McKettrick's Heart by Linda Lael Miller Page A

demanded, as though he thought Molly might have given Psyche a dash of drain cleaner as a nightcap.
    Florence must have called him, Molly thought distractedly.
    But she did manage an answer. “She’s—Psyche’s in a lot of pain. A lot of pain.”
    â€œAnd you’re standing out here because—?”
    A ferocious anger rose up within Molly, along with something else, some emotion she wasn’t ready to acknowledge, let alone analyze. “Well, because it’s such a nice night!” she yelled, flinging her arms out from her sides.
    â€œOh, shut up,” Keegan said, starting for the clinic’s entrance.
    Molly had to scramble to keep pace. “What if she dies?” she pleaded.
    Keegan stopped just inside the double glass doors and looked down into her face, frowning. “Keep up. Psyche has terminal cancer. There isn’t going to be a Hallmark moment.”
    â€œDo you have to be such a prick?” Molly whispered, not even trying to keep back her tears.
    From somewhere in the rear of the clinic, Psyche screamed.
    Keegan bolted in that direction.
    Molly paced.
    Her phone rang.
    She ferreted it out of her purse, flipped it open and barked an anxious hello.
    â€œYou’re fired,” Denby said. Though he’d uttered only two words, it was obvious that he was roaring drunk.
    â€œDenby?” Molly replied. “Screw off.”
    Having made that professional and dignified remark, she snapped the phone shut.
    The woman behind the reception desk gave her a disapproving look.
    Molly homed in on her. “Tell me something about Psyche,” she said.
    â€œShe has terminal cancer,” the woman replied. She was about thirty, a little overweight and distinctly homegrown.
    â€œThanks for the news flash,” Molly said. “I just heard her scream. I want to know what the hell is going on back there!”
    â€œAre you a member of the family?”
    â€œNo. I’m a—friend.”
    â€œThen I can’t give you any information without Mrs. Ryan’s permission.”
    â€œKeegan McKettrick is with her. How come he didn’t need permission?”
    â€œBecause he’s Keegan McKettrick.”
    Molly drew a deep breath, huffed it out, sucked in more air. “Look, let’s start over here, okay?”
    â€œOkay,” the woman said placidly.
    â€œThere’s a woman back at Psyche’s place, waiting to hear what’s going on. I need to tell her something. ”
    â€œThat would be Florence?”
    â€œThat would be Florence.”
    â€œI’ll see what I can find out.”
    â€œThat would be fabulous of you.”
    The woman disappeared into the bowels of the clinic.
    Before she returned, a good-looking blond man rushed in, as sleep rumpled as Keegan had been.
    The receptionist returned. “Doc’s called for an ambulance,” she told Molly and the blond man. “They’re taking her to Flagstaff.”
    â€œChrist,” the blond man muttered.
    And then he disappeared, just as Keegan had.
    â€œI suppose he’s a McKettrick, too,” Molly said tersely, digging for her phone again.
    â€œYou suppose right,” said the receptionist.
    Molly punched in Psyche’s home number. Florence answered on the first ring.
    â€œTell me what’s happening to my baby,” she demanded.
    â€œThey’re taking her to Flagstaff.”
    â€œDear God,” Florence said.
    Keegan stormed out of the back.
    The blond man followed.
    Keegan banged out through the front doors, practically springing the hinges.
    â€œDamn it,” said the receptionist. “If they’re going to fight, we might be here until next week patching them up.”
    Molly headed for the doors.
    Under the outside lights she saw Keegan shove the blond man. The blond man shoved back.
    â€œMolly?” Florence said from the cell phone.
    â€œI’ll keep you updated,” Molly replied, and hung up.
    The