McKettrick's Heart by Linda Lael Miller Page A

“Do you like shoes?” she asked.
    â€œI have a closetful,” Molly said, confused.
    â€œI’m Devon,” the child told her. “Devon McKettrick. This is my dad.”
    Molly smiled stiffly. “Hello, Devon,” she responded, glancing at Keegan. “My name is Molly Shields. Your dad and I have already met.”
    â€œShe has a lot of shoes,” Devon told her father.
    â€œGo play,” Keegan answered.
    Devon didn’t move. She looked down at Lucas, then up at Molly. “Is this your little boy?”
    Molly didn’t know how to answer.
    â€œGo and play, Devon,” Keegan repeated.
    â€œI’m just trying to find out if she’s on the market,” Devon told him.
    Emma laughed.
    Keegan’s neck reddened.
    â€œAre you married?” Devon persisted, turning back to Molly, keen as a prosecutor pursuing a point of law in a courtroom.
    â€œDevon,” Keegan warned.
    â€œNo,” Molly said nervously. “No, I’m not married.”
    â€œBut you have a baby?”
    Keegan awaited her answer.
    Emma shuffled Devon off to join the other kids at the shoe-fest.
    â€œWhat’s with that kid and shoes?” Molly asked, to forestall the sarcastic remark Keegan had surely been planning to make.
    â€œIt’s a fixation, hopefully temporary,” Keegan said. “How’s Psyche?”
    Molly sighed, saddened. “Weak. She’s hoping to attend the Fourth of July picnic and stay for the fireworks, though.”
    Pain flashed in Keegan’s eyes. He started to say something, then stopped.
    Molly felt compelled to speak, even though she knew it would have been better to hold her tongue. “Florence and I both thought she should rest,” she said, “but Psyche’s got her heart set on joining the celebration. So we’re bringing her.”
    Keegan considered the plan in silence, probably disapproving.
    Molly pushed the stroller over to the counter and set the coffee mug down. “I guess Lucas and I had better be getting back,” she said. She smiled at Emma. “Thank you.”
    â€œCome back soon,” Emma said, looking puzzled.
    Keegan held the door open so Molly could push the stroller out onto the sidewalk. Was he being courteous, or did he just want to get rid of her as quickly as possible?
    He followed her outside. “Molly?”
    She turned, frowning.
    â€œI could give you and the boy a ride back to Psyche’s,” he said.
    â€œDo you have a car seat?” Molly heard herself ask. As if she’d get in a car with Keegan McKettrick, after the way he’d treated her.
    He shook his head.
    â€œWe’ll walk, then,” Molly said righteously.
    It gave her some satisfaction to march off down the street without once looking back.
    But not much.
    Â 
    S EATED ON THE FRONT PORCH swing, Psyche watched through the screen as Molly pushed Lucas up the walk. He’d fallen asleep in the stroller, hunkered down, with his head lolling to one side.
    â€œThey’re bonding,” she said to Florence, who was setting out a light lunch on the small wrought-iron patio table.
    Florence grumbled as she poured lemonade into chilled glasses, one for Psyche, one for Molly and one for herself.
    â€œGive her a chance, Florence,” Psyche pleaded softly.
    â€œShe’s probably some kind of crook,” Florence whispered. “Keegan thinks so, and so do I.”
    â€œWell, you’re both full of sheep-dip,” Psyche said. “I had Molly’s background checked. Do you think I’d hand my baby over to some stranger?”
    â€œNo telling what you’d do,” Florence groused.
    â€œHush,” Psyche said, but gently. She’d been younger than Lucas when Florence had joined the family, pushed up her sleeves and put Psyche’s topsy-turvy world to rights. Her parents, both alcoholics, had been content to donate money from a distance and leave their only child’s