Linda Miller - Big Sky Mountain

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.