want to linger, taking the chance that Hutch might goose her in the backside again, the way he had before they left her place.
A wicked little thrill zapped through her at the memory, though.
The drive to the ranch passed in silence, Madison sleeping in back, Kendra at a loss for anything to say, Hutch easy in his skin, as usual, and thinking his own thoughts.
When they pulled in at Whisper Creek, Opal was outside, taking laundry down off the clothesline. Leviticus supervised from beneath a shady tree.
She smiled and waved when she saw them, picked up her laundry basket, and started for the house.
Hutch was carrying Madison, so Kendra took the basket from Opal, after a brief, good-natured tugging match.
“That’s one worn-out little child,” Opal observed as Madison snoozed on, her small arms wrapped loosely around Hutch’s neck. “You were right to bring her away from all that dirt and noise at the rodeo.”
“We’ll be going back in a few hours,” Hutch replied. “She’s dead-set on taking in the fireworks.”
Opal chuckled warmly at that, and softly. “You put her in there on my bed,” she told Hutch, gesturing toward a doorway leading off the kitchen. “That way she’ll be able to hear our voices when she wakes up and won’t be startled to find herself in a strange place.”
Kendra followed Hutch, watched as he laid the child on Opal’s quilted bed, tenderly pulled off her new boots and draped a lightweight comforter over her.
There he goes again, acting like a daddy.
Madison stirred and then succumbed to happy exhaustion.
Back in the kitchen, Opal was pouring coffee for Hutch and Kendra, and brewing tea for herself. The counters were lined with a wide assortment of casseroles and home-baked pies.
“Somebody die?” Hutch asked, reaching toward one of the pies. Leviticus stayed close to him, plainly adoring the man.
Opal stopped what she was doing long enough to slap his hand away. “No,” she said with a sharpness that was soft at the center, “nobody died. We’re getting a new pastor—Lloyd’s decided to retire, God bless him—and he’ll be introduced to the congregation tomorrow morning.”
Kendra, who had missed the last couple of Sunday services, felt mildly chagrined that she hadn’t known such a change was in the works. She opened her mouth to comment, couldn’t think of a single thing to say and closed it again.
“You can have some of that cherry crumble over there,” Opal told Hutch, gesturing toward a pan sitting all alone on top of the stove. “I made that especially for you.”
“Yes,” Hutch said, homing in on the cherry crumble.
Kendra, meanwhile, sat down to sip from the cup of coffee Opal gave her.
“Want some of this?” Hutch asked from across the room, lifting a plate with a double helping of dessert scooped onto it.
“No, thanks,” Kendra said with a weary smile. “It looks delicious, but I’ve had way too much sugar today as it is.”
Hutch came to the table, set his plate down and sat. “You keep this up, Opal,” he teased, admiring the food, “and I might have to put you on my payroll.”
Opal laughed and waved a scoffing hand at him. “That’ll be the day,” she said. “Slade Barlow signs my paychecks. I’m only here to keep you from turning into a seedy old coot who hangs flags and blankets up for window curtains and eats every meal out of a tin can.”
Hutch laughed at the image and nearly choked on the bite he’d just taken.
Kendra, on edge since the bull-riding competition, relaxed a little and even smiled.
“Anyhow,” Opal went on, taking a place at the table to sip her tea, “I’m beginning to think there’s hope for you after all, Hutch Carmody.” She glanced at Kendra, smiled. “Yes, sir, I do think there’s hope.”
Kendra, catching the other woman’s meaning, squirmed a little. “So,” she said with a little too much spirit, “Pastor Lloyd is retiring. Will there be a party in his honor?”
Opal nodded. “Sure,” she said. “We’re planning it for tomorrow, right after church.” An odd, distant expression came into her dark eyes as she pondered, gazing past Kendra’s right shoulder and into deep space. “The new fellow,” she went on, “is a dead ringer for Morgan Freeman. Went to Harvard. And he’s single, too. A widower, like my Willie was.”
Hutch chuckled at that, but he was too busy consuming cherry crumble to make any remarks. Evidently, riding bulls took a lot out of a person, producing a desperate need for simple carbohydrates. Subtly, he slipped a