go through her. Such an innocent-sounding reference and, at the same time, a bold invitation.
Or was it more of a promise?
“Thanks,” she said, hurrying back into the house in an effort to hide her pink face. Once there, she dragged in several deep breaths, struggling to regain her composure, and took her time getting her handbag, making sure all the stove burners were turned off and the doors were locked.
When she came outside again, Hutch had installed Madison and her car seat in the spiffy truck.
With a laugh, Madison plopped his hat back on his head, and it landed askew, pushing down the tops of his ears. He made a goofy face for the child’s benefit before straightening it, and Madison found that uproariously funny.
“Ready?” he asked almost gruffly when he turned his attention on Kendra.
It was a loaded question. He was asking about more than the rodeo and the carnival and a fireworks display, and she couldn’t pretend not to know it.
She said nothing, because “no” would have been a lie and “yes” would lead to all sorts of problems.
He grinned, reading her well, and held open the passenger door for her. He did give her a brief boost when she stepped up onto the high running board, the way he’d done when they went riding.
She blushed hotly and refused to look at him, staring straight through the windshield when he chuckled again, shut the truck door and came around to the driver’s side.
During the short ride to the fairgrounds, Madison made conversation between the adults unnecessary, if not impossible, chattering away about Ruffles—she couldn’t wait to ride again, would they be doing that soon?—and her new boots and whether she should get a pink cowgirl hat or a red one.
The parking lot at the fairgrounds was already bursting with rigs of various kinds, but Hutch found a spot for the truck and had Madison out of her safety seat and standing in the gravel before Kendra had alighted and walked around to their side.
Hutch gave her a sidelong look, grinned and set his hat down on her head. “Relax,” he said. “You’ve got a pint-size chaperone here, and that means I’ll have to behave myself, now doesn’t it?”
The hat smelled pleasantly of Hutch—sun-dried cotton, fresh country air and the faintest tinge of new-mown grass—and, for just a moment, Kendra allowed herself to revel in the moment, as happy as Madison had been when she wore Hutch’s hat back at the house.
Her hands shook a little as she lifted it off and handed it back, and the question she’d promised herself she wouldn’t ask tumbled out of her mouth with no prompting from her addled brain.
“You’re dead-set on this bull-riding thing?”
Hutch regarded her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. “Does it matter?” he asked.
Madison, by that time, had taken his hand and was trying to drag him toward the ticket booth, some fifty yards away.
Kendra sighed. “Yes,” she admitted as he took her hand and Madison pulled them across the lot like a little tugboat. “It matters.”
“That’s interesting,” Hutch said. “Why?”
“Why, what?” Kendra was stalling now. She was between a rock and a hard place, and there was no way to extricate herself. If she asked Hutch not to ride, she’d seem controlling, and he’d probably refuse to skip the event just because he was stubborn. If she didn’t ask, on the other hand, she’d have lost her one chance to make sure he didn’t break his damn fool neck in front of her, half the county and, worst of all, Madison.
“Why does it matter?” Hutch pressed quietly.
“I’d hate to see you get hurt, that’s all,” Kendra said in a light tone that didn’t match the urgency she felt. Madison, the human tugboat, was within earshot, after all.
“I’d hate to see that, too,” Hutch said, one side of his mouth tilting up in a classic Hutch Carmody grin. “But I don’t believe in sitting on the sidelines, Kendra, just to be safe. I love the rodeo, especially the bull-riding.”
She felt frustrated and something was doing the jitterbug in the pit of her stomach, on icy feet, even though it would be a couple of hours before he actually climbed down off the catwalk and into the chute where an angry bull would be waiting for him.
“You’re not scared?” she asked against her will.
They’d reached the winding line in front of the ticket booth by then, and Madison let go of Hutch’s hand and fidgeted.
“What if all the boots