Free McKettrick's Luck by Linda Lael Miller

what she calls ‘functional art.’”
    Not to mention a bottomless bank account, Cheyenne thought. “Maybe we should use coasters,” she said practically.
    Jesse laughed. “The wood is lacquered. It wouldn’t qualify as functional if you could leave rings on it with a beer can or a bottle of water.”
    Cheyenne felt herself relaxing, which was strange given that she could almost hear everything she’d planned for and dreamed of creaking like the framework of an old roller coaster about to come crashing down around her ears. The dust wouldn’t settle for years.
    â€œWhy do you want that particular tract of land so badly?” Jesse asked, catching her off guard again. “It’s more than the job, isn’t it?”
    Maybe, Cheyenne thought, she ought to go for the sympathy vote. She sighed, took another drink of water. Jesse had already made up his mind; at this point, she had nothing to lose.
    â€œThere’s a bonus in it,” she said. “The money would make a lot of difference to my family.”
    Jesse shifted in his chair and turned his beer can around on the tabletop as he thought. “There must be a lot of other people out there, ready and even eager to sell their property. Why does it have to be my land?”
    â€œNigel wants it,” Cheyenne answered.
    He raised one eyebrow. “Nigel?”
    â€œMy boss. And this is probably going to mean my job.”
    â€œYou could always get another job.”
    â€œEasy to say when you’re somebody who doesn’t need one.”
    Jesse hoisted his beer can slightly. “Touché,” he said. “There might be a place for you at McKettrickCo. I could ask Keegan.”
    Cheyenne remembered Keegan from school. He’d been the serious, focused one. And Rance, who’d been almost as wild as Jesse. She might have gone for the sympathy vote in a last-ditch effort to pull the deal out of the soup, but accepting McKettrick charity was another thing. “I’ll be all right,” she said. Good thing she didn’t have to say how that was going to happen, because she had no earthly idea. She smiled. “Is the Roadhouse hiring? I might be able to get on as a waitress. Or maybe I could deal cards in the back room at Lucky’s—”
    He reached out unexpectedly and squeezed her hand. “You’re smart, Cheyenne. You always were. You have experience and a degree, unless I’ve missed my guess. There are a lot of options out there.”
    â€œNot in Indian Rock, there aren’t,” she said. “And for right now, anyway, I’m stuck here.”
    Jesse circled the center of her palm with the pad of one thumb, and a delicious shiver went through Cheyenne. “I can’t say I mind the idea of your hanging around for a while,” he told her. “And Flag’s just up the road. Probably lots of work there, for somebody with your skills.”
    Cheyenne bit down on her lower lip. “Sure,” she said, with an attempt at humor. “There must be at least one company looking to drive wildlife out of its natural habitat and decimate the tree population. Why was I worried?”
    Maybe, answered her practical side, because she’d sold her car and sublet her apartment. Once Nigel pulled the company credit cards and she’d turned in the rental, she’d either have to drive her mother’s van or hope her old bike was still stashed in the garage behind the house.
    â€œYou must have done well, Cheyenne. Why are you in such a pinch?”
    â€œWhat makes you think I’m in a pinch?” How the hell do you know these things? Are you some kind of cowboy psychic?
    â€œI can see it in your eyes. Come on. What’s the deal? Maybe I can help.”
    She bristled at that. “If you want to help, Jesse, sell me the land. I’m not soliciting donations here. I’m offering you the kind of money most people couldn’t even