Big Sky Mountain Part 17

Kendra straightened her spine. Lifted her chin a notch or two. "Not exactly," she hedged. "Not exactly"? mocked a voice in the back of her mind. Come on. He'd just verbalized her precise thoughts on the matter. She'd been afraid he'd hurt and disappoint her little girl, and decided not to let it happen-that was the size of it.

"If you'll remember," Hutch went on, filling her in in case she hadn't noticed the figurative skywriting arching across the firmament overhead, "I told Madison she could ride one of my horses if it was all right with you. You're the one who didn't want to commit to a straight-out yes' and just barely settled for maybe.' And now it's my fault for letting her down?"

Kendra swallowed miserably. Looked away.

"Kendra," Hutch insisted. Just that one word, just her name, was all he said, but it carried weight.

"All right," she whispered, meeting his gaze again. "I'm sorry. I was wrong. Can we just get past that, please?"

His mouth smiled, but his eyes were solemn, even sad. "I meant what I said before," he finally replied. "If you're agreeable, we'll put Madison on the gentlest horse I own and she'll have her ride. Or she can ride with me, whatever you think best."

Kendra's throat tightened and she had to look away once more before reconnecting. Those eyes of his seemed to see into the deepest part of her, seeking and finding every secret she'd hidden away over the years, even from herself.

"When?" she asked, still mortified by her own behavior but trying to put a good face on things. "Madison will expect specifics."

He smiled again, this time with his whole face. "Whenever you say," he answered.

Kendra sighed. The ball was in her court and he wasn't going to let her forget that. "Tomorrow?" she threw out tentatively. "After she gets out of preschool?"

"That'll work," Hutch said, watching her. "About what time should I expect you and the munchkin to show up on Whisper Creek?"

"Three-thirty? Is that too early? I know you probably have a lot of work to do and I wouldn't want to impose or anything."

Lame. Of course she was imposing-but she was in too deep and there was no other way out.

"Three-thirty," Hutch agreed. Then, unexpectedly, he reached across the table and closed his fingers gently around her hand. "One question, Kendra. Why was it so hard for you to get all this said? We have a history, you and I, and not all of it was bad-not by a long shot."

"I'm-not sure," Kendra admitted softly.

"That's an honest if inadequate answer," he said, but his grin, if slight, was genuine. He got up, walked over to retrieve his hat, held it in one hand as he looked back at Kendra. "Tomorrow, three-thirty, Whisper Creek Ranch?"

"If it's inconvenient for you, another time would be fine, honestly-"

Hutch narrowed his eyes, not in anger, but bewilderment, as though by squinting he might make out some aspect of her nature he hadn't spotted before. "Women," he said with a note of consternation in his voice.

Kendra got to her feet, led the way back through the house toward the front door. "Men," she retorted with a roll of her eyes.

She'd never planned for it to happen, and maybe Hutch hadn't either, but once they'd stepped beyond the cone of light thrown by the porch fixture, into the soft, summery shadows, they found themselves standing close to each other-too close.

Hutch curved a hand under Kendra's chin, lifted her face and kissed her, as naturally as they would have done in the old days.

And Kendra kissed him back, her body coming awake as both new and very familiar sensations took hold, expanding and contracting, soaring and then plummeting.

Kendra gave a silent gasp. It was still there, then, all of it, the pa.s.sion, the need, the wildness, the things she'd tried so hard to forget over the years since their breakup.

She knew she ought to change directions, put on the brakes before they collided in the train wreck of the century-but she just couldn't.

She was lost in that kiss, lost in the way it felt to have Hutch's arms around her again, strong and sure, holding her close.

Her knees went weak, and she knotted her fists in the fabric of his s.h.i.+rt and held on, and still the kiss continued, seemingly taking on a life of its own, now playful, now deep and commanding.

"Mommy?"

The word, coming from just beyond the screened door, sliced down between them like a knife.

Both of them stepped back.

"You didn't tell me the cowboy man was here," Madison said innocently, rubbing away sleep with one hand even as she pressed her little nose against the worn screen, looking curious but nothing more. Her sidekick, Daisy, did the same.

"I didn't want to wake you up," Hutch said chivalrously. "Your mom and I were deciding on when you ought to take that horseback ride we talked about."

Madison's eyes instantly widened, and she stepped back far enough to open the screen door so she and Daisy could bolt through the gap.

"Really?" the child cried. "When? Where?"

Hutch lifted her easily, naturally into his arms, grinned. "Really," he said. "Tomorrow afternoon, at my ranch."

"I told you she'd ask for specifics," Kendra managed to say. Her face was still flaming, her heart was pounding, and she was frantic to know how much Madison had seen, and understood, before interrupting that foolish, wonderful kiss.

Madison literally squealed with delight. "Yes!" she cried, punching the air with one small, triumphant fist.

Hutch chuckled and set her back on her bare feet, tousled her tumbling copper curls lightly, though by then his gaze was fixed on Kendra again. She couldn't read his expression very well, since he was standing on the fringes of the glow from the porch light, but she saw the white flash of his teeth as he smiled.

"I guess that's settled, then," he said. He set his hat on his head, tugged at the brim in farewell and added, "Good night, ladies. I'll see you tomorrow."

And he turned to go.

"Wait!" Madison blurted, and Kendra was relieved to realize she hadn't been the one to speak, because that exact same word had swelled in the back of her throat and very nearly tumbled out over her tongue.

Wait.

Wait for what? A second chance? A miracle? Some pa.s.sage opening between now and the time when everything had been good and right between them?

You're losing it, Kendra thought to herself.

Hutch paused at the top of the steps, turned to look back over one shoulder and waited quietly for the little girl to go on.

Kendra had forgotten that quietness in him. Hutch was still a rowdy cowboy inclined toward the rough-and-tumble and that probably hadn't changed, but he carried a vast silence inside him, too, as though he were somehow anch.o.r.ed to the core of the universe and drew confidence from that.

"Can Daisy come, too?" Madison asked earnestly.

"It's all right with me if it's all right with your mother," Hutch replied almost gruffly.

Kendra didn't dare say anything, so she nodded. She wanted Hutch to stay, though. She wanted more of his kisses, and still more, and she ached to return to the sweet, secret places where she knew they would take her.

But it wasn't going to happen, she told herself. Not tonight, anyway.

Hutch went his way-down the walk, through the gate, around to the driver's door of his truck; and she went to hers-back into the house, with Madison and Daisy.

HEADED HOME TO the ranch through a pale purple summer night, Hutch felt exuberant and scared s.h.i.+tless, both at the same time. The aftereffects of the kiss he and Kendra had shared on her porch still reverberated through his system like bullets ricocheting around inside a cement mixer and every instinct urged him to get far away from the woman, fast.

Except that there was nowhere to go.

He rolled down the window, switched on the radio and sang along with a country-western drinking song at the top of his lungs for the first mile or so, and by the time he was about to round the last bend, some of the adrenaline had ebbed and there was at least a remote possibility that he could think straight.

He wasn't speeding-the ticket Boone had given him was still fresh in his mind-but he nearly hit the critter sitting in the middle of the road anyhow.

He swerved, screeched to a stop, shut off the engine but not the headlights, and shoved open the door. Sprinting around the back of the truck, he was surprised-and relieved-to see that the animal, either a black dog or a very skinny bear, was still in one piece. The creature hadn't moved from the middle of the road, and as he approached, it whimpered low in its throat and cowered a little.

"You hurt?" Hutch asked, mindful that another rig could come around the bend at any moment and send both him and what turned out to be a dog headlong into the Promised Land. Swiftly, he crouched, ran experienced rancher's hands over the creature's matted back and all four legs. He stood up again. "Come on, then," he said, satisfied that nothing was broken. "Let's see if you can walk."

Hutch started slowly back toward the truck.

The dog got up and limped after him.

Carefully, he hoisted the stray into the pa.s.senger's seat of his truck.

"You oughtn't to sit in the road like that," he said, once he was behind the wheel again and turning the key in the ignition. "It's a good way to get killed."

Here he was, talking to a dog.

A strange thing to do, maybe, but it felt good.

The dog turned to look at him with weary, limpid eyes and s.h.i.+vered a little.

Hutch debated turning around, taking the stray back to town, to the veterinary clinic, or at least to Martie Wren's place, so she could take a look at it, maybe check for one of those microchips that served as canine GPS. He'd been around horses and dogs and cattle all his life, though, and he knew instinctively that this one was sound, underneath all that dirt and deprivation.

Pulling in at the top of his driveway, Hutch was relieved to see Opal's station wagon parked up ahead. Evidently Bingo was over for the night, because she probably wouldn't have left the Elks' bas.e.m.e.nt before the last number was called.

He parked, lifted the dog out of the truck and set him on his four thin, shaky legs. "You're going to be all right, fella," he told the animal gruffly. "You've got my word on that."

They went inside.

Opal was at the table, drinking tea and reading from her Bible.

"Land sakes," she said, at the sight of the dog, "what is that?"

Hutch gave her a wry look. "Just a wayfarer fallen on hard times," he said.

Opal closed her Bible, stood up, removing her gla.s.ses, polis.h.i.+ng them with the hem of her ap.r.o.n, and putting them back on again, so she could examine the dog more closely. "Poor critter," she said. "Let's have us a good look at you."

Next she moved her teacup and Bible and draped a large plastic bag over the table.

"Heft him on up here," she said.

Hutch complied.

The dog stood uncertainly in the middle of the table, convinced, no doubt, that he was breaking some obscure human law and would be punished for it. He took to s.h.i.+vering again.

"n.o.body's going to hurt you now," Opal told him, with gentle good humor, as she began to examine and prod. "Just look at that rib cage," she remarked, finally stepping back. "When's the last time you had anything to eat, dog?"

Hutch put the critter back on the floor, went to the cupboard for a bowl, filled it with water at the sink, and set it down in front of the newcomer.

The animal drank every drop and looked up at Hutch, asking for more as surely as if he'd spoken aloud.

Hutch refilled the bowl.

Opal, meanwhile, washed her hands and proceeded to ferret around in the fridge, finally emerging with two pieces of chicken and a carton of cottage cheese.

Deftly, like she cared for starving strays every day of her life, she peeled the meat off the bones and broke the chicken into smaller chunks. She mixed in some of the cottage cheese and set the works down on the floor on a plate.

The dog, lapping up water until then, fell on that food like he was afraid it would vanish before his eyes. He made short work of the meal, and Hutch would have given him another helping, but Opal nixed the idea.

"His poor stomach has all it can do to deal with what's already in there," she said.

After that, Hutch bathed the dog in the laundry room sink, helped himself to a couple of towels fresh from the dryer and rubbed that bony mutt down until his hide gleamed and his fur stuck out in every direction.

When he and the dog got back to the kitchen, Opal had cleared the table and resumed her Bible reading and her tea drinking. She tapped at the Good Book with one index finger and said, "Leviticus. That's the perfect name for our friend here."

"How so?" Hutch asked, was.h.i.+ng up at the kitchen sink. The whole front of his good s.h.i.+rt was muddy and wet from giving the dog a bath, but he didn't care.

"Because that's what I was reading when you brought him in."

Hutch smiled to himself. He remembered when he was a kid and his mom would read through the whole Bible every year, a day at a time. She always said if a person could get through the book of Leviticus, they could get through anything.

"I take it Bingo was a bust?" he ventured, watching as Leviticus ambled over to the pile of old blankets Opal must have put out for him, settled himself, gave a sigh and closed his eyes.

"I won the blackout," Opal informed Hutch proudly with a smile and a shake of her head. "Five hundred dollars. So I'm pretty flush."

Hutch looked at the now sleeping dog and felt a s.p.a.ce open wide in his heart to accommodate him. "Speaking of money," he said, "I owe you some for all you've done around here, and over at Boone's place today, too."

Opal executed another dismissive wave of one hand. "I don't want your money, Hutch," she said. "And didn't I just now tell you I've got five hundred beautiful dollars in my wallet at this very moment?"

He chuckled, shook his head. "You," he said, "are one hardheaded woman."

"All the more reason not to argue with me," Opal replied. She arched both eyebrows and Hutch saw the question coming before the words left her mouth. "How did things go over at Kendra's?"

Hutch folded his arms, leaned back against the counter alongside the sink. "Well enough that she and Madison will be coming out here tomorrow afternoon for a horseback ride," he said. It was more than he would have told most people, but he owed Opal, and besides, talking to her was easy.

Opal beamed. "They'll stay for supper," she announced. "I'll make my famous tamale pie. Kendra always loved it and so will that sweet little girl of hers."

Hutch spread his hands. "You'd better be the one to offer the invitation," he said, remembering the kiss. By now the regret would be setting in, Kendra would be wis.h.i.+ng she'd slapped him instead of kissing him right back. "If it comes from me, she's more likely to say no than yes."

"Now why do you suppose that is?" Opal pretended to ponder, but her gaze found the dog again and she smiled. "You mean to keep Leviticus, don't you?" she asked.

"Unless somebody's looking for him," Hutch replied. "I'll check with Martie tomorrow."