Raising the Stakes

Mary O’Connell clucked her tongue against her teeth. “What does he know? He’s hardly out of diapers.”

“He has enough diplomas from enough fancy places to paper these walls, and he’s seen what your arteries look like.”

“Looked like.” Mary took a sip of her coffee. “Thanks to this bread and water diet, my arteries probably look magnificent by now. I can see the obituary already.” Her voice dropped in pitch. “`Mary Elizabeth O’Connell, once feared for her sharp tongue, ruled the Desert Song Hotel and Casino until she grew old, weak and useless. She leaves behind three sons, three daughters, and an arterial system so beautiful that it won the praise of every high-priced teenaged cardiologist in Nevada, California and points east including Boston and New York…’“

Keir laughed, as she’d hoped he would. “You’re not dying. And you’re not old, weak or useless.”

“I notice you haven’t corrected that phrase about me having a sharp tongue.”

“I prefer to think of you as having a rapier wit.” He smiled, lifted her free hand to his lips and kissed the knuckles. “Are you sure you’re feeling well, Duchess?”

“Wonderfully well, if painfully bored. I see Dr. Maudlin next week and when I do, I’m going to tell him it’s time I started easing back into work.”

“His name is Mandlin,” Keir said, his lips curving in a grin.

“Whatever. I’m weary of sitting on my butt. It’s time I began putting in an honest eight hours.”

“Don’t you mean twelve?”

Mary sat back, her hands clasping the carved arms of her chair, and fixed her son with an exasperated look.

“You’ve been helping me run this place ever since your father died, and doing it all on your own these past months. Can you look me in the eye and tell me it’s an eight-hour-a-day job?”

“No,” Keir said bluntly. What was the sense of arguing with his mother when she knew the truth as well as he did? “But you can’t do it all by yourself. You’ll need to delegate authority.”

“I did. I delegated it to you.”

And you’ll need to delegate it to someone else, once you’re back on your feet. That was what he longed to tell her, but how could he? She’d told him, dozens of times, that she’d never have been able to keep the Song without him. How could he tell her that he didn’t want to spend the rest of his life running this place, especially when he had no idea what it was he did want to spend his life doing?

“Keir? Is that why you’ve been pacing like a caged tiger? Have you come to tell me you’re weary of running the Song?”

“No,” he said quickly, “of course not.” Keir put his hands on his thighs, sighed and rose to his feet. “Something’s come up.”

“About?”

“About Dawn Carter. The girl I just put into that Special Services slot.”

“I know who she is. I suggested her for the job, remember?” Mary stood up, too. “What’s the matter? Has something happened to her?”

“No.” He shook his head, saw the sudden pallor in his mother’s face and cursed sharply as he went to her side and caught her shoulders in his hands. “Sit down, for God’s sake.”

“The girl—”

“The girl’s fine. Jesus, I didn’t mean to scare you. I only want to discuss a situation that involves her, that’s all.”

Mary nodded. She’d liked the girl on sight and what she’d subsequently learned about her had brought out all her protective maternal instincts. If D

awn were her daughter…

“Mother?”

“Yes, I heard you. Well, don’t keep me in suspense. Sit down and tell me about it.”

Keir folded himself into the chair and sat forward, his hands on his knees. “I want to know what you’ve kept from me about Dawn.”

“Why?” Mary’s slender white brows lifted. “Are you interested in her?”

“Yes. No. Not the way you mean.” He laughed. “Will you ever stop trying to get me married off?”