Big Sky Country. Linda Miller Lael

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      Hutch laughed. Stood nearby with his arms folded and his head cocked to one side. He must have resembled his late mother, Lottie Hutcheson, Slade thought distractedly, because he didn’t look a thing like the old man.

      No, that was his cross to bear—never looking into a mirror without seeing a younger version of the man who had denied him since birth.

      “You might just as well take him back home with you,” Hutch continued, surprising Slade. “Jasper’s like Dad was—once he’s made up his mind about something, he’s not likely to change it.”

      Slade slanted an appraising look at the man who was, biologically at least, blood kin. They were nothing alike, the two of them. Or were they? Down deep, at the DNA level, there had to be some similarities.

      “Got any suggestions?” Slade finally asked.

      Hutch considered the question at his leisure before offering an offhanded reply. “Like the ranch, I reckon old Jasper is half yours and half mine. Since he’s taken a notion to be your dog from here on out, you might as well stop trying to wrestle him out of that truck and spare him the long walk back to town. You leave him here, he’ll follow you home for sure.”

      Slade rubbed the back of his neck, pondering Hutch’s words. He didn’t need a mutt any more than he needed the responsibility of looking after a sixteen-year-old girl, but he figured Hutch was right. For whatever reason, Jasper had appointed himself sidekick. For the duration, evidently.

      Slade knew he’d welcome the company, though—he’d kept his life and his heart closed up tight since the divorce, doing his job, showing up, putting one foot in front of the other. Maybe it was time to open up a little, let somebody in.

      Even if that somebody happened to have four feet and a tail.

      It was a beginning, he supposed, though he wasn’t sure of what.

      “All right,” he agreed slowly and shut the truck door with Jasper still inside.

      “I’d swear that critter looks out-and-out relieved,” Hutch said drily. “And in case you’re wondering, I never mistreated him. Jasper was always a one-man dog, and Dad was that man. Now, I guess, the torch has been passed.”

      Slade studied his half brother for a long moment. Hutch’s manner wasn’t exactly cordial, but he wasn’t waving a loaded shotgun and ordering him off the property, either. “Thanks,” he said.

      “You given any more thought to selling me your share of Whisper Creek?” Hutch asked after waiting a moment or two.

      “I’ve given it plenty of thought,” Slade answered, squinting a little against the last dazzling light of another summer day, “but I haven’t come to any decision.”

      Hutch absorbed that response with a slight but oddly affable frown creasing the skin between his eyebrows. Then he gestured toward the house. “At the moment, the place is as much yours as it is mine,” he said, and there was no reading either his tone or his expression. Carmody would be able to hold his own in a high-stakes poker game, that was for sure, Slade reflected—and he wouldn’t need a hooded sweatshirt, a baseball cap or wraparound shades to manage it. “You might as well come inside and take a look around.”

      Slade looked past Hutch, taking in the rambling lines of that house. He’d never set foot in the place, and now fifty percent of it was legally his. It was a hard thing to take in.

      “All right,” he said after a long hesitation. He looked back at Jasper, who sat like a sentry in the truck seat, watching him through the partially rolled down window. The dog would be fine by himself, Slade decided, at least for a few minutes. He followed Hutch through that white picket gate, along the flagstone walk, up the porch steps.

      He’d wondered about the inside of that house for as long as he could remember, though he’d never aspired to live there, or even step over the threshold. Now that he had a dog, and Shea was coming to spend what remained of the summer with him, however, he was a lot more interested in real estate.

      Tomorrow was his day off—he’d check in with Kendra, maybe take another look at the Kingman spread. The house was nothing fancy, being nowhere near the size of this one, and it had sat empty for a long time. Still, with a little elbow grease and a lot of hot, soapy water, it would be livable.

      They’d still be short one bathroom, though.

      Inside Hutch’s domain, Slade was immediately impressed with the high-beamed ceilings and the open floor plan. Despite all those flowers in the yard, the interior was singularly masculine, with sturdy leather furniture, plain, heavy tables and zero clutter. A few Navajo rugs and some high-quality Western art provided muted splotches of color here and there. The space had a quiet, meditative quality that surprised Slade a little, given Hutch’s wild-man reputation.

      What had he expected? Mirrors on the ceilings? A functioning saloon straight out of an old John Wayne movie or maybe a mechanical bull in the middle of the living room?

      Slade indulged in a small, rueful grin, gone in an instant.

      “Look around all you want,” Hutch said, in the same casual tone as before. “I think you’ll agree that as big as the place is, it won’t accommodate both of us.”

      Slade grinned again, not about to let on that he felt a little sheepish all of a sudden, like he’d barged in or something. “You’re right about that last part,” he said. “And I’ve seen all I need to. It’s getting late, and Jasper’ll need some gear if he’s going to move in with me.”

      Hutch assessed him in silence for a long moment, then said, “There’s a bag of kibble in the pantry, and Jasper’s got a bed and a couple of bowls and a few toys. You’re welcome to the stuff if you want it.”

      “Sure,” Slade said, mildly embarrassed. It only made sense to accept Jasper’s belongings—the things would be familiar to the dog and therefore comforting, and besides, it would save a shopping trip to the big discount store out past the city limits. “Thanks,” he said again.

      “This way,” Hutch said, turning.

      Slade followed him through a set of swinging doors and into a big kitchen with dark-stained wooden floors, like those in the front part of the house, tall windows and a lot of gleaming steel appliances. The island in the center of the room was bigger than Slade’s whole kitchen back at the duplex.

      Hutch disappeared into what must have been the pantry and brought out a big sack of kibble, still three-quarters full. He set it down near one of the counters—there seemed to be miles of them, all smooth gray granite—and gathered up two ceramic dog dishes.

      “Jasper’s bed and the toys are in Dad’s room,” Hutch said. “I’ll get them.”

      Slade nodded. “That’ll be good,” he replied, intending to lug the kibble and the bowls out to the truck while Hutch was fetching the other things.

      Instead, though, he just stood there, after Hutch was gone, in that big kitchen.

      He imagined his father reading the newspaper at the long table while he drank his morning coffee with Jasper at his feet.

      Something about the image made Slade’s throat tighten painfully.

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