“Okay,” Slade echoed.
Layne laughed softly, but there was something broken in the sound. “I wish we could have made it,” she said. “You and me.”
“Me, too,” Slade said. “But we didn’t.”
“No,” Layne agreed. “You’re probably the only person on earth I’d trust with my daughter—you know that, don’t you?”
“Yeah,” he said, his voice gravelly. He was moved, because there was no doubt that Layne was telling the truth: she could count on him and she knew it. “I appreciate that, Layne. It means a lot.”
There was a brief pause, brimming with all that might have been.
“I’ll speak to Shea and get back to you so we can agree on the travel arrangements,” Layne said at length. “And, Slade?”
He waited.
“Thanks,” Layne finished.
They said their goodbyes, and Slade hung up.
“What the hell am I going to do now?” he asked Jasper, who had surfaced, yawning, from his nap just as Slade replaced the phone receiver in its cradle.
Jasper gazed quizzically up at him, probably wondering what kind of yahoo asked a dog a question right out loud and half expected to get an answer.
He shoved a hand through his hair, heaved a sigh. Headed for the dinky bathroom, with its dinky shower stall and dinky tub. He started water running in the shower and fetched a change of clothes from the bureau in his bedroom.
Jasper stayed right on his heels the whole time, sat right there in the bathroom doorway while Slade stripped, climbed into the shower and scrubbed until he felt refreshed.
After that, he dried off with a ratty-looking towel—he’d need to get new towels before Shea arrived, for sure. Hell, he’d need a new house.
Fifteen minutes later, he and Jasper were in the truck and headed for Whisper Creek Ranch.
There was still a lot of daylight left, but the sky was turning a pinkish orange where it rimmed the distant mountains, soon to be followed by a lavender twilight and then moon-laced darkness.
If he wanted a good look at the ranch that was legally half his, he’d have to wait for tomorrow, but at least he could get Jasper back home, where he belonged.
The Carmody house was a long, rambling structure, two stories high. The lawn looked one hell of a lot better than Slade’s own, and some kind of fluffy flower grew everywhere, in a profusion of pink and red, yellow and white.
He stopped his truck in front of the house, and before he shut off the engine, Hutch came out of the front door and stood on the broad porch, looking unfriendly.
Slade got out of the pickup. “I brought your dog back,” he said.
CHAPTER FOUR
JASPER HUNKERED DOWN in the passenger seat of Slade’s truck, suddenly as unwieldy as a feed sack stuffed with scrap iron.
Hutch, an incongruous sight in that yard full of flowers, looked mildly amused as he came through the gate in the picket fence to watch the struggle.
“I’ll tell you something about that dog,” Hutch offered after a few beats. “He can be real cussed.”
“Ya think?” Slade countered, exasperated. By now, Jasper wasn’t just a dead weight; he’d turned slippery as a brook trout in the bargain. And he was still in the truck seat, where he clearly intended to remain.
Hutch laughed. Stood nearby with his arms folded and his head cocked to one side. He must have resembled his late mother, Lottie Hutcheson, Slade thought distractedly, because he didn’t look a thing like the old man.
No, that was his cross to bear—never looking into a mirror without seeing a younger version of the man who had denied him since birth.
“You might just as well take him back home with you,” Hutch continued, surprising Slade. “Jasper’s like Dad was—once he’s made up his mind about something, he’s not likely to change it.”
Slade slanted an appraising look at the man who was, biologically at least, blood kin. They were nothing alike, the two of them. Or were they? Down deep, at the DNA level, there had to be some similarities.
“Got any suggestions?” Slade finally asked.
Hutch considered the question at his leisure before offering an offhanded reply. “Like the ranch, I reckon old Jasper is half yours and half mine. Since he’s taken a notion to be your dog from here on out, you might as well stop trying to wrestle him out of that truck and spare him the long walk back to town. You leave him here, he’ll follow you home for sure.”
Slade rubbed the back of his neck, pondering Hutch’s words. He didn’t need a mutt any more than he needed the responsibility of looking after a sixteen-year-old girl, but he figured Hutch was right. For whatever reason, Jasper had appointed himself sidekick. For the duration, evidently.
Slade knew he’d welcome the company, though—he’d kept his life and his heart closed up tight since the divorce, doing his job, showing up, putting one foot in front of the other. Maybe it was time to open up a little, let somebody in.
Even if that somebody happened to have four feet and a tail.
It was a beginning, he supposed, though he wasn’t sure of what.
“All right,” he agreed slowly and shut the truck door with Jasper still inside.
“I’d swear that critter looks out-and-out relieved,” Hutch said drily. “And in case you’re wondering, I never mistreated him. Jasper was always a one-man dog, and Dad was that man. Now, I guess, the torch has been passed.”
Slade studied his half brother for a long moment. Hutch’s manner wasn’t exactly cordial, but he wasn’t waving a loaded shotgun and ordering him off the property, either. “Thanks,” he said.
“You given any more thought to selling me your share of Whisper Creek?” Hutch asked after waiting a moment or two.
“I’ve given it plenty of thought,” Slade answered, squinting a little against the last dazzling light of another summer day, “but I haven’t come to any decision.”
Hutch absorbed that response with a slight but oddly affable frown creasing the skin between his eyebrows. Then he gestured toward the house. “At the moment, the place is as much yours as it is mine,” he said, and there was no reading either his tone or his expression. Carmody would be able to hold his own in a high-stakes poker game, that was for sure, Slade reflected—and he wouldn’t need a hooded sweatshirt, a baseball cap or wraparound shades to manage it. “You might as well come inside and take a look around.”
Slade looked past Hutch, taking in the rambling lines of that house. He’d never set foot in the place, and now fifty percent of it was legally his. It was a hard thing to take in.
“All right,” he said after a long hesitation. He looked back at Jasper, who sat like a sentry in the truck seat, watching him through the partially rolled down window. The dog would be fine by himself, Slade decided, at least for a few minutes. He followed Hutch through that white picket 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 ceil
ings? 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? On the other hand, that person—and many others—had to be faced.
Kendra ended the call and stood up, smiling. “If you’re here to start work,” she teased, “you’re a couple of days early.”
Joslyn sighed, looked around. The surroundings were certainly pleasant and less emotionally charged than the last time she was there. “I just stopped in to see if you needed help with anything,” she said. She tilted her head to one side, smiled back at her friend. “Congratulations are in order, it would seem. You sold the chicken farm?”
“Finally,” Kendra said with delighted emphasis. “No one can accuse Tara Kendall of making a snap decision. She’s been looking at that place on and off for a couple of years.”
“Is she from around here? The name doesn’t sound familiar.”
Kendra shook her head. “Tara’s from New York,” she replied. “She heads up the marketing department of a big cosmetic company, I think.”
“It’s quite a jump from a marketing job in the Big Apple to running a chicken ranch outside of Parable, Montana,” Joslyn observed, already intrigued by this Tara person. At least, as an outsider, she wouldn’t turn out to be one of Elliott’s many victims.
“She’s reinventing herself following a bad divorce, as I understand it,” Kendra said, starting in the direction of the kitchen and leaving Joslyn with no real choice but to follow. “I sure hope there isn’t a ‘reality’ series in the
offing.”
Joslyn laughed, though she felt a little nervous as she stepped into the room where Opal had presided for so many years. “That would be the biggest thing that’s happened in this town since—”
Remembering what the last big thing in Parable was—Elliott Rossiter’s investment scandal—Joslyn let the sentence go unfinished, and the laugh died, aching, in her throat.
Kendra looked back at her over one shoulder. Clearly, she knew what had brought Joslyn up short. “Let’s have some coffee,” she said kindly.
Joslyn looked around, relaxed a little as the instant shame over her stepfather’s actions subsided. Kendra had made the kitchen her own, just as she’d done with the front room, where the office was now. There were no ghosts here.
“Does it bother you?” Kendra asked, approaching the coffeemaker—one of those flashy single-cup things—and pushed a couple of buttons. “Being in the house again after all this time, I mean?”
“I thought it would,” Joslyn admitted. “And I guess it did at first, but I’m over that, it seems. After all, it’s the people who live in a house, not the former occupants, who give it character—you’re here now, and the place reflects you, as it should.”
Kendra looked thoughtful, maybe even a bit sad, as she busied herself brewing coffee. “If you say so,” she said in a musing tone.
Joslyn waited, standing behind one of the sleekly modern chairs at the sleekly modern kitchen table. In the old days, the furnishings and appliances had been antiques, right down to the wood-burning cookstove Opal had insisted on using to prepare family meals.
Kendra looked in Joslyn’s direction and managed a feeble little smile. Gave a slight shrug of one shoulder. “Wasn’t it John Lennon who said, ‘Life is what happens when you’re making other plans’?” She set a steaming mug of coffee on the table and indicated that Joslyn should sit down. Then she sighed and shook her head, as though to fling off some unwanted thought.
“What were your ‘other plans,’ Kendra?” Joslyn asked gently, pulling back one of the huge chrome-and-glass chairs and sinking into the seat.
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