Big Sky Summer Part 21

Casey, normally a stickler for good nutrition, grinned. Good old-fashioned country food, she thought appreciatively. Just what the doctor ordered.

Pretty soon, she was taking over for Brylee, who stood virtually at her elbow to supervise. The chicken went into the waiting pan, piece by piece, each time raising a loud sizzling sound, and the aroma was heavenly, even at that early stage.

"Bacon grease," Brylee explained with wicked glee. "I usually bake chicken, and eat it without the skin, but once in a while, a person's got to pull out all the stops and go for broke."

"Amen." Casey laughed. "What do we do now?" she asked when all the chicken pieces were in the frying pan and the noise had abated a little.

"We brown the bird on one side," Brylee answered, happy to be helpful, "and then we brown it on the other. Then we put on the lid and turn down the heat and wait."

The side door opened then, and Walker and Shane came in, fresh from doing ch.o.r.es. Shane was walking tall, his face flushed with pride, his eyes shining. He washed up at the kitchen sink, following Walker's lead, and then sniffed the air.

"Mom." He beamed. "You're cooking."

Casey grinned. "With a lot of help from your aunt," she said, but she was as pleased as if her son had just given her a big compliment.

"I'm cooking, too, dweeb," Clare put in, glowering at Shane.

"Peeling potatoes," Shane said. "Anybody can do that."

Clare stuck her tongue out at him, but there was no venom in the response. It was, Casey figured, sibling lingo, habitual and, in an odd way, nice.

"I'll keep an eye on the chicken," Brylee told Casey, raising her eyebrows comically, widening her eyes and inclining her head toward Walker.

Casey got the message-only a lighted billboard could have conveyed it more clearly-and approached Walker, taking his outstretched hand.

He led her out onto the side porch, and the two of them sat down in the swing.

The sky was a pale shade of purple by then, and the stars were popping out everywhere. The moon, full and brilliant, seeming almost close enough to touch, loomed over the western foothills.

Casey pictured the remains of that old homestead, where Walker's people had settled so long ago, imagined how it would look in the twilight, surrounded by tangled mobs of flowers, and felt soothed, connected, somehow. She could fall in love with Timber Creek Ranch, she thought, if she let herself.

They rocked slowly back and forth, she and Walker, content with saying nothing at all. Lights glistened on the far side of the river, and distant laughter rode over on the breeze-children playing games, dogs barking with glee, screen doors creaking on their hinges, grown-ups calling out that supper was ready.

Ordinary sounds, Casey supposed, but they brought back precious memories-not of her life in her grandparents' stately mansion, but of the times she'd spent with Lupe and Juan in the country, running free with their legions of nieces and nephews, playing softball and hide-and-seek until it was too dark to continue.

Rare and precious as those interludes had been, they were more than Clare and Shane had had when they were small, their other advantages aside.

Just be, Casey told herself. Let now be now.

Walker didn't release her hand, and she allowed herself to enjoy the sensation as he stroked her knuckles lightly with the calloused pad of one thumb. There was nothing s.e.xual about his touch, but Casey knew that would change once they were alone in their bedroom later that night, and she felt a racy little thrill at the prospect.

"I guess I was a little overemotional this afternoon," she said, for his ears alone. "Thanks for riding out the storm."

Walker let go of her hand then, but only so he could slip his arm around her shoulders. She allowed herself to lean into him, rested her head against his strong upper arm. "Anytime," he finally replied.

She felt a need to warn him, like an honest person selling a used car with a few hitches in its get-along. "I'm like that when I'm-stressed out."

"It happens," Walker said easily. "You're allowed, Casey Jones."

Casey was willing to lose herself in this Walker, the gentleman rancher, the easygoing cowboy, the expert lover, at least for a little while, but that didn't mean she'd forgotten the other one, the man who wasn't sure he'd ever be able to forgive her for keeping him from his children for so long. That Walker was just as real as the one who'd covered her in a quilt a few hours before, held her while she cried, made her feel safer than safe and finally led her out here to sit in a porch swing and admire the moon and the stars.

"This is good," she told him.

"And it'll get better," he promised with a grin.

Sure enough, after supper was over and the dishes were cleared away, after Brylee had retreated into her apartment, taking both kids and four out of five dogs right along with her to watch the current crop of reality shows on her big-screen TV, after Walker and Casey had shared a bath in his long, deep tub, things did get better, and then better still.

MONTANA SPRAWLED all around Walker, blessedly normal, as he and Shane rode out to look for strays, accompanied by all three of the boy's dogs.

The uproar in the media had gone on for the better part of a week, but then, after a catastrophic earthquake in South America, Casey and Walker and their "love children" became old news.

h.e.l.l of a way to escape the limelight, though. Relief agencies from all over the world had their operations up and running at the scene of the disaster, and the situation was dire.

Deliberately turning his mind back to his usual concerns, since there was nothing he could do for the earthquake victims besides making a donation, Walker readjusted his hat and shifted a little in the saddle, wondering how Casey had managed to raise Clare and Shane to be reasonably grounded human beings when practically everything she did or said seemed to be a matter for public scrutiny. Granted, this last round had been unusual, even for them, but Walker wouldn't be forgetting it anytime soon.

Beside him, riding Smokey, Shane mimicked the hat-shifting gesture the way he mimicked just about everything Walker did. The kid seemed to be trying out different mannerisms, picking the ones he liked.

Walker was both amused and touched.

"So the Parable County Rodeo is coming up," Shane said. It was an intro, of course, a preamble, an opening riff.

Walker grinned to himself. Let the kid think he was being subtle. Where was the harm in that?

"Yep," he agreed. Remembering what Clare had said about his one-word sentences, he grinned again. "It's always the weekend right before the Fourth of July."

"And we'll be providing the bucking stock?"

"Always do," Walker said. Two words now. Why, he was turning downright loquacious! He didn't ask the boy where the conversation was headed, because he already knew.

Sure enough, Shane finally came out with it. "Do you think I could enter one of the junior events?"

Walker didn't smile, but he wanted to. "You mean, like the mutton busting?" he teased. The younger kids rode sheep in that particular event, and it was a lot harder than it looked-Walker had done it himself, back when he was knee-high to the proverbial gra.s.shopper. So had Brylee.

Shane colored up, glaring out from under the brim of the hat he'd found in the tack room a few days before and immediately appropriated. It didn't quite fit him, and he kept having to push it back off the bridge of his freckled nose, where a red welt was forming. "Riding sheep?" he marveled furiously. "That's for little kids!"

Walker was unruffled. He cast a sidelong glance in his son's direction and drawled, "You're too easy to rile, boy. If you don't get over that, and quick, you'll get nothing else done but defending your honor."

Shane gulped and scowled into the distance, ostensibly looking for strays.

"As for the rodeo," Walker went on idly when Shane didn't reply, "you're gonna have to consult your mother on that one."

"You're my dad," Shane pointed out, still testy but leaking steam instead of spouting it, as before. "Your permission should be enough."

Walker chuckled. "That theory might have held water once upon a time," he said, "but 'once upon a time' was quite a while ago."

"So you're saying Mom is the boss and you'll do whatever she says?"

He sighed. "Watch it," he warned pleasantly. "What I'm saying is, your mother has raised you and Clare this far, with no help from me, and I can't see my way clear to step in now and start overriding her decisions."

Shane grumbled under his breath for a few moments, riding along beside Walker in silence, but it soon became clear that he hadn't been retreating, he'd been reloading. "You'd never go against anything Mom said?" he challenged.

"I didn't say that," Walker answered. "But I'd have to feel pretty strongly to raise an objection, because she's a smart woman, and it just so happens that she's right about most things."

A long, throbbing silence fell.

Then Shane asked evenly, "Do you think she was right to lie to Clare and me since we were babies?"

He'd been expecting this for a while, but it still unsettled him a little.

"No," Walker replied reasonably, "but sometimes people do the wrong thing for the right reasons. Things aren't as cut-and-dried as they seem from your perspective, son-a lot of decisions are shots in the dark, judgment calls, essentially, and it's real easy to make a mistake."

Shane mulled that over for a while. They spotted half a dozen strays on the other side of a thicket of brush and rounded them up, with considerable help from the dogs, heading them toward the main herd.

They bawled and kicked up dust, those cows, too stupid to know they were on their way back to good water and safety in numbers. Walker cussed them a little out of sheer habit, calling them sorry-looking, lop-eared knotheads, much to Shane's amus.e.m.e.nt.

"You got something against cows, Dad?" the boy asked.

"Facts are facts," Walker replied with a grin. "Dogs are smart. Horses are smarter yet. But there's only one domestic animal dumber than these critters, and that's a sheep."

The remark brought them right back around to the subject of the upcoming junior rodeo, albeit indirectly.

"I'm too old for mutton busting," Shane said.

"Tell that to your mother," Walker answered.

An hour later, when they got back to the barn, Shane did a creditable job of unsaddling Smokey, leading him into his stall, checking his hooves and giving him a good brushing down.

Casey came out of the house as they were approaching, looking four kinds of good in trim jeans and a white suntop with a few strategically placed ruffles. Walker drank in the sight of her, thinking they'd get through life just fine, the pair of them, if they made love every night and took care not to say more than two words to each other in the daylight.

They had their tender moments, Walker was willing to admit that much, but they still disagreed on just about every subject known to civilization.

She favored one political party, he supported the other.

She wanted to keep Clare and Shane close to home, so they wouldn't be kidnapped, develop drug habits or give interviews to sc.u.mball reporters.

Walker believed in giving kids as much freedom as they could handle. How else would they learn to stand on their own?

Casey insisted on going to church as a family, while Walker thought he was more likely to make G.o.d's acquaintance on the open range than inside some building with a belfry and pews.

It seemed to Walker that they both had one foot in the marriage, and one foot out, and either one of them might bolt at any time.

Oh, but the s.e.x was better than good.

And Casey was all but certain she was carrying their baby.

Count your blessings, cowboy, Walker thought.

"Mom," Shane began, "I was wondering-"

"Not now," Casey broke in. She tried to smile at her son, but something was wrong and Walker knew it. "Go on inside so I can talk to your dad."

Shane jerked off his hat, slapped it against his thigh and stalked off toward the house.

Walker and Casey remained where they were-just outside the barn door, in the last blaze of afternoon sunshine.

Walker tensed, knowing something-G.o.d only knew what-was coming.

"Might as well just come right out and say it," he said, adjusting his hat.

"Mitch called," she said. "Some artists are putting together a benefit concert-for the earthquake victims."

In his mind, Walker saw instant replays of some of the news clips out of South America. Children separated, perhaps permanently, from their parents. Bad water and broken roads, houses and buildings toppled, tents serving as temporary hospitals, doctors and nurses working shifts that were measured in days, rather than hours.

"And you want to be part of it," Walker said. He understood her desire to help, and shared it, but he saw this as the beginning of a tug-of-war that might last for the rest of their lives. Work pulling against home and family, and vice versa. Eventually, the rope would break.

Casey swallowed, nodded. "Yes."

"Where?" Walker asked, turning his hat brim in his hands, in slow, thoughtful revolutions.

"L.A.," Casey answered, watching him closely. "The concert will be shown live all over the world, next Sat.u.r.day night. There's some setting up to do, though, and of course I'll want to rehea.r.s.e with the band-"

"Of course," Walker agreed, thinking he'd sounded snappish, when he hadn't meant to, but not ready to backpedal and make it right.

"I know that's the weekend of the rodeo over in Parable, and I was supposed to sing the national anthem, but-"

"Folks will understand," Walker put in.

"Will you?" Casey asked.

The question stung. She knew he'd seen the devastation left by that earthquake; did she think his heart was made of concrete?

"Do what you have to do, Casey," he said gruffly. "I'll look after the kids and the critters and we'll all be just fine."

She slipped her arms around him, laid her cheek against his chest. "I thought you'd try to talk me out of this," she confessed. "Because of-everything."

He curled a finger under her chin, lifted her face so he could look directly into her now-misty green eyes. "I'd rather you stayed," he said, in all honesty, "mainly because there might be a baby on the way, and for a few other reasons, too."

Casey's whole being twinkled as she gazed back at him, casting her spell. "Will you miss me?"

"You, yes. The s.e.x, yes. The bickering-not so much."

She pretended indignation. At least, Walker hoped she was pretending.

"You know that old phrase honest to a fault?" she asked.

"I know it," Walker said.