Maisey Yates - Cowboy Ever After

With that, Sherry waggled her fingers in farewell, climbed into her ancient, smoke-belching station wagon and drove away.

Kendra simply sat and waited—it wouldn’t have occurred to her to wander off or run after Sherry’s car.

When her grandmother arrived home a couple hours later, she got out of her car, lit up a cigarette and drew deeply on the smoke. Then she crossed the overgrown yard to stand there frowning down at Kendra.

With her bent and buckled plastic suitcase beside her, Kendra looked up into her grandmother’s lined and sorrow-hardened face, and saw no welcome there.

“Just what I need,” the old woman had said bitterly. “A kid to take care of.”

But Alva Shepherd had given Kendra a home, however reluctantly.

She’d put food on the table and kept a roof over their heads and if love and laughter had been lacking from the relationship, well, nobody had everything. If Sherry hadn’t dropped her off that day, she probably would have been killed in the car accident that took her mom’s life six months later.

After that, her grandma had been a little nicer to her, not out of compassion—she didn’t seem to grieve over losing a daughter or Kendra’s loss of her mother, apparently regarding it as a fitting end to a misspent life—but because Kendra became eligible for a small monthly check from the government. That made things easier all around.

“Kendra?” Hutch tugged her back into the here and now, still holding her hand.

“There are too many broken people in this world,” she said, thinking aloud.

Hutch simply gazed at her for a long, unreadable moment. “True enough,” he agreed finally, almost hoarsely. “But there are plenty of good ones, too, built to stay the course.”

Happy noises in the distance indicated that the games were about to start and picnic food was being served. Hutch was right, of course—these sturdy people all around them were the proof, teaming up to tend the grounds of a decrepit old cemetery, to serve potato salad and hot dogs and the like to old friends and new, to hold races for children who would remember sunny, communal days like this one well into their own old age.

In that moment, Kendra felt a wistful sort of hope that places like Parable would always exist, so babies could be born and grow up and get married and live on into their golden years, always in touch with their own histories and those of the people around them, always a part of something, always belonging somewhere.

It was what Kendra had wanted for Madison, that kind of stability, and what she wanted for herself, too—because her story hadn’t ended with her overwhelmed grandmother on the rickety porch of a double-wide that had, even then, seen better days. Because Opal had taken her into her heart and Joslyn had been the sister she’d never had, and the generous souls who called Parable home had taken her into their midst without hesitation, made her one of them.

Tears brimmed in her eyes.

Hutch, seeing them, stopped and cupped a hand under her chin. “What?” he asked with a tenderness that made Kendra’s breath catch.

“I was just thinking how perfect life is,” Kendra admitted, “even when it’s im perfect.”

He grinned. “It’s worth the trouble, all right,” he agreed. “Want to enter the three-legged race? I can’t think of anybody I’d rather be tied to at the ankle.”

She laughed and said yes, and threw herself headfirst into the celebration.

* * *

PARABLE COUNTY HOSPITAL was small, with brightly painted white walls, and most of the staff had been born and raised within fifty miles of the place, so folks felt safe when they were sick or hurt, knowing they’d be cared for by friends, or friends of friends, or even kinfolk.

Hutch hadn’t been there since his dad died, but now there was the baby boy, born a few hours before, ratcheting up the population by one. The numbers on the sign at the edge of town were magnetic, so they could be altered when somebody drew their first breath, sighed out their last one or simply moved to or from the community.

Slade, standing beside him, rested a hand briefly on his shoulder. After the races and the picnic and the prizes, he’d dropped Kendra and Madison and that goofy dog of theirs off at their new digs before heading home to shower, shave, put on clean clothes and make the drive back to town.

“You done good, brother,” Hutch said without looking at Slade.

Slade chuckled. He hadn’t taken his eyes off that little blue-bundled yahoo in the plastic baby bed since they’d stepped up to the window. “Thanks,” he replied, “but Joslyn deserves at least some of the credit. She handled the tough part.”

Hutch smiled, nodded. The kid hadn’t even been in the world for a full day and he was already looking more like John Carmody, as did Slade, by the second. He guessed it was the old man’s way of keeping one foot in the world, even though he was six feet under. “What are you going to call him?” he asked.

“Trace,” Slade answered, with a touch of quiet awe in his voice, as though he didn’t quite believe his own good fortune. “Trace Carmody Barlow.”

Hutch wasn’t prepared for the “Carmody” part. While Slade was technically as much a Carmody as Hutch himself was, their dad hadn’t raised him, hadn’t even claimed him until his will was read.

Slade interpreted his half brother’s silence accurately. “It’s a way of telling the truth,” he said. “About who Trace is and who I am.”

Hutch swallowed. Nodded. “How’s Joslyn?” he managed to ask.

“She’s ready to take the boy and head home to Windfall,” Slade said with another chuckle. “Opal and I overruled her, insisting that she spend the night here in the hospital, just to make sure she and the baby don’t run into any hitches.”

Windfall was the aptly chosen name of Slade and Joslyn’s ranch, which bordered Hutch’s land on one side. Slade had bought the spread with the proceeds from selling his share of Whisper Creek to Hutch and, as convoluted as the situation had been, Hutch would always be grateful. He was a part of that ranch and it was a part of him, and losing half of it would have been like being chopped into two pieces himself.

“I see you brought Kendra and her little girl to the cleanup today,” Slade remarked lightly.

Hutch looked straight at him. “Some first date, huh?” he joked, not that it actually was a first date, considering that he and Kendra had once been a couple. “A picnic at a cemetery.”

Slade grinned. “I took Joslyn to a horse auction the first time we went out,” he reminded Hutch. “Maybe chivalry runs in the family.”

“Or maybe not,” Hutch said, and they both laughed. Shook hands.

“Thanks for showing up to have a look at the boy,” Slade said.

Hutch nodded, said a quiet goodbye and turned to go while Slade stayed behind to admire his son for a little while longer.

Shea and Opal were standing in the corridor when Hutch got there, talking quietly with a beaming Callie Barlow.

“That’s one fine little brother you’ve got there,” he told Shea.

Apparently over her earlier angst at no longer being the only bird in the nest, Shea smiled brightly and nodded in happy agreement. Callie hugged her step-granddaughter, her own eyes full of tears.

“He’s the best,” Shea murmured.

“Congratulations,” Hutch said to Callie. It was, if he recalled correctly, the first word he’d ever said to the woman, even though he’d always known her. It wasn’t that he’d judged her—he supposed she’d loved the old man once upon a time, since she’d had a child with him—but Hutch’s mother’s heartache and rage over the affair was still fresh in his mind. Until Trace, acknowledging Callie would have seemed like an act of disloyalty to his mom, as crazy as that sounded. After all, she’d died when he was twelve.