Five minutes later, Joslyn pulled into the parking lot beside the Butter Biscuit Café. The station where Opal’s bus would stop was directly across the street, dusty and in need of a paint job.
Joslyn smiled, imagining the reunion and, at the same time, making a to-do list in her head: change the sheets in the guesthouse bedroom, clean the bathroom, give the place a good dusting and vacuuming, pick a bouquet of flowers from Kendra’s gardens to provide a bright splash of welcome.
The Butter Biscuit was bustling with customers, and all the tables were full. Excited, dizzy with plans, Joslyn didn’t immediately register the identity of the tall man standing next to the cash register, flanked by a model-beautiful woman with an amazing head of auburn hair and a very pretty young girl.
Slade Barlow gave Joslyn one of those slight, tilted grins that made her nerves jump to attention and then drawled a quiet hello.
Joslyn felt jarred—running into Slade was something a person needed to prepare for—but she managed a smile and said hello back.
He introduced her to his ex-wife, Layne, and his stepdaughter, Shea.
Layne eyed her thoughtfully, though not rudely, and smiled to herself.
Shea, the teenager, was the outgoing type. “We’re here for the meat loaf special,” she said. “Dad says it’s worth waiting for.” Her eyes were pale violet in color and they shone with vivacity. “Maybe you’d like to sit with us?”
“I was planning on takeout,” Joslyn said lamely. “Lots to do at home.”
A wry twinkle flashed in Slade’s blue eyes. “Next time, then,” he said.
Joslyn helped herself to a menu and studied it as though it were the Rosetta Stone. “Sure,” she agreed distractedly. “Next time.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
EVEN AFTER SHE FLED THE restaurant with a couple of foam food containers in hand, Joslyn Kirk’s image stuck in the back of Slade’s mind as surely as if it had been tattooed there, in full color and three-plus dimensions.
He could still smell the flowery scent of her hair.
Essie, having apparently forgiven him for his part in the near set-to with Hutch the day before right there in her place of business, smiled and sent two waitresses scurrying to clear and wipe down the first table that opened up, and he and Layne and Shea were seated promptly. They’d invited Callie to come along, but she’d politely begged off, since it was her week to host the game of ladies-only poker.
“With Mom,” he’d told a visibly relieved Layne, “nothing comes before five-card stud.”
“You haven’t heard a word we’ve said over the last twenty minutes,” Layne remarked now without challenge, when Shea excused herself from the meat loaf special to take a call on her fancy smartphone and thereby left the two of them alone at their table.
As sheriff, Slade had been known to work twenty hours at a stretch when circumstances warranted, but he figured grid searches and long, boring stakeouts had nothing on shopping with two women all day.
He’d have sworn they’d hit every store in Great Falls since morning, he and Layne and Shea, picking out furniture, electronics, towels and sheets, pots and pans—everything a person needed to outfit a house, according to them. Essie’s meat loaf special was about the only thing he could think of that would have gotten him to leave the ranch house and lucky Jasper, whom he’d left snoozing in that fancy dog bed with his name stitched on to it.
“You always said that was our main problem,” Slade remarked, knowing his response was a mite late, but too tired to care. “That I didn’t listen to you, I mean.”
“You didn’t,” Layne insisted, smiling. “I used to test you, just to prove the theory. I’d say things like, ‘There are three pink elephants stomping down the flower beds in the backyard,’ and you’d reply—distractedly, of course—that that was ‘fine. Just fine.’”
Slade took a sip of his coffee and gave an idle grin. “So it was a set-up all along,” he teased.
A brief silence descended then, the kind that settles between two friends with nothing to prove to each other.
“That woman we met while we were waiting for a table,” Layne said, after scanning the surrounding area to make sure Shea was out of earshot and none of the other diners were bending an ear in their direction, “‘Joslyn,’ you said her name was?”
As if she’d forgotten. Layne had been chomping at the bit to ask about Joslyn ever since they’d run into her up front.
Slade set down his cup. “Yes,” he said moderately. “Joslyn.”
“You like her,” Layne said.
Slade shifted in his chair. “Sure I like her,” he answered. “We grew up together—sort of.”
Even “sort of” is a stretch, cowboy, he chided himself, inside his weary brain, and you know it. Joslyn was silk and diamonds, and you were leather and burlap.
“No,” Layne said, eyes twinkling, “I meant, you like her. The attraction was only slightly less noticeable than a billboard with moving parts and flashing lights—and I’d say from the way she turned pink and dived into that menu like it contained next week’s winning lottery numbers, it’s mutual.”
Slade was vaguely uncomfortable with the turn the conversation had taken. He wished Shea would finish her call—she was still over there by the silent jukebox, chattering away, her expression animated—and come back to the table, but of course she didn’t. That would have made things way too easy for him. He pretended an interest in what was left of his meat loaf.
Layne chuckled. “So are you going to do anything about this, Slade? Or do you plan to stand around being the strong, silent type until Joslyn gives up on you and finds herself another guy?”
“Why the sudden interest in my love life?” Slade snapped, careful to keep his voice down. Parable being a small town, there would be enough gossip about Layne’s visit; no need to give folks anything extra to chew on.
“I want you to be happy,” Layne said, pretending to be hurt. “What’s wrong with that?”
“Did it ever occur to you that being single and being happy might not be mutually exclusive?” Slade countered. “And what makes you think I’m not happy?”
Layne sighed. “That apartment you’ve been living in, for starters. I know your tastes run more toward beer than champagne, but that place is depressing. A blow-up bed, for pity’s sake? Sheets covering the windows, instead of drapes? And that carpet—I’m pretty sure that color is banned in California.”
“This isn’t California,” Slade pointed out peevishly. “And would you mind keeping it down to a dull roar?”
Layne merely sighed and shook her head, regarding him with what looked like tender amusement. “Some men are meant to be married,” she said, with quiet certainty. “They’re born to be heads of households, pillars of the community, guardians of all that’s right and good. They make ideal husbands and fathers. And you’re one of those men, Slade.”
Slade cleared his throat. “That’s an interesting observation, coming from you,” he said. There was no need to come right out and say that the divorce had been her idea, not his. He’d have stuck it out, come hell or high water, if only for Shea’s sake.
Which wasn’t necessarily a good thing, he realized now.
There were times when it was better to cut your losses and run.
“Ouch,” Layne responded, making a face.
Slade didn’t say anything. He’d not only depleted his quota of words for the day, he was well into tomorrow’s.
“You married me because you wanted to be Shea’s father,” Layne continued presently, unruffled, “not because you wanted to be my husband.”
Since there was some truth in that statement, Slade didn’t refute it. He’d thought he loved Layne when they got together, but it had been Shea he’d been smitten with, Shea and the idea of being somebody’s dad.
It was relatively uncomplicated.
That couldn’t have been said, however, about what he’d felt for Layne. He supposed that had been more about hormones, and the person he’d
wanted her to be.
The simple fact was, he liked Layne the way he liked Kendra and Boone Taylor and Maggie Landers, among others. As a friend.
“This Bentley yahoo,” he said, after casting another glance in Shea’s direction. She was still talking on the cell, and the way she sparkled all over, he’d have bet there was a boy on the other end of that conversation. “He’s all right?”
“He’s wonderful,” Layne answered, and a dreamy look shimmered in her eyes, only to be replaced by a mischievous twinkle. “Plus, he listens to me,” she added.
Slade frowned and inclined his head toward Shea once again. “Does she always spend this much time on the phone?”
Layne grinned. “Separation anxiety,” she said. “She’s missing her friends back in L.A., that’s all. It’ll pass.”
“I hope so,” Slade replied. “It isn’t natural for a kid to go around with a hunk of plastic glued to their ear.”
“These days, it is,” Layne answered lightly, pushing her plate away, folding her arms and resting them on the tabletop. “Shea’s on her best behavior right now because she wants to impress you and she’s angling for a horse, but just you wait, Dad. Under that sunny exterior lurks a bona fide, card-carrying teenager. You’ve got your work cut out for you, at least for the rest of the summer.”
Shea ended the call, at long last, and started toward them.
Slade smiled at the child he would always think of as his daughter, no matter what kind of shenanigans she might pull.
“A horse,” he said, musing aloud, “might be just what she needs right now.”
* * *
BACK HOME IN THE MAID’S quarters off Kendra’s kitchen, Joslyn set her take-out meal on the tiny table and nodded an acknowledgment to Lucy-Maude’s meow.
“I was all set to pig out,” she told the cat ruefully. “And then I ran into Slade Barlow, his ex-wife and his stepdaughter. I’m telling you, that woman—his ex—looks like a movie star, or even some kind of goddess.”
Boldly, Lucy-Maude leaped up onto the table and sniffed at the boxes containing the fried chicken dinner—complete with mashed potatoes and gravy and green beans boiled up country style, with onions and bacon—Joslyn had picked up at the Butter Biscuit Café just minutes before.
With a gentle motion of one hand, she shooed the cat off the table.
“Frankly,” she went on, “I’ve mostly lost my appetite.” She began to pace, arms folded. “No man in his right mind would divorce that woman,” she prattled on, needing to vent, since she might just burst if she didn’t, “which means she must have kicked him to the curb, which means there’s probably something wrong with him—”
Lucy-Maude gave her a look that seemed almost pitying and bounded gracefully up onto the back of the armchair. “Reow,” she said.
“You’re totally right, of course,” Joslyn admitted. “I’m jumping to conclusions here.” A tight-lipped pause. “I’m also talking to a cat. Again. Lucy-Maude, I have got to get a life.”
“Reow,” Lucy-Maude repeated and began to groom one delicate forepaw.
Suddenly, Joslyn had to laugh—at herself, at her situation, at the world in general. “Any suggestions?” she asked the cat. “On where I might pick up a life, I mean?”
As far as Lucy-Maude was concerned, it appeared, she was on her own.
So Joslyn wiped down the table, washed her hands at the sink and took a plate from the cupboard, flatware from a drawer. Then she sat herself down and resolutely ate her supper. Some of it, anyway.
After stowing the leftovers in the miniscule fridge, she washed the plate and the silverware she’d used, rinsed them and left them to dry in the drain board. Next, she spent two full hours going through the already clean guest cottage like a human whirlwind, scrubbing everything, whether it needed it or not, so the place would be shipshape for Opal. After that, she read over the printout of the first lesson in her online real-estate course, doing plenty of highlighting, following up with a long, luxurious bubble bath. Then she finally crawled into bed, taking several minutes to get settled. When she finally came to rest on her side, Lucy-Maude curled up behind her knees, purring contentedly.
Sleeping, even when she was exhausted, was usually a challenge for Joslyn, but that night was the exception. She dropped into the innermost depths of her mind like a sinking stone and didn’t surface again until morning.
Face full of sunlight, she sat bolt upright as all the puzzle pieces of consciousness settled back into their proper places, and a surge of joy rushed through her.
Today was the day.
Opal would arrive in Parable for a visit—Opal, the cherished friend and second mother she’d missed so much and feared she might never see again.
They’d chatter like magpies, she thought happily, catching each other up on everything that had happened since they’d parted ways, and, for a few days at least, she, Joslyn, would have someone to talk to besides her cat.
It was a thrilling prospect.
She dressed quickly, donning the black-and-white sundress she’d bought to wear to Kendra’s barbecue, fed Lucy-Maude her breakfast and headed for the office to unlock the front door and boot up her computer.
She’d just finished making an appointment for Lucy-Maude at the veterinary clinic when the desk phone rang.
“Shepherd Real Estate,” she answered sunnily. “May I help you?”
“Probably not,” Kendra replied, with a tired smile in her voice. “But you’ve got the makings of a first-class receptionist, overqualified though you are.”
Joslyn spoke carefully. “How was your flight?”
“Long,” Kendra said. “I checked into my hotel and slept for a few hours, but I’m still pretty jet-lagged. Jeffrey’s brother Dennis is on his way over right now—he’s going to drive me to the hospital for a visit—”
“Oh, Kendra,” Joslyn whispered.
“This is hard,” Kendra confided. “On the one hand, I know I have to see Jeffrey and hear what he has to say, or I’ll always wonder and wish I’d done things differently. On the other, I want to run as far and as fast as I can.”
“I know the feeling,” Joslyn agreed gently. Returning to Parable was like that for her, and so, in a way, was the crazy mixed-up way Slade Barlow seemed to affect her. She was at once drawn to him and terrified of all he might cause her to feel, not just physically, but emotionally, too. “Just take it one step at a time, Kendra, and be kind to yourself along the way, okay?”
“Okay,” Kendra said, with another sigh. After a few moments, she added, “Tell me something wonderful, Joss. I could really stand to hear some good news.”
“Opal is coming for a visit,” Joslyn replied immediately, brightening. “Can you believe it? After all this time, we’re finally reconnecting.” She paused. “I invited her to stay in the guest cottage, since I’m sleeping in the main house while you’re away. That’s all right with you, isn’t it?”
“Of course it is,” Kendra responded with more spirit than before. “Opal was always so kind to me—remember how she used to give us cookies and milk after school, and tell us all those long, involved stories about when she was a little girl in Arkansas?”
“I remember,” Joslyn said softly. Back then, Opal, quick to recognize that Kendra was a little-girl-lost in so many ways, had taken the child under her wing, loved and protected her as fiercely as she had Joslyn. “I think she’s only planning to be here for a couple of days.”
“You tell Opal she can stay as long as she wants,” Kendra said.
“I’ll do that,” Joslyn answered.
They discussed the few telephone and email messages that had come in since they last spoke, Joslyn mentioned that she’d begun studying for the real-estate license exam, a plan Kendra readily approved and encouraged her to pursue during working hours, when there was time, and then they rang off.
Joslyn had a hollow feeling in the center of her chest as she let Kendra go, wishing she could have done something, said something—anything t
o make things easier for her friend.
The morning raced by, and, on her lunch hour, Joslyn ventured out to raid Kendra’s gardens. She gathered a bouquet of brightly colored zinnias, day lilies and roses, arranging the flowers in a pretty glass vase she found in the pantry of the main house, and set the works on the bedside table out in the cottage.
She was standing back to admire the display when she heard the sound of an engine and big tires grinding their way through the white gravel in the driveway.
She went outside and found Hutch there, just getting out of his truck. His expression had all the cozy warmth of an impending tornado.
“Is it true that Kendra took off for England?” he demanded, bypassing “hello” completely and shoving a hand through his already rumpled hair as he approached Joslyn.
Joslyn folded her arms and dug in her heels just a little. “Yes,” she said. “Although I wouldn’t exactly say she ‘took off.’ You made it sound like Kendra did something wrong by going, and she didn’t.”
Hutch thrust out a sigh. “Talk around town is, she’s gone back to her ex-husband,” he said, looking so miserable in that moment that Joslyn immediately softened toward him.
Joslyn bit her lip, wondering how much she should say. Kendra’s reasons for making the trip to Britain were private ones, but Hutch looked as though he’d been sucker punched.
He was even a little pale under that riding-the-range tan of his. And he was her friend, too.
“It’s not a reconciliation,” she said, very quietly. “Jeffrey’s seriously ill, Hutch. Dying, from the sound of things.”
Hutch’s face changed, tightening a little, then relaxed as if by force of will. He muttered an exclamation, and his shoulders sagged slightly.
Joslyn reached out, touched his upper arm. She wanted to comfort him, but she’d probably already said more than she should have, so she held her tongue.
“What if she doesn’t come back?” The question came from somewhere so deep inside Hutch that it sounded raw when he voiced it.
And Joslyn saw immediately that he’d have taken the words back if he could have. Which was probably why she went ahead and pretended he hadn’t said them in the first place.
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