McKettrick's Heart by Linda Lael Miller

Rance’s trailer. Instead he’d promised that he and Rance would be there, help him through the imminent loss of one of his closest friends.
    â€œDamn,” Keegan repeated, more fiercely this time.
    â€œIs something wrong?” Psyche asked.
    â€œNothing at all,” Keegan said, glaring at Jesse.
    â€œYou’ll be by Monday afternoon to sign the papers?”
    â€œMonday afternoon,” Keegan promised. Then he turned, without another word, and walked away.
    Â 
    M OLLY STOOD with her back to a tree and a finger in one ear, talking into her cell phone. It wasn’t easy, given that a carnival and town picnic were going on all around her.
    â€œDenby, listen to me—”
    â€œI want a new agent!” Denby Godridge screamed. He was taking it hard, not making the bestseller lists with his last epic novel. Molly had sold it for big bucks on the strength of a Pulitzer Prize won in the 1970s, and the publishers weren’t too pleased, either. “It was bad enough when you worked out of L.A.,” Denby ranted. “Now I’m supposed to deal with someone in Indian Rock, Arizona? ”
    â€œDenby, please—”
    â€œYou’re fired, Molly!”
    Molly closed her eyes.
    Denby hung up with a crash.
    Tears seeped between Molly’s lashes.
    â€œBoyfriend tired of waiting for the loot to start rolling in?” The voice was only too familiar.
    She opened her eyes. Sure enough, there stood Keegan, with his hands jammed into the pockets of his grass-stained slacks, hair mussed, as though he’d been running his fingers through it. Behind him, the pink, green and blue lights of the Ferris wheel blended like colorful amoebas.
    She shoved the phone back into her purse, marched over to him, wrenched off her favorite straw hat and slapped him in the belly with it. “You know what, Mr. Smart-Ass Keegan Freaking McKettrick? I’ve had just about enough of your snide remarks and sleazy insinuations!”
    His eyes widened when she popped him with the hat. They were the most extraordinary blue, those eyes. The color of new denim.
    Then, remarkably, he laughed.
    â€œAre you drunk?” she demanded.
    â€œNo,” he said. “But I wish I were.” He paused a beat. “Who made you cry, Molly Shields?”
    The question took her aback. She looked down, saw that the flower had fallen off her hat, and bent to retrieve it. Unfortunately, so did Keegan at the same moment, and they conked heads.
    â€œOww,” Keegan complained, laying a hand to his crown as he straightened. He looked and sounded so much like a small boy that Molly, contending with a skull fracture of her own, laughed right out loud.
    Keegan’s eyes softened slightly, and Molly felt a tiny pinch, smack in the center of her heart.
    â€œWho made you cry?” he asked again.
    She sighed, fumbling to pin the flower back onto the brim of her hat. “It was nothing,” she said. “I’ve just had a lot of emotional ups and downs lately.”
    â€œHaven’t we all?” Keegan muttered.
    â€œNobody more than Psyche,” Molly replied, giving up on the flower and shoving it into the twilight zone of her bag, where the phone had already disappeared. A chilly breeze made her hug herself.
    â€œCold?” Keegan asked.
    â€œI’m fine,” Molly said.
    â€œYou look like somebody who could appreciate a good joke.”
    She squinted. “Huh?”
    â€œPsyche thinks you and I ought to get married,” Keegan told her, “and adopt Lucas together. How crazy is that?”
    â€œ Real crazy,” Molly was quick to say. Now, why did it hurt so much that he thought the idea of marrying her was ludicrous enough to be funny?
    His eyes turned serious now, intent. Molly wondered if she had barbecue sauce on her face, and while she was considering the possibility, he took her by surprise with a kiss.
    Electricity coursed through her, like a bolt of