McKettrick's Heart. Linda Miller Lael

a child.

       Lucas’s fate would be interwoven with her own—forever.

       If his heart was broken, hers would be, too.

       Was it worth it?

       Molly had absolutely no doubt that it was, but neither did she suffer any illusions that the process would be easy and pain free. Joy, in her experience, was a Siamese twin to sorrow, conjoined at the heart.

       She drew back a wicker chair with a bright floral cushion. “I saw Keegan while I was out,” she said. “He asked about you.”

       Psyche smiled. “Keegan,” she repeated somewhat wistfully, as though by saying his name she’d conjured him and could see him clearly in the near distance.

       Florence, her face wet, immediately fled into the house, muttering to herself and scrubbing at her eyes with a cotton handkerchief as she went.

       “Are you in love with him?” Molly asked, and then was horrified, because she hadn’t consciously planned to ask the question. She didn’t pry. She was not, after all, a nosy person, nor was she impulsive. Indeed, she prided herself on her practicality, abhorred denial, went into things with her eyes wide open—her affair with Thayer being the one notable exception.

       Now she awaited Psyche’s reply with a strange sense of urgency, braced, at one and the same time, for a stinging rebuke.

       Psyche was silent for an interval, her expression still softly distant, almost diffused. Finally she shook her head. “No,” she said, and Molly marveled at the depth and swiftness of her own relief. “Keegan and I were childhood sweethearts… .” She paused to sigh. “Such an old-fashioned term, ‘childhood sweethearts’—don’t you think?”

       Molly wanted to avert her gaze, but she didn’t allow herself to do so, because it would have been cowardly. “I think Keegan loves you,” she said, helpless against this strange and unwise part of herself suddenly rising up to say things she had no right or intention to utter. And she chafed at the stab of helpless sorrow her own words wrought in her.

       Keegan hated her, and the feeling was mutual.

       Why, then, did she care whether or not he loved Psyche?

       More to the point, how could she stop caring?

       “He does love me,” Psyche agreed. “He’s fiercely protective of anyone he cares about—all the McKettricks are.”

       A lump rose in Molly’s throat and swelled there. She swallowed, determined not to break down.

       Something moved in Psyche’s eyes—compassion, perhaps. She reached out, touched Molly’s hand.

       “Keegan and I are friends,” Psyche went on gently. “Nothing more.”

       “I’m not so sure he would agree,” Molly said. “Psyche, I—”

       “What?”

       “I’m so sorry—about what happened between Thayer and me, I mean.”

       “Water under the bridge,” Psyche said. “When Thayer died I was—in some ways—relieved. It’s horrible to admit that, and maybe I’m being punished for it now. Maybe that’s why I have to let go, leave Lucas—”

       “No,” Molly protested weakly. As much as she wanted to raise Lucas, the cost was simply too great.

       Psyche smiled, but her eyes were misty, and her chin trembled ever so slightly. “Isn’t it remarkable, Molly? Your being here, I mean? I actually think we would have been friends if we’d met under other circumstances.”

       Molly gulped. “I would do anything to go back and change things.”

       “Would you?” Psyche asked. “Where would that leave Lucas?”

       Molly couldn’t speak.

       “You slept with my husband. You bore his child. And while convention would dictate that I ought to hate you for that, I can’t. You brought Lucas into the world, Molly. Try as I might, I can’t feel anything but gratitude.”

       Tears burned in Molly’s eyes. “You are the most amazing person, Psyche Ryan,” she managed, fairly strangling on the words. “Worth ten of me, and a hundred of Thayer. He didn’t deserve you.”

       Psyche gave a hoarse chuckle. “Well, I agree with you about Thayer. The man wasn’t fit to lick my shoes. But you, Molly Shields, are an entirely different matter. You are a far finer person than you think.”

       Molly shook her head. “I was such a blind fool—”

       “Stop,” Psyche said abruptly.

       Molly blinked, surprised.

       “Yes, you made a mistake,” Psyche allowed. “But something very, very good came of it. And now I’m dying.” She stopped, regrouping. Perhaps absorbing, yet again, the fate she couldn’t escape. “I have no time for hand-wringing or for regrets, yours or mine, so buck up and get over it. The first moment I held Lucas in my arms I forgave you for everything. I blessed you. Now you need to forgive yourself, if only for Lucas’s sake. Can you do that?”

       Molly pondered the question, then nodded. “Yes,” she said. “But it won’t be easy.”

       “Nobody said anything about easy,” Psyche responded. “Lucas will have fevers, and skinned knees, and all manner of required boy-experiences. Dealing with Keegan won’t be any stroll through the lilies either, but then, I suppose you’ve deduced that already.”

       Ruefully Molly nodded again.

       “I’ve asked Keegan to be the executor of my estate,” Psyche confirmed. “He wanted to adopt Lucas himself, you know. Leave you completely out of the picture. I refused, because I believe a child needs a mother.”

       “How—” Molly choked, cleared her throat, started over. “How can you trust me, after all that happened?”

       Psyche smiled. “This wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment decision, Molly. I’m not giving Lucas to you just because you happen to be his birth mother. You’ve been checked out by the best private investigators in Los Angeles.”

       “But you said something about not knowing my financial situation.”

       “I lied,” Psyche said sweetly.

       Molly laughed. Suddenly, unexpectedly, a raw, soblike guffaw escaped her, and she put a hand over her mouth, too late.

       Psyche’s pain-weary eyes twinkled. “Perhaps we can be friends, even this late in the game,” she said. “What do you think?”

       “I think I’d be honored to be your friend,” Molly answered.

       “Know what?” Psyche asked.

       “What?”

       “Thayer wasn’t good enough to lick your shoes, either.”

       Once again Molly laughed. She laughed so hard that she finally had to lay her head down on her folded arms and cry as though her very soul were bruised.

       Which, of course, it was.

      * * *

      AT SUNSET, KEEGAN STOOD looking up at the Ferris wheel looming in the middle of Indian Rock’s small park, trying to work up a celebratory mood. Try as he might, he couldn’t.

       Psyche was dying.

       McKettrickCo was being torn apart from the inside.

       Shelley wanted to take Devon thousands of miles away and install her in some institution so she and the boyfriend could walk the streets of Paris and hold hands in the rain.

       What a load.

       Keegan, meanwhile, was on tilt, like a pinball machine with a phone book under one leg.

       “Dad?”

       He looked down, saw Devon