Big Sky Mountain

chapter EIGHTEEN



GIVE THE WOMAN some space, Hutch counseled himself silently that bright Sunday afternoon, as he kept busy grooming horses in the barn, Leviticus close by. He was restless, despite his own advice, wanting to head straight for town, find Kendra and—what?

Talk to her? Make love to her again?

Instinct, as well as knowing Kendra so long and so well, warned that she might run for the hills if he came on too strong, too soon.

No, he’d contain his impatience, go slowly. He’d lost her once, and he didn’t want to risk losing her again.

He loved her—that was the only thing he was really sure of.

He was finishing up, wondering what else he could turn his hand to that would use up some more daylight, as well as personal energy, when he heard a rig pull up outside the barn. Leviticus, not much of a watchdog, gave a halfhearted woof.

Probably Opal, back from church, he thought, headed for the doorway. He was grinning a little, remembering how she’d left the house all spiffed-up that morning, flatly denying that she was out to impress the new preacher.

When he stepped out into the sunlight, though, it was Boone he saw, getting out of his squad car. Both boys tumbled out from behind the grate that separated the front seat of the cruiser from the back, grinning a howdy at Hutch.

He chuckled and gave them each a light squeeze to the shoulder—they were dressed up, and it saddened him a little, because these were probably their traveling clothes. Boone had said they’d be leaving today, but Hutch hadn’t given the matter much thought until now.

“They want to say goodbye to you before they catch the bus back to Missoula,” Boone said, looking as lame as he sounded. He was wan, and he hadn’t shaved, and Hutch would have sworn the man was wearing the same set of clothes he’d had on yesterday at the rodeo.

The taller boy, Griff, looked solemn. “We don’t want to leave,” he said. “But Dad says we have to.”

“Uncle Bob is our dad,” the smaller one, Fletch, insisted staunchly.

Hutch stole a sidelong glance at Boone’s face and saw that his friend looked as though he’d just been sucker-punched, square in the gut. He waited for Boone to correct the boy, to claim him, as it were, but he didn’t do that.

“Well,” Hutch said, holding on to his grin because it was threatening to slip away, “I hope you’ll come back for another visit real soon.”

Griff’s dark brown eyes were bright with angry sorrow as he looked up at Hutch. Something in his expression begged him to step in, change the direction of things, get Boone to see reason, to understand what he was throwing away just because he was scared.

The backs of Hutch’s own eyes stung like fire; he hated the helplessness he felt. Bottom line, it was Boone’s call whether the boys stayed or went, and he had no right to interfere—not in front of them, at least.

He’d have plenty to say to Boone in private, when he got the chance.

Boone consulted his watch. “We’d better go,” he said without looking at his sons. “You don’t want to miss the bus.”

“Yes, we do,” Griff argued. “We want to stay here with you, Dad.”

“No, we don’t,” Fletch put in, but his lower lip wobbled and his eyes glistened.

Boone sighed, and his gaze met Hutch’s. Help me out, here, will you? That was what his expression said, as clearly as if he’d spoken aloud.

“You know what I think,” Hutch replied carefully, quietly. “And you can be sure we’ll discuss it later.”

Fletch wasn’t through talking, evidently. He tensed, like he was thinking about kicking Boone square in the shin, looked up at him, squinting against the sun and his whole body trembling, blurted, “You don’t want us anyway! You can’t wait to get rid of us!”

Boone went pale and, after unclenching the hinges of his jaws, he replied, “We’ve already had this discussion, Fletcher.” He paused, shook his head, tossed a grim, thanks-for-nothing look Hutch’s way. “Get in the car, both of you.”

After one last imploring look at Hutch, Griff put his hand to his little brother’s back and shoved him in the direction of the squad car.

“Damn it, Boone, this is wrong,” Hutch growled, as soon as the boys were inside the vehicle again, with the doors shut. “Sending those kids away is the same thing as saying straight out that Fletch has it right, you don’t want them.”

Boone looked at him in stricken silence and for a long time, but in the end, he didn’t answer. He just gave a curt nod of farewell, turned his back and walked away.

Hutch watched the retreating squad car until it was clean out of sight.

Then he went inside the house and, with Leviticus close on his heels, wandered uselessly from room to room, too restless to light anywhere and do anything constructive.

When he’d vented some of the steam that had been building up in him since Boone’s visit, he took a shower, put on fresh clothes and headed for town in the new truck he’d decided to go ahead and buy.

He still intended to keep his distance from Kendra, much as he wanted to walk right up to her and tell her straight out that he still loved her—had never stopped loving her—and meant to marry her if she’d have him.

But he knew all too well what she’d say—that they’d just gotten “carried away,” up there on the mountainside. That he was still on the rebound from Brylee and in no position to make any sort of long-term commitment.

He was sure she loved him—her body had told him things she wouldn’t or couldn’t put into words—but that didn’t mean she trusted him. And without trust, without respect, love just wasn’t enough, no matter how strong it was.

So he had to wait. Bide his time.

And that was going to be just about the hardest thing he’d ever done.

The carnival was shutting down when he drove by the fairgrounds a few minutes later, the rodeo arena was dark, the vendors outside the exhibition hall loading up what they hadn’t sold over the weekend.

It all made him feel lonely, as though a small, special world had opened, just for that brief time, and was now closing again. Shutting him out.

He might have gone to the Boot Scoot for a beer and maybe a game of pool, just to get his mind off things, but it was always closed on Sundays. Even the Butter Biscuit locked up and went dark once the after-church rush was over.

He turned his thoughts to Boone and the sorry situation he’d gotten himself into by letting go of his kids after Corrie died. Hutch started thinking about fear, and what it did to people. What it cost them.

It was a short leap, of course, from his friend’s worries about being able to take proper care of a couple of growing boys to the things, he, Hutch, was afraid of. One of them was commitment—he’d be staking his heart on an uncertain outcome if he got married, and if things went sour, he’d lose half his ranch in the divorce settlement. Whisper Creek was part of him, and without the whole of it, he’d be crippled on the inside.

The other thing he was afraid of was the water tower.

So he drove there, parked in the tall grass, twilight gathering around him, and looked up. The ladder dangled, rickety as ever, from the side, but something was different, too.

Shea, Slade’s teenage stepdaughter, peered down at him, white-faced, from the heights. She appeared to be alone, and a quick glance around confirmed that she had undertaken this rite of passage on her own.

“Hi, Hutch,” she called down, her voice a little shaky.

“What the hell are you doing up there, Shea?” he snapped, in no mood for small talk.

“I’m—not sure,” she replied. “You won’t tell Dad and Joslyn, will you?”

“No promises,” Hutch said. “Get down here, damn it.”

Shea’s voice wavered, and even from that distance, with her face a snow-white oval, he could see that she was crying. “I—can’t. I tried, but I’m too scared.”

Hutch felt the back of his shirt dampen with sweat, and his gut twisted itself into a hard knot. “Come on, Shea,” he went on, more gently now. “You got up there in the first place, didn’t you? That means you can get down.”

“Climbing up wasn’t scary,” she told him. “Climbing down is a whole other matter.”

Hutch swore under his breath, moved closer to the ladder. The rungs were old, some of them missing, others hanging by a single rusty nail.

He knew then what he had to do, but that didn’t mean he wanted to do it. He kept his gaze fixed straight ahead, because he knew if he looked from side to side, even though he was still standing flat-footed on the ground, he’d feel like he was trying to walk the perimeter of the Tilt-a-Whirl while it was spinning full-throttle.

“Okay,” he heard himself say, as if from a distance. Say, the next county. “Hang on. I’ll come up there, and we’ll climb down together.”

“All—all right,” Shea agreed.

Terror aside, the approach didn’t make a lot of sense to Hutch—Shea probably didn’t weigh more than a hundred and ten pounds, while he tipped the scales at an even one-eighty. Expecting that ladder to hold both of them at the same time was anti-logic, pure and simple.

Still, he’d been where Shea was once. He knew she was frozen with fear, knew she needed another human being within touching distance, someone to be with her, talk her down.

Just as Slade Barlow had once done for him.

He closed his eyes for a moment, sucked in a harsh breath and started up that ladder.

He kept his gaze upward, on Shea’s face as she leaned out over the edge of the flimsy catwalk, looking down at him. Her eyes were enormous and awash in tears.

“Easy now,” he said, addressing himself as much as Shea. “Just take it real easy, sweetheart. You’ll be standing on solid ground again in no time.”

“You’re going to tell my dad,” Shea fretted.

The remark lightened the moment, brought on a slight smile that loosened Hutch’s tight lips a little. His palms felt slick where he gripped the splintery side rails of that ladder, and his stomach shinnied up into the back of his throat like it meant to fight its way right out of him.

“No, I’m not going to tell your dad,” he replied evenly, still climbing. One rung, then another, and for God’s sake, don’t look down. “You are.”

“He’ll kill me,” Shea said.

Better him than a fifty-foot fall from a water tower, Hutch thought, but what he actually said was, “If I were you, I’d worry about that later.”

He was almost at the top now, and there was a certain dizzy triumph in that, but he still couldn’t bring himself to look anywhere but at Shea, the closest thing he had to a niece.

“Now what?” Shea asked.

A reasonable question, Hutch reflected. “Come on out onto the ladder,” he said. “I’m right here with you.”

As if he could catch her if she fell.

The things Slade had said to him, way back when he was in Shea’s predicament and scared half out of his wits, shouldered their way into his head and tumbled right out over his tongue.

“You can do this,” he said quietly. “It’s just one step, and then another, and before you know it, we’ll both be off this thing.”

Shea hesitated, then swung a blue-jeaned leg out over the edge, found a rung with her foot, pushed on it a little to make sure it was sound.

“Easy,” Hutch said. “Slow and easy.”

Shea was on the ladder, but she clung there for a moment, looking as though she might not move again. “I’m so scared,” she whimpered.

“That’s okay,” Hutch reasoned. “Just take another step. One more, Shea.”

He moved down a few rungs to give her room.

One of them split when he stepped on it, and he almost fell, felt slivers digging into the palms of his hands and the undersides of his fingers as he held on, found his footing.

“Don’t put your weight on any one rung until you’re sure it will hold,” he told her calmly, even though he felt like a lone sock tumbling round and round in a clothes dryer. Tentatively, she took another step.

Sweat ran down over Hutch’s forehead and stung like acid in his eyes. “That’s it,” he said evenly. “You’re doing fine.”

The descent was a long one—several more rungs broke along the way, under Shea’s feet as well as Hutch’s—but they finally made it.

Hutch swayed, feeling an uncanny urge to kiss the ground.

Shea threw her arms around him. “What if you hadn’t been here?” she whispered.

He hugged her once, then stepped back to look into her tear-stained, bloodless face, taking an avuncular hold on her shoulders. “You’d have made it down on your own eventually,” he said, though he wasn’t sure that was true. “Are you all right?”

She nodded, hugging herself now, even though the evening was warm. “Thanks,” she murmured. “Thanks for showing up when you did, and for helping me.”

“Let’s get you home,” Hutch said. Since he hadn’t seen a car around, he knew the girl must have come on foot.

“Dad and Joslyn are over at Grands’ house with the baby,” she explained. “For Sunday supper.”

“We’ll head for Callie’s, then,” Hutch told her.

“Do I still have to tell them what I did?”

“Yep,” Hutch answered, opening the passenger door of the truck so she could scramble inside.

“Why?”

“Because you do,” Hutch replied when he was behind the wheel with the engine started. “Otherwise, it’s a secret and I can’t be part of that, Shea. Your dad and I have our differences of opinion now and again, but he is my brother, he loves you, and he has a right to know what you’re up to.” He made a wide turn and they bumped back out onto the dirt road that led to the water tower. “What were you thinking, anyhow, climbing up there?”

It was a rhetorical question, a conversation-starter, really. There was no good reason for pulling a stunt like that, but kids did it, year after year, decade after decade, generation after generation.

“I did it because I didn’t want to be afraid of it anymore,” Shea said.

“I hope that doesn’t mean you plan on a repeat performance,” Hutch answered, biting back a grin. Damned if the kid didn’t have a point—he wasn’t scared of it anymore, either.

“That,” Shea said with a tremulous smile, “would be overkill. Once was enough.”

“More than enough,” Hutch confirmed.

A few minutes later, they pulled into the parking lot in front of Callie Barlow’s Curly Burly Hair Salon. Slade immediately appeared in the doorway of the add-on where Callie lived.

“Tell him,” Hutch reiterated as Slade walked toward them, looking puzzled.

Shea sighed dramatically, opened her door and hopped to the ground. Hutch got out, too.

“I climbed the water tower,” Shea confessed in a breathless rush, “and then I got scared and I froze and Hutch came up to get me. Am I grounded?”

“You are so grounded,” Slade told her, cocking a thumb over his shoulder to indicate that she ought to go into the house. All the while, though, Slade was watching Hutch.

When they were alone in that dusty parking lot, Slade nodded to him. “Obliged,” he said. He, of all people, knew what climbing that damned ladder had meant for Hutch. He’d have ridden the devil’s own bull first, if that would have gotten him out of it.

They shook hands, and Hutch was reminded of the splinters he’d have to remove when he got home.

“See you,” he said, turning to get back in the truck.

“Hold on a second,” Slade said. “I’ve got something to ask you.”

Hutch turned his head. Waited.

“Joslyn and I—well—we’d like you to be Trace’s godfather, if you’re willing. The ceremony’s next Sunday, after church.”

Hutch was moved by the request, but he didn’t want it to show. “I’m willing,” he said, his voice a little huskier than usual. “But you know how it is with me and churches. Lightning might strike or the roof could fall in.”

Slade chuckled. “I’ll chance it if you will,” he said.

“I’ll be there,” Hutch told his half brother. “Just let me know what time—and promise me I won’t have to rent another tux.”

“Just dress the way you normally would,” Slade said, his grin lingering. “And Hutch?”

Hutch had the driver’s door open and he was already on the running board. “Yeah?”

“Thanks,” Slade told him. “For helping Shea out, I mean.”

Hutch wasn’t wearing a hat, but he tugged at the imaginary brim just the same. “Somebody did the same for me once,” he said and got into the truck.

He headed for home, feeling like a different man from the one who’d left it.

* * *

BY TUESDAY MORNING, Kendra had largely recovered her equilibrium. Discussing the Hutch situation with Joslyn the day before, here at the office, had helped a lot.

Now the storefront space buzzed with anticipatory vibes—even Daisy, who had come to work with Kendra as usual, seemed to sense it.

Sure enough, promptly at ten twenty-five, a powder-blue sports car nosed into a parking space out front and a small woman, wearing jeans, an oversize T-shirt, a baseball cap and sunglasses got out and stood waiting on the sidewalk while Walker parked his truck a few slots over.

Reaching her side, he kissed Casey lightly on the cheek, the way he might have kissed his sister, Brylee, and then held the office door open for her.

Tendrils of Casey’s legendary head of red hair were escaping from beneath the cap as she stepped inside, and an impish little smile played on her famous mouth.

She enjoyed being in disguise, that was obvious, so Kendra didn’t blurt out the first thought that popped into her head, which was, I’d have recognized you anywhere.

Walker, as if guessing Kendra’s thoughts, winked at her over the top of Casey’s head.

Recalling what he’d told her—that Casey’s two children were his, as well—Kendra’s curiosity ratcheted up a notch, but of course asking about that was out of the question. Whatever had gone on between Walker and Casey was their own business, not hers.

But she still wondered.

A lot.

She smiled and extended a hand to Casey. “Hello,” she said. “I’m Kendra.”

“Casey,” the other woman replied, shaking Kendra’s hand. Her grip was surprisingly strong for such a small person. “Glad to meet you,” came out sounding more like, Gladta meet ya, since Casey had a Southern accent.

“She thinks she’s fooling everybody,” Walker told Kendra, grinning. “This is the Casey version of low-key.”

Casey removed her sunglasses, revealing her striking green eyes and long lashes, and made a face at Walker. “Let a person have a little fun, why don’t you?” she retorted lightly. Then she spotted Daisy and went straight over to her, patting the dog’s head and talking to her as she would any friend.

Daisy was instantly besotted with Casey, as she had been when she first met Walker. Kendra took this as a good sign, since she believed dogs and other domesticated animals were excellent judges of character.

“I sure am ready to have a look at that house,” Casey announced. “I’ve been excited ever since Walker sent me the pictures.”

“We’ll take my car,” Kendra said, picking up her keys. She’d vacuumed the interior thoroughly that morning before taking Madison to preschool, and covered the backseat with an old blanket for the trip over, removing it after she’d unloaded the dog, all to prevent messing it up again.

“That’s fine,” Casey said agreeably, and they all left by the back way, since Kendra’s car was parked behind the building, and besides, she wanted to draw as little attention as possible.

Daisy wasn’t happy about being left behind and whined pitifully, trying to squeeze through the crack when Kendra went to close the door.

“Oh, let her come along with us,” Casey urged.

“She sheds,” Kendra said.

“I don’t mind,” Casey replied.

Kendra nodded and brought Daisy along, already liking Casey Elder for her down-to-earth attitude. She’d fit in well here in Parable—if she decided to stay.

Casey rode in back with Daisy, crammed into the middle because of Madison’s car seat, while Walker took the front passenger side. Kendra followed side streets to Rodeo Road, but people peered at them curiously as they passed just the same from yards and sidewalks.

Any stranger would have attracted their attention, but they might well recognize this one—even in disguise, it seemed to Kendra, Casey Elder radiated a sort of down-home confidence that marked her as somebody special.

They reached the mansion without incident and, since the work was done, there were no cleaning or painting crews around.

“Holy smokes,” Casey said in her trademark drawl, standing at the front gate and looking up. “That is some house.”

Kendra was already unlocking the front door, Daisy at her side. “You be good,” she whispered to the dog.

Inside the massive entryway, Kendra went over the house’s best features, but she sensed that Walker and Casey wanted to explore the place on their own, so she left them to it, saying she and Daisy would be on the screened-in porch in back, or in the yard.

Casey smiled and nodded, and then she and Walker set out on their self-guided tour.

Kendra went on through the middle of the sprawling house and out the back door, taking Daisy with her. She let Daisy sniff her way around the yard while she checked the flower beds—the gardeners she’d hired were doing a good job of weeding and watering—and unlocked the door to the guest cottage, so Casey could look it over when she was ready.

She picked a bouquet of zinnias in the garden, planning to put them in the center of her kitchen table over at the rental house later on, and then just stood there, looking around, waiting to feel the sadness of letting go. After all, this had been her dream house once; she’d loved it, lived in it with pride. There were a lot of happy memories, from before and after the break-up with Jeffrey—she’d played here as a child, of course, taken refuge here, and much later, Joslyn had lived in the cottage, when she’d first come back to Parable and found herself falling hard for Slade Barlow—the last man on earth Joss would have chosen. Later still, Kendra had thrown a huge party right there in the backyard, with dancing and caterers and the whole works, to welcome Tara when she’d bought the chicken farm the year before.

No sadness came over her, though.

She knew, standing there with a colorful bouquet of summer flowers in her hands, that Casey would buy this house and make it a home. She would raise her children here.

And that was all well and good.

This house had been Jeffrey’s, really—he’d been the one to pay for it, to furnish and maintain it, even after they were divorced. Now it was going to change hands, and the money from the sale would go into a trust fund for Madison, Jeffrey’s child, as it should.

Kendra felt a lot of peace in those moments, thinking about all the changes that had taken place in her life since she’d first seen this house, as a lost little girl, hungry to belong somewhere, to be wanted and welcome.

And she had been welcome here, with Opal and Joslyn and Joslyn’s laughing, generous mother.

But she wasn’t that unwanted child anymore. She was a grown woman, whole and strong, with a daughter of her own to love and bring up to the best of her ability. She liked her life, liked who she’d become, knew for sure and at long last that she’d be happy from now on, with or without Hutch Carmody, because she’d decided to be.

It was time to leave her fears and doubts behind and go forward, expecting good things to happen, knowing she could cope with the bad ones.

After half an hour or so, Casey and Walker joined her in the yard.

Casey was beaming. “It’s perfect,” she told Kendra, bending to stroke Daisy’s gleaming golden head when the dog approached, wagging her tail. “Where do I sign?”

Kendra glanced at Walker, then looked at Casey again. “Don’t you want to think about it for a while?” she asked. As many houses as she’d sold over the course of her career, she’d never had an instant offer like this one.

“Heck, no,” Casey replied exuberantly. “It’s just what I want. Why wait?”

That was it.

There was no haggling, no having the place inspected, no anything.

Casey signed a contract when they got back to the office, wrote an enormous deposit check to show good faith and announced that the sooner the deal closed, the better, because she wanted to get her children settled in Parable before school started.

Kendra promised to speed things along in every way she could.

After Walker and Casey were gone, she jumped up and down in the middle of the office and whooped for joy, causing Daisy to slink under a desk and peer out at her with wary eyes.

That made her laugh, and she spoke soothingly to the dog until she came out of her hiding place.

Presently, Kendra gave up on the whole idea of working—there wasn’t much to do, anyway—and, after locking Casey’s mongo check away in a desk drawer, she summoned Daisy, locked up and returned to her car.

The zinnias she’d picked at the mansion rested on the passenger seat, a damp paper towel wrapped around their stems, reminding Kendra of the fireworks on Saturday night, colorful flowers blooming in the sky and melting away in dancing sparks.

She drove to the Pioneer Cemetery, parked, picked up the zinnias and, leaving Daisy in the car with a window rolled down so she’d have plenty of air, walked along the rows of graves until she came to her grandmother’s final resting place.

Eudora Shepherd, the simple stone read, and the dates of her birth and death were inscribed beneath it. No husband was buried nearby, no family members at all.

Her grandmother had been alone in the world, for all intents and purposes.

Kendra crouched and laid the zinnias gently at the base of the dusty headstone.

“You did the best you could,” she said very softly, as the breeze played in her hair. “It must have been hard, taking in a child at your age, with money always running short and trouble coming at you from every direction, but you let me stay with you when Mom left, and that was what was important. You fed and clothed me and kept a roof over my head, and I’m grateful for that, Grandma. I’m really, truly grateful.”

Kendra stood up straight again, her eyes dry, her heart quiet.

At long last, she’d truly let go, stopped wishing the past could be different. All that really mattered, she realized, was now, what she did, what she thought, what she felt now.

She said goodbye to her grandmother, to all the things that had been and shouldn’t have, and all the things that should have been, but weren’t. She said goodbye to Jeffrey, and goodbye to the reckless boy Hutch had been when she first fell in love with him.

And “hello” to the man he had become.

She was in no rush, though. Things would unfold as they were supposed to, and she was open to that.

* * *

HUTCH SADDLED REMINGTON and rode up to the mountainside alone that morning after assigning the ranch crew to various tasks for the day.

He dismounted, left the horse to graze and walked toward the rock pile, pausing briefly in the place where he and Kendra had made love the previous Saturday afternoon.

He smiled. It had been good—their lovemaking—because it had been right. Not to mention, long overdue, from his viewpoint, anyway.

He went on to the stone monument he’d built in fury, in pain, in frustration, lifted up one of the heavier stones, and set it on the ground.

“It’s over, old man,” he told his dead father, though only the birds and the breeze and his favorite horse were around to hear. “I’m through hating you for not being who I needed you to be. You were who you were. I don’t mind saying, though, that I want to be a different kind of man. If Kendra agrees, I mean to make her my wife. I’ll love her until the day I die, and maybe after that, too, and I’ll love that little girl of hers like she’s my own.”

Hutch began to feel a little foolish then, talking to a dead man, and anyway he’d said what he wanted to say.

One by one, he tossed aside the rocks that made up that pile and finally stood on level ground.