McKettrick's Heart by Linda Lael Miller

the right.”
    Molly stood stricken, and over Psyche’s head her gaze collided with Florence’s. And what Molly saw in Florence’s eyes made Keegan’s disdain seem like unbridled praise.
    â€œI guess I’ll go to bed,” she said, as if anybody gave a damn whether she turned in for the night or jumped off the roof.
    â€œYou do that,” Florence said.
    â€œI could help Psyche upstairs—”
    â€œ I’ll take care of Psyche,” Florence interrupted.
    Molly fled, avoiding the elevator to bound up all three flights of stairs, hoping to exhaust herself.
    Nothing doing.
    She looked in on Lucas, left the door open between his room and her own. Took a shower. Went to her laptop and checked her e-mail.
    Major mistake. At the moment she wasn’t any more popular in New York and Los Angeles than she was in Indian Rock.
    She paced.
    The elevator ground its way up to the top floor.
    Molly peeked out into the hall, and was surprised to see Florence there, without Psyche.
    â€œShe’s in a bad way,” Florence said. “Hurting something awful. You’ve got to take her to the clinic. I done called the doctor, and he’ll meet you there.”
    Molly didn’t hesitate. She dashed back into her room, exchanged her shorty pajamas for jeans and a tank top, shoved her feet into a pair of sandals and grabbed her purse.
    â€œYou’ll look after Lucas?” she asked, in the hallway again.
    â€œOf course I will,” Florence retorted. “You can take the station wagon. Psyche’ll never be able to get into that big SUV of hers. You call me soon as you know anything. Anything at all.”
    â€œI will,” Molly promised. She stole one last peek at Lucas and raced to the elevator, nearly shutting the door in Florence’s face as the housekeeper joined her.
    Still in the kitchen, Psyche was bent double and groaning.
    Molly realized she didn’t know where the clinic was.
    Florence gave her directions, and between the two of them they managed to get Psyche into the garage, then into the car. If Florence hadn’t raised the rolling door from a switch, Molly probably would have backed right through it.
    â€œIt hurts,” Psyche moaned. “Oh, God—it hurts—”
    Molly’s heart seized. “Hang on,” she said, zooming backward along the driveway and shooting out onto the road.
    â€œWhat if this is it?” Psyche fretted between groans. “I didn’t get to say goodbye to Lucas….”
    â€œDon’t even think like that,” Molly snapped, spinning the steering wheel of the big station wagon. It was like driving a tank. “And isn’t there an ambulance in this chickenshit town?”
    Psyche laughed, despite what must have been almost incomprehensible pain. “It would have to come from Flagstaff,” she said. And then she doubled over again and gave a keening cry that chilled Molly’s blood.
    When they screeched to a stop in front of the clinic, there were people with stethoscopes hanging around their necks waiting, thank God. And they had a gurney.
    Two nurses and a doctor who looked older than dirt.
    Molly’s panic escalated.
    The doctor had gray hair and a Hal Holbrook kind of face, kindly and full of character. Gently, with a strength Molly wouldn’t have guessed he had, he lifted Psyche out of the station wagon and single-handedly laid her on the gurney.
    â€œEasy now, sweetheart,” he said to Psyche. “Remember when you were thirteen, and your appendix ruptured? I took care of you then, didn’t I?”
    Molly froze, right there on the pavement outside the entrance to the clinic, suddenly unable to move.
    In fact, she was still standing in the same place minutes later when the black Jaguar zipped in, passing so close it nearly crushed her toes.
    Keegan got out, wearing hastily buttoned jeans and a white T-shirt, partially tucked in. “What happened?” he