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
