Big Sky Mountain

CHAPTER ONE



A FINE SWEAT broke out between Hutch Carmody’s shoulders and his gut warned that he was fixing to stumble straight into the teeth of a screeching buzz saw. The rented tux itched against his hide and his collar seemed to be getting tighter with every flower-scented breath he drew.

The air was dense, weighted, cloying. The small church was overheated, especially for a sunny day in mid-June, and the pews were crammed with eager guests, a few weeping women and a fair number of skeptics.

Hutch’s best man, Boone Taylor, fidgeted beside him.

The organist sounded a jarring chord and then launched into a perky tune Hutch didn’t recognize. The first of three bridesmaids, all clad in silly-looking pink dresses more suited to little girls than grown women—in his opinion anyhow—drag-stepped her way up the aisle to stand beside the altar, across from him and Boone.

Hutch’s head reeled, but he quickly reminded himself, silently of course, that he had to live in this town—his ranch was just a few miles outside of it. If he passed out cold at his own wedding, he’d still be getting ribbed about it when he was ninety.

While the next bridesmaid started forward, he did his distracted best to avoid so much as glancing toward Brylee Parrish, his wife to be, who was standing at the back of the church beside her brother, Walker. He knew all too well how good she looked in that heirloom wedding gown of hers, with its billowing veil and dazzling sprinkle of rhinestones.

Brylee was beautiful, with cascades of red-brown hair that tumbled to her waist when she let it down. Her wide-set hazel eyes revealed passion, as well as formidable intelligence, humor and a country girl’s in-born practicality.

He was a lucky man.

Brylee, on the other hand, was not so fortunate, having hooked up with the likes of him. She deserved a husband who loved her.

Suddenly, Hutch’s gaze connected with that of his half brother, Slade Barlow. Seated near the front, next to his very pregnant wife, Joslyn, Slade slowly shook his head from side to side, his expression so solemn that a person would have thought somebody was about to be buried instead of hitched to one of the choicest women Parable County had ever produced.

Hutch’s insides churned, then coalesced into a quivering gob and did a slow, backward roll.

The last bridesmaid had arrived.

The minister was in place.

The smell of the flowers intensified, nearly overwhelming Hutch.

And then the first notes of “Here Comes the Bride” rang out.

Hutch felt the room—hell, the whole planet—sway again.

Brylee, beaming behind the thin fabric of her veil, nodded in response to something her brother whispered to her and they stepped forward.

“Hold it,” Hutch heard himself say loudly enough to be heard over the thundering joy of the organ. He held up both hands, like a referee about to call a foul in some fast-paced game. “Stop.”

Everything halted—with a sickening lurch.

The music died.

The bride and her brother seemed frozen in mid-stride.

Hutch would have sworn the universe itself had stopped expanding.

“This is all wrong,” he went on miserably, but with his back straight and his head up. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t broached the subject with Brylee before—he’d been trying to get out of this fix for weeks. Just the night before, in fact, he’d sat Brylee down in a vinyl upholstered booth at the Silver Lanes snack bar and told her straight out that he had serious misgivings about getting married and needed some breathing space.

Brylee had cried, her mascara smudging, her nose reddening at the tip.

“You don’t mean it,” she’d said, which was her standard response to any attempt he made to put on the brakes before they both plummeted over a matrimonial cliff. “You’re just nervous, that’s all. It’s entirely normal. But once the wedding is over and we’re on our honeymoon—”

Hutch couldn’t stand it when a woman cried, especially when he was the cause of her tears. Like every other time, he’d backed down, tried to convince himself that Brylee was right—he just had cold feet, that was all.

Now, though, “push” had run smack up against “shove.”

It was now or never.

He faced Brylee squarely.

The universe unfroze itself, like some big machine with rusted gears, and all hell broke loose.

Brylee threw down her bouquet, stomped on it once, whirled on one heel and rushed out of the church. Walker flung a beleaguered and not entirely friendly look in Hutch’s direction, then turned to go after his sister.

The guests, already on their feet in honor of the bride, all started talking at once, abuzz with shock and speculation.

Things like this might happen in books or movies, but they didn’t happen in Parable, Montana.

Until now, Hutch reflected dismally.

He started to follow Brylee out of the church, not an easy proposition with folks crowding the aisle. He didn’t have the first clue what he could say to her, but he figured he had to say something.

Before he’d taken two strides, though, Slade and Boone closed in on him from either side, each taking a firm grip on one of his arms.

“Let her go,” Boone said quietly.

“There’s nothing you can do,” Slade confirmed.

With that, they hustled him quickly out of the main chapel and into the small side room where the choir robes, hymnals and Communion gear were stored.

Hutch wondered if a lynch mob was forming back there in the sanctuary.

“You picked a fine time to change your mind about getting married,” Boone remarked, but his tone was light and his eyes twinkled with something that looked a lot like relief.

Hutch unfastened his fancy tie and shoved it into one coat pocket. Then he opened his collar halfway to his breastbone and sucked in a breath. “I tried to tell her,” he muttered. He knew it sounded lame, but the truth was the truth.

Although he and Slade shared a father, they had been at bloody-knuckled odds most of their lives. They’d made some progress toward getting along since the old man’s death and the upheaval that followed, but neither of them related to the other as a buddy, let alone a brother.

“Come on out to our place,” Slade said, surprising him. “You’d best lay low for a few hours. Give Brylee—and Walker—a little time to cool off.”

Hutch stiffened slightly, though he found the invitation oddly welcome. Home, being Whisper Creek Ranch, was a lonely outpost these days—which was probably why he’d talked himself into proposing to Brylee in the first place.

“I have to talk to Brylee,” he repeated.

“There’ll be time for that later on,” Slade reasoned.

“Slade’s right,” Boone agreed. Boone, being violently allergic to marriage himself, probably thought Hutch had just dodged a figurative bullet.

Or maybe he was remembering that Brylee was a crack shot with a pistol, a rifle, or a Civil War cannon.

Given what had just happened, she was probably leaning toward the cannon right about now.

Hutch sighed. “All right,” he said to Slade. “I’ll kick back at your place for a while—but I’ve got to stop off at home first, so I can change out of this monkey suit.”

“Fine,” Slade agreed. “I’ll round up the women and meet you at the Windfall in an hour or two.”

By “the women,” Slade meant his lovely wife, Joslyn, his teenage stepdaughter, Shea, and Opal Dennison, the force-of-nature who kept house for the Barlow outfit. Slade’s mother, Callie, had had the good grace to skip the ceremony—old scandals die hard in a town the size of Parable and recollections of her long-ago affair with Carmody Senior, from which Slade had famously resulted, were as sharp as ever.

Today’s escapade would put all that in the shade, of course. Tongues were wagging and jaws were flapping for sure—by now, various up-to-the-minute accounts were probably popping up on all the major social media sites. Before Slade and Boone had dragged Hutch out of the sanctuary, he’d seen several people whip out their cell phones and start texting. A few pictures had been taken, too, with those same ubiquitous devices.

The thought of all that amateur reporting made Hutch close his eyes for a moment. “Shit,” he murmured.

“Knee-deep and rising,” Slade confirmed, sounding resigned.

* * *

KENDRA SAT AT the antique table in her best friend Joslyn’s kitchen, with Callie Barlow in the chair directly across from hers. The ranch house was unusually quiet, with its usual occupants gone to town.

A glance over one shoulder assured Kendra that her recently adopted four-year-old daughter, Madison, was still napping on a padded window seat, her stuffed purple kangaroo, Rupert, clenched in her arms. The little girl’s gleaming hair, the color of a newly minted penny, lay in tousled curls around her cherubic face and Kendra felt the usual pang of hopeless devotion just looking at her.

This long-sought, hard-won, much-wanted child.

This miracle.

Not that every woman would have seen the situation from the same perspective as Kendra did—Madison was, after all, living proof that Jeffrey had been unfaithful, a constant reminder that it was dangerous to love, treacherous to trust, foolish to believe in another person too much. But none of that had mattered to Kendra in the end—she’d essentially been abandoned herself as a small child, left to grow up with a disinterested grandmother, and that gave her a special affinity for Madison. Besides, Jeffrey, having returned to his native England after summarily ending their marriage, had been dying.

Some men might have turned to family for help in such a situation—Jeffrey Chamberlain came from a very wealthy and influential one—but in this case, that wasn’t possible. Jeffrey’s aging parents were landed gentry with a string of titles, several sprawling estates and a fortune that dated back to the heyday of the East India Company, and were no more inclined toward child-rearing than they had been when their own two sons were small. They’d left Jeffrey and his brother in the care of nannies and housekeepers from infancy, and shipped them off to boarding school as soon as they turned six.

Understandably, Jeffrey hadn’t wanted that kind of cold and isolated childhood for his daughter.

So he’d sent word to Kendra that he had to see her, in person. He had something important to tell her.

She’d made that first of several trips to the U.K., keeping protracted vigils at her ex-husband’s hospital bedside while he drifted in and out of consciousness.

Eventually, he’d managed to get his message across: he told her about Madison, living somewhere in the U.S., and begged Kendra to find his daughter, adopt her and bring her up in love and safety. She was, he told her, the only person on earth he could or would trust with the child.

Kendra wanted nothing so much as a child and, during their brief marriage, Jeffrey had denied her repeated requests to start a family. It was a bitter pill to swallow, learning that he’d refused her a baby and then fathered one with someone else, someone he’d met on a business trip.

She’d done what Jeffrey asked, not so much for his sake—though she’d loved him once, or believed she did—as for Madison’s. And her own.

The search hadn’t been an easy one, even with the funds Jeffrey had set aside for the purpose, involving a great deal of web-surfing, phone calls and emails, travel and so many highs and lows that she nearly gave up several times.

Then it happened. She found Madison.

Kendra hadn’t known what she’d feel upon actually meeting her former husband’s child, but any doubts she might have had had been dispelled the moment—the moment—she’d met this cautious, winsome little girl.

The first encounter had taken place in a social worker’s dingy office, in a dusty desert town in California, and for Kendra, it was love at first sight.

The forever kind of love.

Months of legal hassles had followed, but now, at long last, Kendra and Madison were officially mother and daughter, in the eyes of God and government, and Kendra knew she couldn’t have loved her baby girl any more if she’d carried her in her own body for nine months.

Callie brought Kendra back to the present moment by reaching for the teapot in the center of the table and refilling Kendra’s cup, then her own.

“Do you think it’s over yet?” Kendra asked, instantly regretting the question but unable to hold back still another. “The wedding, I mean?”

Callie’s smile was gentle as she glanced at the clock on the stove top and met Kendra’s gaze again. “Probably,” she said quietly. Then, without another word, she reached out to give Kendra’s hand a light squeeze.

Madison, meanwhile, stirred on the window seat. “Mommy?”

Kendra turned again. “I’m here, honey,” she said.

Although Madison was adjusting rapidly, in the resilient way of young children, she still had bad dreams sometimes and she tended to panic if she lost sight of Kendra for more than a moment.

“Are you hungry, sweetie?” Callie asked the little girl. Slade’s mom would make a wonderful grandmother; she had a way with children, easy and forthright.

Madison shook her head as she moved toward Kendra and then scrambled up onto her lap.

“It’s been a while since lunch,” Kendra suggested, kissing the top of Madison’s head and holding her close. “Maybe you’d like a glass of milk and one of Opal’s oatmeal raisin cookies?”

Again, Madison shook her head, snuggling closer still. “No, thank you,” she said clearly, sounding, as she often did, more like a small adult than a four-year-old.

They’d arrived by car the night before and spent the night in the Barlows’ guest room, at Joslyn’s insistence.

The old house, the very heart of Windfall Ranch, was undergoing considerable renovation, which only added to the exuberant chaos of the place—and Madison was wary of everyone but Opal, the family housekeeper.

Just then, Slade and Joslyn’s dog, Jasper, heretofore snoozing on his bed in front of the newly installed kitchen fireplace, sat bolt upright and gave a questioning little whine. His floppy ears were pitched slightly forward, though he seemed to be listening with his entire body. Joslyn’s cat, Lucy-Maude, remained singularly unconcerned.

Madison looked at the animal with shy interest, still unsure whether to make friends with him or keep her distance.

“Well,” Callie remarked, getting to her feet and heading for the nearest window, the one over the steel sink, and peering out as the sound of a car’s engine reached them, “they’re back early. They must have decided to skip the reception.”

Jasper barked happily and hurried to the door. Joslyn had long since dubbed him the one-dog welcoming committee and at the moment he was spilling over with a wild desire to greet whoever happened to show up.

With a little chuckle, Callie opened the back door so Jasper could shoot through it like a fur-covered bullet, positively beside himself with joy. There was a little frown nestled between the older woman’s eyebrows, though, as she looked toward Kendra again. “This is odd,” she reiterated. “I hope Joslyn is feeling all right.”

Shea, Slade’s lovely dark-haired stepdaughter, just turned seventeen, burst into the house first, her violet eyes huge with excitement. “You’re not going to believe this, Grands,” she told Callie breathlessly. “The music was playing. The bridesmaids were all lined up and the preacher had his book open, ready to start. And what do you suppose happened?”

Kendra’s heart fluttered in her chest, but she didn’t speak.

A number of drastic scenarios flashed through her mind—a wedding guest toppling over from a heart attack, then a cattle truck crashing through a wall, followed by lightning boring its way right through the roof of the church and striking the bridegroom dead where he stood.

She shook the images off. Waited with her breath snagged painfully in the back of her throat.

“What?” Callie prodded good-naturedly, studying her step-granddaughter. She and Shea were close—the girl worked part-time at Callie’s Curly Burly Hair Salon in town, and during the school year, Shea went to Callie’s place after the last bell rang, spending hours tweaking the website she’d built for the shop.

“Hutch called the whole thing off,” Shea blurted. “He stopped the wedding!”

“Oh, my,” Callie said. The door was still open, and Kendra heard Joslyn’s voice, then Opal’s, as they came toward the house. Slade must have been with them, but he was keeping quiet, as usual.

Kendra realized she was squeezing Madison too tightly and relaxed her arms a little. Her mouth had dropped open at some point and she closed it, hoping no one had noticed. Just then, she couldn’t have uttered a word if the place caught fire.

Opal, tall and dressed to the nines in one of her home-sewn and brightly patterned jersey dresses, crossed the threshold next, shaking her head as she unpinned her old-fashioned hat, with its tiny stuffed bird and inch-wide veiling.

Slade and Joslyn came in behind her, Joslyn’s huge belly preceding her “by half an hour,” as her adoring husband liked to say.

By then, the bomb dropped, Shea had shifted her focus to Madison. She’d been trying to win the little girl over from the beginning, and her smile dazzled, like sunlight on still waters. “Hey, kiddo,” she said. “Since we missed out on the wedding cake, I’m up for a major cookie binge. Want to join me?”

Somewhat to Kendra’s surprise, Madison slid down off her lap, Rupert the kangaroo dangling from one small hand, and approached the older girl, albeit slowly. “Okay,” she said, her voice tentative.

Joslyn, meanwhile, lumbered over to the table, pulled back a chair and sank into it. She looked incandescent in her summery maternity dress, a blue confection with white polka dots, and she fanned her flushed face with her thin white clutch for a few moments before plunking it down on the tabletop.

“Do you need to lie down?” Callie asked her daughter-

in-law worriedly, one hand resting on Joslyn’s shoulder.

Madison and Shea, meanwhile, were plundering the cookie jar.

“No,” Joslyn told her. “I’m fine. Really.”

Opal tied on an apron and instructed firmly, “Now don’t you girls stuff yourselves on those cookies with me fixing to put a meal on the table in a little while.”

A swift tenderness came over Kendra as she took it all in—including Opal’s bluster. As Kendra was growing up, the woman had been like a mother to her, if not a patron saint.

Slade, his blue gaze resting softly on Joslyn, hung up his hat and bent to ruffle the dog’s ears.

“Poor Brylee,” Opal said as she opened the refrigerator door and began rummaging about inside it for the makings of one of her legendary meals.

“Sounded to me like it was her own fault,” Slade observed, leaving the dog in order to wash his hands at the sink. He was clad in a suit, but Kendra knew he’d be back in his customary jeans, beat-up boots and lightweight shirt at the first opportunity. “Hutch said he told Brylee he didn’t want to get married, more than once, and she wouldn’t listen.”

For Slade, this was a virtual torrent of words. He was a quiet, deliberate man, and he normally liked to mull things over before he offered an opinion—in contrast to his half brother, Hutch, who tended to go barreling in where angels feared to tread and consider the wisdom of his words and actions later. Or not at all.

Joslyn, meanwhile, tuned in on Kendra’s face and read her expression, however guarded it was, with perfect accuracy. They’d been friends since they were barely older than Madison was now, and for the past year, they’d been business partners, too—Joslyn taking over the reins at Shepherd Real Estate, in nearby Parable, while Kendra scoured the countryside for Jeffrey’s daughter.

“Thank heaven he came to his senses,” Joslyn said, with her usual certainty. “Brylee is a wonderful person, but she’s all wrong for Hutch and he’s all wrong for her. They wouldn’t have lasted a year.”

The crowd in the kitchen began to thin out a little then—Shea, the dog and Madison headed into the family room with their cookies, and Callie followed, Shea regaling her “Grands” with an account of who did what and who wore what and who said what.

Slade ascended the back stairway, chuckling, no doubt on his way to the master bedroom to change clothes. Except for bankers and lawyers, few men in rural Montana wore suits on a regular basis—such get-ups were reserved for Sunday services, funerals and...weddings, ill-fated or otherwise.

Opal, for her part, kept murmuring to herself and shaking her head as she began measuring out flour and lard for a batch of her world-class biscuits. “Land sakes,” she muttered repeatedly, along with, “Well, I never, in all my live-long days—”

Joslyn laid her hands on her bulging stomach and sighed. “I swear this baby is practicing to be a rodeo star. It feels as though he’s riding a bull in there.”

Kendra laughed softly, partly at the image her friend had painted and partly as a way to relieve the dizzying tension brought on by Shea’s breathless announcement. Hutch called the whole thing off. He stopped the wedding.

“The least you could do,” she teased Joslyn, trying to get a grip on her crazy emotions, “is go into labor already and let the little guy get a start on his cowboy career.”

As serene as a Botticelli Madonna, Joslyn grinned. “He’s taking his time, all right,” she agreed. The briefest frown flickered in her shining eyes as she regarded Kendra more closely than before. “It’s only fair to warn you,” she went on, quietly resolute, “that Slade invited Hutch to come to supper with us tonight—”

Joslyn continued to talk, saying she expected both Slade and Hutch would saddle up and ride the range for a while, but Kendra barely heard her. She flat-out wasn’t ready to encounter Hutch Carmody, even at her closest friend’s table. Why, the last time she’d seen him, after that stupid, macho horse race of his and Slade’s, she’d kicked him, hard, in the shins.

Because he’d just kissed her.

Because he’d risked his life for no good reason.

Because hers was just one of the many hearts he’d broken along his merry way.

Plus she was a mess. She’d been on the road for three days, and even after a good night’s sleep in Joslyn’s guest room and two showers, she felt rumpled and grungy.

She stood up. She’d get Madison and head for town, she decided, hurry to her own place, where she should have gone in the beginning.

Not that she planned to live there very long.

The mega-mansion was too big for her and Madison, too full of memories.

“Kendra,” Joslyn ordered kindly, “sit down.”

Opal could be heard poking around in the pantry, still talking to herself.

Slade came down the back stairway, looking like himself in worn jeans, a faded flannel shirt and boots.

Passing Joslyn, he paused and leaned down to plant a kiss on top of her head. Kendra sank slowly back into her own chair.

“Don’t start without me,” Slade said, spreading one big hand on Joslyn’s baby-bulge and grinning down into her upturned face.

It was almost enough to make a person believe in love again, Kendra thought glumly, watching these two.

“Not a chance, cowboy,” Joslyn replied, almost purring the words. “We made this baby together and we’re having it together.”

Kendra was really starting to feel like some kind of voyeuristic intruder when Opal came out of the pantry, looked Slade over from behind the thick lenses of her glasses, and demanded, “Just where do you think you’re going, Slade Barlow? Didn’t I just say I’m starting supper?”

Slade straightened, smiled at Opal. “Now don’t get all riled up,” he cajoled. “I’m just going out to check on the horses, not driving a herd to Texas.”

“Do I look like I was born yesterday?” Opal challenged, with gruff good humor. “You mean to saddle up and ride. I can tell by looking at you.”

Slade laughed, shook his head, shoved a hand through his dark hair before crossing the room to take his everyday hat from a peg beside the back door and plop it on his head. “I promise you,” he told Opal, “that the minute that dinner bell rings, I’ll be here.”

Opal huffed, cheerfully unappeased, then waved Slade off with one hand and went back to making supper.

“You might as well stay here and face Hutch,” Joslyn told Kendra, as though there had been no interruption in their conversation. “After all, Parable is a small town, and you’re bound to run into him sooner rather than later. Why not get it over with?”

The twinkle in Joslyn’s eyes might have annoyed Kendra if she hadn’t been so fond of her. Like many happily married people, Joslyn wanted all her friends to see the light and get hitched, pronto.

An image of Brylee Parrish bloomed in Kendra’s mind and she felt a stab of sorrow for the woman. Loving Hutch Carmody was asking for trouble—she could have told Brylee that.

Not that Brylee would have listened, any more than she had long ago, when various friends had warned her that she was marrying Jeffrey on the rebound, had urged her to take time to think before leaping feetfirst into a whole different world.

“I need to get Madison settled,” Kendra fretted. “There are groceries to buy and I’ve been away from the business way too long as it is—”

“The business is just fine,” Joslyn said reasonably. “And so is Madison.”

As if on cue, the little girl gave a delighted laugh in the next room.

It was a sweet sound, all too rare, and it made the backs of Kendra’s eyes scald. “I don’t know if I can handle it,” she confessed, very softly. “Seeing Hutch again right away, I mean. I was counting on having some time to adjust to being back—”

Joslyn reached out, took her hand. Squeezed. “You can handle it,” she said with quiet certainty. “Trust yourself, Kendra. Nothing is going to happen between you and Hutch unless you want it to.”

“That’s just the trouble,” Kendra reflected miserably, careful to keep her voice down so Madison wouldn’t overhear. “Wanting a man—wanting Hutch—and knowing better the whole time—well, you know—”

“I do know,” Joslyn said, smiling.

“I have a daughter now,” Kendra reminded her friend. “I want Madison to grow up in Parable, go to the same schools from kindergarten through high school. I want to give her security, a real sense of community, the whole works. And getting sucked into Hutch’s orbit would be the stupidest thing I could possibly do.”

“Would it?” Joslyn asked, raising one delicate eyebrow as she waited for a reply.

“Of course it would,” Kendra whispered fiercely. “The man broke my heart into a gazillion pieces, remember? And now he’s dumped some poor woman virtually at the altar, which only goes to prove he hasn’t changed!”

“Did it ever occur to you,” Joslyn inquired, unruffled, “that Hutch might have ‘dumped’ Brylee for the simple reason that she’s not you?”

“No,” Kendra said firmly, shaken by the mere possibility, “that did not occur to me. He did it because he can’t commit to anything or anyone long-term, because Whisper Creek Ranch is all he really cares about in this world—because he’s a heartless, womanizing bastard.”

Before Joslyn could offer a response to that, Madison, Shea, Callie and the dog trailed back in the kitchen, making further discussion of Hutch Carmody impossible.

Kendra was still flustered, though. Her heart pounded and her throat and sinuses felt strangely thick—was she coming down with something? Every instinct urged her to get the heck out of there, now, but the idea seemed cowardly and, besides, Madison was just starting to let herself be part of the group.

If they rushed off to town, the little girl would be understandably confused.

So Kendra decided to stay, at least until after supper.

She was a grown woman, a mother. Joslyn had been right—it was time she started trusting herself. Hutch had always held an infuriating attraction for her, but she was older now, and wiser, and she had more self-control.

The next hour was taken up with getting ready, coming and going, table-setting and a lot of companionable, lighthearted chatter. Slade returned from the barn as he’d promised and, after washing up in a downstairs bathroom, made the whole crew promise not to pester Hutch with questions about the interrupted wedding.

As if, Kendra thought. She probably wouldn’t say more than a few polite words to the man. If she spoke to him at all.

She felt strong, confident, ready for anything.

Until he actually walked into the ranch house kitchen, that is.

Seeing her, he tightened his jaw and shot an accusatory glance in his half brother’s direction.

“Didn’t I mention that Kendra’s here?” Slade asked, breaking the brief, pulsing silence. There was a smile in his voice, though his blue eyes conveyed nothing but innocent concern.

Hutch, his dark blond hair sun-kissed with gold, recovered his normal affable manner within the space of a heartbeat.

He even smiled, flashing those perfect white teeth and setting Kendra back on her figurative heels.

“Hello, Kendra,” he said with a nod, after taking off his hat. Like Slade, he was dressed “cowboy” and the look suited him.

Kendra replied with a nod of her own. “Hutch,” she said, turning from the chopping board, where she’d been preparing a salad, and wished she’d cleared her throat first, because the name came out like a croak.

His gaze moved straight to Madison, and Kendra read the questions in his eyes even before he hid them behind a smile. Madison, meanwhile, raised Rupert, as if presenting him to this stranger for inspection.

“Howdy, there,” he said, all charm. “Do my eyes deceive me or is that critter a kangaroo?”





CHAPTER TWO



THE WAY HUTCH figured it, a solid week should have been plenty long enough for the fuss over the wedding-

that-never-was to die down, but when Saturday afternoon rolled around again and he sat down at his computer to get a quick read on the gossip situation, tired from rounding up strays with the ranch hands since just after dawn, he was promptly disabused of the notion.

This jabber-fest was getting worse by the moment.

Apparently he’d made every “jerk” list in cyberspace, not just locally, but worldwide. Indignant females from as far away as the Philippines thought he ought to be tarred and feathered, and a couple of Brylee’s girlfriends, bless their vengeful little hearts, had set up a page on one of the major networking sites solely for the purpose of warning every woman with a pulse to steer clear of Hutch Carmody.

The reverse version, he supposed, grimly amused, of an old West “Wanted” poster.

Of course, this being the digital age, there were pictures up the wazoo—Bride-Doll Brylee, flushed and furious in her over-the-top dress, stomping on her bouquet in the church aisle. Brylee, outside in the bright June sunshine, probably only moments after the first shot was taken, wrenching the taped-on “Just Married” sign from the back of the limo that would have carried the two of them over to the Community Center for the reception, ripping the cardboard in two and flinging the pieces into the gutter. Brylee, later still, hair pulled back and caught up in a long, messy ponytail, face puffy and scrubbed clean of makeup, her gown swapped out for jeans and a T-shirt bearing the motto Men Suck. She was surrounded by a dozen or so of her friends, at a table in the center of the Boot Scoot Tavern, the jukebox lit up behind her. No doubt, it was playing a somebody-done-me-wrong song.

Hutch sighed. He hadn’t escaped the amateur paparazzi himself—these days, every yahoo and his Aunt Bessie had a smart phone, and they were mighty quick on the draw with them.

One memorable image showed him standing in the center of the sanctuary, clearly uncomfortable in the penguin get-up he’d rented from Wally’s Wedding World, over in Three Trees, the neighboring town, looking pale and bleakly determined not to get married no matter what he had to do to avoid it. And those were just the stills—there were videos, too. In one thirty-second wonder, he could be seen climbing into his rusted-out pickup truck, right there in the Presbyterians’ gravel parking lot, and in the next, he was heading for the horizon, a dust plume spiraling behind his rig.

Yep, that was him all right, beating a hasty retreat, like a yellow-bellied coward on the run.

That impression rested sour on the back of his tongue.

Someday, he suspected, when Brylee met up with her own personal Mr. Right, got hitched for real, and had herself a houseful of kids, she’d thank him for stopping the wedding and thereby preventing certain catastrophe.

At present, though, that particular “someday” seemed a long way off.

Weary to the aching marrow of his bones, Hutch logged off the internet, pushed back from the rolltop desk that had been in his family since the Lincoln administration, and stood up, stretching luxuriously before retrieving his coffee mug and ambling out of the little office behind the ranch house kitchen.

Taking Slade’s advice, he’d kept a low profile since the day that, like the bombing of Pearl Harbor and the 9/11 attacks, would forever live in infamy. Against his own better judgment, he hadn’t gone to see Brylee in person, called her on the phone, or even sent her an email.

He hadn’t done much guilt-wallowing, either, which might be proof that he really was a “selfish, heartless, narcissistic bastard,” as members of Team Brylee universally agreed, at least online. By now, the group probably had its own secret handshake.

Hutch regretted hurting Brylee, of course, and he certainly wished he could have spared her the humiliation of that very public breakup, but his overriding emotion was a sense of relief so profound that it still made his head reel even after a week.

Train wreck, averted.

Apocalypse, canceled.

Check and check.

Running into Kendra Shepherd at Slade and Joslyn’s place after the debacle had definitely thrown him, however—slammed the wind out of him as surely as if he’d been hurled off the back of a bad bull or a sun-fishing bronco and landed on hard ground.

He’d loved Kendra once and he’d believed she loved him.

He’d expected to spend the rest of his life with the woman, happy to make babies, run Whisper Creek Ranch with Kendra at his side, a full partner in every way.

Instead, enter Jeffrey Chamberlain, he of the nominal titles and English estates, practically a prince to a woman like Kendra, brought up in a small Montana town by a grandmother who resented the responsibility of raising her errant daughter’s child. Chamberlain had been visiting friends at the time—Hollywood types with delusions of living the ranching life in grand style—and damned if Sir Jeffrey hadn’t struck up a conversation with Kendra at the post office one fine day and parlayed that, over the coming weeks, into a romance so epic that it could only have ended badly.

Not that Kendra had fallen for Chamberlain right away—at the get-go, she’d insisted he was just a friend, interesting and funny. Hutch, though nettled, had reluctantly—okay, grudgingly—accepted the explanation.

Down deep, he’d been out-of-his-gourd jealous, though, and soon enough the bickering commenced.

Chamberlain, knowing full well what he’d set in motion, had found excuses to stay on in Parable and he just bided his time while things got worse and worse between Hutch and Kendra.

Inevitably, the bickering escalated to fiery yelling matches and, worse, single words, terse and biting, punctuated by long, achy silences.

Eventually, Kendra had given Hutch an ultimatum—trust her or leave her.

He’d chosen the latter option, being a stubborn, hard-headed cowboy from a long line of stubborn, hard-headed cowboys, never really thinking she’d go at all, let alone stay gone; everybody knew they belonged together, he and Kendra. After a semidecent interval, though, she’d hauled off and eloped with Jeffrey.

There were still days—moments, really—when Hutch couldn’t believe it had come to that, and this was one of them.

Now, standing in his kitchen, he closed his eyes, remembering.

Kendra had called him three days after tying the knot down in Vegas.

Even then he’d wanted to say, “This isn’t right. Come home.”

But he’d been too cussed proud to take the high road.

He’d wished “Lady Chamberlain” well and hung up in her ear. Hard. They’d seen each other numerous times afterward, the way things shook out, especially after Chamberlain bought his way out of the marriage and crossed the pond to resume his Lord-of-the-manor lifestyle while Kendra remained in Parable, rattling around in that hotel-sized mansion on Rodeo Road.

Small as Parable was, he and Kendra had come close to patching things up a few times, making another start, but something always went wrong, probably because neither one of them trusted the other any further than they could have thrown them.

They’d been civil last Saturday night at Slade and Joslyn’s noisy supper table, but Kendra had looked ready to jump out of her skin at any moment, and as soon as the meal was over and the dishes were in the machine, she’d grabbed up her little girl and boogied for town in her boxy mom-car.

What had happened to that little BMW convertible she used to drive?

“She wasn’t expecting to see you tonight,” Joslyn had explained, touching his hand once Kendra and the child were out of the house.

Hutch had slanted an evil look at his half brother. “I know the feeling,” he’d said.

Slade had merely looked smug.

Now with another long, dirty workday behind him and lunch a distant memory, Hutch stood there in his stupidly big kitchen and tried to shift his focus to rustling up some kind of a supper, but the few budding science experiments hunkered down in the fridge held no appeal. Neither did the resoundingly empty house—by rights, the place should have been bursting with noisy ranch kids and rescued dogs by now. Instead it was neat, cold and stone silent.

Hutch sighed, shoved a hand through his hair. Stepped back from the refrigerator and shut the door.

Upstairs he took a quick shower and donned fresh jeans, a white shirt and go-to-town boots.

He’d hidden out long enough, damn it.

By God, he was through keeping a low profile—he meant to fire up one of the ranch trucks, drive into Parable to the Butter Biscuit Café, claim one of the stools at the counter and order up his usual cheeseburger, shake and fries. As for the joshing and the questions and the speculative glances he was bound to run into?

Bring it, he thought.

* * *

KENDRA HAD HAD a week to put that off-the-wall encounter with Hutch the previous Saturday night behind her and she was mostly over it.

Mostly.

She’d been busy, after all, overseeing the move of her real estate company from the mansion on Rodeo Road to the little storefront, catty-corner from the Butter Biscuit Café, enrolling Madison at the year-round preschool/day-care center and scanning the multiple-listings for cozy two-bedroom houses within a reasonable radius of Parable.

In a town like that one, smaller properties were always hard to find—people didn’t necessarily sell their houses when they retired to Florida or Arizona or entered a nursing home. They often passed them down to the next generation.

At present, Kendra’s choices were a double-wide trailer in the very court where she’d grown up so unhappily with her grandmother—no possible way—what resembled a converted chicken coop on the far side of Three Trees, which was thirty miles away, or the cramped apartment over old Mrs. Lund’s garage on Cinch Buckle Street, which rented for a tidy sum and didn’t even have its own entrance.

With her fifteen-thousand-square-foot mega-mansion on the market, already swarming with cleaning people and painters these days in preparation for showing—she and Madison had taken up temporary residence in the estate’s small guesthouse.

Given that two different potential buyers, both highly qualified, had already expressed interest in the main residence, Kendra had no intention of getting too settled in the cottage, cheery and convenient though the place was. Upscale homes were much easier to sell than regular houses, at least in that part of Montana, because so many jet-setters liked to buy them up and visit them once in a blue moon.

For now, though, the guesthouse was sufficient for their needs. Madison loved the big yard, the thriving flower gardens and the swing on the mansion’s screened-in sun porch. The four-year-old was content to share the cottage’s one bedroom with Kendra, take meals in the tiny, sun-splashed kitchen, and ease, an hour or two at a time, into the preschool program, where there were plenty of playmates around her own age.

Already Madison’s fair skin was golden, having absorbed so much country sunshine, and she didn’t cry at the prospect of even the shortest separation from Kendra.

Tara Kendall stopped by the real estate office just as Kendra was about to close up for the day. She and Madison planned on picking up a takeout meal over at the Butter Biscuit, then eating at the small white wrought-iron table at the edge of the rose garden on Rodeo Road.

“Can we get a dog now?” Madison was asking for the umpteenth time, when Tara breezed in, pretty with her shoulder-length brown hair expertly layered and her perfect makeup that looked like no makeup at all.

“Do I have an offer for you,” Tara said, with a broad grin. She wore a sleek yellow sundress that flattered her slight but womanly figure, and her legs were so tanned she didn’t need panty hose. “My golden retriever, Lucy, just happens to have a sister who still needs a home.”

“Gee,” Kendra drawled, feeling self-conscious in her jeans and T-shirt. “Thanks so much for that suggestion, Tara.”

Madison was already jumping up and down in anticipation. “My very own dog!” she crowed.

Tara chuckled and reached out a manicured hand to ruffle Madison’s bright copper curls. “Oops,” she said, addressing Kendra in a singsong voice that sounded warmly insincere. “Did I just put my foot in my mouth?”

“More like your entire leg,” Kendra replied sweetly. Tara, a relative newcomer to Parable, had fit right in with her and Joslyn, turning a duet into a trio—the three of them had been fast friends from the beginning. “We’re not ready for a dog yet, since we don’t really have a place to—” She paused, looked down at Madison, who was glowing like a firefly on a moonless night, and reconsidered the word she’d intended to use, which was “live,” diverting to “permanently reside.”

“We have the cottage,” Madison pointed out. “There’s a yard and Lucy’s sister could sleep with us.”

“Says you,” Kendra said, but with affection. She remembered how badly she’d wanted a pet as a little girl, but her grandmother had always refused, saying she had enough on her hands looking after a kid. She wasn’t about to clean up after a dog or a cat, too.

“You promised,” Madison reminded her sagely. She was so like Jeffrey—she had his eyes, his red hair, his insouciant certainty that everything good would come to him as a matter of course—including golden retriever puppies with sisters named Lucy.

“I said we could get a pet when we were settled,” Kendra clarified patiently after shooting a see-what-you’ve-done glance at a singularly unrepentant Tara. “We’ll be moving soon.”

“So will the dog,” Tara put in lightly. “Martie Wren can only keep her at the shelter for so long, then it’s off to—well—wherever.”

“Thanks again, Tara,” Kendra said. She knew her friend meant well, but the woman wasn’t known for her good judgment. Hadn’t she given up a great job in New York, heading up a world-class cosmetics company, to buy, of all things, a dilapidated chicken ranch on the outskirts of Parable, Montana?

Huge tears welled in Madison’s eyes. “Nobody wants Lucy’s sister?”

At last, Tara looked shamefaced. “She’s a beautiful dog,” she told the little girl gently. “Somebody will adopt her for sure.”

“You, for instance?” Kendra said.

“I guess she could live with Lucy and me for a while,” Tara decided, shifting her expensive hobo bag from her right shoulder to her left.

Madison grabbed Kendra’s hand, squeezed. “We could just look at Emma, couldn’t we?”

“Emma?” Kendra echoed, dancing on ice now, Bambi with all four limbs scrabbling for traction.

“That’s what we’d call Lucy’s sister,” Madison said matter-of-factly, her little face shining more brightly than the sunset gathering in shades of pink and orange at the rims of the mountains to the east. “Emma.”

Emma. It was Madison’s birth mother’s name. Did she know that?

How could she? She’d been only a year old when Emma gave her up.

“Why ‘Emma’?” Kendra asked carefully, hoping to hide her dismayed surprise from the child.

Tara, she instantly noted, had already read her face, though she couldn’t have known the significance of the name, and she looked way beyond apologetic.

“It’s a pretty name,” Madison said. “Don’t you think so, Mommy?”

“It’s lovely,” Kendra conceded. “Now, shouldn’t we pick up our supper and head for home?” She glanced at Tara. “Join us? Nothing fancy—we’re getting takeout—but we’d love to share.”

Tara blinked, clearly uncertain what response she ought to give. “Well—”

“And it would be fun to meet Lucy,” Madison went on. “Is she with you?”

“As a matter of fact,” Tara said, “yes. She’s in the car. We just came from the vet’s office and—”

“You’re both welcome,” Kendra insisted. Firstly because Tara was a dear friend and secondly, because she was enjoying the other woman’s obvious discomfort. “You and Lucy.”

“Well,” Tara murmured, with a weak little smile, “okay.”

Kendra smiled. “Let’s go, then,” she said, jingling the ring of keys she’d just plucked from her purse.

She shut off the inside lights, stepped out onto the sidewalk and locked up behind them. Leaving Kendra’s Volvo in the parking lot out back, they crossed the street to the Butter Biscuit Café. Tara’s flashy red sports car was parked on the street in front of the restaurant, the yellow dandelion-fluff dog, Lucy, pressing her muzzle against the driver’s-side window, steaming up the glass.

Kendra’s heart softened at the very sight of that dog, while Madison rushed over to stand on tiptoe and press the palms of both hands against the window.

“Hello, Lucy!” Madison cried gleefully.

Lucy barked joyously, her brown eyes luminous with impromptu adoration. She tongued the window where Madison’s right palm rested.

Tara laughed. “See?” she said, giving Kendra a light elbow to the ribs. “It’s fate.”

“I’ll get you for this,” Kendra told her friend with an undertone.

“No, you’ll thank me.” Tara beamed, all confidence again. “I’m counting on Emma to win you over.” She whispered that last part.

They practically had to drag Madison away from the car, and the dog, each adult gripping one of her small hands as they approached the entrance to the Butter Biscuit Café.

The place was rocking, as always, with dishes clinking and waitresses rushing back and forth and the jukebox blaring an old Randy Travis song.

All the noise and busyness subsided though, at least for Kendra, when her gaze found and landed unerringly on Hutch Carmody.

He sat alone at the counter, ridiculously handsome in ordinary jeans, a white shirt and black boots. A plate sat in front of him, containing half a cheeseburger, a few French fries and some pickles.

It wouldn’t have been so awkward if he hadn’t noticed Kendra—or at least, if he’d pretended not to notice her—but he turned toward her immediately, as though equipped with Kendra-detecting radar.

A slow smile lifted his mouth at one corner and his greenish-blue eyes sparked with amused interest.

Madison rushed straight toward him, as if they were old friends. “We’re getting a dog!” she piped. “Well, maybe.”

Hutch grinned down at the child, his expression softening a little, full of a kindness Kendra had never seen in him before, not even in their most private and tender moments. The man definitely had a way with kids.

“Is that so?” he asked companionably. “Is this dog purple, like your kangaroo?”

Madison giggled at this question. “No, silly,” she said. “Dogs are never purple!”

Hutch chuckled. “Neither are kangaroos, in my experience. Not that we have a whole lot of them hopping around the great state of Montana.”

“They mostly live in Australia,” Madison told him solemnly. “Rupert is only purple because he’s a toy.”

“I guess that explains it,” Hutch replied, his gaze rising slowly to reconnect with Kendra’s. Electricity arced, potent, between them. “I’m glad to have the purple kangaroo question settled. It’s been troubling me a lot.”

And that wasn’t the only thing he’d been wondering about, Kendra suddenly realized. He wanted to know how she’d managed to produce a child without ever being pregnant.

As if that were any of his business.

“Hello, Hutch,” Kendra said, her voice strangely wooden.

He merely nodded.

Tara spoke up. “How have you been?” she asked him nervously.

Something flickered in Hutch’s eyes; it was obvious that he’d figured out what Tara really wanted to know. “I’ve been just fine, Tara,” he replied evenly and without rancor. “Except, of course, for that whole non-wedding thing.”

Tara blushed.

So did Kendra.

“G-good,” Tara said.

“We’d better place our order,” Kendra added, and immediately felt like a complete fool. A well-spoken person otherwise, she never seemed to know what to say around Hutch. “B-before the café gets any busier, I mean—”

“Plus Lucy’s locked up in the red car outside,” Madison put in.

“Plus that,” Kendra said lamely.

“Lucy?” Hutch asked, raising one eyebrow.

“My dog,” Tara explained.

“Right,” Hutch answered. His gaze remained on Kendra, stirring up all sorts of totally unwanted memories, like the way his hands felt on her bare thighs or the touch of his lips gliding softly over the tops of her breasts. “Nice to see you again,” he added casually.

When he looked at her that way, Kendra always felt as though her clothes were made of cellophane, and that got her hackles up. Not to mention her nipples, which, thankfully, were well hidden under the loose fabric of her T-shirt.

Even though she turned away quickly and began studying the big menu board on the wall behind the cash register, Kendra was still acutely aware of Hutch, of little Madison, who so clearly adored him, and of Tara, who was trying to pick up the dangling conversational thread.

“Rodeo Days are almost upon us,” Tara said brightly. Every Independence Day weekend since the beginning of time, Parable had hosted the county rodeo, fireworks and carnival. People came from miles around to eat barbecued pork and beef in the park, root for their favorite cowboys and barrel-racing cowgirls, and ride the Ferris wheel and the Whirly-Gig. “The cleanup committee is looking for volunteers. Shall I put your name down to help out, Hutch?”

The woman was wasted as a chicken rancher, Kendra thought, pretending to puzzle between the café’s famous corn-bread casserole and deep-fried catfish. Tara should have been selling ice to penguins.

“Sure,” she heard Hutch say.

Kendra settled on the corn-bread casserole, preferring to avoid deep-fried anything, slanted a glance at Tara and raised her voice a little to place the order with a waitress. “To go, please,” she added, perhaps a touch pointedly.

She heard Hutch chuckle, low and gruff.

What was funny?

Tara edged over to Kendra’s side, digging in her purse for money.

“My treat,” Kendra said, watching out of the corner of her eye as Madison tore herself out of Hutch’s orbit and joined the women in front of the cash register.

The food was packed for transport, handed over and paid for, all in due course. As they were leaving, Madison turned back to wave at Hutch.

“I like that cowboy man,” she announced, to all and sundry, her little voice ringing like a silver bell at Christmas.

An affectionate group chuckle rippled through the café and Kendra hid a sigh behind the smile she turned on her daughter. “Let’s go,” she said, taking Madison’s small and somewhat grubby hand in hers before they crossed the street to get to Kendra’s Volvo.

“Meet you at your place,” Tara called, unlocking her car door and then laughing as she wrestled the eager puppy back so she could slide into the driver’s seat and take the wheel.

Kendra nodded and, when the Walk sign flashed, she and Madison started across the street.

“Don’t you like the cowboy man, Mommy?” Madison asked, wrinkling her face against the bright dazzle of afternoon sunshine.

The question surprised Kendra so much that she nearly stopped right there in the middle of the road. “Now why on earth would you ask such a thing, Madison Rose Shepherd?” she asked, keeping her tone light, almost teasing.

“If he looks at you,” Madison observed, as they stepped up onto the sidewalk and started toward the Volvo, “you look away.”

Thinking it was uncanny, the things children not only noticed but could verbalize, Kendra turned up her inner-smile dial a notch and squeezed Madison’s hand gently. “Do I?” she countered, knowing full well that she did.

Madison nodded. “He looks at you a lot, too,” she added.

Mercifully they’d reached the car, and the next few minutes were taken up with settling Madison in her booster seat and placing the take-out bag carefully on the floor, so the food inside wouldn’t spill.

A four-year-old’s attention span being what it was, Kendra had reason to hope the subject would have changed by the time she’d buckled herself in behind the wheel and started the car with an unintended roar of the motor.

“Do you know if the cowboy man likes dogs?” Madison ventured, from her perch in the backseat.

Kendra calmly took her foot off the gas pedal, shifted into Drive and steered carefully into the nonexistent traffic. “Yes, I think so,” she replied, as matter-of-factly as she could.

“That’s good,” Madison said happily.

Kendra wasn’t about to pursue that observation. “Have you ever been to a rodeo?” she asked, a way of deflecting the topic away from dogs and Hutch Carmody.

“What’s a rodeo?” Madison asked.

Kendra took the short drive home to describe the phenomenon in words her small daughter might be expected to understand.

“Oh,” Madison said when Kendra was finished. “Will the cowboy man be there?”

* * *

LUCY THE GOLDEN retriever turned out to be a real charmer, with her butter-colored fur and those saintly brown eyes dancing with intermittent mischief.

After supper, served as planned at the metal table beside the rose garden, Madison and the pup ran madly around the yard, celebrating green grass and vivid colors and the cool breeze of a summer evening.

Watching them, Tara smiled. “I’m sorry if I put you on the spot before,” she said to Kendra, after taking a sip from her glass of iced tea. “About Lucy’s sister, I mean.”

“That was her birth mother’s name,” Kendra reflected, watching the child and the dog as they played in the gathering twilight.

Tara set the glass down. “What? Lucy?”

Kendra shook her head. “No,” she said, very softly. “Emma. Do you suppose Madison remembers her mother?”

“You are Madison’s mother,” Tara replied.

“Tara,” Kendra said wearily.

“From what you’ve told Joslyn and me, Madison’s been in foster care since she was a year old. How could she remember?”

Kendra lifted one shoulder slightly, then let it fall. “It seems like a pretty big coincidence that Madison would choose that particular name. She must have overheard it somewhere.”

“Probably,” Tara allowed. Then she added, “Kendra, look at me.”

Kendra shifted her gaze from drinking in the sight of Madison and Lucy, frolicking against a backdrop of blooming flowers of every hue, to Tara’s concerned face.

“You’re not afraid she’ll come back, are you?” Tara prompted, almost in a whisper. “This Emma person, I mean, and try to take Madison away?”

Kendra shook her head. She was at once comforted and saddened by the knowledge that Madison’s biological mother hadn’t wanted her baby enough to fight for her.

The woman had demanded money, naturally, but she’d signed off readily enough once Jeffrey’s American lawyers got the point across that the buying and selling of babies was illegal.

“She’s relinquished all rights to Madison,” she finally answered.

Tara sighed. “It’s hard to understand some people,” she said.

“Impossible,” Kendra agreed. Oddly, though, she wasn’t thinking of Madison’s birth mom anymore, but of Hutch.

The man was a mystery, an enigma.

He fractured women’s hearts with apparent impunity—there always seemed to be another hopeful waiting in the wings, certain she’d be the exception to the rule—and yet kids, dogs and horses saw nothing in him to fear and everything to love.

Was he actually a good man, underneath all that bad-boy mojo and easy charm?

“Still planning to sell this place, then?” Tara asked with a gesture of one hand that took in the mansion as well as the grounds.

Kendra nodded. “I’ll be putting the proceeds in trust for Madison,” she said. She hadn’t told Joslyn and Tara everything, but they both knew Jeffrey had fathered the little girl. “It’s rightfully hers.”

Tara absorbed that quietly and took another sip from her iced tea. “You won’t miss it? The money, I mean? Living in the biggest and fanciest house in town?”

Kendra’s smile was rueful. “I’m not broke, Tara,” she said. “I’ve racked up a lot of commissions since I started Shepherd Real Estate.” She looked back over one shoulder at the looming structure behind them. “As for missing this house, no, I won’t, not for a moment. It’s a showplace, not a home.”

Tara didn’t answer. She seemed to be musing, mulling something over.

“So,” Kendra said, “how’s the chicken ranch coming along?”

At that, Tara rolled her beautiful eyes. “It’s a disaster,” she answered with honest good humor. “The nesting-house roof is sagging, the hens aren’t laying—I suspect that’s because the roosters are secretly gay—and Boone Taylor still refuses to plant shrubbery to hide that eyesore of a trailer he lives in so it won’t be the first thing I see when I look out my kitchen window every morning.”

“Regrets?” Kendra asked gently. Madison and Lucy seemed to be winding down; moving in slow motion as the shadows thickened. After a bath and a story, Madison would sleep soundly.

Tara immediately shook her head. “No,” she said. “It’s hard, but I’m a long way from giving up.”

“Good,” Kendra said with a smile. “Because I’d feel guilty if you were having second thoughts, considering I was the one who sold you the place.”

“You might have warned me about the neighbors,” Tara joked.

“Boone isn’t so bad,” Kendra felt honor-bound to say. She’d known him since childhood, known his late wife, Corrie, too. He’d lost interest in life for a long time after Corrie’s death from breast cancer a few years back, but last November he’d up and run for sheriff and gotten himself elected by a country mile. “He’s just stubborn, like most of the men around here. That’s what gets them through the hard times.”

Tara’s eyes widened a little. “Does that apply to Hutch, too?”

Kendra stood up, beckoned to her tired daughter. “Time to get ready for bed,” she called to Madison, who meandered slowly toward her—proof in itself that she was exhausted. Like most small children, she normally resisted sleep with all her might, lest she miss something.

The puppy trotted over to Tara, nuzzling her knee, and she laughed as she bent to ruffle her ears.

“If you think Lucy’s perfect,” she said, instead of goodbye, “just wait till you meet her sister.”





CHAPTER THREE



THE NEXT MORNING after church, Kendra gave in to the pressures of fate—and her very persistent daughter—and drove across town to Paws for Reflection, the private animal shelter run by a woman named Martie Wren.

Martie, an institution in Parable, oversaw the operation out of an office in her small living room, surviving entirely on donations and the help of numerous volunteers. She’d converted the two large greenhouses in back to dog-and-cat housing, though she also took in birds and rabbits and even the occasional pygmy goat. The place was never officially closed, even on Sundays and holidays.

A sturdy woman with kindly eyes and a shock of unruly gray hair, Martie was watering the flower beds in her front yard when Kendra and Madison arrived, parking on the street.

“Tara said you might be stopping by,” Martie sang out happily, waving and then hurrying over to shut off the faucet and wind the garden hose around its plastic spool.

Kendra, busy helping Madison out of her safety rigging in the backseat, smiled wryly back at the other woman. “Of course she did,” she replied cheerfully.

“We’re here to see Lucy’s sister,” Madison remarked.

Martie, at the front gate by then, pushing it wide open in welcome, chuckled. “Well, come on inside then, and have a look at her. She’s been waiting for you. Got her all dolled up just in case the two of you happened to take a shine to each other.”

Kendra stifled a sigh. She wanted a dog as much as Madison did—there had been a canine-shaped hole in her heart for as long as she could remember—but she’d hoped to find a permanent place to live before acquiring a pet. Get settled in.

Alas, the universe did not seem concerned with her personal plans.

She and Madison passed through the gate, closing it behind them, and Martie led the way onto the neatly painted front porch and up to the door.

The retriever puppy did indeed seem to be waiting—she was sitting primly on the hooked rug in the tiny entryway, with a bright red ribbon tied to her collar and her chocolate-brown eyes practically liquid with hope.

Kendra immediately melted.

Madison, meanwhile, placed her hands on her hips and tilted her head to one side, studying the yellow fluff-ball intently.

The puppy rose from its haunches and approached the little girl, looking for all the world as though it were smiling at her. Where have you been? the animal’s expression seemed to say. We’re supposed to be having fun together.

Madison turned her eyes to Kendra. “She’s so pretty,” she said, sounding awed, as though there had never been and never would be another dog like this one.

“Very pretty,” Kendra agreed, choking up a little. She saw so much of her childhood self in Madison and that realization made her cautious. Madison was Madison, and trying to soothe her own childhood hurts through her daughter would be wrong on so many levels.

Martie, an old hand at finding good homes for otherwise unwanted critters, simply waited, benignly silent. She believed in letting things unfold at their own pace—not a bad philosophy in Kendra’s opinion, though she’d yet to master it herself.

As a little girl she’d had to fight for every scrap of her grandmother’s attention. In her career she’d been virtually driven to succeed, believing with all her heart that nothing good would happen unless she made it happen.

Now that Madison had entered her life, though, it was time to make some changes. Shifting her type-A personality down a few gears, so she could appreciate what she had, rather than always striving for something more, was at the top of the list.

Madison was still gazing at Kendra’s face. “Can we take her home with us, Mommy?” she asked, clearly living for a “yes.” “Please? Can we name her Daisy?”

Kendra’s eyes burned as she crouched beside her daughter, putting herself at eye level with the child. “I thought you wanted to call her Emma,” she said.

Madison shook her head. “Daisy’s not an Emma. She’s a Daisy.”

Kendra put an arm around Madison, but loosely. “Okay,” she said, very gently. “Daisy it is.”

“She can come home with us, then?” Madison asked, wide-eyed, a small, pulsing bundle of barely contained energy.

“Well, there’s a procedure that has to be followed,” Kendra replied, looking over at Martie as she stood up straight again, leaving one hand resting on the top of Madison’s head.

“Daisy’s had her shots,” Martie said, “and I’ve known you since you were the size of a bean sprout, Kendra Shepherd. You’ll give this dog a good home and lots of love, and that’s all that matters.”

Something unspoken passed between the two women. Martie was probably remembering other visits to the shelter, when Kendra was small. She’d been the youngest volunteer at the shelter, cleaning kennels, filling water bowls and making sure every critter in the place got a gentle pat and a few kind words.

“You get a free vet visit, too,” Martie said, as though further persuasion might be required.

Madison’s face shone with delight. “Let’s take Daisy home right now,” she said.

Kendra and Martie both laughed.

“There are a few papers to be signed,” Martie said to the child. “Why don’t you and Daisy come on into the office with your mom and me, and keep each other company while we grown-ups take care of a few things?”

Madison, though obviously eager to take Daisy and run before one of the adults changed their mind, nodded dutifully. “All right,” she said, her hand nestled into the golden fur at Daisy’s nape. “But we’re in a hurry.”

Martie chuckled again.

Kendra hid a smile and said, “Madison Rose.”

“We’ll be very quick,” Martie promised over one shoulder.

They all trailed into Martie’s office, Daisy sticking close to Madison’s side.

“It isn’t polite to rush people, Madison,” Kendra told her daughter.

“You said,” Madison reminded her, “that the church man took too long to stop talking, and everybody wanted to get out of there and have lunch. You wanted him to hurry up and finish.”

Kendra blushed slightly. She had said something along those lines as they were driving away from the church, but that was different from standing up when the sermon seemed never-ending and saying something like, “Wrap it up, will you? We’re in a hurry.”

Explaining that to a four-year-old, obviously, would take some doing.

Martie chuckled again. “Lloyd’s a dear, but he does tend to run on when he’s got a captive audience on a Sunday morning,” she remarked with kindly tolerance. “Bless his heart.”

The Reverend Lloyd Atherton, like Martie, was a fixture in Parable. Long-winded though he was, everybody loved him.

Kendra made a donation, in lieu of a fee, listened to a brief and heartrending explanation of Daisy’s background—she’d literally been left on Martie’s doorstep in a cardboard box along with six of her brothers and sisters—and signed a simple document promising to return Daisy to Paws for Reflection if things didn’t work out.

“Is Daisy hungry?” Madison wanted to know. It was a subtle nudge. We’re in a hurry.

Martie smiled. “Puppies always seem to think they are, but Daisy had a bowl of kibble less than half an hour ago. She’ll be just fine until supper time.”

Madison nodded, apparently satisfied. She was staring raptly at the little dog, stroking its soft coat as she waited for the adoption to be finalized.

Soon enough, the details had been handled and Madison was in the back of the Volvo again, buckled into her booster seat, with Daisy sitting alertly beside her, panting in happy anticipation of whatever.

They made a quick stop at the big discount store out on the highway, leaving Daisy waiting patiently in the car with a window partly rolled down for air while they rushed inside to buy assorted gear—a collar and leash, a package of poop bags, a fleecy bed large enough for a golden retriever puppy to grow into, grooming supplies, a few toys and the brand of kibble Martie had recommended.

Daisy was thrilled at their return and when Kendra tossed the bed into the backseat, the animal frolicked back and forth across the expanse of it, unable to contain her delight, causing Madison to laugh in a way Kendra had never heard her laugh before—rambunctiously and without self-consciousness or restraint.

It was a beautiful thing to hear and Kendra was glad there were so many small tasks to be performed before she could put the car in motion, because her vision was a little blurred.

Back at the guesthouse, Kendra put away the dog’s belongings while Madison and Daisy ran frenetically around the backyard, both of them bursting with pent-up energy and pure celebration of each other.

“We need a poop bag, please,” Madison announced presently, appearing in the cottage doorway, a vision in her little blue Sunday-school dress.

Smiling, Kendra opened the pertinent package, followed Madison outside to the evidence and proceeded to demonstrate the proper collection and disposal of dog doo-doo.

Afterward, she insisted they both wash their hands at the bathroom sink.

Daisy looked on from the doorway, wagging her tail and looking pleased to be in the midst of so much interesting activity.

Lunch, long overdue by then, was next on the agenda. Madison and Kendra made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in the impossibly small kitchen, and Kendra poured a glass of milk for both of them.

Daisy settled herself near Madison’s chair, ears perked forward, nose raised to sniff the air, probably hoping that manna, in the form of scraps of a PB and J, might fall from heaven.

Martie had been adamant on that point, though. No people food and very few treats. The treat a dog needed most, she’d said, was plenty of love and affection.

When the meal was over and the table had been cleared, Madison announced, yawning, that Daisy had had a big morning and therefore needed a nap.

Amused—Madison normally napped only under protest—Kendra suggested that they ought to change out of their church clothes first.

Madison put on pink cotton shorts and a blue short-sleeved shirt, and Kendra opted for jeans and a lightweight green pullover. When she came out of the bedroom, Madison and Daisy were already curled up together on the new fleece dog bed, and Kendra didn’t have the heart to raise an objection.

Lie down with dogs, get up with fleas, she heard her grandmother say.

Shut up, Gramma, was her silent response.

“Sleep tight,” she said aloud, taking a book from the shelf and stepping outside, planning to sit in the shade of the maple trees and read for a while.

The scene was idyllic—bees buzzing, flowers nodding their many-colored heads in the light breeze, the big Montana sky sweeping blue and cloudless and eternal overhead.

Kendra relaxed as she read, and at some point, she must have dozed off, because she opened her eyes suddenly and found Hutch Carmody standing a few feet away, big as life.

She blinked a couple of times, but he didn’t disappear.

Not a dream, then. Crap.

“Sorry,” he said without a smidgeon of regret. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

Kendra straightened and glanced toward the open doorway of the cottage, looking for Madison. There was no sign of either the child or the dog, but Kendra went inside to check on them anyway. They were both sleeping, curled up together on Daisy’s cloud-soft bed.

Quietly, Kendra went back outside to face Hutch.

How could she not have heard him arrive? His truck was parked right there in the driveway, a stone’s throw from where she’d been sitting. At the very least, she should have heard the tires in the gravel or the closing of the driver’s door.

“What are you doing here?” she whispered, too rattled to be polite.

Hutch spread his hands wide, grinning. “I’m unarmed,” he said, sidestepping the question. He was, she recalled, a master at sidestepping any topic he didn’t want to discuss. “Don’t shoot.”

Kendra huffed out a sigh, picked up her book, which she’d dropped in the grass when she’d woken up to an eyeful of Hutch, and held it tightly against her side. “What. Are. You. Doing. Here?” she repeated.

He gestured for her to sit down, and since her knees were weak, she dropped back into her lawn chair. He drew another one up alongside hers and sat. They were both gazing straight ahead, like two strangers in the same row on an airplane, intent on the seat belt/oxygen mask lecture from an invisible flight attendant.

“Tell me about your little girl,” Hutch finally said.

“Why should I?” Kendra asked reasonably, proud of her calm tone.

“I guess because she could have been ours,” he replied.

For a moment, Kendra felt as if he’d elbowed her, hard, or even punched her in the stomach. Once the adrenaline rush subsided, though, she knew there was no point in withholding the information.

A person could practically throw a rock from one end of Parable to the other and juicy stories got around fast.

“You’ll hear about it soon enough,” she conceded, though ungraciously, keeping her voice down in case Madison woke up and somehow homed in on the conversation, “so I might as well tell you.”

Hutch gave a long-suffering sigh and she felt him looking in her direction now, though she was careful not to meet his gaze. “Might as well,” he agreed quietly.

“Not that it’s any of your business,” Kendra pointed out.

He simply waited.

Distractedly, Kendra wondered if the man thought she’d given birth to Madison herself and kept her existence hidden from everyone in Parable all this time.

“Madison is adopted,” she said. It was a simple statement, but it left her feeling as though she’d spilled her guts on some ludicrous tell-all TV show.

“Why do I think there’s more to the story?” Hutch asked after a pause. His very patience galled Kendra—what right did he have to be patient? This was a courtesy explanation—she didn’t owe it to him. She didn’t owe him anything except maybe a broken heart.

“Madison’s father was my ex-husband,” Kendra said. Suddenly, she wanted to cry and it had nothing to do with her previous hesitation to talk about something so bruising and private. Why couldn’t Madison have been born to her, as she should have been?

“And her mother?”

Once again, Kendra looked to make sure Madison hadn’t turned up in the cottage doorway, all ears. “She was one of Jeffrey’s girlfriends.”

Hutch swore under his breath. “That rat bastard,” he added a moment later.

Kendra stiffened her spine, squared her shoulders, jutted out her chin a little way. “I beg your pardon?” she said in a tone meant to point out the sheer irony, not to mention the audacity, of the pot calling the kettle black.

“Could we not argue, just this once?” Hutch asked hoarsely.

“Just this once,” Kendra said, and one corner of her mouth twitched with a strange urge to smile. Probably some form of hysteria, she decided.

“I’m sorry I called your ex-husband a rat bastard,” Hutch offered.

“You are not,” Kendra challenged, still without looking at him. Except out of the corner of one eye, that is.

“All right,” Hutch ground out, “fine.” He sighed and shoved a hand through his hair. “Let me rephrase that. I’m sorry I didn’t keep my opinion to myself.”

A brief, sputtering laugh escaped Kendra then. “Since when have you ever been known to keep your opinion to yourself?”

“You’re determined to turn this into a shouting match, aren’t you?”

“No,” Kendra said pointedly, bristling. “I am not planning on arguing with you, Hutch Carmody. Not ever again.”

“Kendra,” Hutch said, “you can hedge and stall all you want, but eventually we’re going to have this conversation, so we might as well just go ahead and get it done.”

She made a swatting motion in his general direction, as though trying to chase away a fly. Now she was digging in her heels again and she couldn’t seem to help it. “Madison is my daughter now, and that’s all that matters.”

“You’re an amazing woman, Kendra,” Hutch told her, and he sounded so serious that she swiveled on the seat of her lawn chair to look at him with narrowed, suspicious eyes.

“I mean it,” he said with a gruff chuckle, the sound gentle and yet innately masculine. “Some people couldn’t handle raising another woman’s child—under those circumstances, anyhow.”

“It isn’t Madison’s fault that Jeffrey Chamberlain was a—”

Hutch’s mouth crooked up at one corner and sad mischief danced in his eyes. “Rat bastard?” he finished for her.

“Yes,” she said. “That’s about the size of it.”

He grinned full-out, which put him at an unfair advantage because when he did that, her bones turned to jelly and her IQ plummeted at least twenty points. “Well now,” he said. “We finally agree on something.”

“Go figure,” Kendra remarked, going for a snippy tone but not quite getting there.

“We’re on a roll.”

“Or not.”

He laughed, shook his head. “I’m about to say something you’ll have to agree with, whether you want to or not,” he warned.

She felt a weird little thrill and could have shaken herself for it. “Is that so?”

Hutch nodded toward the cottage doorway, where Madison finally stood, rubbing her eyes and yawning, Daisy at her side. “You’re lucky to have that little girl in your life, however it came about, and the reverse is true, too. You were born to be a mother, Kendra—and a good one.”

“Damn it,” Kendra muttered, at a loss for a comeback.

Hutch grinned as Madison’s eyes widened—she was slowly waking up—and a glorious smile lit her face. She scrambled toward them.

“Hello, cowboy man!” she whooped, feet still bare, curls rumpled, cheeks flushed.

Hutch laughed again. “I guess you might as well call me that as anything else,” he said. He exuded the kind of quiet, wholesome approval little girls crave from daddy-types.

Not that Hutch was any such thing.

“Do you like dogs?” Madison asked earnestly.

As if she’d already made her own decision on that score, Daisy suddenly leaped into Hutch’s lap in a single bound, bracing her forepaws on his shoulders and licking his face.

“Yep,” he said from behind all that squirming dog. “And, as you can see, they’re inclined to like me, too.”

“Good,” Madison said.

Kendra felt unaccountably nervous, though she couldn’t have said why. “Madison—” she began, but her voice fell away.

“Do you like kids, too?” Madison pressed.

Kendra groaned inwardly.

Hutch set Daisy carefully on the ground, patting her still-bouncing head. “I like kids just fine,” he said.

“Do you have any?”

Hutch shook his head. “Nope.”

“Madison,” Kendra repeated, with no more effect than before.

“Do you like my Mommy, too?”

Kendra squeezed her eyes shut.

“As a matter of fact,” Hutch replied easily, “I do. Your mother and I are old friends.”

Kendra squirmed again and forced herself to open her eyes.

Even rummaged up a smile that wouldn’t quite stick.

Before she could think of anything to say, however, Hutch unfolded himself from his lawn chair with Madison standing nearby, still basking in his presence. “I guess I’d better head on home before I wear out my welcome,” he drawled, and there was a twinkle in his eyes when he snagged Kendra’s gaze. “See you around,” he added.

Madison caught hold of his hand. “Wait,” she said, in a near whisper.

He leaned down, resting his hands on his knees. “What?” he asked, with a smile in his voice.

“Will you be at the rodeo thing?” Madison continued.

“Sure enough,” Hutch said, his tone and manner so void of condescension that he might have been addressing another adult. Maybe that was his gift, that he treated children like people, not some lesser species. “Never miss it. After all, I’m a cowboy man.”

Madison beamed, evidently satisfied, and when Daisy bounded off in pursuit of a passing butterfly, her small mistress gamboled after her, arms wheeling as if she might take flight.

“Cowboy man,” Kendra reflected thoughtfully.

“I’ve been called worse,” Hutch joked.

“That’s a fact,” Kendra said brightly. She could have listed half a dozen names she’d called him over the years, to his face and in the privacy of her own head.

Whistling some ditty under his breath, and still grinning, Hutch turned and headed for his truck, lifting a hand in farewell as he went.

He got behind the wheel and drove away, and Kendra didn’t watch him go.

* * *

“YOU’RE WAY TOO pregnant to be at work,” Kendra told Joslyn the next day, stepping into the storefront office after dropping Madison off for the morning preschool session and leaving Daisy at Tara’s for a doggy playdate with Lucy, only to find her business partner already there, tapping away at the keyboard of her computer.

Joslyn flashed her a smile as she looked up from the monitor. “So I hear,” she said. She sighed good-naturedly. “From Slade. From Opal. From Callie.”

“And now, from me,” Kendra replied, setting her handbag on the edge of the desk since she’d be going out again as soon as she’d checked her messages. She was due at her lawyer’s office at ten-thirty, which was why she hadn’t brought Daisy to work with her.

Madison had been beside herself at the thought of Daisy being left at home alone because, as she’d explained it, “Daisy is a puppy and a puppy is the same as a baby and a baby needs somebody with it at all times.”

Kendra had given in, at least temporarily.

“You’re supposed to be on maternity leave, remember?” she prompted, happy to see her friend for whatever reason, all protests aside.

“Ouch,” Joslyn said out of nowhere, spreading a hand over her zeppelin of a belly and making a wincey face.

“Is the little guy practicing his rodeo moves again?” Kendra asked, smiling. If only every baby could be born into a union as loving and warm as Joslyn and Slade’s—it would be a different world.

“It would seem he’s switched to pole vaulting,” Joslyn said in a tone of cheerful acceptance. After a few slow, deep breaths, she focused on the computer monitor again. “Come over here and check out this listing, Kendra. It’s a rental, but I think it might be exactly what you’ve been looking for.”

Immediately interested, Kendra rounded her friend’s desk to stand behind her and peer at the small white house on the screen. She recognized it, of course; she had at least a passing knowledge of every piece of property in Parable County, be it residential or commercial.

This charming little one-story colonial, with its white clapboard walls and green shutters and wraparound porch, was situated across the street from the town park, just two blocks from the public library. Both Madison’s preschool and the new real estate office were within easy walking distance.

“Why didn’t I know about this?” Kendra mused, studying the enticing image on the monitor.

Joslyn raised and lowered one shoulder, very slightly. “You’ve been out of town,” she replied. “Plus we only sell real estate, we don’t manage rentals.”

Kendra’s brain sifted through the facts she already knew: the colonial had belonged to attorney Maggie Landers’s late aunt, Billie. Upon Billie’s death, at least a decade before, Maggie had inherited the property. She’d had some much-needed renovations done, Kendra recalled, but never actually lived in the house herself. She’d rented it out to a schoolteacher, long-term. Now, apparently, it was empty—or about to be.

She practically dived for the telephone. Sure she already had an appointment with Maggie about Madison’s trust fund, but she didn’t want someone else snapping up the house.

Maggie’s front office assistant put Kendra through to the boss right away.

“Tell me you’re not canceling our appointment,” Maggie said without preamble. “If you do, you’ll be the third one today.”

Kendra’s heart had begun to pound. “No,” she said quickly, smiling. Hoping. “No, it isn’t that—I’ll be there at ten-thirty, like we agreed—”

“Kendra,” Maggie broke in, sounding concerned now. “What on earth is the matter? You sound as though you’ve just completed a triathlon.”

“Your house—the rental—Joslyn just showed me the listing on the internet—”

Maggie gave a nervous little laugh and Kendra could see her in her mind’s eye, fiddling with that strand of priceless pearls she always wore. “Yes? What about it?”

“Is it still available?”

Maggie sounded relieved when she answered, “Of course. The ad just went up today.”

“I’ll take it,” Kendra burst out. Her own recklessness left her gasping for breath—she never did reckless things. Well, not reckless things that didn’t involve Hutch Carmody, anyway.

“Sight unseen?” Maggie echoed.

“It’s perfect for Madison and me,” Kendra said, relaxing a little.

“Don’t you even want to know how much the rent will be?”

Kendra strained to see Joslyn’s monitor again and scanned quickly for the price. “That won’t be a problem,” she nearly chimed.

Maggie was quiet for a few moments, taking it all in. “All right,” she said finally. “Come early and we’ll go over the details of the trust fund, then run over to the house so you can have a look inside before you commit yourself to a year’s lease—”

Kendra bit back a very un-Kendra-like response, which would have gone something like this: I’m committing right now. Do you hear me? Right now!

“Fine,” she said moderately. “But please don’t show it to anyone else in the meantime.”

“In the meantime?” Maggie echoed, with a friendly little laugh. “As in, say, the next half hour? Relax, Kendra—if you want the house, it’s yours.”

Joslyn was grinning throughout the whole conversation.

“Thank you,” Kendra said, near tears, she was so excited. She said goodbye, hung up and grabbed her purse from the corner of her desk.

“Kendra,” Joslyn said, “take a breath. It’s meant to be.”

“That,” Kendra retorted lightly, already on her way to the door, car keys in hand, “is what you said about Hutch and me. Remember?”

“Oh,” Joslyn answered breezily, “I haven’t changed my mind on that score. Sooner or later, I’m sure you’ll both come around.”

Kendra shook her head, gave a rueful chuckle. “Don’t work too hard,” she said, opening the office door. “If you’re still here when I get back, I’ll buy you lunch at the Butter Biscuit.”

“One more lunch at the Butter Biscuit,” Joslyn said, “and I’ll be a butterball. Anyway, I promised to meet Shea at the Curly Burly at one—we’re going shopping.”

Kendra nodded and rushed out.

Five minutes later, she was seated in Maggie’s office, on the very edge of her chair.

Maggie had already warned her that building a legal structure that would protect Madison’s considerable financial interests would require a series of meetings, if only because of the complexity of the task.

Kendra listened to Maggie’s explanations and suggestions as patiently as she could, but her mind was on the one-story colonial with the fenced backyard. This, too, was unlike her—she usually focused keenly on whatever she was doing at the time, but today, it was impossible.