Big Sky Country

by Linda Lael Miller

  Having nothing more to say, evidently, Hutch turned and started back toward the still-open door of his truck, climbed in and started the rig up again with a roar.

  He raised a hand in brief farewell, and then he drove away.

  Joslyn stood there in the driveway for a few moments, biting her lower lip and pondering Hutch’s words as the dust slowly settled behind his truck.

  It was obvious that he still cared for Kendra, though he’d probably never admit as much, as proud and stubborn as he was. And Kendra, who so obviously carried a torch for him, wasn’t likely to fess up, either.

  What a waste, Joslyn thought, as she returned to the main house. There was just no figuring some people out.

  The irony of that reflection would only occur to her later—much later.

  * * *

  AT THREE FORTY-FIVE THAT afternoon, the bus pulled in, diesel fumes huffing from its exhaust pipe, directly in front of the filling station on Main Street.

  Joslyn waited in the shade near the front door, beaming in anticipation.

  Three passengers got off the bus, two young girls and an elderly man, followed by the driver, before Opal finally stepped down, tall and gray and with her big patent leather purse pressed hard against her side. She wore wire-rimmed glasses and a “church-going” hat with a wisp of a veil, and her shoes were freshly polished. Her crisp cotton dress, a bright floral concoction of magenta and orange and turquoise, didn’t have a wrinkle in it, even though she’d traveled for some distance.

  Joslyn hesitated, then hurried over to Opal, and the two of them hugged and cried and laughed, all at the same time.

  The bus driver got impatient, waiting for Opal to point out which of the bags jammed into the undercarriage of the dusty-sided coach was hers, and she said, in her kindly authoritative way, “Oh, just hold your horses for a minute, young fella.”

  The “young fella” was probably pushing fifty, but he looked as chagrined as a schoolboy as he stood there, sweltering in his too-tight uniform.

  “Look at you,” Opal said, holding her at arm’s length, her strong hands gripping Joslyn’s shoulders as she gave her a grandmotherly once-over. “You’re too thin. You need some of my good cooking, that’s what you need.”

  Joslyn laughed again and swiped at her right cheek with the back of one hand. “It’s so good to see you, Opal.”

  Opal took pity on the bus driver then and told him the brown suitcase in the front, wedged in there between the two duct-taped coolers, was hers.

  He unloaded it for her, and Joslyn took it from there, lugging the bag over to her car, raising the trunk lid with a press of one of the buttons on her key fob and hoisting the baggage inside.

  Opal glanced around her. “This town doesn’t look any different than it did when we lit out of here, you and your mama and me,” she observed drily. “It’s still forty miles up the back end of nowhere.” Her brown gaze swung straight to Joslyn’s face then and connected. “You mind telling me what the heck you think you’re doing, coming back here?”

  “Later,” Joslyn promised. “Let’s get you settled first.”

  “Not much settling to do,” Opal allowed, as she opened the front passenger-side door to get into Joslyn’s car. “I only brought a few things from home, since I’m not planning to impose on you for more than a couple of days.”

  “You can stay as long as you like,” Joslyn said. “Kendra asked me to let you know that.”

  “Where’s she?” Opal asked, looking around again. “Busy working?”

  Joslyn, seated behind the wheel, key in hand, drank in the sight of her old friend for a long moment. “Kendra’s in England at the moment,” she said.

  “England?” Opal echoed, sternly baffled. Joslyn might as well have said Kendra had stepped into a parallel universe, from the woman’s expression. “What’s she doing way over there?”

  “Long story,” Joslyn replied. “It’ll take hours to tell you everything.” She smiled, started the engine. “Let’s go home.”

  * * *

  ONCE THE FURNITURE HAD been delivered to the ranch house and the place was beginning to look like flesh-and-blood people lived there instead of just ghosts, Layne announced that she’d be heading back to L.A. the following day. She missed Bentley, and she didn’t want to be away from her home-staging business for too long.

  Slade noticed that his ex-wife was watching Shea closely as she spoke, there in the box-cluttered kitchen, probably trying to gauge the girl’s reaction to being left behind.

  Shea, her dark hair clipped in a wad on the top of her head and fanning out from there like a rooster’s tail, grinned at her mother. She was wearing jeans and a pink tank top, and there was a smudge of dust on her right cheek—she’d been busy.

  “Is this the part where I throw myself on the floor, wrap both arms around your ankles and beg you not to go, Mommy dearest?” she asked Layne pertly.

  Slade, just home from work, smiled into the cup of coffee Shea had handed him the moment he’d come through the back door. Her welcome had only been slightly less enthusiastic than Jasper’s.

  “Smart aleck,” Layne said good-naturedly, putting her hands on her hips. Like Shea, she was dressed for housework—not her favorite enterprise, if Slade recalled correctly.

  Shea laughed and slipped a daughterly arm around Slade’s waist, resting her head against his shoulder for a moment. “Dad will take good care of me,” she said. “Won’t you, Dad?”

  She looked up into his face when she asked that question, and Slade felt something scrape at the back of his heart.

  “Bet on it,” he said, somewhat gruffly. Then he straightened. “Which is not to say there aren’t going to be any rules, because there are.”

  Shea frowned, wrinkling her turned-up nose, narrowing her eyes a little. “Rules?” she countered. “What kind of rules?”

  “The usual,” Slade said, after exchanging glances with Layne.

  Layne smiled, amused. Maybe even a little smug.

  “Such as?” Shea persisted, still studying his face. Her arm had dropped to her side, though, and she’d put a step or two between them.

  “No climbing the water tower in town,” Slade began, setting his coffee aside to count on his fingers. “No friends over when I’m not around. No spending hours texting, watching TV or surfing the Net.”

  Shea frowned. “I wasn’t planning on climbing the water tower,” she said. “It’s not as if I’m stupid or anything.”

  Layne folded her arms and watched the exchange, her expression still merry.

  Slade noticed his stepdaughter hadn’t commented on the remaining rules. “There’s more,” he said. “You have to clean up after yourself—no leaving the bathroom looking like a cyclone just hit it—and if you want to keep using that cell phone of yours, you’ll need a job to pay for the service.”

  Shea blinked. “Where am I supposed to get a job?” she asked.

  “Mom’s always looking for somebody to sweep out the shop and book appointments,” he said. “You might start by asking her.”

  Shea stared at him. “You mean, like sweeping up people’s hair and stuff?”

  “That’s the general idea,” Slade said.

  “Mom just gives me an allowance,” Shea replied.

  Slade glanced at Layne, smiled. “For doing what?”

  Shea looked honestly confused. “For being her kid,” she murmured.

  “Nice work if you can get it,” Slade told the girl.

  “I think I’d like to get back to our hotel room and start packing for the trip,” Layne interjected cheerfully, twinkling at Slade. “Shall I drop Shea off at your office on my way to the airport?”

  Slade looked to Shea for an answer instead of giving one himself.

  The chances seemed pretty good that Shea would change her mind about staying in Parable, now that she knew she wasn’t going to be able to do anything she pleased.

  But the kid flashed the kind of smile that probably set the young bucks of her acquainta
nce back on their heels.

  “I could just stay here, with Dad and Jasper,” she said. “My room is almost ready, after all. Soon as those new sheets come out of the dryer, I can make up my bed.”

  “Best you spend one more night with your mother,” Slade said after clearing his throat. Oddly, his eyes smarted a little, and he reached for his coffee again, needing to be busy with something. “Since you won’t see her again for a while.”

  Shea sighed.

  Layne gave Slade a grateful look.

  And that was that.

  Shea left with Layne in the rental car.

  Slade finished his coffee, set the cup in the sink and looked around at the jumble of new stuff—dishes, a toaster oven, an electric mixer, for Pete’s sake—that still needed to be put away.

  Then he looked down at Jasper, who was wagging his tail in happy anticipation of whatever development might come next.

  Slade laughed and bent to rumple the dog’s ears. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go outside and take in some of those wide-open spaces Montana is so famous for.”

  Jasper took to the idea right off.

  They wound up down by the creek, watching the water rush by, bending its way around rocks, sunlight dancing on its surface.

  The moment was close to perfect—until Hutch Carmody ruined it by driving up in the rattle-trap old truck of his. With his money, Slade thought, you’d think the man would drive a decent rig.

  Slade set his jaw. “Now what?” he muttered to Jasper.

  Hutch parked the truck and came down the bank toward Slade and the dog.

  Jasper wagged a greeting and allowed Hutch to scratch him behind the ears.

  “What do you want?” Slade asked, not being one for small talk.

  Hutch laughed, but the raspy sound wasn’t reflected in his eyes. “Now that just ain’t neighborly,” he replied, laying on the hick vernacular.

  “We aren’t neighbors,” Slade pointed out.

  “We aren’t a lot of things,” Hutch answered brusquely. He made a point of taking in the creek, the expanse of good grazing land fringed at the horizon by tall pine and fir trees. “Nice place,” he added.

  “It’ll do for the time being,” Slade said. He knew why his half brother was there—to take another stab at talking him into selling his share of the Whisper Creek spread. What he didn’t know was why the idea of letting go of a place he’d never wanted in the first place got under his hide the way it did.

  Hutch was offering a price that was more than fair, after all, and Slade could understand why the man wanted to own that land outright instead of sharing it with a brother he’d have preferred to ignore.

  Now, Hutch sighed and watched the creek flow for a few moments, as though he found some fascination in it. And maybe he did.

  It was a beautiful thing to see, that ribbon of moving light.

  “I’ve got a proposition for you, Slade,” he finally said, his gaze direct now.

  “What kind of proposition?” Slade asked. In spite of himself, he was intrigued. “If it’s more money, you can forget it. I’ve got all I’d need for ten lifetimes, let alone the one I’ve got.”

  Hutch smiled, but again there was no friendliness in him anywhere. Just a quiet persistence that matched Slade’s own.

  “I’m talking about a horse race,” he said.

  Slade was surprised, though he did his best not to show it. “I don’t own a horse,” he said and then felt foolish for stating the obvious.

  “You might want to acquire one, then,” Hutch replied easily. “The sooner the better.”

  “What the hell are you getting at, Carmody?”

  Hutch bent down, picked up a stick and tossed it for Jasper, who dashed after it, joy on four legs.

  “Like I said,” answered John Carmody’s legitimate son and heir, “I’m proposing a horse race. If you win, I’ll move out of the main ranch house at Whisper Creek—build a place of my own or bring in a trailer or something—and you can live there instead. We’d share the responsibility for the operation fifty-fifty. If I win, which I admit is a sight more likely in my opinion, you accept the offer I made you and the spread is all mine.”

  Slade narrowed his eyes. Hutch had practically been born on a horse, but Slade could ride, all right. “When would this race take place?” he asked.

  Hutch shrugged one shoulder, grinned and bent to take the stick Jasper had brought back to him and, much to the dog’s delight, give it another throw. “I figure you need a while to practice, if this is going to be fair,” he said affably, though there was an edge to his tone, and the light in his eyes was cold as January creek water. “So I think we ought to wait till Labor Day weekend. We’ll figure out the details in the meantime.”

  Slade unclamped his back molars. Hutch made it sound as if he was some kind of greenhorn, playing at being a cowboy. The fact was, though, that Slade had won his share of rodeo events over the years. He’d ridden bad broncos and even badder bulls, and he’d been pretty fair at roping, too. He’d just never felt he could justify the expense of keeping a horse.

  He looked Hutch straight in the eye. Waited a beat before speaking.

  “Little brother,” he said, “you’re on.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “TRUTH IS,” OPAL SAID forthrightly, as she and Joslyn sat drinking tea at the big table in Kendra’s kitchen, “I miss working for a living, like I always did. Willie left me well fixed, but don’t you know, girl, I’m too young to be retired, and there are days when that sister-in-law of mine drives me right straight up the wall.”

  Joslyn smiled. She still couldn’t get over it—Opal was back. Sitting right across from her in the very room where they’d had so many other conversations over the years, some of them profound, most of them reassuringly ordinary.

  They’d been bringing each other up to date for some forty-five minutes, and Opal had already related that she’d been briefly married to a fellow she met at church and widowed only a year later. Her Willie, having enjoyed a long career as the manager of an auto parts store, had been a saver, and he’d made sure that both his wife and his sister were provided for when he passed away.

  “I’ve missed you,” Joslyn said.

  Opal reached out to pat Joslyn’s hand. Lucy-Maude regarded them both from a third chair at the table, looking as though she expected a cup of tea for herself.

  “A day hasn’t gone by when I didn’t think about you and your mama,” Opal replied. “I read about Elliott in the newspaper, how he died in jail and all, and I thought that was mighty sad, him ending up that way, especially when he came from such good people. Far as I could tell, there wasn’t any kind of funeral or memorial service to go to, but I sure wondered how you and Dana were holding up. I’m no good with a computer—I don’t see any point in learning how to work one of those things at this stage of the game—but I should have guessed you’d be in touch with Kendra.”

  Joslyn lowered her eyes. She knew all about computers, but she hadn’t searched for Opal. Maybe she’d been afraid of what she’d find—and maybe she’d been too ashamed. Even though neither she nor her mother could be blamed for Elliott’s criminal actions, she didn’t feel entirely guiltless in the matter, either.

  She’d certainly enjoyed all the perks of being a rich man’s stepdaughter—living in a mansion, wearing the latest styles, driving a nice car as a teenager, one many hardworking adults wouldn’t have been able to afford.

  Though she’d never know for sure, her stepfather might have done what he did, at least partially, so he could go on indulging her every whim. Elliott had liked to show off his beautiful wife and his stepdaughter, and that took money.

  Opal seemed to be reading her mind. “It’s right now that matters, honey,” she said gently. “I reckon we both could have tried harder, but we had some healing up to do. Besides, it’s not what happened yesterday, or ten years ago, or what happens tomorrow that matters. All we’ve got, any of us, is now.”

  Joslyn nodded, swallow
ed. Looking back over her life, it seemed to her that she’d always acted as though she had forever to do the things she really wanted to do—get married, have children, make new friends instead of being such a loner, perhaps even build a business she could keep instead of selling.

  Slade Barlow came to mind then—he was never far away—and the mere thought of him made her blush.

  “What are you doing back here?” Opal asked after refilling both their cups from the china teapot in the center of the table.

  Joslyn chuckled, surprised that it had taken Opal this long to get back around to the subject, but at the same time, the threat of tears stung her eyes. “I’ve been wrestling with that question myself,” she admitted. “I had the means to make some reparation for what Elliott did, so that was part of it. But now, well—” She paused to bite her lower lip before going on. “Now I’m beginning to wonder if it isn’t because the words home and Parable have always been interchangeable for me.”

  Opal took that in, nodding. “Now we’re getting somewhere,” she said presently. “Guess I could say the same thing about this little town, that it feels like home, I mean. Great Falls is a real nice place to live, but Parable will always be the place where my life really began.” She took a sip of tea, silent for a long moment as she relished it. Opal had always loved her tea—said it ran in her veins in place of blood. “Oh, I was born and raised in Arkansas, it’s true,” she went on finally, “but when I answered a newspaper ad and came out here to work for old Mrs. Rossiter—Elliott’s grandmother, God rest her sweet soul—as a kind of lady’s companion, I fit in right away.” She smiled, remembering. “Back then, I was the only black person in Parable—maybe in the whole county. Folks were curious about me, no doubt about it, but they were generally kind, and I don’t mind admitting, I enjoyed the attention.”

  “But you never married—until Willie, I mean.”

  Opal shook her head. “Never met a man I wanted to share close quarters with before Willie.” She smiled wistfully. “I was his princess bride, he always said. Good as that marriage was, it was still an adjustment for both of us—he’d been a widower for twenty years, and I was a spinster, mighty set in my ways, but it worked for us. We made it work.” Another pause came then, during which she studied Joslyn thoughtfully before asking, “What about you? How does it happen that a pretty woman like you is still single?”