Big Sky Country

by Linda Lael Miller

  Jasper immediately ran off to join in canine games, and Slade didn’t seem a bit worried by that. Teenagers in jeans and boots and souvenir T-shirts from every conceivable kind of concert soon appeared, taking Shea into the boisterous fold as easily as if she’d been one of them since birth.

  In the city, Joslyn thought fretfully, people kept their children in sight in crowds like this—even the older ones—and their dogs on leashes. She flung a perplexed glance in Slade’s direction, and he gave one of those tilted-up smiles again, the kind that made her heart beat faster.

  And then he read her mind.

  “They’ll be all right,” he said with a nod to indicate his daughter and his dog. “There isn’t a person here I haven’t known since I got tall enough to see over a milk stool, Joslyn.”

  She nodded, reassured, and one of them took the other’s hand, though Joslyn was never sure who actually made the first move. The jolt that went through her should have lit up her skeleton, like in a cartoon.

  They reconnected with Shea inside one of several huge barns, where something like fifty horses were up for sale.

  Shea, still surrounded by new friends, immediately gravitated toward a small chestnut mare with streaks of creamy beige in her mane and tail.

  “This one!” she called over to Slade, her face shining. “Dad, this is the one!”

  Slade gave the brim of his hat a casual tug—cowboyese, evidently, for “I hear you”—and turned his attention to a massive bay gelding with a deep chest and impossibly long legs.

  Like everyone else except Shea, who stationed herself at the mare’s pen and couldn’t be spirited away, Slade looked at every horse, in every stall and pen. He checked out the ones outside in the corral, too.

  But it was the big bay gelding he came back to.

  He let himself into the stall, ran his hands over the horse’s sturdy limbs, along his neck and flanks.

  Joslyn, fraudulent former rodeo queen, was both intrigued by these animals and overwhelmed by their size and power. A week presiding over the Parable County Rodeo on a borrowed horse and a single ride through the countryside with Hutch Carmody did not change the essential fact: that she was a complete greenhorn.

  Still, there was this golden palomino mare, in the last stall on the right. While other animals were restless, blowing and shying in the atmosphere of general excitement, this one seemed gentle to a degree that was almost Zen.

  Joslyn lingered in front of the gate and tentatively reached out a hand to stroke the mare’s long, beautiful nose. When she stepped back she collided, although not very hard, with Slade, who’d apparently been standing right behind her.

  “Thinking of getting yourself a horse?” he asked, looking down at her with another of those small, crooked smiles that always made her breath catch like a hook in her throat.

  She laughed, shook her head. “Where would I keep a horse?” she countered.

  “Hutch would probably board her for you,” Slade answered offhandedly. Then he went into that stall, as he had the gelding’s, and examined the palomino more closely. “She’s solid,” he said. “Pretty calm, too.”

  Joslyn didn’t say anything to that. No way was she buying a horse. She was there to watch, that’s all.

  An announcement was made over the loudspeakers just then—the sale was about to start, the auctioneer said amiably, and folks ought to find themselves a seat in the bleachers over by the arena, pronto. The spots under the big aluminum awning would go fast.

  Shea reluctantly left the little chestnut mare to follow Slade and Joslyn out into the hot sun and the dust and the noise of old friends and longtime neighbors greeting each other. Gatherings like this, she supposed, were a kind of social event for a lot of these people.

  After waiting in line in front of a long table set in the shade, Slade registered to bid, was given a number on a piece of paper stapled to a flat wooden stick, and joined Shea and Joslyn in the third row of the bleachers. By then, to Joslyn’s secret relief, Jasper had found his way back to them, too, and he sat leaning against Shea’s blue-jeaned leg, panting happily in the bone-warming heat and keeping a close eye on the proceedings.

  The auction unfolded rapidly, and Joslyn enjoyed the deft chatter of the auctioneer, the festive, country-fair aspect of the whole event. All around them, people ate hot dogs and swilled soda from the concession stand, and studied every horse that was led into the arena as thoroughly as if they expected to ride the animal through mountain passes and across raging rivers.

  Some of them probably did.

  Joslyn felt the sun baking right through her T-shirt to turn her shoulders red, but she didn’t care. It was perfect, sitting there with Slade on one side of her and Shea and Jasper on the other.

  To the casual observer, they probably looked like any other local family, making a day of it.

  After half an hour or so, Shea’s chestnut mare came up for sale, and Slade was the highest bidder. Shea let out a joyous yell and jumped to her feet. “I’m naming her Chessie!” she cried, and then she and Jasper both took off for the barn again, wanting to hang out with Chessie when she was returned to her stall.

  Slade smiled at that but offered no comment.

  Another forty minutes passed, and then the big gelding was on offer.

  Buying Chessie had been relatively easy—there had only been one other bidder, and the man had dropped out when the price went into four digits. There was more interest in the gelding, though, and the bids kept climbing. All but one potential buyer fell away as the numbers mounted, and Joslyn, narrowing her eyes, surveyed the crowd for the troublemaker.

  She guessed she shouldn’t have been surprised when she saw that it was none other than Hutch Carmody, seated a few rows down from them, where she hadn’t noticed him before—but she was.

  Slade had spotted him, too, and there was a hard line along the edge of his jaw as he bid and bid again.

  Each time his turn came around, Hutch raised his number-on-a-stick or simply nodded to the auctioneer.

  Joslyn was on the edge of her seat, sinking her teeth into her lower lip, when Hutch finally let the gelding go—for approximately three times his real value, Slade would admit later. The expression in his eyes went beyond stubborn and well toward implacable, and Hutch looked just as serious.

  Obviously, this wasn’t just about the horse.

  In the end, though, the gelding was Slade’s, and Joslyn fully expected him to sign the check and leave the sale then, since his business there was completed. He’d already arranged, she knew, to have any stock he bought transported to Whisper Creek Ranch, so there wouldn’t be any loading to do.

  Pay and go, that was the plan.

  Except that he didn’t budge from the bleachers.

  Horse after horse came up for auction—Hutch bought several of them—and then one of the men helping with the sale led the palomino mare out.

  Sundance. The name—perfect for this particular animal, with its gleaming golden coat—leaped into Joslyn’s mind, and her heartbeat quickened.

  Don’t be silly, she told herself. What in the world would you do with a horse?

  Sudden, inexplicable tears scalded her eyes, though, and a longing older than time swelled in her chest.

  When the bidding began, Slade leaned forward slightly, his gaze intent, and watched people raise their numbers, which popped up all over the arena.

  At the very last moment, when Sundance would have gone for a goodly sum of money, he nearly doubled the bid.

  The auctioneer chuckled into his microphone. “Looks like the sheriff wants this horse,” he commented. “Maybe he’s getting up a posse.”

  Good-natured chuckles rippled through the crowd.

  Slade simply waited. Hutch hadn’t bid on the animal even once, but the tension thrumming in the air between the two men was almost tangible just the same.

  “Anybody want to bid higher?” the auctioneer finally asked.

  No one spoke.

  “Sold!” shouted the
man with the microphone, pointing to Slade.

  Slade raised his number, so the bookkeeper could record it.

  All during the exchange, he hadn’t looked away from the mare or the arena. Now, his gaze landed on Joslyn’s face.

  “Every rodeo queen ought to have a horse,” he said simply.

  Joy filled Joslyn, quickly followed by a tsunami of reality. “Slade, I can’t afford— I don’t have a place—”

  “She can live at Whisper Creek for the time being, along with my gelding and Shea’s Chessie.” There was a certain gentle finality in his tone, and Joslyn simply stared at him, completely at a loss for words.

  After that, he took her hand and they left the bleachers—folks calling out greetings and congratulations to Slade all along the way—and they headed for the barns.

  A large semitruck had appeared near the main building, with the Whisper Creek Ranch logo emblazoned on both sides, and men were already loading the horses Hutch had chosen.

  Slade ignored the truck, nodded toward the barn. “Would you mind rounding up Shea and Jasper while I’m settling with the auction people and making sure the horses get to Whisper Creek?” he asked Joslyn.

  Joslyn nodded and was about to turn and head for the barn when Hutch walked up to them and gestured toward the fancy semi. “I’m headed that way myself,” he said with just the merest touch of irony. The brim of his hat cast a shadow over his face, though, and Joslyn couldn’t quite read his expression. “Back to Whisper Creek, that is. Might as well let me haul your cayuses right along with mine.”

  The tension between Slade and Hutch was so intense, Joslyn feared they might just lunge at each other, fists flying.

  After a long moment, though, Slade sighed and said, “I’d appreciate that, Hutch.”

  Joslyn knew she ought to be headed for the barn, where she was sure to find Shea and Jasper admiring Chessie, but for some reason, she couldn’t bring herself to leave Slade’s side, not yet.

  Hutch’s gaze moved to her face, and one side of his mouth hitched up, briefly, in an attempt at a grin. “That fine little palomino mare is for you, I guess?” he asked.

  Joslyn bristled, nettled by something in Hutch’s tone or manner.

  “Sundance belongs to Slade,” she said.

  Hutch shifted his weight from one booted foot to the other and adjusted his hat again. “Sundance,” he repeated. “Nice name.” His eyes moved in a lazy sweep from Joslyn’s face to Slade’s. “Never figured you for the poetic type,” he drawled.

  Slade’s jawline tightened. “I’m full of surprises,” he said, almost growling the words.

  Hutch chuckled at that, shook his head. “No, brother, you’re not,” he said. “Fact is, you’re about as unpredictable as tomorrow’s sunrise.”

  A silent snap jarred the air, sharp as the crack of a whip.

  Slade’s shoulders were squared, and his chin jutted out just a fraction. “I guess it’s a good thing,” he replied slowly, “that I don’t really give a rat’s ass what you think of me.”

  Again, that hard pull of tension, tighter this time, stretched to the limit. Sure to break with the next tug.

  Hutch merely smiled, though. Looked at Joslyn again. He might have been a stranger, she thought, instead of an old friend, one of the few who had stood by her after Elliott’s long and dramatic fall from grace. “If you want any more riding lessons,” he offered, “you know where to find me.”

  Inside the arena, the auction went on, the announcer’s voice as rhythmic as a song.

  Hutch nodded in farewell then, tugged at the brim of his hat and turned to walk away, heading back toward the ongoing sale.

  Slade stopped him with a single word. “Hutch,” he said.

  Hutch paused, in no particular hurry to oblige, and looked back over one shoulder. “Yeah?”

  “Thanks for running up the bid on that gelding,” Slade said evenly.

  “Glad to do it,” Hutch answered with a grin. “You don’t really think you can win the race riding him, do you?”

  “I sure as hell mean to try,” Slade answered.

  Hutch chuckled, shook his head once and walked away.

  Slade’s jaw looked as hard as granite as he watched Hutch disappear into the shadows cast by the bleachers surrounding the arena.

  Joslyn, having spotted Shea and Jasper approaching out of the corner of her eye, stood right where she was, watching Slade.

  Finally, he looked at her.

  “Meet you at the truck,” he said gruffly, and she felt oddly dismissed, brushed aside. In the next moment, he headed for the office to pay for the horses.

  Shea was beaming as she came to Joslyn’s side, Jasper trotting happily in her wake. “I took a thousand pictures of Chessie with my phone,” she announced, “and texted them to every single person I know. Even Mom and Bentley.”

  Joslyn, grateful that the strain had eased, now that Hutch and Slade weren’t facing off like a pair of Old West gunslingers about to have a showdown in the middle of a dusty street, smiled. “I like the name you chose for her,” she said. “She’s beautiful, with that red-brown hide of hers.”

  “Thanks,” Shea said. “It’s not because of her coloring, though. Chessie is short for ‘Cheshire.’ Like in Alice in Wonderland.” A pause, spent looking around the immediate area. “Where’s Dad? He promised we’d get lunch on the way home, and Grands is expecting me at the salon by two o’clock.”

  “He’s in the office,” Joslyn answered. “He suggested that we meet him at the truck.”

  Shea nodded and started toward the parking lot, Joslyn keeping pace as best she could. Although Shea wasn’t very tall, she had long legs, and she walked fast, Jasper bounding alongside.

  “Of course I’d lots rather go riding than sweep up hair and take care of the appointment book at the Curly-Burly,” the girl went on, as though there hadn’t been a break in the conversation, holding the door open so Jasper could jump into the backseat ahead of her. “But a job is a job, and Dad is big on responsibility.”

  “Well,” Joslyn responded mundanely, taking her place in front, “responsibility is a pretty important trait.”

  The woman-child, her face visible to Joslyn in the rearview mirror, had the good grace not to roll her eyes. “But it’s not everything,” she said lightly. “Except, of course, to my dad.”

  Joslyn, recalling Hutch’s gibe at Slade’s predictability, felt a swift, sharp sting at the recollection. Except for Kendra, Hutch had been her closest friend all through school. He’d remained loyal even when the other kids in their crowd wouldn’t speak to her, because of what Elliott had done.

  For all that, today anyway, she could cheerfully have throttled Hutch Carmody with her bare hands. Not only had he goaded Slade unnecessarily, but he’d thrown out that remark about the riding lessons, emphasizing the word “more” to let his half brother know—know what?

  “Joslyn?” Shea said, bringing her back to the here and now, where she came in for a hard landing.

  Joslyn turned, looked back at the girl. Waited for whatever it was she meant to say.

  “Are you and my dad sleeping together?”

  * * *

  BY THE TIME HE’D WRITTEN a hefty check to pay for the three horses he’d bought that morning and returned to the truck, Slade had shaken off the effects of the near-row with Hutch. His breakfast—scrambled eggs, toast, fried potatoes and ham, prepared by Opal—was beginning to wear off, and he was thinking about lunch.

  He climbed into the truck and stuck the key in the ignition before it hit him that Shea and Joslyn were both being unusually quiet.

  “Everything okay?” he asked, looking at Shea first—she was playing some game on her cell phone, Jasper snoozing beside her on the backseat—and then at Joslyn.

  Her color was a little high, and she stared straight ahead, through the windshield.

  “Look,” Slade said, after a heavy sigh of resignation. “We’re not going anywhere until somebody tells me why this truck feels like the ins
ide of a meat locker.”

  “I might have asked a personal question,” Shea chimed, not even looking up from her phone.

  Slade glanced at Joslyn again. “Like what?” he asked.

  “Never mind,” Joslyn said stiffly. “Can we just go now?”

  “No,” Slade said. “We can’t.”

  “All I did was ask Joslyn if you and she were sleeping together,” Shea interjected. “And just like that, she gets all huffy.”

  Slade closed his eyes for a long moment and fought hard to keep the twitch in his lips from turning into a grin. “Inappropriate,” he told his daughter, and he meant it, even though he still wanted to laugh.

  Joslyn, he realized, wasn’t angry—she was embarrassed.

  What a strange—and enticing—combination of innocence and sophistication this woman was.

  “Sorry,” Shea said, brightly insincere. The game she was playing on her phone came with an annoying little tune, made up of beeps and robotic “yahoos.”

  Joslyn didn’t say anything, but she wasn’t sitting quite as stiffly as before, and her cheeks weren’t so pink.

  Slade let out his breath. “I’ll talk to her later,” he told Joslyn quietly.

  She relaxed a little, sighed. Looked at him, finally. “I probably overreacted,” she said.

  “Ya think?” Shea asked, amidst the merry beeps.

  “Turn that thing off,” Slade said.

  The beeping stopped. “Dad?” Shea ventured, sounding almost timid.

  “What?” Slade asked, grinding the key in the ignition.

  “Thanks for buying me the horse,” Shea replied. She reached forward, touched Joslyn’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Joslyn,” she added, and this time, she sounded as if she meant it. “It’s none of my business what you and Dad do together.”

  A slow smile broke over Joslyn’s face, and then she laughed. “Thanks,” she said. “I think.”

  “Apology accepted?” Shea pressed.

  “Apology accepted,” Joslyn confirmed.

  After that, the mood lightened up considerably. They ate lunch at a diner along the highway, Shea running on the whole time about how she’d rather ride Chessie than sweep up hair at the Curly-Burly for the rest of the day.