peanuts. Things weren't going as he'd planned. The pain in his leg was a constant reminder that his life had changed, and Beth, now that she was here, made it worse.

“Yep,” Jake said, pouring a drink for a kid who looked barely twenty at the end of the bar, “if I were you, Jenner, I wouldn't give up working with the rodeo stock.”

Jenner didn't argue. Gritting his teeth, he told himself that he could handle every stumbling block fate cast his way. He'd always believed that a man had to accept the cards that lady luck dealt him and make the best of any situation. Even though Jenner had been born to wealth, he'd shunned the old man's money as well as the trappings and responsibilities that came with a huge bank account.

From years riding rodeo, he'd broken more bones than he could count, been thrown, trampled and dragged by more horses than he cared to remember. Each time he'd climbed on the back of a range-tough rodeo bronc, he'd taken his life in his hands. There had always been the chance that he could have been killed or severely injured, so this... this useless leg shouldn't come as any big shock. He'd either get better or he wouldn't. But, deep down, it scared him. It scared the living hell out of him.

“Say, McKee—” a harsh voice broke into his thoughts “—I hear your family's offerin' a reward for information on the guy who started the fire in your stables and maybe had somethin' to do with your old man's accident.”

Jenner bristled. He twisted on his stool and saw three men huddled around a nearby table.

Fred Donner sniffed, then rubbed the edge of his sleeve under his nose. He'd posed the question. “Is that right?”

“I don't know anything about it.”

The men exchanged glances. “I heard it was ten thousand dollars.”

“Twenty-five,” Ned Jansen said. He crushed out his cigarette. “That's what I heard. Ain't that what you heard, Steve?” he yelled at his son who was one of the men playing pool near the back room.

“Yep.” Tall and rangy, Steve nodded but didn't break his concentration on the game. Money was riding on his ability to slam the next few balls into the pockets, and Steve Jansen had a reputation for knowing the value of a buck—even if his father didn't.

“Wasn't it thirty grand?” the third man at the table, Cyrus Kellogg, asked. “That's one helluva pile of money.” Cyrus finished his drink and eyed Jenner. Near sixty, Cyrus owned the property on the other side of a stand of timber owned by the McKees.

“Could be just a rumor.” Ned scowled.

“Nope,” Fred insisted, his weathered face looking grim.

Years ago, he'd lost the water rights to his ranch because of dealing with Jonah and he'd never gotten over the sting of the loss. Fred had been one of the men living around Rimrock who'd counted Jonah as a friend. And he'd been stabbed in the back, Jenner thought. By the master of backstabbing, good ol' Jonah Phineas McKee.

“I heard it from Ada Patterson, and she knows everything that goes on 'round here.”

“Sometimes before it happens,” Jenner agreed with a half smile. Besides being a gossiping busybody, Ada owned and was the editor of
The Rimrock Review.
Jenner finished his beer and set the mug back on the counter. A trace of foam settled back inside. “But, as I said, I don't know anything about it.” Which wasn't all that surprising. It seemed that everything going on in the family these days was happening behind his back. He hadn't known about Mavis and her damned letter to Beth; nor had he been privy to some of the conversations with doctors about his... condition. Max and Skye had handled that while he was recuperating in the hospital. The insurance investigation was an ongoing battle that Max was handling while his mother was dealing with Rex Stone concerning his father's death.

Well, that's the way he'd always said he wanted it. He'd never shouldered any responsibility for McKee Enterprises while his father had been alive and he certainly wasn't going to take on any more obligations now.

Except maybe for Beth. Mavis might have started the business with Beth Crandall, but he sure as hell would be expected to finish it.

“Jeez, Jenner, you've always been a straight shooter. Jonah, well, he was one to talk in circles, tryin' to make things sound good for you when they were really good for him, and Max, hell, he's too much like your old man to do much better. But you—”

“I said I don't know anything and I don't. The rest of the family doesn't always tell me what's going on. Matter of fact, that's the way I like it!” Jenner stood. The men at the table turned back to their drinks, but he felt the weight of more than one interested gaze following him as he grabbed his crutches with jerky movements and made his way out of the building.

He didn't feel any better than he had when he'd swung into the bar and had been determined to drive Beth out of his mind. But the country music, clink of glasses and murmur of conversation hadn't stopped his thoughts from returning to her. The smoky atmosphere and thin odor of grease from a deep fryer hadn't overridden the fragrance of her perfume that still lingered in his nostrils. Nor had the malty flavor of his favorite brew washed away the taste of her lips.

“Damn it all, anyway.” He tossed his crutches into the cab and whistled to Reuben. “You can ride up front,” he told the old dog, who gladly bounded out of the truck bed and hopped through the open door.

Dogs were just so much easier to deal with than women.

 

“What the hell does this mean?” Jenner wagged the morning edition of
The Rimrock Review
under his brother's nose. Upon seeing the first edition and the story about the reward offered for the arrest and conviction of the culprit involved in Jonah's murder and/or the fire at the stables, Jenner had driven to the ranch and found his mother and brother in the kitchen, drinking coffee and sampling Kiki's sourdough biscuits as if they had nothing better to do. Jenner slapped the newspaper onto the top of the table where he'd eaten for a good part of his life.

“Want some coffee?” Kiki asked. A gray-haired, skinny woman with a sour disposition that didn't quite hide her heart of gold, she stared at Jenner as she always had, with steady disapproval.

“No, I don't want any coffee! I want answers.”

“Kiki, please,” Virginia said. “Jenner could use a cup.”

“Maybe it should be decaf,” Max suggested.

“Very funny!” Jenner pinned his brother with a hard glare. “You're all just full of surprises, aren't you?”

Max leaned back in his chair. “I take it you disapprove of the reward.”

“Hell, yes, I disapprove. It's the single most foolhardy thing you've done yet. You're going to get every piece of slime in the county crawling out from under his rock to come out and try to collect.”

“And we just might find the killer,” his mother said as Kiki set a cup of black coffee in front of an empty chair. “Come on, Jenner, sit down and—”

“For the love of Mike, Mom, don't you see what you've done?”

Virginia's gaze hardened. “Why don't you enlighten me?”

“You've drawn attention, Mom. Attention to the Rocking M. Attention to the family.”

“And attention to you,” Max said, pouring a thin stream of cream into his cup.

“That's right.”

“And you don't like it.”

“Damned straight.” Placated somewhat, he shoved his crutches up against the wall near the bay window and dropped into one of the old kitchen chairs, which had the audacity to creak against his weight.

“You know, Jenner, this is a surprise. For years, you've worked hard to be in the limelight—riding rodeo and all, rebelling against Dad, getting your butt thrown in jail.” His eyes narrowed as he took a gulp and watched his brother over the rim of his cup. “Seems to me, you've had a change of heart.”

“I'm a cripple, or don't you remember?”

His mother gasped, but Max didn't so much as flinch. “But that's not it, is it?” Max guessed. “This has something to do with Beth Crandall and the boy.”

Jenner hated it when Max could read his mind. He wanted to reach across the table and wrestle Max to the ground as he had when they were boys. He also wanted to lie. To say that Beth and her impish son meant nothing to him. But Jenner was through with lies. “I don't want them dragged into this.”

“Because of the scandal,” Virginia said.

“That's not it,” Max said, and one side of his mouth lifted. “Jenner cares about them, doesn't want them hurt.” His smile stretched even wider. “Hell, you think that boy is really yours, don't you?”

Virginia shook her head. “Oh, no—”

“Could be.” Jenner grabbed a biscuit and slathered it with butter and blackberry jelly. “Whether he is or isn't, I don't want anyone from the
Review
or any damned news reporters from any other paper or magazine botherin' 'em.”

“Or putting them in danger,” Max surmised.

Jenner felt every muscle in his body tense with the thought of Cody or Beth being in jeopardy because of him. “That's right,” he said, realizing that if anyone was going to protect them, it had to be him. From the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of his crutches. Some bodyguard he'd be. He couldn't even walk normally. His fingers clenched the handle of the cup. “I need to talk to Rex Stone.”

“So you don't trust her.”

“Do you?”

Max didn't say a word, but it was Virginia's turn to read his mind. “You'd use Rex to find out if Beth's telling the truth about the boy?” Clearing her throat, she set down her cup to stare at her second son. “Don't tell me you're falling for her story... or for her?”

“Course not,” he said quickly, maybe too quickly, because Max, damn him, barked out a short laugh that called him a liar. Changing the subject, Jenner said, “There's something else we need to discuss.”

“Shoot,” Max said.

“I need to get back to work.”

“You're not ready.”

“I may never be ready.” Jenner glared across the table. “I'm tired of being a hard-luck case.”

“Jenner, you're not anything of the kind,” Virginia whispered. “You're injured.”

“And I can't stay cooped up another minute. Either I get my old job back helping Chester manage this place, or I go hunting for another.”

There was silence. Aside from the click of a timer on the stove and the swish of Kiki's broom across the floor, no one dared breathe a word.

“Don't you think it would be better if you gave yourself a rest and came back when you're a hundred percent?” Max asked.

“That may never happen.” Jenner drained his cup. “You know it and I know it.”

“Skye seems to think it's just a matter of time and maybe another surgery or two.”

“I'm done being under the knife and recuperating!” Jenner growled, banging his fist on the table and making the spoons jump and cups rattle. Even fastidious Kiki gave up pushing her broom. “I need to get on with my life!”

Virginia tried to lay placating fingers on his, but he jerked back his hand as if her touch had burned him. “For the love of God, Mother, quit treating me like I'm a kid with a terminal illness!” He managed to pull himself to his feet with every bit of dignity he could muster and braced his hands on the tall back of the caned chair. “I'll be back tomorrow,” he said to Max. “I either still have a job or I don't. You figure it out!”