Free McKettrick's Luck by Linda Lael Miller Page B

main road, leading into Indian Rock. Two things happened to snap her back to reality—her cell phone jangled and she remembered where she lived. When Jesse came to pick her and Mitch and her mother up that weekend, he’d see the waist-high weeds in the yard, the rusted wire, the old tires.
    â€œHello, Nigel,” she snapped into the phone.
    â€œYou don’t sound very happy, Cheyenne,” Nigel said, sounding aggrieved.
    â€œJesse showed me the land. I showed him the blueprints. He refused to even consider selling, in no uncertain terms.”
    â€œYou can change his mind,” Nigel insisted.
    â€œYou’ve obviously never met a McKettrick,” Cheyenne retorted. Suddenly, she felt sick and pulled onto the side of the road, thinking she might have to shove open the door in midconversation and throw up.
    â€œHe’s an old flame, isn’t he?”
    â€œWe went to the movies twice, Nigel. I was still in high school. That hardly qualifies as a flicker, let alone a flame.”
    â€œMaybe if you slept with him—”
    Cheyenne went rigid. Actually considered pitching the phone out the window, into the brush alongside the road. Would have, if she hadn’t known Nigel would deduct the cost of it from her last paycheck. “I can’t believe you just said that!”
    â€œCome on, Cheyenne. Deals are made that way all the time.”
    â€œNot by me they aren’t!”
    â€œYou spent a week in Aspen with Dr. What’s-His-Name, just last year, and came back with three hundred thousand dollars to invest.”
    Cheyenne’s blood simmered in her veins. Forget the Native American drum song—this was a war dance. “His wife was there, too. You didn’t actually think—?”
    â€œOf course I did,” Nigel said. “You’ve got a killer body and a fabulous face. How else could you have persuaded so many smart businessmen to write fat checks to Meerland Ventures?”
    â€œMaybe because I have a brain?”
    A pause ensued. Then Nigel went for a save. “Cheyenne, be reasonable. It was only natural to assume—”
    â€œYou smarmy son of a bitch!”
    â€œCheyenne—”
    She rolled down the window, flung the phone out and, after checking her trajectory in the side mirror, ran over it before pulling onto the road again, back tires spitting gravel and probably squashed circuitry.
    The drive home was an angry blur.
    When she arrived, her mother stepped out onto the front porch, looking concerned.
    â€œNigel called,” Ayanna said gravely, carefully descending the steps to approach. “I swear the phone hadn’t been hooked up for five minutes when it rang—”
    â€œScrew Nigel,” Cheyenne said, staring straight through the windshield instead of looking up into her mother’s face.
    â€œI take it things didn’t go well with Jesse?”
    Cheyenne got out of the car, forcing Ayanna to step back quickly, and slammed the door hard behind her. “Things went fine with Jesse—if you don’t count the fact that he’d probably rather die than sell that land to me or anybody else.”
    â€œCheyenne.” Ayanna touched her arm. “Oh, honey.”
    â€œI’m all right, Mom.”
    Ayanna studied her. Smiled tentatively. “I got a job today,” she said. “Bagging groceries at the market. If I do well, I can move up to checker. That’s union, Cheyenne. I’d have health insurance and vacation time.”
    Cheyenne wanted to cry. Her mother wasn’t old by any means, but she was past the point where she should have been on her feet all day, stuffing cans and boxes into bags, schlepping them to people’s cars and rounding up carts from all corners of the lot.
    â€œWell,” she said, “at least one of us is gainfully employed.”
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    A FTER C HEYENNE DROVE AWAY , it was all Jesse could do to go back into that house. It was too damn big,