McKettrick's Luck Read Online Free Page A

left Indian Rock. The car was nothing special—probably rented—but the clothes were upscale. And while she still used her maiden name, that didn’t mean she wasn’t married. His older sisters, Sarah and Victoria, both had husbands, but still they went by McKettrick.
    He glanced at Cheyenne’s left hand, looking for a ring, but the hand was hidden by the wide strap of her purse.
    â€œShall we?” he asked and gestured toward the entrance of the Roadhouse.
    She looked relieved. “Sure,” she said. She walked a little ahead, and he opened the door for her.
    Jesse had been eating at the Roadhouse all his life, but as he followed Cheyenne over the threshold, it seemed strange to him, a place he’d never been before. The sounds and smells and colors spun around him, and he felt disoriented, as though he’d just leaped off some great wheel while it was still spinning. He was a second or two getting his bearings.
    He’d gone to school with the hostess, from kindergarten through his senior year at Indian Rock High, but as he and Cheyenne followed the woman to a corner booth, he couldn’t have said what her name was.
    What the hell was wrong with him?
    Cheyenne slid into the red vinyl seat, and Jesse sat opposite, placing his hat on the wide windowsill behind the miniature jukebox. He ordered coffee, she asked for sparkling mineral water with a twist of lime.
    They studied their plastic menus, and when the waitress showed up—Jesse had gone to school with her, too, and consulted her name tag so he wouldn’t be caught out—Cheyenne went with French onion soup and he chose a double-deluxe cheeseburger, with fries.
    â€œThanks, Roselle,” he said, to anchor himself in ordinary reality.
    Roselle touched his shoulder, smiled flirtatiously and sashayed away to fill the orders.
    Cheyenne raised her eyebrows slightly, but said nothing.
    Might as well bite the bullet, Jesse figured. “So Cheyenne, what brings you back to Indian Rock after all this time?” he asked easily.
    She took a sip of fizzy water. “Business,” she said.
    Jesse thought of his land. Of the timber, and the wide, grassy clearings, and the creek that shone so brightly in the sun that it made a man blink. He tasted his coffee and waited.
    Cheyenne sighed. She had the air of someone about to jump through an ice hole in a frozen lake. “My company is prepared to offer you a very competitive price for—”
    â€œNo,” Jesse broke in flatly.
    She’d made the jump, and from her expression, the water was even colder than expected. “No?”
    â€œNo,” he repeated.
    â€œYou didn’t let me finish,” she protested, rallying. “We’re talking about several million dollars here. No carrying back a mortgage. No balloon payments. Cash. We can close on the deal within two weeks of going to contract.”
    Jesse started to reach for his hat, sighed and withdrew his hand. He’d seen this coming. Why did he feel like a kid who’d counted on getting a BB gun for Christmas and found new underwear under the tree instead?
    â€œThere isn’t going to be any contract,” he said.
    She paled. Settled back against the booth seat. Her hand trembled as she set down her water glass.
    â€œThe price is negotiable,” she told him after a few moments of looking stricken.
    He knew what she was thinking; he could read it in her face. Money talks. She thought he was angling for a higher price.
    â€œYou should never take up poker,” he said.
    The food arrived.
    Roselle winked as she set the burger down in front of him.
    â€œI hate women like that,” Cheyenne told him after Roselle had swivel-hipped it back behind the counter.
    Unprepared for this bend in the conversational river, Jesse paused with a French fry halfway to his mouth. “What?”
    â€œThey’re a type,” Cheyenne said, leaning in a little and lowering her voice.