Big Sky Summer. Linda Miller Lael

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      “Oh,” Shane said, looking bleak. Familiar with the operation, he knew what it took to run a spread the size of Timber Creek, where Walker raised cattle, along with bulls and broncos for the rodeo circuit.

      He’d spent a week or two on the ranch most summers, along with Clare, and he knew there were plenty of capable ranch hands to take up the slack when Walker wasn’t around.

      Walker, aching on the inside, grinned and laid a hand on Shane’s skinny shoulder. “I guess I can stay for a while,” he conceded. Clare and Shane had had tutors, growing up on the road as they had, and attending school in Parable for the past year had been a new experience for them. Adaptable and confident, used to traveling from place to place in a well-appointed tour bus or a private jet, they’d thrived, even before the move to Montana.

      Shane lit up. “Good,” he said, and he stuck pretty close to Walker for the next fifteen minutes or so before he noticed the flock of giggling girls watching him from the sidelines. “My public,” he quipped, making Walker laugh.

      “Go for it,” Walker told him.

      He meandered toward the bar, stopping every few feet to speak with somebody he knew, and finally scored a cold beer. Boone and Tara and the rest of the wedding party were busy posing for pictures, both amateur and professional, and he watched for a while, envying his friends a little. Between them, the newlyweds had four children: a ready-made family. What would it be like if he could claim Shane and Clare publicly as his own? If they called him Dad?

      Never gonna happen, cowboy, he reminded himself silently. So get over it.

      Walker took another long pull on his beer. How, exactly, did a man “get over” not being able to acknowledge his own flesh and blood?

      He felt a stab of annoyance at Casey for insisting that Shane and Clare were her children, and hers alone, as though she’d somehow managed not just one Virgin Birth, but two. Heat climbed his neck and made his collar feel tight, so he set the bottle of cold beer on a side table, half-finished. Maybe it was the alcohol that was causing this fit of melancholy; best leave it alone for the time being.

      He’d barely made his way through the crowd of thirsty wedding guests clustered around the bar when he came face-to-face with Kendra Carmody.

      “Hello, Walker,” she said. She was a Grace Kelly blonde, classy and smart and soft-spoken, and Walker could certainly see why Hutch loved her, even though his sympathies were, of course, with Brylee.

      “Kendra,” Walker said with a polite nod. He had nothing against the woman; she was no home-wrecker, and even Brylee knew that. When it came to Hutch, though, neither Walker nor his sister was quite so broad-minded.

      “I’m sorry Brylee couldn’t be here,” Kendra told him, and he knew by the look in her pale green eyes that she meant it. Parable and Three Trees, just thirty miles apart, were the kind of communities where people just naturally included everybody when there was something to celebrate, put right or mourn.

      Walker sighed. “Me, too,” he said honestly. He wasn’t about to make excuses for his sister; Brylee was a grown woman, and she had her reasons for avoiding social occasions—specifically weddings—that made her uncomfortable.

      Kendra smiled, touched his arm. “Anyway, it’s good to see you,” she said.

      After a few polite words, they parted, and Kendra went on to greet other guests. Once, the big house had been hers, but a lot had changed since then. She and Hutch lived on Whisper Creek Ranch, had two daughters and planned to add several more children to their family.

      Once again, Walker put down a swell of pure envy. Okay, so maybe he didn’t have everything he wanted—kids, a wife, a home instead of just a house. Who did? He liked his life for the most part, liked breeding and raising rodeo stock and ranching in general, and besides, nothing good ever came of complaining. For him, it was all about keeping on.

      * * *

      CASEY ELDER WIGGLED HER TOES in the soft grass, glad to be barefoot after spending most of the day in high heels and pantyhose, both of which she hated. Her blue cotton sundress felt airy and light against her skin, too—a big improvement over that heavy choir robe she’d been talked into wearing when she sang at the wedding.

      She smiled and nodded to passing guests, keeping to one side of the moving current of people, sipping champagne from a crystal flute and indulging in one of her favorite activities—watching Walker Parrish from a safe distance.

      He was one fine hunk of a man, in her opinion; tall, with broad shoulders and a square jaw, movie-star handsome with his green-gray eyes and that head of glossy, deep brown hair, always a mite on the shaggy side. He was completely unaware of his effect on women, it seemed, which only made him more intriguing.

      Casey’s feelings for Walker were complicated, like everything in her life. She knew she could fall in love with him without half trying—hadn’t she done precisely that numerous times over the years, only to talk herself out of it later? She was practical to the bone—too practical to open her heart to the one man on earth with the power to break it to bits.

      As if he’d felt her gaze, Walker turned his head and their eyes met.

      She nodded and lifted the champagne glass slightly. Here we go, she thought, wishing he’d walk away, hoping against hope that he’d weave his way through the crowd toward her instead.

      Her breath snagged on a skittering heartbeat when Walker started in her direction. A sudden dizziness struck her, as though she’d stepped onto the rented merry-go-round only to have it start spinning fast enough to blur.

      Once they were face-to-face, Casey tried hard to keep her cool, though part of her wanted to tumble right into those solemn, intelligent eyes of his and snuggle into a warm corner of his heart for the duration. “Hello, handsome,” she said softly.

      He didn’t smile. “You did a real nice job with that song,” he told her. “The one you sang at the wedding, I mean.”

      Casey raised one shoulder slightly, let it fall again. “I’ve had lots of practice,” she said. Just for a moment, she let her eyes stray toward the wedding party, still posing for pictures over by the gazebo, and felt a tiny pinch of sorrow at the base of her throat.

      When she looked back at Walker, she saw that he’d been watching her face the whole time, and hoped he hadn’t guessed that, happy as she was for Boone and Tara, both of whom deserved the best of everything, she happened to be feeling just a tad sorry for herself at the moment.

      “They’re lucky,” Walker observed quietly, inclining his head toward the bride and groom, who were clowning for the cameras now.

      “Yes,” Casey agreed, barely suppressing a sigh. She knew her friends had traveled some twisting, rocky roads to find each other, and she was ashamed to admit to herself that she envied Tara all that was ahead—not just the wedding night and the honeymoon, but the solace and shelter of a committed marriage, the sex and the laughter, the babies and the plans. Fiercely independent though she was, Casey sometimes longed to be held and loved in the depths of the night, to share her joys and her worries and her children with a man who loved her, instead of always playing the brave single mother who could more than manage on her own. “Very lucky.”

      To her surprise, Walker cupped a calloused yet gentle hand under her chin and lifted her face so he could look straight into her eyes. For one dreadful, СКАЧАТЬ