of her and Hutch, feeling as though she’d been slapped across the face. She clicked back to the main body of Joslyn’s email and read, “Now they’ve gone too far. This means war.”
The second message, from Tara, was similar.
The anti-Hutch campaign was one thing, as far as Kendra’s two closest friends were concerned, but dragging her into it was one step over the line. Clearly they were prepared to do battle.
She sat back, drew a few long, deep breaths, releasing them slowly, and reminded herself that this wasn’t such a big deal—the page was a petty outlet for people who apparently had too much free time on their hands, not a cross blazing on her front lawn or a brick hurled through her living room window.
She answered both Tara’s and Joslyn’s emails with a single response. “I’ll handle it.” Then, calmer but no less indignant at some stranger’s invasion of her privacy, she printed out a copy of the webpage, folded it carefully into quarters and took it back to the kitchen, where she’d left her purse. She tucked the sheet of paper away in the very bottom, under her wallet and cosmetic case, looked in on her daughter once more and retreated to the bathroom for that long soak she’d promised herself.
The warm water soothed her, as did the two over-the-counter pain relievers she took before crawling into bed. She hadn’t expected to sleep, but she did, deeply and dreamlessly, and the next thing she knew, sunlight was seeping, pink-orange, through her eyelids.
Her thighs and backside were sore from the horseback ride, but not sore enough to matter.
She threw herself into the morning routine—getting Madison up and dressed and fed, making sure Daisy went outside and then had fresh water and kibble. She skipped her usual coffee, though, and sipped herbal tea instead.
“You look pretty, Mommy,” Madison said, taking in Kendra’s crisp linen pantsuit. Lately, she’d been wearing jeans.
“Thank you,” Kendra replied lightly, pausing to bend over Madison’s chair at the breakfast table and kiss the top of her head. “I have an appointment this morning—a client is coming to see the other house—so hurry it up a little, will you?”
“About my boots,” Madison began.
So, Kendra thought wryly, she’d been right to suspect that, while genuine, the compliment on her outfit had its purposes.
“There will be all sorts of vendors—people who sell things—at the rodeo this weekend. We’ll check out the boots then.”
Madison beamed, but then her face clouded over. “But I still have to say sorry to Miss Abbington and Becky,” she recalled.
“Absolutely,” Kendra said firmly. “Suppose Becky had taken your boots, without permission, and then refused to give them back. How would you feel?”
“Bad,” Madison admitted.
“And so?” Kendra prompted.
“Becky felt bad,” Madison said. Then something flashed in her eyes. “But I didn’t wear Miss Abbington’s shoes. Why do I have to say sorry to her?”
“Enough,” Kendra said, softening the word with a smile. “You know darn well why you need to apologize to Miss Abbington.”
“I do?” Madison echoed innocently.
Kendra simply waited.
“Because I was misruptive in class,” Madison finally conceded.
“Bingo,” Kendra said.
* * *
AN HOUR LATER, with Madison at preschool and Daisy minding the office, Kendra showed the mansion to the second client, a representative of a large investment group with an eye to turning the place into an apartment complex.
Kendra knew right away that there would be no actual sale, but that didn’t matter. The real estate business was all about showing places again and again, until the right buyer came along. Generally, she had to bait a lot of hooks before she caught a fish.
Work was the furthest thing from her mind anyway, with that printout of the webpage burning a hole in the bottom of her purse.
At lunchtime, she locked up the office, loaded the always adventuresome Daisy into the Volvo and headed for the neighboring town, Three Trees.
She didn’t know Brylee Parrish well—the two of them were barely acquainted, with a five-year gap in age, and they’d grown up in separate if closely linked communities—but she knew exactly where to find her. Brylee, with her flourishing party-planning business, was the original Local Girl Makes Good—she had a large warehouse and offices just outside Three Trees.
During the drive, Kendra didn’t rehearse what she was going to say, because she didn’t know, exactly. She doubted that Brylee personally was behind the webpage photo and the remark about Hutch being up to his old tricks, but she’d know who was.
Arriving at Brylee’s company, Décor Galore, Kendra rolled