McKettrick's Heart

A stream of tobacco juice shot out of the man’s mouth, narrowly missing Keegan’s shoe. “I’m an independent contractor” came the answer. “Not that it’s any never-mind of yours.”

“You have any other donkeys?”

“Just old Spud here. Truth is, he’s about worthless. Gotta pop him one every once in a while, just to keep him going.”

“Dad?” Devon asked at Keegan’s elbow. “Are we going to buy tickets? The line’s getting really long.”

Keegan took in the queue of impatient kids.

“I’d sell him for the right price,” Happy volunteered cagily.

“I imagine you would,” Keegan drawled.

“Dad?” Devon prompted.

Keegan handed his daughter a bill without looking away from Happy’s beady little eyes. “Forget the donkey,” he told her. “Ride the Ferris wheel.”

“But, Dad, we want—”

“The Ferris wheel, Devon.”

Devon heaved a dramatic sigh, but she obeyed. She and Rianna and Maeve immediately headed for the ticket booth.

“How much?” Keegan asked.

Happy named his price, which was, as expected, astronomical.

Keegan counted out the money, flourished it, but didn’t hand it over. “I’ll need a bill of sale,” he said. Then he crossed to the donkey, hoisted the overzealous rider off its back and turned to face the straggling line of kids. “Spud,” he told them, “has just retired.”

There were a few groans of disappointment, but in general the crowd took the news well.

Keegan removed the donkey’s harness, stroked his rough, nubby hide with one hand while the keeper wrote out a receipt on a scrap of paper pulled from his pocket. Spud, barely reaching Keegan’s middle, looked up at him, then nuzzled his arm.

“You didn’t waste much of your profits on feed, did you, Happy?” he asked, looking at Spud’s ladder of ribs while swapping the money for the bill of sale.

“You just made a fool’s bargain,” Happy said, ignoring Keegan’s remark, folding the fat wad of bills and tucking them into a battered wallet attached to one of his belt loops by a tarnished chain. “That critter is stupid, and he’s lazy. Good for nothin’. Now he’s your problem, not mine.”

Keegan took off Spud’s saddle and the worn blanket beneath it, tossed them both aside. That left the bridle. Taking a loose hold on the reins, he turned to walk away, and the donkey followed willingly.

Rance had just arrived with Emma, and he spotted Keegan and his four-legged purchase right away. Grinning, Rance approached.

“If you’re short on horses,” he said, looking Spud over, “I could lend you one of ours.”

“You know, Rance,” Keegan replied tersely, “sometimes you’re just so freakin’ hilarious, I can’t stand it.”

Rance’s grin broadened. “What the hell do you want with a jackass?”

“Damned if I know,” Keegan said. “But I’ve got one now.”

“How are you planning to get him out to the ranch?”

Now it was Keegan’s turn to grin. “Well, I figured since you own a horse trailer, you’d haul him out there for me.”

Rance chuckled. Then he took a closer look at Spud and frowned. “He’s half-starved,” he said. “And it’s a wonder he can walk, with his hooves grown out like that.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Keegan said.

Expertly Rance lifted one of Spud’s feet and inspected it. Did the same with the other three. “I’ll go back to the Triple M and hitch the trailer to the back of my truck,” he said when he was finished. Dusting his hands together, he looked Keegan in the eye and grinned again. “If you’re going into the ranching business, Keeg, you’re off to a pretty pitiful start.”

Keegan made a this-is-me-amused face. “Want me to ride out with you? Help with the trailer?”

“In those dandy duds?” Rance joked, shaking his head at Keegan’s clothes. “Do you own any jeans or a decent pair of boots?”

“Never mind my wardrobe,” Keegan said. Until he’d taken up with Emma just a few weeks before, Rance had lived in custom-tailored suits himself.

Rance looked over toward the barbecue area, where the picnic was starting up in earnest. Folks were loading up their plates, and the bar and the cold-drink stand were already doing a brisk business. “There had better be some beer left when I get back,” he warned.

Keegan laughed. He’d added a mangy donkey to all his other problems, but his spirits had risen a little, just the same.

Go figure, he thought.

Rance crossed to Emma, said something to her and headed back to his truck.

Emma wobbled toward Keegan on a pair of pink high-heeled shoes, which matched her cotton-candy dress, sticking in the grass every few steps. Cautiously she reached out to pat Spud on the nose. Then she smiled, and Keegan figured the fireworks would suffer by comparison.

“Molly’s here,” she said. “And the new people.”

Keegan looked around and, sure enough, there was Molly Shields over by the picnic tables, looking delectable in a floaty blue dress and a straw hat with a bent-back brim. Psyche was there, too, seated in a lawn chair, with a blanket covering her lap. Florence, intent on lifting Lucas from his stroller, wore her usual starchy uniform.

As though she felt him watching her, Molly looked his way.

Smiled, probably because of the donkey.

Keegan hooked a finger under his shirt collar, trying to loosen it. It was the heat, he figured. The air seemed charged, and he actually looked up, expecting to see storm clouds.

The first stars winked in a clear, placid sky.

Emma tugged at his sleeve, whispered, “Keegan. You’re staring.”

Molly spoke to Psyche, then strolled his way.

“I guess it’s never too soon to start practicing for the Christmas pageant,” she said, her eyes warming as she took in poor, bedraggled Spud. “Are you playing Joseph this year?”

“I’d better go and find the girls, make sure they don’t eat too much cotton candy and spoil their supper,” Emma said before Keegan could respond, and promptly vanished.

Keegan swallowed.

Molly smiled, clearly enjoying his discomfort. Then, as Emma had done, she stroked Spud’s long face, threw in an ear-ruffling for good measure.

Spud lifted his head and brayed.

Keegan felt like doing the same thing, and that made him set his back teeth.

Molly’s leaf-colored eyes shone with amusement, turned tender when she looked at the donkey again. The blue cloth flower, pinned to the turned-up brim of her hat, bobbed. “We have to be civil to each other, Keegan,” she said quietly. “Because of Lucas.”

He sighed. Wished she’d look at him the way she was looking at the donkey. “I can be civil,” he said without a trace of civility. “And that is a really goofy-looking hat. Does that flower squirt water?”

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