McKettricks of Texas: Austin (23 page)

Too bad it wasn't likely to last.

E
VEN THOUGH HE SWORE
he wasn't tired, Austin hadn't been back home for more than an hour before he fell sound asleep in the downstairs guest bed, the ever-loyal Shep curled protectively at his feet.

The sight made Paige smile.

They made quite a pair, this man and his dog.

Thinking Austin didn't need so much staring at, now that he was officially on the road to recovery, Paige picked up her laptop and headed for the main kitchen. She set the computer on the table, and then headed to the counter, planning to brew a cup of tea.

It was a little after 2:00 p.m.; normally at this time of day, she would have been getting ready to pick Calvin up at the community center, making sure he had something other than fast food to eat, and then stopping by the high school auditorium so he could spend twenty minutes or so with Julie. But since she'd been working as Austin's private nurse, Libby and Garrett had been taking turns looking after Calvin when Julie was working.

Paige sighed. Her nephew lived in the same house she did, so it wasn't as if she didn't see him often, but things were still different enough to make her feel an odd and poignant nostalgia.

Their lives were all changing so fast. And they were changing forever.

“Get a grip,” Paige mumbled to herself, trying to blink away the burning sensation in her eyes and concentrate on the simple task at hand.

She knew where the mugs were kept, but she opened and closed a few cupboard doors before locating the tea supply, which was sparse, probably because this had been a household of men for such a long time.

Taking comfort in measuring out the small movements involved, Paige filled the mug from the special hot-water spigot on the sink and dropped in a bag. Watched as the water darkened, breathed in the familiar and very soothing aroma.

Returning to the table, she set the cup down, took a seat on the long bench and flipped open the laptop. After logging on, Paige went straight to a popular search engine and typed in the name “Clifton Pomeroy.”

Not surprisingly, a lot of people in the world went by that name, so she did some narrowing down. It took nearly fifteen minutes to find Doc's only son, but eventually, he turned up.

Paige sipped her rapidly cooling tea, studying the screen.

No deep, dark secrets here: Cliff had been married four times—apparently none of these unions had resulted in children—and he'd declared bankruptcy some fifteen years ago. Until the last divorce, final only a month before, he'd resided in one of the best sections of Dallas.

Alas, the house belonged to Wife #3, a member of a prominent Texas family, so Cliff was out on his ear. Now, possibly having nowhere else to go, he'd come home to Daddy.

Paige sighed again and squeezed the bridge of her nose between a thumb and a forefinger. She was a nurse, she
reminded herself, not a detective. Okay, so Cliff had made it pretty clear when she and Austin met up with him at the Silver Dollar that he wanted the McKettrick oil wells reopened—he probably wasn't alone in that. Where there was oil, there was money—
big
money—and that was reason enough, for some people, to commit a crime.

She dropped her head forward to stretch the taut muscles in the back of her neck, and when that didn't help, put both hands to her nape and kneaded with all ten fingers.

At a sound coming from one of the staircases, Paige looked up and saw Tate standing with one arm hooked around the newel post, grinning at her.

“Job getting to you already?” he asked with good-humored sympathy. “Riding herd on Austin, I mean.”

Paige chuckled, logged off and shut the laptop. “He's sleeping right now,” she replied with a little shake of her head. “No trouble at all.”

Tate laughed, approached the table and sat down across from her. Resting his powerful forearms on the surface, he interlaced his fingers and replied, “Austin's always been at his most tractable when he's asleep.”

She smiled, got up from the bench, holding her mug up. “I'm having more tea,” she said. “Would you like some?”

“I'm okay, thanks,” he said with a shake of his head, starting to rise.

“Oh, for heaven's sake,” Paige said, “sit down. I'm only going to the sink for more hot water.”

Tate's grin was a mite sheepish, but he didn't comply until Paige was back at the table and seated.

“Old habits die hard,” he said, dropping back to the bench.

Paige smiled. She remembered Sally McKettrick; the mistress of this house had been a true Southern lady, with a good sense of humor, and she'd raised her three sons to be gentlemen. “It must be pretty ingrained,” she observed. “This standing-up-in-the-presence-of-a-lady thing.”

“I don't remember a time when it wasn't a reflex.” Tate grinned.

Paige waited, knowing there was more he wanted to say. Her patience was rewarded. Sort of.

“Libby's worried about you,” Tate said, after a few moments of silent struggle, and he had the decency to at least
seem
reluctant.

“About what?” Paige asked mildly. It was only the first of several questions she had for him.

Tate drew in a breath, sighed it out heavily. “She thinks it might be too hard for you, being in such close proximity with Austin all the time.”

Paige felt a sting behind her cheekbones and hoped it didn't show on the surface. “And my big sister didn't bring this up with me herself
because…
”

Tate looked distinctly uncomfortable. “She will,” he said. “I just thought—since Garrett and I came up with the bright idea of hiring you as Austin's nurse in the first place, I mean—that it was sort of our responsibility to straighten things out.” He cleared his throat. “And since I lost the coin toss, here we are.”

Paige smiled. He was there because he'd lost a coin toss. At least Tate was being honest. “Are you unhappy with my work?” she asked.

Tate looked genuinely surprised. “No,” he said quickly. “It isn't that. It's just—well—what Libby said. We might have come on a little strong, Garrett and I. Put too much
pressure on you to accept the job. If you'd rather back out, we'll understand.”

The poor man looked so miserable that Paige almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

“Back out? You mean,
quit,
Tate?”

His neck reddened, and he tugged at his collar, even though his white Western shirt was already open to his sternum. Had there ever been a McKettrick who wasn't violently allergic to the word
quit
or any of its synonyms?

“I wouldn't put it that way,” he said.

“Of course you wouldn't. You're a McKettrick, and McKettricks don't know what it means to quit, do they?”

“There are times,” Tate allowed, “when we might be better off if we did.”

“But you don't,” Paige pressed.

His voice was gruff and he looked away for a moment. “No,” he admitted.

Paige leaned forward and spoke firmly, but not unkindly. She wasn't angry, she just wanted to make her point. “Well,” she said, “the Remingtons don't quit, either. Even when we ought to.”

Tate grinned, shifted on the bench. He was quiet for a few moments, then he asked, “Austin saw his doctor today, didn't he? What's the prognosis?”

“I wasn't in the exam room,” Paige said, “but he's still bandaged. His appetite is fair to good—we stopped at the Silver Dollar for lunch today, and he made a pretty good dent in a sixteen-ounce steak—”

“But?” Tate prompted when she fell silent.

“Cliff Pomeroy came in while we were there,” Paige said, thoughtful. What
was
it about the man that bothered her so much? “He sat with us for a while, and the
conversation came around to the oil wells. The ones here on the Silver Spur, I mean. Cliff said he'd like to see the fields operational again.” She paused, swallowed. “I couldn't help wondering…”

Tate raised one dark eyebrow. “If Cliff might have been the one to shoot Austin the other night?”

“Someone
had
been tampering with one of the wells before he got there,” Paige said, and she felt slightly defensive because she could already see Tate's answer taking shape in his face. Even before he spoke, she had a pretty good idea what he was going to say.

“Cliff wouldn't do a thing like that,” Tate replied, confirming her prediction. “He and our dad were good friends, Paige, for a very long time.”

“But then something happened?” Paige pressed. “Between Cliff and your father, that is. And then they weren't friends anymore?”

Tate sighed, shoved a hand through his dark hair. “What happened was, there were some environmental concerns, and Dad decided to shut down the wells. That made Cliff mad as hell, because he'd been raking in a lot of money brokering deals, and they argued. But I wouldn't say the friendship was over for good, just the partnership. They'd known each other all their lives, been buddies since they were younger than Calvin. And I never heard Dad say a word against Cliff.”

Paige didn't point out that the reverse might not be true, that Cliff might have had
plenty
to say against Jim McKettrick. That maybe he wasn't just looking for business opportunities, but revenge against the family who'd cut him off.

“You know, of course,” she said carefully, with a nod
toward the closed laptop to indicate the source of her information, “that Cliff declared bankruptcy once?”

“About five years after the business partnership between him and Dad ended,” Tate said. He paused, swallowed hard, looked away for a moment. When he looked back, his eyes were glossy. “Dad was gone by then. Mom, too, of course.”

Paige reached across the table, spanned her fingers over Tate's muscular forearm for a moment, smiled sadly. She knew what it was to grieve for one parent and, in a way, for two. Although her mother was still alive, Marva had been a mere footnote in Paige's life for years.

She was still searching her mind—and her heart—for an answer, when Libby came down the third stairway, stood just where Tate had a little while before. She even looped an arm around the newel post, the same way he'd done, and Paige wondered if it was really true, the old saying that the more people were together, the more alike they became.

Tate rose to his feet after he followed Paige's gaze and realized that Libby was standing behind him, on the bottom step. “I tried to give her an out,” he told his future wife, “but she wouldn't take it.”

Paige smiled at her sister. “Tea?” she asked, holding her cup aloft.

Libby finally pulled herself loose from the newel post and smiled back, with a bit of a wobble to her lower lip. “Yes,” she said with a little nod and a sniffle. “Thanks.”

Tate, still standing, said he thought he'd go on out to the barn and see how Molly and the other horses were, maybe feed them a little early, just this once.

With that, he crossed to Libby, squeezed her shoulders and then kissed the top of her head.

Paige, meanwhile, went to the sink and filled another mug with hot water, then added a tea bag. Brought it to her sister, who had taken Tate's place at the table.

“Lib?”

Libby sniffled again, cupped her hands around the mug. “Thanks,” she said.

“What's the matter?” Paige said, worried. Libby wasn't the weepy type, nor was it likely that she felt guilty for any part she might have had in throwing her kid sister and Austin together, per Paige's earlier conversation with Tate.

“Sometimes things don't happen the way we expect,” Libby said, looking up at her with a peculiar combination of misery and starry-eyed wonder that made Paige's breath catch.

“What do you mean?” Paige asked softly, still standing, holding one hand to her heart. Some of her tea sloshed over the rim of the mug and burned her fingers.

Libby gave a husky little chuckle and reached out to pull Paige's free hand away from her chest and squeeze. “I'm pregnant,” she said.

Paige plunked down onto the bench beside Libby, and they didn't let go of each other's hands.

“I thought you were going to say you were sick,” Paige whispered, dizzy with relief. “Or that you and Tate had decided not to get married—”

Libby bit her lower lip, stared down into her tea for a few moments before meeting Paige's gaze again. “Tate thinks we should get married right away,” she confided.

“And you?” Paige asked, her voice going hoarse.
Libby was expecting a baby.

How amazing. How miraculous. How
positively wonderful.

Libby's lips moved, but nothing more came out.

“You're
happy
about this, right?” Paige prompted.

Tears filled Libby's eyes. “Of
course
I'm happy, goose,” she said, with a moist little laugh and a bump of her shoulder against Paige's. “But the wedding—Julie and I have made so many plans, bought our dresses—and, Paige,
hundreds
of people will be converging on this ranch on New Year's Eve expecting the event of the century—”

Paige put her arm around Libby's shoulders and hugged her. “Lib,” she reasoned, “you can still have the big wedding. Lots of people have a civil ceremony first and follow up with the whole white-lace and birdseed thing later. I don't really see the problem here.”

Libby began to cry. Loudly. “But I'm
pregnant,
” she repeated.

“So you said,” Paige replied, hugging her again.

“I didn't want it to be like this,” Libby said, and now she cried in earnest.

Paige got up from the table just long enough to snatch a whole roll of paper towels from the holder near the sink and bring it back to Libby.

With a giggly sob, Libby reached out to tear off a towel and half the roll unfurled, and they both laughed. Libby pressed a huge wad of crumpled towel to her face and blew her nose.