Big Sky Country. Linda Miller Lael
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gate, along the flagstone walk, up the porch steps.
He’d wondered about the inside of that house for as long as he could remember, though he’d never aspired to live there, or even step over the threshold. Now that he had a dog, and Shea was coming to spend what remained of the summer with him, however, he was a lot more interested in real estate.
Tomorrow was his day off—he’d check in with Kendra, maybe take another look at the Kingman spread. The house was nothing fancy, being nowhere near the size of this one, and it had sat empty for a long time. Still, with a little elbow grease and a lot of hot, soapy water, it would be livable.
They’d still be short one bathroom, though.
Inside Hutch’s domain, Slade was immediately impressed with the high-beamed ceilings and the open floor plan. Despite all those flowers in the yard, the interior was singularly masculine, with sturdy leather furniture, plain, heavy tables and zero clutter. A few Navajo rugs and some high-quality Western art provided muted splotches of color here and there. The space had a quiet, meditative quality that surprised Slade a little, given Hutch’s wild-man reputation.
What had he expected? Mirrors on the ceilings? A functioning saloon straight out of an old John Wayne movie or maybe a mechanical bull in the middle of the living room?
Slade indulged in a small, rueful grin, gone in an instant.
“Look around all you want,” Hutch said, in the same casual tone as before. “I think you’ll agree that as big as the place is, it won’t accommodate both of us.”
Slade grinned again, not about to let on that he felt a little sheepish all of a sudden, like he’d barged in or something. “You’re right about that last part,” he said. “And I’ve seen all I need to. It’s getting late, and Jasper’ll need some gear if he’s going to move in with me.”
Hutch assessed him in silence for a long moment, then said, “There’s a bag of kibble in the pantry, and Jasper’s got a bed and a couple of bowls and a few toys. You’re welcome to the stuff if you want it.”
“Sure,” Slade said, mildly embarrassed. It only made sense to accept Jasper’s belongings—the things would be familiar to the dog and therefore comforting, and besides, it would save a shopping trip to the big discount store out past the city limits. “Thanks,” he said again.
“This way,” Hutch said, turning.
Slade followed him through a set of swinging doors and into a big kitchen with dark-stained wooden floors, like those in the front part of the house, tall windows and a lot of gleaming steel appliances. The island in the center of the room was bigger than Slade’s whole kitchen back at the duplex.
Hutch disappeared into what must have been the pantry and brought out a big sack of kibble, still three-quarters full. He set it down near one of the counters—there seemed to be miles of them, all smooth gray granite—and gathered up two ceramic dog dishes.
“Jasper’s bed and the toys are in Dad’s room,” Hutch said. “I’ll get them.”
Slade nodded. “That’ll be good,” he replied, intending to lug the kibble and the bowls out to the truck while Hutch was fetching the other things.
Instead, though, he just stood there, after Hutch was gone, in that big kitchen.
He imagined his father reading the newspaper at the long table while he drank his morning coffee with Jasper at his feet.
Something about the image made Slade’s throat tighten painfully.
He collected the dog food and the bowls—one of which had Jasper’s name painted on it in jaunty letters shaped like bones—and got out of there, quick.
Jasper poked his muzzle out of the truck window and gave a little yelp of glad welcome when he saw Slade approaching.
Slade hoisted the bag of kibble into the back of the truck and placed the bowls at a careful distance from each other so they wouldn’t bang around during the drive back to Parable.
Hutch reappeared, carrying the fanciest dog bed Slade had ever seen. It was a large canoe, made of brown fleece, and, like the bowl, it was marked with Jasper’s name. There was a bright red leash, too, and a paper bag brimming with chew toys and other canine paraphernalia.
“Dad was downright foolish over that dog,” Hutch explained, seeing the look on Slade’s face and reading it accurately—as amused disbelief. He tossed the canoe-bed into the back of the truck, along with the other things, and dusted his hands together afterward, though not in a good-riddance sort of way. “The old man bought him Christmas presents and remembered his birthday, even.”
That was more than Slade could have claimed. Still, he chuckled and gave his head a shake. “I’ll give Jasper a good home,” he said, because he knew that mattered to Hutch.
“If I didn’t think that,” Hutch countered matter-of-factly, “you wouldn’t be taking him anywhere.”
Slade nodded and rounded the truck. He’d been in more than one brawl with Hutch Carmody over the years, but he’d mostly been indifferent to the man. Or so he’d thought, until now. Given the exchange of the dog, Slade was seeing his father’s son in a new light.
What kind of man was Hutch, anyway? The question would definitely require further consideration. Not that they’d ever be buddies, he and Hutch, let alone relate to each other the way real brothers would, especially if Slade decided to hold on to his share of Whisper Creek Ranch instead of selling out to Hutch—which was a distinct possibility.
It was clear, though, that there was more to this half brother of his than a hot temper, a penchant for partying and a reputation for leaving a trail of brokenhearted women behind wherever he went.
Hutch turned and went back inside the house as Slade shifted the truck into gear and headed for the main road that would take them back to Parable.
Jasper’s lips were pulled back against his jawbones, as though he was smiling. He’d gotten his way, and now he seemed to be gloating a little.
“Don’t go expecting presents at Christmas,” Slade warned the dog, glad not to be returning to that crappy duplex alone, as he had so many other nights. “Or a cake on your birthday, either.”
* * *
ALTHOUGH JOSLYN WASN’T supposed to start her job until the following Monday, she stopped in at Kendra’s office bright and early Friday morning anyway, because she’d already done her yoga routine, spiffed up the guesthouse and scanned her email. Without Jasper around to fuss over, she was at loose ends.
Kendra was on the phone when she came in, looking cool and blonde and beautiful, as usual, in a crisp pair of linen slacks and a simple, airy white top. She smiled at Joslyn and held up an index finger to indicate that she’d be finished with the call in a moment.
“That’s wonderful, Tara,” Kendra said into the receiver, rolling her eyes comically at Joslyn. “You’ll make a wonderful chicken farmer.” A pause. “No, really,” she insisted graciously. “How hard can it be? Yes. I’ll bring the papers by this afternoon, and you can take the weekend to look them over.” She nodded, “Yes,” she repeated. “And Tara? It’s short notice, I know, but I’d love to throw a barbecue in your honor tomorrow afternoon, here at my place. Can you make it?” Another pause, then a genuine smile. “Great! Two o’clock. No, you don’t need to bring anything except yourself and any guests you’d like to include.”
Joslyn, who couldn’t help overhearing, concluded that, one, Kendra had finally sold the chicken farm she’d shown so many times, and, two, she, Joslyn, would be expected to show up at the barbecue. Along with half the town, most likely. In Parable, parties weren’t generally private—they tended to be community events, because in some ways, the inhabitants were like one giant family.
She fought down a mild swell of panic. Her encounter with Daisy Mulligan the day before hadn’t been bad, but who knew how the next person might respond?