McKettrick's Heart (23 page)

“Is that some kind of McKettrick thing?”

Keegan chuckled. “It's some kind of
Keegan
thing,” he replied.

“I heard you say you wanted to talk to her, about me,” Devon ventured. “Are you going to ask her to let you keep me?”

“Yes,” he said. “But not over the phone.”

“She didn't mind
cheating
you over the phone.”

“Let it go, Dev.”

The shrill ringing sounded again.

“Hello,” Keegan snapped into the receiver.

“Hello,” Shelley said. “We—I'm back in the room. And the concierge says I can pick up the money you sent in the morning.”

“It's all good, then,” Keegan said, suddenly weary.

“Keegan?”

He braced himself.

Waited.

“I know you want permanent custody of Devon.”

He didn't answer, didn't need to. Shelley had his complete attention, and she knew it.

“Ten million dollars,” she said lightly, “and she's all yours.”

T
EN MILLION DOLLARS,
and she's all yours.

“Devon,” Keegan said, clenching the receiver so hard he was surprised it didn't shatter in his hand, “go upstairs.
Now.
”

“Here it comes,” Shelley crooned.

Devon wanted to rebel, that was obvious, but she was a decorated veteran of the divorce wars, and evidently knew the look that must have been on his face. She pounded up the back stairs, and Keegan didn't say a word until he heard her bedroom door slam in the distance.

“You bitch,” he said.

Shelley laughed. He thought he heard the clinking of wineglasses over the phone. But no, it would be champagne. She and Rory had just scored.

Again.

“Come on, Keeg,” she purred. “You're a very rich man, and with McKettrickCo going public, you're about to be even richer. You can spare ten million dollars.”

“It isn't the money,” Keegan rasped, keeping his voice down and very afraid that Devon might have shut her bedroom door hard from the outside and crept back to listen from the top of the stairs, or simply picked up an extension. “Damn it, Shelley, you
know
it isn't the money. How can you—”

“I can always bring Devon to Paris, if you'd rather,” Shelley said mildly. “Put her in boarding school. Soak you for alimony and child support until they lower you into the grave, and even after that.
Or
we can settle the matter right now. After all, Devon isn't—”

“Shelley,” Keegan broke in. “Don't.”
Don't say Devon isn't my child.

“I guess I'll be hearing from Travis Reid soon?”

“You'll be hearing from Travis,” Keegan said bleakly. There was a weird, hollow sound on the phone. Devon was definitely listening in.

“Good,” Shelley said. More glass clinked, and Keegan heard her swallow. “Oh, and congratulations, Keeg. On your marriage, I mean. I hope you're happier with this—Molly, wasn't it?—woman than you were with me.”

“It would be impossible,” Keegan said evenly, “not to be happier with
any
woman than I was with you.”

“Have Travis express the documents, will you? I really
want
this apartment.”

Keegan couldn't take any more. He thumbed the button, shut Shelley off. And then he just stood there, sick to the center of his soul.

Devon crept back down the stairs, looking defiantly guilty. “I told you she'd sell me for the right price,” she said. “Sign over my trust fund. That's all you have to do.”

Keegan set the phone on the counter. Faced his daughter. “I'm not about to sign over your trust fund. And if you ever listen in on one of my private conversations again, cookie, the no-spanking rule goes right out the window.”

“You're bluffing,” Devon said.

“Try me,” Keegan replied.

“Chill, Dad,” Devon counseled. “You're just mad at Mom. I'm okay with all of it. Remember—I told you this would happen.”

Keegan sighed. Her reasoning was irrefutable—but how could a kid be “okay” with being
sold,
like some racehorse? No, she'd need professional help to square all this away, and he probably would, too. “If you're going to live with me,” he said, “there are rules you'll have to abide by. One of them is you don't listen in on my phone calls. Got that?”

Devon flushed. “Got it.”

“Good.”

“But nobody's been
spanked
on this ranch for something like a hundred trillion years.”

“There's always a first time, kiddo.”

“Uncle Jesse and Uncle Rance would have your hide.”

“I can handle Jesse and Rance,” Keegan said. “Quit while you're ahead.”

She plunked down on the one of the steps, drew up her knees, wrapped her arms around her skinny legs. DNA aside, the look in her eyes was pure, undiluted McKettrick.

“Am I worth ten million dollars to you?” she asked after a long silence.

Keegan poured himself a cup of lukewarm coffee, went over to the stairs and sat down beside her. “I'd die for you, Dev. What's that worth?”

“Like, if the place was on fire, you'd come through the flames to get me out, no matter what?”

“No matter what.”

“If an ax murderer got in—”

“Dev? Another rule. No more horror movies on TV.”

She grinned. “Can we go up to Flagstaff tomorrow and get my clothes and books and stuff?”

“After the wedding,” Keegan said, wishing Molly were there so he wouldn't have to face another night alone in his bed. Devon seemed relatively unscathed by the transaction with Shelley, but
he
wasn't. He'd
married
the woman, for God's sake. What did that say about him?

That he was a damn fool, that's what.

And there was no reason to think he'd changed.

 

K
EEGAN SPENT
the next morning tying up loose ends in his office at McKettrickCo, while the rest of the company went about its business as if nothing had happened. As far as everyone on the payroll was concerned, nothing
had
happened. Word was already out that the acting CEO wasn't planning on staff reductions, nor did he intend to eliminate Cheyenne's work/study program.

It surprised Keegan how little there was to do, given how the job had consumed him for so long.

He was filling the last cardboard box when Travis appeared in the open doorway, with a file folder tucked under one arm.

“Just the man I wanted to see,” Keegan said.

Travis nodded, stepped into the office and shut the door. “Are you sure you want to go through with this thing?” he asked.

Though he had another agenda in mind, Keegan knew Travis was referring to the agreement with Psyche. His conscience jabbed him a little—he still hadn't told Molly that they didn't have to go through with the wedding in order for her to adopt Lucas.

“Yes,” he heard himself say. “I'm sure. Sit down, Trav.”

Travis drew up a chair, laid the file on Keegan's desk with a slight slapping sound. “You're crazy,” he said. “You've been through one bad marriage—why the hell would you want to do it all over again?”

“Molly isn't like Shelley,” he answered, surprised at how defensive he sounded.

Travis raised one eyebrow. “And you're so sure of that because…?”

Keegan set his jaw, relaxed it again. Sat back in his desk chair and cupped his hands behind his head. “I know what I'm doing, Trav,” he said. “Let's leave it at that, at least for now. I want to talk about Shelley.”

“Shelley,” Travis repeated.

“She wants ten million dollars,” Keegan said.

Travis let out a long breath. “Of course she does,” he said. “She's Shelley.”

“I want you to draw up an agreement. I get full custody of Devon. Shelley gets ten million dollars. No visitation, unless Devon specifically asks for it. No alimony, once the settlement has been paid, and no child support.”

“You're serious?” Travis marveled.

“Dead serious. Draw up the papers, Trav. I don't want to give Shelley time to change her mind.”

“Ten
million
dollars.” Travis shoved a hand through his hair. Whistled, low, through his teeth. “And I thought
Jesse
got screwed.”

Keegan knew all about the settlement Jesse had paid his first wife, Brandi. It was a different situation, because they'd been married for a grand total of a week, and there hadn't been children.

“I want to raise my daughter,” he said.

Travis looked back over one shoulder, probably to make sure the door was closed, and spoke quietly. “One hitch, Keeg. Devon
isn't
your daughter, not biologically. Suppose Shelley banks the ten million, then pulls
that
rabbit out of the hat? She could use it as grounds to break the agreement. Hell, so could the father, for that matter.”

“Devon's father is dead,” Keegan replied.

Travis sat up a little straighter in his chair. “I thought you didn't know who he was.”

“I figured it out,” Keegan said. He'd figured a
lot
of things out, lying awake in a cold and empty bed the night before. And nobody needed to tell him there was a distinct possibility that Shelley was pulling another fast one. “It was Thayer Ryan.”

“Thayer—
Psyche's
Thayer? Keeg, that's quite a leap. I know you've been under a lot of stress lately, but—”

“Frame it as an adoption,” Keegan said.

“Shelley could still change her mind.”

“She won't. She gets a million when she signs the papers, and the rest after the adoption is final. She's jonesing to buy some apartment in Paris, so she'll deal.”

“You'll have to tell Devon the truth,” Travis said. “Shelley's likely to do it anyway, out of spite.”

Keegan sighed. “Yeah,” he said as the weight of the world settled squarely on his shoulders. “I know.”

“You'd better make damn sure your theory about Thayer Ryan is right. If some guy comes out of the woodwork and says Devon is his, you'll be back in court.”

“I've already called Devon's pediatrician in Flagstaff. They don't even have to take blood to do the tests—saliva will do it. If Devon and Lucas are half brother and sister, the results will be all the confirmation any judge would need.”

Travis went pale. “You'll need Psyche's permission for that,” he said.

“Not after Molly and I are married and I become Lucas's legal father, I won't,” Keegan replied.

“This is pretty ruthless, Keeg. Step back from it a little—”

“I've done all the ‘stepping back' I'm going to do,” Keegan said flatly. “You're one of the best friends I've ever had, but you're not the only lawyer in the world.”

“Keegan. This is me, Travis.
Listen
to me.”

Keegan reached for the file folder, opened it and began to read the terms of his and Molly's agreement with Psyche.

Marriage.

Living under the same roof for a period of no less than one year.

In the event of a divorce, Keegan was to retain full custody of Lucas.

He reached for a pen, found the appropriate dotted line and signed his name with a hard flourish. Then he shoved the folder across the desk to Travis.

“Conversation's over,” he said.

Travis swore under his breath, grabbed the file and stood. “Where's Devon?” he asked.

“With Emma, at the bookstore,” Keegan answered. “Why?”

“Oh, I thought maybe you'd already shipped her off to some lab,” Travis snapped. With that, he left, slamming the office door behind him.

Keegan knew better than to think the argument was over.

Half an hour later Jesse crashed in, and Rance was right on his heels.

“Ten million dollars?” Rance yelled.

“Have you lost your fucking
mind?
” Jesse demanded at the same time.

“So much for attorney-client privilege,” Keegan said.

“Keegan,” Jesse bit out, “this is
bullshit.
”

“Why? You gave Brandi a million dollars to get out of your life. With Shelley, it's cheap at ten times the price.”

“She's going to nail you,” Rance seethed. “She'll take the ten million
and
Devon, and break the kid's heart in the process!”

“And what's this crap about running DNA tests on Devon and Lucas?” Jesse wanted to know.

Keegan explained his theory about Devon's paternity.

“You've really gone around the bend,” Jesse said when he'd finished. “Wait until Shelley comes home. Talk to her then. My God, Keeg, give yourself a chance to think.”

“You're either with me on this or you're not,” Keegan said calmly. His guts were churning, but Jesse and Rance didn't need to know that. “Take your choice.”

Jesse pounded a fist down on Keegan's desk, hard enough to make the cardboard box jump slightly. “Think. About. Devon.”

“Believe me, I am.”

“Shelley will tell her she's not yours,” Rance said, very slowly and very quietly.

“Not if I tell her first,” Keegan said. He'd rather eat broken glass, but he'd do it. “The truth is always best, right?”