Cowboy Ever After: Big Sky Mountain. Maisey Yates

      He looked as though he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “And maybe you’ve forgotten that we had something good going for us before you decided to kick off the traces and become Lady Chamberlain.”

      “It wasn’t like that at all!” Kendra whispered.

      “Go ahead and rewrite history to suit yourself,” Hutch rasped, pushing back his chair and standing up, his half-finished coffee forgotten. He made the move so quietly that his chair didn’t so much as scrape the floor, but rage was hardwired into every lean, powerful line of him. He set his hands on his hips and looked down at her for a long moment, then added, “The fact is, sweetheart, you walked out on me.”

      A knock sounded at the screen door just then, and a man’s face appeared on the other side of the mesh. “Brought the car,” he said, jangling the keys.

      Hutch crossed the room, yanked the screen door open, and stormed right past the guy without even glancing at him.

      The ranch hand looked at him curiously and extended the Volvo keys to Kendra, who had followed Hutch as far as the threshold, even though she had no intention of pursuing him. All the things she wanted to say to Hutch—okay, scream at him—were lodged painfully in the back of her throat, where she’d barely managed to stop them.

      “Thank you,” Kendra said mildly, taking the keys from the visitor’s hand.

      “You’re mighty welcome,” the weathered cowboy replied with a practiced tug at his hat brim. A mischievous twinkle lit his eyes. “Seems like this wouldn’t be a good time to hit the boss up for a raise.”

      Kendra smiled at the joke. “You’re probably right,” she replied.

      Hutch’s truck started up with a roar, and both Kendra and the ranch hand winced a little when the tires screeched as he pulled away from the curb.

      The cowboy shook his head, smiled ruefully and turned toward the other Whisper Creek truck waiting in the short driveway alongside the house, a second man at the wheel.

      Kendra waved, closed the screen door, then its inside counterpart, hung the keys on a nearby hook and turned to find herself facing her daughter.

      Madison and Daisy stood side by side, in the middle of the kitchen, their heads tilted at exactly the same angle, their gazes questioning and worried.

      Kendra had to smile at the picture they made, even though she was still so irritated with Hutch that she felt like tearing out hanks of her own hair.

      “The cowboy man didn’t say goodbye,” Madison said, and her lower lip wobbled slightly.

      It was one of those rare times when only a lie would do, Kendra decided ruefully. “Actually, Mr. Carmody was in a big hurry, and he asked me to tell you goodbye and say he was sorry he had to rush off.”

      Madison, being an intelligent child, looked skeptical and unappeased, but she accepted the fib—to a degree. “I heard mad voices,” she challenged Kendra after a few beats.

      They’d been so careful not to yell, she and Hutch, though she’d wanted to and it was probably safe to assume Hutch had, as well. Madison had picked up on the energy of the exchange, rather than the actual words.

      “It’s time for your bath and a story,” Kendra said moderately, striving for normalcy. How could Hutch claim, for one moment, that she’d been the one to break them up? He’d virtually handed her over to Jeffrey and walked away whistling.

      “You should be nice to people,” Madison lectured. “That’s what you always tell me.”

      Kendra placed splayed fingers gently between her daughter’s shoulders and started her in the direction of the main bathroom. “Let’s have this discussion another time, please,” she said.

      Daisy’s toenails clicked on the hardwood floor behind them as she and Madison headed down the hall, Madison resisting ever so slightly as they went.

      “But you forgot supper,” the child reasoned.

      Sure enough, Kendra realized, the evening meal had completely slipped her mind. “You’re right,” she replied, at once chagrined and glad to find common ground, even if it was a little shaky. “Tell you what—we’ll feed Daisy and then, after you’ve had your bath, I’ll whip up a couple of grilled cheese sandwiches for us. How would that be?”

      Madison looked up at her and something in her small, obstinate face relented. “I like grilled cheese sandwiches,” she admitted.

      Kendra smiled. “Me, too,” she said.

      With Madison stripping and Daisy supervising the whole enterprise, Kendra managed to prepare the little girl’s bath—a few inches of warm water with bubbles.

      Madison climbed in and Daisy rested her muzzle on the edge of the bathtub, watching her small mistress, brown eyes shining with love.

      “Can Daisy get into the tub, too?” Madison asked, reaching for her pink sponge and the duck-shaped bar of soap she favored.

      “Not this time, sweetie,” Kendra said, since that seemed better than a flat no.

      Madison huffed out a sigh and began her ablutions, perfectly capable of bathing herself.

      A few minutes later, she announced, “I’m clean now, Mommy!”

      Smiling, despite the quiet but persistent ache in the region of her heart Hutch still claimed, Kendra gave her a kiss and reached for a towel.

      * * *

      HUTCH HAD ALWAYS been good at letting stuff roll off his back—he’d had to be—but that tangle with Kendra back at her place made him want to fight.

      With anybody, about anything.

      When the lights of Boone’s cop car flashed behind him, just before the turn-in at Whisper Creek, it almost pleased him to pull over.

      “What?” he snapped, rolling down the window on the passenger side of the truck so Boone could peer in at him.

      “You headed for a fire?” Boone countered. “I clocked you at fifty in a thirty-five back there.”

      Hutch swore under his breath, tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “Sorry,” he lied, glaring through the windshield at the dirt road ahead. It did some twisting and turning, that old road, before it joined the highway and rolled right on into Idaho and Washington.

      At the moment, he sure felt like following it till it ended at the Pacific Ocean.

      “Look at me, Hutch,” the sheriff said, and he sounded dead serious.

      Hutch turned his head, met Boone’s gaze. “Write the ticket and be done with it,” he growled.

      “Well, who spit in your oatmeal this morning?” Boone asked, folding his arms against the base of the window and studying Hutch intently.

      “I’ve got a lot on my mind right now,” Hutch snapped. “All right?”

      Boone sighed, shoved a hand through his dark hair. “I know that,” he said, “but I can’t let you go speeding around my county, now can I? Pretty soon, folks will be saying I turn a blind eye when my friends break the law and I can’t have that, Hutch. You know I can’t.”

      “So write the ticket,” Hutch reiterated. He just wanted to be gone, to be moving, to be riding hard across darkening ground on a horse or climbing Big Sky Mountain on foot—anything but sitting still.

      “Have it your way,” Boone said. He took his ticket book from his belt, scrawled on a piece of paper, ripped it free, and held it out to Hutch, who snatched it from his hand and barely managed to keep from chucking it out his own window out of sheer cussedness.

      “Thanks,” Hutch told him, glaring.

      Boone laughed. “I’d say ‘you’re welcome,’ but