“You need boots that will last,” Kendra translated, glad to be of some help even if she was on the fringes of the question.
Madison weighed that. “Okay,” she finally agreed. “Let’s find some that will last and look pretty.”
“Good plan,” Hutch said with another sideways glance at Kendra, fueled by a grin that made her feel as though her clothes had just dissolved. “We’ll keep looking until we find just the right pair.”
Eventually, they did find the right pair for Madison. They were dark brown and sturdy, with a tiny pink rose stitched into the side of each shaft.
Kendra smiled as she handed her debit card to the merchant and shook her head at the offer of a box. “She’ll wear them,” she said. “Thanks anyway, though.”
Madison, prancing around in the new boots like a little show pony angling for a blue ribbon, had forgotten all about the sneakers she’d been wearing before.
A cowgirl-Cinderella in boots instead of glass slippers, Madison twinkled like a fully lit Christmas tree, showing off for Hutch.
Prince Charming in jeans, Kendra reflected, taking a good long look at Hutch while he was busy raving over Madison’s footwear.
Beware, said the voice of Kendra’s rocky childhood, and her once broken, barely mended heart. Danger ahead.
But there was another voice in her head now, and it repeated something Hutch had said minutes before. Fear isn’t a good enough reason to keep to the sidelines when there’s living to do.
Madison brought Kendra back to the here and now by tugging at her hand. “You need boots, too, Mommy,” she said earnestly. “So you can go riding with Mr. Carmody and me.”
“True enough,” Hutch said with a twinkle. “Boots are a requirement if you’re going to travel farther than the creek.”
The creek.
The kiss.
There she was again, stuck in the same old dilemma. If Madison was set on learning to ride for real—and she obviously wanted that very much—then Kendra, of course, would need to go along, at least until her daughter was older. Which meant she might as well invest in a pair of boots for herself—and it wasn’t as if she couldn’t afford the purchase. The rub was, doing that meant a lot more than just selecting the right size and style and paying up. It meant she was agreeing to not just one more horseback ride, but very possibly dozens of them.
With Hutch, it seemed, everything had at least two meanings.
It was maddening.
Half an hour later, Kendra was the owner of a pair of well-made and very practical black boots, with no frills whatsoever.
While she and Madison waited in the shade of an awning near the cluster of food concession booths, Hutch took the box out to the truck.
“I wanted to wear my boots,” Madison said, turning backward on the bench to stick both feet out so she could admire them. “Mr. Carmody says they have to be broken in right.”
Mr. Carmody says this. Mr. Carmody says that.
Madison was obviously in love.
“Let me know if they start pinching your toes or rubbing against your heels,” said Kendra, ever practical. “New shoes can do that.”
Madison turned around, rolled her eyes once, and reached for one of the French fries from the order they were sharing. She swabbed it in catsup and steered it toward her mouth. “Cowgirls don’t mind if their toes are pinched,” she announced. “They’re tough.”
Kendra laughed, after reminding herself to lighten up a little. This was Madison’s first pair of boots and she might remember this day all her life. And Kendra wanted that memory to be a good one.
“Yes,” she agreed, “they are. And you are definitely a born cowgirl.”
Madison was pleased, and dragged another French fry through the catsup just as Boone approached the table, flanked by two small, dark-haired boys—miniature versions of him.
They wore jeans and striped T-shirts and brand-new sneakers, and they both had freckles and a cowlick above their foreheads. If one of the little guys hadn’t been almost a head taller than the other, they could have been mistaken for twins.
Looking at the children, Kendra saw their mother in them, as well as Boone, and a lump rose in her throat. She’d liked Corrie Taylor, and it still seemed impossible that she was gone.
“Well,” Kendra said warmly, blinking a sheen of sudden moisture that blurred her vision. “Griffin and Fletcher. You’ve grown so much I almost didn’t recognize you.”
The smaller of the two boys huddled shyly against Boone’s side. Like his sons, he was wearing casual clothes; he rarely bothered with a uniform, and today he was probably off duty.
The taller boy put out a manly hand. “I’m Griff,” he said. Naturally, he didn’t remember her. Most likely she was just another friend of his mom and dad’s, faintly familiar but mostly a stranger.
Madison, whose mouth was circled with catsup, regarded the boys with a curious combination of wariness and fascination. To her, they were probably members of an alien species.
Kendra shook the offered hand. “Hi, Griff,” she said. “I’m Kendra.” She peered around at the other little boy, who was still trying to hide behind Boone’s leg. “Hello, there,” she added.
“Fletch is sort of shy around the edges,” Boone said, sounding pretty shy himself.
“This is my daughter, Madison,” Kendra said to all three of them, gesturing.
“I have new boots,” Madison said. She got down off the bench, rounded the picnic table, and walked right up to Griff, standing practically toe-to-toe with him. “See?”
Fletch peeked around Boone to take a look. “Girl boots,” he scoffed, but there was a certain reluctant interest in his tone.
Boone chuckled and made a ruffling motion atop the boy’s head. If the kid’s hair hadn’t been buzz cut, Boone would have mussed it up. “Of course they’re girl boots,” he reasoned.
“Because Madison’s a girl, dumbhead,” Griff told his brother.
Boone let out a long sigh. He looked overwhelmed, completely out of his depth, this man who, in the course of his job, feared no one.
Kendra took pity on him. “Join us?” she said, moving over to show that there was plenty of room at the table, with just herself and Madison taking up space. “Hutch took something to the truck, but he’ll be back in a couple of minutes.”
Boone considered the invitation carefully. “You guys hungry?” he asked.
Both boys nodded quickly.
“What’ll it be?” Boone said, indicating the row of concession wagons lined up along the side of the fairgrounds, offering everything from hamburgers and hot dogs to chow mein, Indian fry bread and tacos.
They both wanted hot dogs, as it turned out, and orange soda to drink.
Madison, Kendra noticed, squeezed in beside her and left the bench on the other side of the table to the boys. Like them, she was shy but intrigued.
“Is that your dad?” she asked, nodding toward Boone, who was waiting in a nearby line by then.
“Yeah,” Griff said, elbowing Fletch, who sat too close to him for his liking.
Fletch ignored his brother’s gesture and shook his head. “No, he isn’t,” he argued stubbornly. “Uncle Bob is our dad.”
Uh-oh, Kendra thought.
And then Hutch was back, all easy charm. He sat down on Kendra’s bench, lifted Madison onto his lap, and proceeded to win both boys over in two seconds flat.
By the time Boone returned with lunch for himself and the kids, Griff and Fletch were grinning at Hutch and lapping up every word he said.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
FOR ALL KENDRA’S fears that the day would drag by, the next couple of hours unfolded easily, naturally. She and Hutch and Madison went on most of the rides at the carnival. On the merry-go-round, Hutch made Madison laugh so hard she nearly fell off the pink swan she’d chosen, just by waving his hat around and pretending the blue-and-green tiger he sat upon was sure to buck him off any minute. Kendra, standing protectively beside her daughter while the mechanism turned and the Ka
liope played, watched him, her heart full but on the verge of breaking.
Don’t, she wanted to say to him. Don’t make Madison love you. She’s lost so much already.
But it was too late for that, of course. The man had won the child over completely, helping her choose just the right cowgirl hat, and bandannas for the canine contingent. He’d even presented Madison with a giant pink-and-white teddy bear—it had been consigned to the truck for the duration, like Kendra’s new boots—having acquired it by getting a perfect score at the target-shooting booth.
Madison hadn’t wanted to give up that bear, even long enough to have it safely stowed away until it was time to go home. She’d have preferred to lug the thing around all day, showing it to everyone, recounting the glorious legend of how Hutch had won it for her. He’d been the one who’d finally managed to persuade the little girl to give up the huge toy, however temporarily—
Kendra had gotten nowhere with her sensible advice.
She was pleased because Madison was pleased, of course, but Rupert, her daughter’s beloved purple kangaroo, once her constant companion, formed a lonely figure in her mind’s eye. Ever since Daisy had landed in their lives like a space capsule falling out of orbit, Rupert had been forgotten, left behind in Madison’s room, albeit in a place of honor. Even though she was having a good time and she knew that Madison’s reduced dependence on the tattered stuffed animal was a good sign, Kendra felt a pang when she thought of poor Rupert. She could identify with him.
After the merry-go-round rides—Madison had gone from the swan to an elephant to a giraffe to a regular carousel horse—the appointed hour arrived, and the crowd streamed from the midway into the outdoor arena, where the rodeo was about to start. The bleachers filled quickly, and everybody stood up when the giant flag was raised and last year’s Miss Parable County Rodeo sang “The Star-Spangled Banner.”
Since the bull-riding would be the final event of the one-day rodeo, Hutch took his place in the bleachers next to Kendra, taking Madison easily onto his lap when they sat down.
A colorful opening ceremony followed the national anthem, and Madison watched, wide-eyed, as pretty local girls rode in formation, each one dressed in a fancy cowgirl outfit and carrying a huge banner. They performed a few expert maneuvers and the loving crowd cheered loudly enough to raise the big sky arching over all their heads by at least an inch.
“I want to do that someday,” Madison, having watched every move the girls and their horses made, said with more certainty than a four-year-old should have been capable of mustering up. “Can I do that when I’m bigger, Mommy?”
Kendra smiled, touched her daughter’s cheek. For all the disposable wipes Kendra had used on that little face today, it was still smudged with the remains of a cotton candy binge. “Sure you can,” she said. “When you’re older.”
“How much older?” Madison pressed.
Hutch chuckled and turned Madison’s pink cowgirl hat 360 degrees until it came to rest on the bridge of her nose. “Those girls out there,” he told her, “have been riding since they were your size, or even smaller. It takes a lot of practice to handle a horse the way they do, so you’ll want to be on Ruffles’s back as often as possible.”
Kendra gave him a look over Madison’s head and a light nudge with her elbow, but he just grinned at her.
The rodeo began and Madison was enthralled with every event that followed—except for the calf-roping. That made her cry, and even Hutch couldn’t convince her that calves weren’t being hurt or frightened. Calves were routinely roped, thrown down and tied on ranches, he’d explained, so they could be inoculated against diseases and treated for sickness or injury. Privately, though Kendra knew Hutch was right, from an intellectual standpoint anyway, she agreed with Madison; the event wasn’t her favorite, and she was glad when it was over.
They watched the sequence of competitions. The barrel racing—since all the competitors were female—cheered Madison up considerably. She wanted to know if she and Ruffles could start practicing that right away, along with flag carrying.
All too soon, it was time for the bull-riding. Hutch took his leave from them and headed for the area behind the chutes.
Like the other livestock in the rodeo, the bulls were provided by Walker Parrish’s outfit, and they looked mythically large to Kendra, milling around in the big pen on the opposite side of the arena.
Her heartbeat quickened a little as she saw Hutch join the other cowboys waiting to risk their fool necks, and her stomach, containing too much carnival food, did a slow, backward roll. Saliva flooded her mouth and she swallowed, willing herself not to throw up right there in the bleachers.
The first cowboy wore a helmet instead of a Western hat, a choice Kendra considered eminently practical, and he was thrown before the sports clock reached the three-second mark.
The second cowboy made it all the way to six seconds before the bull he was riding went into a dizzying spin, tossed the man to the sawdust and very nearly trampled him.
Madison looked on, spellbound, huddled close against Kendra’s side. Once or twice, her thumb crept into her mouth—a habit she’d long since left behind as babyish.
Another helmeted rider followed, and lasted just two and a half seconds before his bull sent him flying.
Then it was Hutch’s turn.
The whole universe seemed to recede from Kendra like an outgoing tide. There was only herself, Madison, Hutch and that bull he was already lowering himself onto over there in the chute. He wore his hat, not a helmet, and Kendra saw him laugh as he adjusted it, saw his lips move as he spoke to the gate man.
Then the gate swung open and the bull—the thing was the size of a Volkswagen, Kendra thought anxiously—plunged out into the very center of the arena, putting on a real show.
The announcer said something about Hutch’s well-known skills as a bull-rider, but to Kendra the voice seemed to be coming from somewhere far away and through a narrow pipe.
The big red numbers on the arena clock flicked from one to the next.
Hutch remained on the back of that bull through a whole series of violent gyrations, and then, blessedly, the buzzer sounded and one of the pickup men rode up alongside the furious critter. Hutch, triumphant, switched smoothly to the other horse, behind the rider, and got off when they’d put just a few yards of distance between them and the bull.
Eight seconds.
Until today, Kendra had never dreamed how long eight seconds could seem.
The crowd went crazy, clapping and whistling and stomping booted feet on old floorboards in the bleachers, and the announcer prattled happily about how Hutch would be hard to beat.
Madison scrambled onto Kendra’s lap. “Is he done now?” she asked, sounding as breathless as Kendra felt.
Kendra hugged her daughter tightly. “Yes,” she said. “It’s over.”
“Good,” Madison said. “That boy-cow looks mean.”
Kendra chuckled and, to her relief, some of the tension drained away, softening her shoulders and unclenching her stomach. “I think that boy-cow is mean,” she agreed.
They watched as Hutch climbed deftly over a fence and stood, watching as the next bull and rider came hurtling out of a chute.
For Kendra, the rest of the event passed in a blur of cowboys and bulls and disconnected words booming over the loudspeakers, all of that underpinned by enthusiastic applause. She sat holding Madison a little too tightly, trying not to imagine how Hutch’s ride—or that of some other cowboy—could have turned out.
The effort was futile, and by the time Hutch and the other winners were announced and the closing ceremony began—the announcer thanked everybody for coming and reminded them to stick around, check out the goods on offer in the exhibition hall, and enjoy the carnival and, later on, the fireworks—Kendra was weak in the knees.
She and Madison met Hutch, as agreed, outside the arena gate.
Seeing him again, up close, all in one piece, Kendra felt a humiliating urge to cr
y and fling herself into his arms. Fortunately, she didn’t give in to that clingy, codependent compulsion.
“Congratulations,” she said mildly, stiffening her spine and lifting her chin.
But Madison was much more forthright. She marched over to Hutch, set her little hands on her hips and tipped her head back to look up at him. Her hat tumbled down her back, dangling by the string Kendra meant to snip off with scissors at the first opportunity. “I don’t like it when you ride boy-cows,” she informed him. “You could get hurt!”
Hutch smiled, crouched down to look into Madison’s pleasantly grungy face and gently tugged at one of her curls. “I’m just fine, shortstop,” he said quietly. He might have been talking to an adult, from his tone, rather than a child. He spoke firmly to Madison, but addressed her as an equal. “See?”
Madison softened, as he’d intended. “Do you ride boy-cows a lot?” she wanted to know.
“No,” he replied. “Just once a year when the rodeo rolls around.”
Madison mulled that over. Being so young, she probably didn’t have any real conception of such an extended length of time. A year, most likely, sounded a lot like forever.
Kendra, on the other hand, knew those twelve months would pass quickly. Would she and Madison be right here when it was rodeo time again, watching this man deliberately take his life in his hands? Or would Hutch have grown tired of them by then, and moved on to some other woman?
She didn’t trust herself to say a word in that moment; just stood there, frustrated and scared and wanting Hutch Carmody more than she ever had before.
What was wrong with her?
Why couldn’t she just stay away from this man, find somebody else—an insurance agent, say, or a schoolteacher, or an electrician, if she had to walk on the wild side?
Anybody but a cowboy.
Hutch rose easily from his haunches, bent and hoisted Madison into his arms.
She yawned and rested her head against his shoulder, her pink cowgirl hat bobbing between her shoulder blades.
Kendra slipped the hat off over Madison’s head and carried it for her.
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