Revenge

  Max, conjuring up Skye’s image, couldn’t argue with that.

  “He screwed you over royal,” Jenner said, then picked up his hat from the couch. As he shoved it over his forehead, he admitted, “Did the same to me, you know.”

  “Beth,” Max said, remembering the one time Jenner had been rumored to have fallen for a woman. Max had been in San Francisco at the time, but he’d heard from Casey that Jenner had finally fallen in love. Soon thereafter, Beth, like Skye, had disappeared. To this day, Jenner rarely spoke of her.

  “I can’t prove it, but I think he found a way to get her out of town. Not that it matters.” Jenner’s eyes flashed with malice and a deeper, more difficult to define emotion. “Face it, Max, the old man was a first-class bastard. No two ways about it. He did things his way and to hell with anyone else.”

  Max didn’t argue. Ever since taking over the business and reviewing files that prior to Jonah’s death had been off-limits to him, Max had found case after case of his father’s larceny.

  “I think I’ll head over to the Black Anvil,” Jenner said. “Want to join me?”

  “Another time.”

  As his brother closed the door of the office behind him, Max was left with a bad taste in his mouth. True, Jonah had manipulated people and, in many cases, shown no empathy for anyone who didn’t see things the way he did. But murder? In this sleepy little farming community? It seemed like blasphemy.

  He spent the rest of the afternoon in meetings with lawyers and accountants and specialists who assured him that the company, McKee Enterprises, was doing well despite the loss of its figurehead and president. Cattle prices were on the upswing, and most of the rents were more than enough to cover the mortgages and maintenance on the buildings that were leased by McKee Enterprises. More copper had been found in the old Jansen mine, timber sales were up and the Wagner sawmill that Jonah had acquired two months before his death in a desperation sale, was already breaking even. With the layoffs Jonah had insisted upon, the old mill would be turning a profit by the end of the year.

  “What about the men who lost their jobs?” Max asked the skinny accountant with gold-rimmed reading glasses. Bill Renfield had been a few years ahead of Max in school—a scrawny, pimply-faced kid who was a math whiz. Now he was a number cruncher for the company.

  “What about them?”

  “Will they be rehired?” Max paced nervously between the window and his desk. All hell seemed to have broken out. The murder investigation, his ongoing battle with Colleen over Hillary and all the problems surrounding the business. The only bright spot was his one night with Skye. But even that little bit of heaven was complicated. Too complicated.

  “I don’t see how we can put anyone back on the payroll. At least not yet. Most of the men are collecting unemployment and Wagner had some kind of retirement setup for a couple of the guys who’d worked for him for thirty years or so, but the rest... well, they’ll just have to retrain or find jobs in another mill.”

  “What other mill?” Max asked.

  “Peterkin was hiring in Dawson City and over in the valley.”

  “These men don’t live in the Willamette Valley,” Max growled. “They live here.”

  “I know, Mr. McKee, but there are lots of changes all over the timber industry. What with the government ban on old growth, imported lumber taking away jobs from our mills and the trend to other kinds of building materials, times are tough for everyone. People—workers and executives both—will have to be a little more flexible.”

  “Except McKee Enterprises.” Max’s voice was laced with sarcasm. “Our mill is going to make a profit.”

  “And if things turn around, then we’ll rehire.” Renfield gathered up his notes. “That’s the bottom line.”

  He left and Max kicked a metal trash can so hard it went reeling across the room to bang against the wall. His muscles were tight, his fists clenched in frustration. He wasn’t a bleeding-heart liberal. Hell, he’d gone to law school and knew the score. Men and women were thrown out of work every day. He’d grown up with the dim realization that his father had power over other people’s lives. But he didn’t like being in command; he couldn’t stomach hardworking people becoming desperate.

  Just before five, Louise, his father’s secretary whom Max had inherited when Jonah had died, brought in the old accounting printouts and checking-account statements that he’d asked for—statements that were seven years old. Louise Jones was a pleasant woman with a sharp mind. She had always liked Max and, despite being distraught over his father’s death, had helped him ease into his newfound role as head of the company.

  “Here you go,” she said, blowing at the dust on the old ledgers. “Is there anything else?”

  Max thumbed through the statements and old checks. “This should do it.”

  “Would you like me to stay?” she asked.

  “Naw. I’ll just be here a little while,” he said with a forced smile. He couldn’t tell her that his future rested upon what he found in the old records.

  “All right then. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Her eyes clouded a little. “I hope that Sheriff Polk is wrong. I can’t believe that anyone would want to kill your father.”

  “I guess we’ll find out.”

  She made a quick sign of the cross over her frail chest and said a hasty goodbye.

  Once he was completely alone, Max found a glass and an old bottle of Scotch in the bar, poured himself a stiff drink and began going through the old ledgers. As the smoky flavor of the liquor warmed the pit of his stomach, he began to read through the old pages and he hoped to high heaven that his father had been lying. Max hadn’t believed that Skye would take money to leave and he didn’t believe it now, seven years later.

  He took another swallow of liquor when he saw the notation, made the day before she left, of a payment of twenty-five thousand dollars made payable to Skye Donahue. His jaw clenched and he felt a tic developing beneath his eye as he made a mental note of the check number, then began going through the old boxes of canceled checks.

  It didn’t take long. His heart nearly stopped when he found it—a check issued in Jonah’s harsh script. The payee was Skye Donahue; the amount twenty-five thousand dollars. So Jonah hadn’t been bluffing, hadn’t shown him a fake check all those years ago. A part of him had wanted to believe that the old manipulator had taken advantage of Max’s emotional state and shown him a fake payoff. “Hell.” Max, his guts twisting at her deceit, flipped the damned piece of paper over. Oddly enough, Skye’s signature didn’t appear, but a stamp indicating she’d put the funds into her checking account convinced him that, as his father had so calmly attested, she’d sold out for twenty-five grand.

  He felt like he might throw up. Bile rose in his throat and something deep inside him—faith, he supposed—seemed to wither and die. Hell, what kind of a fool was he to get involved with her all over again?

  And involved he was. He hardly spent a waking moment without her image flitting through his mind. Closing his eyes, he silently condemned himself for being a fool of the highest order.

  “Damn it all,” he muttered, stuffing the check in his pocket, then finishing his drink in one quick swallow. The liquor burned a hot, angry trail down his throat and his fingers clenched hard over the glass. In a sudden burst of fury, he flung the glass against the wall and watched it shatter into a thousand pieces.

  On his feet and striding to the door, he decided he’d give her a chance to explain, but this time, damn it, she’d better tell the truth. All of it.

  “I can’t believe you didn’t give the letter to Max,” Skye said as she rushed through the front door of Irene’s little bungalow.

  “What letter?”

  “The one you gave to Jonah McKee. The one addressed to his son. The one Max never saw until his father died.”

  Irene, adding water to a vase of wilting flowers, stiffened and some of the water dripped onto the table. “Oh, Lordy,” she whispered nervously and wiped up the spill with the cuf
f of her sleeve. “I had no idea—”

  “Mom,” Skye insisted, standing in the doorway and trying to quiet the rage that had been with her ever since she’d found out the truth. “Why didn’t you see that Max got it?”

  “I worked for Jonah, remember?” Irene said stubbornly, though her eyes had darkened with a private pain. “I never did anything behind his back.”

  Skye tried to hold on to her temper. Her fists tightened and she stuffed them into the pockets of her skirt. “You didn’t have to tell him about the letter. It was personal and had nothing to do with the company.”

  “He would’ve found out and then what would I have said?”

  “That it was none of his damned business!”

  Irene bit down on her lip. “I honestly believed that he’d give the letter to Max. He said he would and then later when I asked him about it, he told me Max had torn the envelope up without even reading the contents. I was shattered and thought I should call you, but Jonah told me it was out of my hands. That I should let things run their natural course.” Irene sighed loudly. “You don’t remember him, do you? How he was always in charge? How he made every decision and never once changed his mind? How the world seemed to revolve around him?”

  Skye couldn’t stomach the lies. “I remember him for the manipulating bastard he was, Mom, while you remember him as some kind of god on earth. He was a man, Mom, and he made mistakes. A lot of mistakes. Bad ones.”

  Irene opened her mouth, shut it again, then carried the empty water pitcher back to the kitchen. Setting it on the counter, she paused, her back still turned to Skye. “I guess you should know how I felt about him.”

  “I think I already do.”

  “Oh, no. You think I just loved him from afar, that I never told him how I felt, but you’re wrong.” Staring out the window over the sink, her shoulders stiff, Irene blinked rapidly. “I guess I was a fool, too, because I did tell him how I felt.”

  “Oh, Mom, no.” Skye’s heart was hammering and she wanted to close her ears to her mother’s confession. She didn’t want to hear any of the sordid details and believed that her mother’s private love life was none of her business. “You don’t have to do this.”

  “It’s time,” Irene said, her voice trembling slightly. Skye leaned against the archway for support. “It was a mistake, I know. We were both working late, all alone in the office, and there was a rainstorm like none I’ve ever seen before or since. In minutes, the streets were running with water and the wind was lashing at the windows.” Irene’s voice had grown soft and her shoulders sagged a little as she reminisced. “Jonah helped me to my car, carrying an umbrella for me. It got caught in the wind and turned inside out, and there we were, alone in the night, rain washing down our faces. We just stared at each other and it was like... like we were the only two people in the world.”

  Skye felt a chill as cold as an arctic sea settle in her heart.

  “In a second I knew he would kiss me.”

  “Mom, please—”

  “He did, you know. Kiss me like I’ve never been kissed.” Her throat clogged and she touched her lips as if she could still feel the heat of his mouth.

  “Oh, God, Mom, don’t—”

  “I told myself that it was wrong, that he was married, but damn it, Skye, I loved him. So when he quit kissing me, I blurted it out. ‘Jonah,’ I said, ‘I love you. I’ve loved you for years...I just can’t help myself.”’

  Skye wanted to drop through the floor. She could feel her mother’s pain and embarrassment—hot and pulsing. It seemed to throb through the small kitchen.

  “I suppose that sounds silly, but we were much younger then... you girls were still in grade school.” She swallowed hard and pressed fingertips to the corners of her eyes. “Well, Jonah told me he was flattered and kissed me again, then he helped me into my car and slammed the door. Through the open window, he told me that he’d always take care of me, that he’d provide for me, but that he respected me too much to sleep with me. I—I guess he needed me more in the office than...oh, well... Besides, he had lots of other women. Anyway, he never mentioned it again, but I got a raise and he kept good on his word, never letting me want for anything. You and I, we owe him a huge debt.” Her throat caught on the pain of being a woman rejected.

  “He tried to ruin my life,” Skye said woodenly. More than ever, she viewed Jonah McKee as a fiend, allowing her mother to worship him and love him when he would never return any of that ardor.

  “I know,” Irene said, turning to face her daughter and sniffing back her tears. “But you were strong, and Max, well, he seemed to survive. It didn’t take him long to marry someone that his father approved of.” Irene looked up at the ceiling. “You know, when you started dating Max, I thought my prayers had been answered. I’d always liked him and I wanted the best for you. I really thought it was a match made in heaven.”

  “Too bad Jonah didn’t agree.”

  “You were the one who wasn’t going to marry Max,” Irene observed sharply. “You’d already decided. It really didn’t matter what happened with Jonah. And now he’s dead.” Her throat worked and again tears shimmered in her eyes. “Maybe even murdered! Some private investigator Virginia hired, a man named Stone, was here today asking questions about the business. I wonder if Jonah will ever rest in peace.”

  There was a quick rap on the back door. Before Skye could answer it, the screen opened, and Dani, dressed in jeans, a work shirt, cowboy boots and matching tooled leather belt, let herself in. “So the rumor’s true,” she said, slanting a grin at her older sister, then hugging her fiercely. “You did come back. I wondered when you were going to land here in Rimrock. Jeff and I had a bet. Looks like I won. I’m sorry I didn’t show up sooner. We’ve been busy this year.” Dani smelled of horses and smoke, just as she had years before. She’d managed to build a reputable business training horses and leased a ranch near Dawson City with her husband, Jeff Stewart. They owned several prize quarter horses as well as some rodeo stock. “Oh, jeez,” she added, apparently noticing Skye’s pallor and her mother’s glistening eyes. “What’s going on here?”

  “It’s nothing...old business,” Irene said and turned back to the counter to dry the pitcher. Dani’s eyes met Skye’s beseeching her silently for the truth, but Skye shook her head. There was no reason to prolong this conversation any longer. It would only add to the pain and there seemed to be enough of that around to last a lifetime... probably several lifetimes.

  “Why did you think I’d be back?” Skye asked Dani, as their mother cleared her throat. “Didn’t you know I had offers from some of the most famous medical centers all over the world?”

  “Sure you did.” Dani opened the refrigerator, spied a can of cola and yanked it out. She held up the can as an offering. “Anyone else?”

  “Not for me,” Skye said and Irene shook her head.

  “God, I’m thirsty.” Dani popped the top, then took a long swallow. Her brow was furrowed, and Skye knew that once they were alone, Dani would demand answers, but for now she dropped the subject. “I always figured it was inevitable that you’d come back here or somewhere close by,” Dani said. “You don’t strike me as a big-city girl.”

  “I lived in a city for seven years—all through school and residency. I liked it.”

  “But you wouldn’t want to settle down there, raise a family...” Dani’s voice trailed off when she realized what she’d said. “I just meant—”

  “I know.” Skye refused to give in to the old pain. At one time, she’d been jealous of Dani who’d been fertile and borne a child she couldn’t care for—a baby she’d had to give up. But that had been years ago, before Skye had realized her own dreams of practicing medicine.

  Dani, coloring, reached into her purse, pulled out a pack of cigarettes, and catching the warning glare from her mother, frowned and shoved the pack back into her fringed bag. “So what’s it like being a doctor? Big bucks, a country club membership and dozens of handsome, rich, eligible bachel
ors all wanting to take you out, right?”

  “Exactly,” Skye agreed. “But you forgot about school debt, the mortgage, long hours and sick patients.”

  “Give me horses any day of the week. They’re easier to deal with.”

  “Amen,” Skye agreed and together she and her sister jollied Irene out of her bad mood. Skye tried to ignore her anger with her mother over the old letters. Too much time had passed to give in to the fury and hot injustice that had taken hold inside her. Despite everything, Skye believed that her mother had always done what she thought best for her daughters. And now, years later, Irene Donahue wasn’t in the best of health. It would do no one any good to hang on to her anger. Forcing herself, she let it go.

  By unspoken agreement, the name of Jonah McKee was left out of the rest of the conversation, though Dani did bring up a related topic. “Guess who I’m giving riding lessons to?” she asked with a cynical smile.

  “I couldn’t.” .

  “No?” Dani rolled her eyes. “Hillary McKee. Can you believe it?”

  Skye felt a tiny jab of pain in her stomach. “Hillary?”

  “Mmm. Imagine that. Me working for a McKee again. It’s the first time since I tried to break that stubborn colt for Casey years ago.”

  “I, uh, I thought you and Casey were friends.”

  Dani shrugged. “She’s okay. But I’m still not crazy about her brothers.”

  “They’re good people,” Irene said. “Every one of them.”

  “Well, you know me, I never could pass up a chance at getting some of the McKee money. Besides, now that the old man’s gone, it’s easier to work over there.”

  “Dani!” Irene exclaimed.