kiddo,â he said. Another glance at Devon told him the kid was worried. He smiled at her, then gave Shelley a jaunty wave and turned his back on her.
â Fuck you, Keegan,â Shelley told him.
He faced her again, smiled warmly, for Devonâs sake, and kept his voice low. âWe might still be married,â he said, âif youâd limited yourself to that. Sleeping with me, I mean. But that would have cramped your style, wouldnât it, Shell?â
âLike you were so perfect,â Shelley challenged, but sheâd pulled in her horns a little.
âNice talking to you,â he said. Then he opened the door on the driverâs side and slipped behind the wheel.
Shelley stood watching from the portico as they drove away, her face like a gathering storm.
âI donât want to go to Paris,â Devon told him.
Startled, Keegan gave her a sidelong glance. Maybe sheâd heard all or part of his conversation with Shelley after all. God, he hoped not.
âDonât worry about it,â he said.
They pulled out onto a quiet, tree-lined street, in one of the best neighborhoods in Flagstaff. Despite her coffee-tea-or-me experience with the airline and the centerfold, Shelley probably would have been renting a single-wide in some trailer park if it hadnât been for him. She had the financial instincts of a crack addict.
âI canât speak French,â Devon told him.
He reached across to squeeze her shoulder, found it stiff with tension. âYouâre not going to France,â he said.
âMom says itâs romantic. Paris, I mean. She gets all dreamy when she talks about it. She and Rory are going to hold hands in the rain.â
Keegan suppressed a sigh. Rory worked as a personal trainer. Shelley didnât work at all. If she and Rory got married, there would be no more alimony, and sheâd have to sell the fancy house and split the proceeds with her pesky ex, settlement notwithstanding.
All of which meant he wouldnât be shopping for a wedding gift anytime soon. Damn it.
âIâve been thinking, Dev,â he said, stepping carefully into a delicate subject. âHow would you feel about coming to live with me on the ranch? Permanently, I mean?â
âMom wonât let me,â Devon answered, and out of the corner of his eye Keegan saw her shrink in on herself, shoulders stooped, chin lowered to rest in the pink fluff on top of the teddy bearâs head. She had a death grip on the stuffed animal, both arms locked around it. âShe needs the child support.â
Keeganâs stomach clenched like a fist. âShe told you that?â
âI heard her and Rory talking.â
Silently Keegan cursed his ex-wife and her muscle-brained boyfriend. âShe loves you, sweetheart. You know that.â
Devon shrugged. âWhatever.â After a short silence, she added, âThey fight a lot.â
It was all Keegan could do not to pull a U-turn in the middle of the street, speed back to the house and confront Shelley, back-to-the-wall style. âIs that right?â he asked carefully. Moderately.
Inside, he seethed.
Heâd talked to Travis Reid, who was his attorney as well as a friend, about suing Shelley for full custody. Travis figured things would get ugly if he did, and most of the fallout would come down on Devon.
âAbout money,â Devon went on, mercifully oblivious to the turmoil going on inside the man she believed to be her father. âThatâs mostly what they fight about. Rory wants to get married, but Mom says theyâll be broke if they do.â
Keeganâs sinuses burned, and the backs of his eyes stung. He drew a deep breath. âYou like this Rory yahoo?â
Another shrug of shoulders too small to carry the burden of two parents who despised each other, plus a boyfriend. âHeâs all right,â Devon said.
âYou arenât going to any boarding school in