Molly didn’t answer. It was Psyche’s place to tell Florence whatever she wanted her to know, and Molly wasn’t about to overstep those bounds.
“Thayer and Miss Psyche tried to adopt a baby for years,” Florence went on. “They got close a couple of times, but something always went wrong. The birth mother backed out, or a relative stepped in to claim the child. I can’t tell you how it grieved me, watching Miss Psyche put on a brave face, swallowing her disappointment, keeping her hopes up. Then all of a sudden, here’s Lucas. The perfect green-eyed, blond-haired baby boy. I should have guessed he came out of your affair with Thayer.”
Molly, in the act of unpacking one of her bags, stiffened, and her gaze sliced to Florence’s face. Outside, on the front lawn, the sprinkler system came on, making a chuckety-chuckety sound, and the scent of fresh-cut grass blew in through the open windows on a soft breeze. “None of this,” she said, “is Lucas’s fault.”
Florence spared her a dry smile. “So you do have some spirit,” she observed. “You’re going to need it, if you stay around here long. I’m headed downstairs shortly, to get supper started, but before I go, there’s one more thing I want to say. I don’t know why you’re here, but I’ll be watching you. You do anything—anything at all—to make things harder for my girl than they already are, and I’ll make the devil himself look like an angel of mercy. You understand what I’m saying to you, Molly Shields?”
Molly kept her spine straight. She’d come to Indian Rock like a whipped dog, but she had Lucas to think about now, and it was time to put on her big-girl panties and take care of business. “I’d rather count you as a friend,” she said, “but if you want a fight, I’ll give you one.”
Respect flickered in Florence’s eyes, but it was gone in a moment. “Supper’s at six,” she said, and then she was gone, closing the door quietly behind her.
Molly knew that was a courtesy to Psyche, not her, but she appreciated it anyway.
She looked around the room that would be home for the foreseeable future—brick fireplace, gleaming brass bed, antique bureau and chest, chaise longue, plenty of bookshelves. All of them old-money shabby.
She smiled ruefully, thinking of her own ultra-modern place in L.A., where everything was new, with no history, no memories, no meaning. What a contrast.
The smile faded as she remembered the encounter with Keegan McKettrick back at the convenience store/gas station where she and Florence had gone to fetch her bags. She’d seen utter contempt in his eyes, and he’d certainly made no bones about wanting her out of Psyche’s life and out of Indian Rock.
It had been a jolt, running into him. On some level, she realized, she’d still been smarting from their first encounter, in a Flagstaff restaurant, when Thayer had introduced her as a business associate.
Keegan hadn’t believed him, even then.
And looking back, Molly knew she should have been far more suspicious of Thayer’s glib reaction that night. In retrospect, it was a classic scenario—the guilty husband runs into a family friend and does a song and dance to explain the mistress away. Why hadn’t she seen that?
Because you were a fool, that’s why, she thought.
Molly opened a suitcase, found a floral sundress and fresh lingerie. She’d feel better after a cool shower, she reflected. More like her normal, competent self.
As for Mr. McKettrick’s obviously low opinion of her, well, that didn’t matter in the vast scheme of things. Lucas mattered. Psyche mattered.
Keegan McKettrick was a footnote.
She felt a pang, and her throat tightened.
If all that was true, why did it sting so much to recall the way he’d looked at her?
* * *
RANCE RODE ACROSS the creek on a paint horse Keegan hadn’t seen before.
He might have come right out of the 1880s, the way he was dressed—boots, jeans, a Western-cut denim shirt and a beat-up old hat resurrected from his college-rodeo days.
“Got your message,” Rance said in his usual taciturn way, reining in and swinging deftly down from the saddle.
Keegan glanced across the creek toward Rance’s rustic, rambling ranch house, which faced his own, almost a mirror image. The two places dated back to the nineteenth century, when old Angus McKettrick and his four sons had still ridden the sprawling acres of the Triple M, though of course some modern conveniences had been added over the generations since. “You leave the girls home alone?” he asked, referring to Rance’s young daughters, Rianna and Maeve.
“Emma’s there,” Rance said with a slight and faintly goofy smile. “She’s making supper. You’re welcome to join us if you want to.”
Keegan felt bereft in that moment. He wanted to say yes, be part of a family, if only for an hour or two, but at the same time he wondered if he could cope with the contrast between his cousin’s life and his own. “I might,” he said to be polite, but he knew he wouldn’t go, and Rance probably did, too.
Rance let the reins drop so the horse could graze on Keegan’s lawn, which needed cutting. “What’s this about Thayer’s girlfriend moving in with Psyche?” he asked. “In the first place, I didn’t know Thayer ever had a girlfriend.”
Keegan shoved a hand through his hair. He’d been all-fired anxious to hash things out with Rance or Jesse or both of them, and had rushed outside when he’d seen his cousin crossing the shallow part of the creek. Now he wasn’t sure how to put the whole thing into words. “He cheated on Psyche from day one,” Keegan said after unclamping his back teeth. As kids, he and Psyche had made a playground pact to get married when they grew up, and have a big family. If she hadn’t been dying, he’d have grinned at the memory.
“I didn’t know that,” Rance replied quietly. He’d known about the pact, though. He and Jesse had teased Keegan unmercifully back in the day, but they’d been as smitten as he was. “I’d have blacked the bastard’s eyes if I had.”
Keegan recalled the night he’d run into Thayer and Molly, caught them sneaking around behind Psyche’s back, and felt the same clench in the pit of his stomach as he had then. It had been part rage, that feeling, but part something else, too. Something he’d rather not identify.
“She’s up to something,” he said flatly.
“Like what?” Rance asked.
“I don’t know,” Keegan admitted after thrusting out an exasperated sigh. “According to Florence, Psyche invited that little viper for a visit. I figure Molly must have manipulated her into it somehow.”
Rance arched an eyebrow. “It does seem like an odd arrangement. Mistresses and wives don’t generally mix all that well, especially under the same roof.” He paused for a beat. “Molly?”
“Molly Shields,” Keegan said.
Rance’s mouth quirked up at one corner, and a thoughtful smile rose into his eyes, but he didn’t say anything.
“Psyche’s a rich woman,” Keegan reminded his cousin, getting agitated again. “It’s got to be a scam.”
