said, “are one hardheaded woman.”
“All the more reason not to argue with me,” Opal replied. She arched both eyebrows and Hutch saw the question coming before the words left her mouth. “How did things go over at Kendra’s?”
Hutch folded his arms, leaned back against the counter alongside the sink. “Well enough that she and Madison will be coming out here tomorrow afternoon for a horseback ride,” he said. It was more than he would have told most people, but he owed Opal, and besides, talking to her was easy.
Opal beamed. “They’ll stay for supper,” she announced. “I’ll make my famous tamale pie. Kendra always loved it and so will that sweet little girl of hers.”
Hutch spread his hands. “You’d better be the one to offer the invitation,” he said, remembering the kiss. By now the regret would be setting in, Kendra would be wishing she’d slapped him instead of kissing him right back. “If it comes from me, she’s more likely to say no than yes.”
“Now why do you suppose that is?” Opal pretended to ponder, but her gaze found the dog again and she smiled. “You mean to keep Leviticus, don’t you?” she asked.
“Unless somebody’s looking for him,” Hutch replied. “I’ll check with Martie tomorrow.”
“Nobody’s looking for Leviticus,” Opal said with sad certainty. “He’d have a collar and tags if he belonged to someone.”
Hutch felt a peculiar mixture of sympathy and possessiveness where Leviticus was concerned. The dog was bound to be nothing but trouble—he’d chew things up and he probably wasn’t housebroken—but Hutch wanted to keep him, wanted that more than anything except to find some common ground with Kendra, so they wouldn’t be so jumpy around each other.
Tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough to suit him.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“I’LL NEED BOOTS,” Madison announced the next morning at breakfast. “Can we buy some, please? Today?”
Practically from the moment she’d opened her eyes, Madison had been fixating on the upcoming horseback ride out at Whisper Creek Ranch. Even as she spooned her way diligently through a bowlful of her favorite cereal, her feet were swinging back and forth under the table as though already carrying her toward the magic hour of three-thirty in the afternoon.
“Let’s wait and see,” Kendra said, sipping coffee. She didn’t normally skip breakfast, but that day she couldn’t face even a bite of toast. She had orchestrated this whole horseback riding thing, set herself up for yet another skirmish with Hutch and now the reality was almost upon her—and Madison.
What had she done?
More importantly, why had she put herself and her daughter in this position?
“Everybody at preschool has boots,” Madison persisted. Daisy, having finished her kibble, crossed the room to lay her muzzle on the child’s lap and gaze up at her with the pure, selfless love of a saint at worship.
“Most of those children have been riding since they were babies,” Kendra reasoned, making a face as she set her coffee cup down. Usually a mainstay, the stuff tasted like acid this morning. “Suppose you get on that horse today and find out you hate riding and you never want to do it again?”
“That won’t happen,” Madison said with absolute conviction. Where did all that certainty come from? Was it genetic—some vestige of all those English ancestors riding to the hunt, soaring over hedges and streams?
Kendra shook off the thought. She hadn’t slept all that well the night before, imagining all the things that might go wrong today, and now she was paying the price. Her thoughts were as muddled as her emotions.
“What makes you so sure of yourself, young lady?” she challenged with a small smile.
Madison grinned back at her. “You’re always saying it’s good to try new things,” she said with a note of triumph that underscored Kendra’s impression that the child was only posing as a four-year-old—she was really an old soul.
Busted, Kendra thought. She was always telling Madison that she shouldn’t be afraid—of preschool, for instance, or speaking up in class, or making friends on the playground—and now here she was, projecting her own misgivings onto her daughter. Speaking to the frightened little girl she herself had once been, instead of the bold one sitting across from her on a sunny, blue-skied morning full of promise.
“I’ll make a deal with you,” Kendra said, brightening. “If you still want boots after this first ride, we’ll get you a pair.” She wondered if the child had visions of racing across the open countryside on the back of some gigantic steed, when she’d most likely wind