Big Sky Mountain Part 31

It being early afternoon, the sky was clear and blue and bright with sunlight.

"I see," Kendra said.

"Daisy didn't see them," the little girl clarified, "but I told her all about it."

The phone rang in Kendra's hand just as she took her previous seat on the porch step, and a little trill of excitement went through her.

Let it be Hutch.

Don't let it be Hutch.

"Hey," Joslyn said. "It's me."

"Hey," Kendra replied.

"How was the big date?" Joslyn asked.

Kendra bit her lower lip, considering her answer. She wanted to argue that her time with Hutch hadn't been a date, but that would be pure denial. After all, she'd wound up making love with the man up there on the side of Big Sky Mountain.

"Fine," she hedged.

Joslyn laughed. "Fine? There's a lot you aren't telling me, I'm guessing."

Kendra sighed, but she was smiling. Even now, hours and hours after the fact, she still felt the lingering effects of several powerful releases. "And I'm not about to tell you, either," she said. "At least, not over the phone."

"Great," Joslyn answered. "Why don't you and Madison come out here for a visit and some supper? Shea and the baby will keep Madison occupied, and you can tell me everything."

"I don't think I'm ready for that," Kendra said.

"Something happened," Joslyn insisted gently.

"Yes," Kendra admitted. "And I'm positive I'm going to regret it."

"Don't be so sure," Joslyn counseled. She sounded delighted. "So you'll come for supper?"

"Not tonight," Kendra said. "Madison had a big day yesterday and she needs time to settle down a little."

"I understand," Joslyn replied. "Still up for being Trace's G.o.dmother? Slade and I are thinking of scheduling the christening for next Sunday, after church, if the new pastor agrees."

"Of course I'm still up for it," Kendra said. "I'm honored."

"Slade is asking Hutch to be Trace's G.o.dfather," Joslyn ventured. She was stepping lightly now, Kendra could tell. "Is that a problem for you?"

"No," was Kendra's reply. "And even it was, it wouldn't be my call."

"I might come in to the office for a few hours tomorrow," Joslyn went on. "I'd bring Trace along, of course."

"Of course," Kendra agreed.

"You're stonewalling me," Joslyn accused, good-naturedly. "Don't you get it, Kendra? I'm dying for information here!"

Kendra laughed. "Put your curiosity on life support," she said. "Madison is within earshot, and anyway I'm not about to fill you in over the phone."

Joslyn gave an exaggerated sigh. "All right, then," she said. "I guess I'll have to wait until tomorrow."

"Guess so," Kendra acknowledged, still smiling. She didn't plan on sharing any of the intimate details, but she was actually eager to discuss what had happened up there in the meadow yesterday, with her best friend anyway. Joslyn was levelheaded, nonjudgmental and totally trustworthy, and talking things over with her sounded like a good idea.

Maybe she, Kendra, could get some perspective on the situation. If indeed it was a situation. Men didn't take the same att.i.tude toward s.e.x as women did-there was no implicit commitment.

Still, hadn't Hutch said, just the night before, after that dazzling kiss against her kitchen wall, that making love had changed things?

Time would tell, Kendra thought as she said goodbye to her friend and let the phone rest in her lap while she watched her daughter and Daisy play in shafts of summer sunlight.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

GIVE THE WOMAN some s.p.a.ce, 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 finis.h.i.+ng 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 s.h.i.+n, 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.

"d.a.m.n 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 b.u.t.ter 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 gra.s.s, 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 pa.s.sage on her own.

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

"What the h.e.l.l 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, d.a.m.n 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 s.h.i.+rt 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 s.h.i.+nnied 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 G.o.d's sake, don't look down. "You are."