"I'm so confused," she confided after several sips and swallows.

Daisy sighed again, lowered herself to all fours and looked up at Kendra with those glowing eyes, tail wagging slowly back and forth.

"Listen to me," Kendra muttered, sniffling again. "I'm talking to a dog."

Daisy sat now, watching Kendra alertly, as if waiting for her to go on. Yes, you're talking to a dog. That's a problem?

Kendra laughed and brushed away her tears with the backs of her hands. "I'll be all right," she a.s.sured the animal quietly. "So please stop worrying about me." Then she got up, took Daisy out into the backyard just once more and returned to the kitchen.

Apparently satisfied that her second-favorite mistress would indeed remain in one piece without her, at least for now, Daisy ambled back to Madison's room, retiring for the night.

Kendra finished her rapidly cooling tea, went into her home office and logged on to the computer. She'd waited this long to see if Brylee had kept her word and had the web picture taken down, but she couldn't wait any longer.

She was too jittery and frazzled to read or take a luxurious bath by candlelight or simply go to bed early, her usual remedies for everything from wrenching trauma to minor frustrations. That was what she did when she felt too much-when it all became overwhelming-she read, or bathed, or slept.

While those things were all perfectly okay, in and of themselves, Kendra was beginning to see them as forms of running away now, time-honored methods of avoidance or denial, metaphorical hiding places where she could take shelter from thoughts and emotions that chafed against the bruised and tender parts of who she really and truly was, deep down inside.

She was a woman now, a mother, and while she figured she functioned pretty well in the latter role, the former was beginning to issue some pretty powerful complaints. That Kendra was tired of doing everything alone, including sleeping in an otherwise empty bed. She wanted a man to hold her when she needed holding, to love her in every way, on every level-emotionally, mentally and, oh, yes, physically.

The problem, she admitted silently, as she clicked her way over to the Down-With-Hutch webpage, was her complete lack of confidence in her own ability to choose the right man.

First, there had been Hutch, not caring enough to fight for her, even after all the dreams and hopes they'd shared, trampling her heart to dust, leaving her self-esteem in shreds. Then along came Jeffrey, the knight in tarnished armor. Had he ever really loved her or had he simply wanted her s.e.xually? She'd never thought of herself as anything more than moderately attractive, but she'd had her share of admirers-too many of them shallow and inherently noncommittal.

Sure enough, the picture of her and Hutch in the three-legged race had been taken down, along with the b.i.t.c.hy remark that had accompanied it, but the smear campaign against the errant groom continued, unabated.

That troubled Kendra-made her feel defensive on Hutch's behalf-which was probably just more proof that she was teetering on the edge of the same old dark abyss as before, when he'd essentially handed her over to Jeffrey like a book he'd already read and hadn't found all that interesting in the first place.

She sighed, clicked over to her email.

There were friendly notes from both Tara and Joslyn, along with one from Treat McQuillan. Kendra had, of course, given him the address she used for business, after he'd stopped by the office late that afternoon to pick up his keys. He had seemed pleased about putting his double-wide up for sale and moving on to whatever it was he meant to move on to; they'd come to terms quickly and the contract was signed.

But this was her personal email account-supposedly, only friends knew it.

Hi, Kendra, the deputy had written, as though they were pals from way back. The rodeo is coming up this weekend, as you know, and I was wondering if you'd like to go with me. If you got a sitter, we could have some dinner and stay up late to watch the fireworks. Maybe even make a few of our own.

Instinctively, Kendra lifted her fingertips off the keyboard, as if it had suddenly turned slimy. Maybe even make a few of our own.

Was he kidding?

She recalled McQuillan's tirade in the b.u.t.ter Biscuit Cafe that morning, when he'd practically ordered her to stay away from Hutch Carmody-as if he had the right to dictate anything to her.

And now he had the nerve to suggest fireworks? Where did he get off, making a remark like that?

She breathed in, breathed out. Lowered her fingers back to the keyboard, and replied, Thanks for the invitation, but I've already made other plans. Also, I normally try to keep my business and social lives separate. Best, Kendra Shepherd.

The message was short, to the point and only partially true. She did have other plans, heaven help her, to go the rodeo, the carnival and the fireworks display with Hutch, bringing Madison along. And socializing was a big part of her business; she did a lot of lunches and dinners, sometimes threw parties for clients, and before Madison entered her life, she'd dated the occasional business contact, too, though only casually.

Seeing Deputy McQuillan on a potentially romantic basis, however, was certainly not in her game plan. She didn't find him attractive, but that was the least of it. She disliked him; it was that simple. He went around with the proverbial chip on his shoulder and the way he'd treated Brylee at the bar that night didn't do him any credit, either.

The male ego being what it was, Kendra fully expected McQuillan to respond to her refusal, however politely it had been offered, by firing her and finding someone else to sell his home for him. There were two or three other real estate brokers in the county, each with a few sales agents on staff, but hers was the only firm in Parable.

A competent businesswoman, through and through, Kendra hated to miss out on a commission, even the relatively modest one she could expect if she found a buyer for the deputy's mobile home, but if things went down that way, so be it. Even at best, real estate was a catch-as-catch-can affair-you showed a lot of houses, the more the better, and if you worked hard and had decent luck, you eventually sold a few.

McQuillan's response popped up in her online mailbox just as she was about to shut down the computer, push back her chair and brew another cup of herbal tea.

You think you're too good for me? was all he'd written, in a line of lowercase letters, oddly s.p.a.ced and with no punctuation.

A chill slithered down her spine, but anger immediately quelled it. Please see the first email, she responded tersely, and hit Send.

He replied within seconds, but Kendra didn't open the new message. She blocked any further communications from Deputy McQuillan's email address and logged off with an irritated flourish.

Was the man merely obnoxious, she wondered, storming back to the kitchen, or did he present an actual threat of some sort?

She considered calling Boone, not as a citizen of Parable County, but as a friend, but she quickly disregarded the impulse. The sheriff had a wide area to police and, besides, sending rude emails wasn't a crime. If it were, she thought, with a tight little smile, she'd probably be in the slammer herself, with Brylee and her posse for company.

Kendra brewed that second cup of tea she'd promised herself earlier and sat down to drink it, silently reminding herself that she didn't have to make all her life decisions that very night, or the next day, or even next year.

She would stop pushing the river, as the saying went, and just let things unfold at their own pace-even if it killed her.

BOONE AND HUTCH met at the b.u.t.ter Biscuit Cafe for breakfast the next morning, both ordering the special, as they did whenever they had a free morning, their joking excuse being that they shouldn't be expected to eat their own cooking day in and day out just because they weren't married.

"Did McQuillan go ahead and file charges against Walker Parrish?" Hutch asked, looking across the table at Boone while they waited for the first round of coffee.

"h.e.l.l, yes," Boone said, looking as weary as he sounded. His kids were due to arrive soon, probably on an afternoon bus, and while he seemed anxious to see them, it was obvious that he was already dreading the whole thing, too. "I would have had to arrest Walker, except I called Judge Renson ahead of time and she went ahead and set bail before the fact. Walker paid it, of course, so he didn't wind up in my jail, but he still has to go to court in six weeks or so and answer to an a.s.sault charge."

Hutch sighed, swore under his breath. "I've always wondered why Slade didn't fire McQuillan when he was sheriff. Now I'm wondering the same thing about you, old buddy. The man's a hothead-the original loose cannon-not to mention a pain in the a.s.s."

"It's not that simple," Boone answered, "and you d.a.m.n well know it. We're all civil service, remember, and while my recommendation carries some weight, the powers that be aren't going to let Treat go on the grounds that n.o.body likes him."

The pancakes arrived, stacks of them, teetering on two plates, and Essie herself did the honors, setting the meals down in front of Hutch and Boone with a deft swoop of each arm.

"On the house," she said, with a sidelong glance at Boone. "Even if you did give my favorite niece a speeding ticket last week. Now her insurance premium will go up."

Boone chuckled hoa.r.s.ely, distractedly. "It's Carmody's turn to pick up the check anyhow," he said, then added, "Tell Laurie to keep her foot out of the carburetor of that little car of hers and poof, the problem's solved. No more tickets."

Essie shook her head as though she wouldn't have expected any other reaction from the boneheaded likes of Boone Taylor, and walked away.

"Looking forward to seeing your boys again?" Hutch asked after they'd both drenched their b.u.t.tery pancakes in thick syrup.

"Of course I am," Boone snapped, downright peckish now. "I just wish I had a better place to put them up, that's all."

"There's no better place than home, Boone, and as far as those little boys are concerned, home is wherever you are."

Boone glowered at him over the towering pancakes. "Excuse me for saying so," he growled, "but you don't know F-all about raising kids, now do you?"

Hutch slanted the side of his fork through the syrupy stack on his plate. "You're already moderating your language," he observed lightly. "That's good. Can't have the munchkins picking up all kinds of dirty words from dear old Dad."

"Shut up," Boone said without much conviction.

Hutch chuckled and took a big bite of his food. While he was still chewing, Slade wandered into the cafe, taking off his hat as he crossed the threshold.

Hutch waved him over and Slade joined them, drawing back a chair and sinking into it.

"Ever since you stole Opal out from under us," Slade told Hutch, probably only half kidding, "I've been having cold cereal for breakfast."

"What a pity." Hutch grinned with mock sympathy. "Poor you."

"How're Joslyn and the baby doing?" Boone asked between bites.

At the mere mention of his wife and child, a light seemed to go on inside Slade. His eyes twinkled and he grinned. "They're good," he said. Then the grin faded. "I'm a little worried about Shea, though," he added, lowering his voice, since the place was doing a brisk trade, as always.

Essie appeared table-side, wielded the coffeepot she carried and took Slade's order for a pancake special like the ones his friends had.

When she was gone again, bustling off to the kitchen to confer with the fry cook, Boone said, "Shea? She's a good kid-never gets in any trouble as far as I know."

Slade sighed, ran a hand through his dark hair in a gesture of suppressed agitation. "She is a good kid," he agreed. "But she's normal, too."

"I don't follow," Boone said, still scarfing up pancakes like there was no tomorrow. To look at him, a person would think he hadn't eaten in a week.

Hutch wondered idly if Shea had gotten herself a boyfriend, thereby rousing her stepfather's famously protective instincts, but it wasn't his business either way, so he didn't ask outright. He just went right on putting away his breakfast and swilling his coffee.

"The Fourth is coming up in a few days," Slade reminded Boone unnecessarily. "You know how it is. During the fireworks, a few kids always climb the water tower to get a better look. Joslyn overheard Shea saying something about it to a friend on her cell phone."

Hutch felt a mild twinge at the mere mention of the water tower, but neither Boone nor Slade would have noticed, being intent on their own concerns, and that was fine with him.

"And you think she's planning to scale the tower with some of her high school pals?" Boone prompted, sounding mildly amused now.

"We've both asked her, Joslyn and I, I mean, and she says she wouldn't do anything that stupid," Slade said. "But-"

"Climbing the water tower is dangerous," Boone agreed, making a gruff attempt at rea.s.surance, "but it isn't illegal, as you know."

"Couldn't you station a deputy out there on Sat.u.r.day night," Slade pressed, "just to keep an eye on things?"

Boone was clearly regretful as he spread his hands in a gesture meant to convey helplessness. "You ought to know better than anybody, Slade, that I don't have that kind of manpower. And I need the few deputies I have to keep the celebrating down to a dull roar.

Folks get all riled up after the rodeo and a few spins on the Tilt-a-Whirl over at the carnival, not to mention the beer and the dancing at the Boot Scoot and then the fireworks to top it all off."

"d.a.m.n it, Boone," Slade argued, just as Essie returned to set his plate down in front of him with a thump, "some kid could fall and break their neck. Whatever happened to serve and protect'?"

"I can't be everywhere at once," Boone pointed out reasonably. "Neither can my deputies. The best I can promise is that somebody will drive by the water tower once in a while to make sure everything's all right."

Slade seemed to deflate a little. "Then I'll watch the place myself," he said. "During the fireworks, anyhow."

Boone held up his fork, like a teacher about to point to something written on a blackboard. "You're not sheriff anymore," he said. "And you're not a deputy, either. Keep an eye on Shea if you're concerned and leave it to the other parents to do the same for their own kids. That tower is a menace, I grant you, but kids have been climbing it since right after the turn of the last century and n.o.body's ever actually taken a header off it in all those years, now have they?"

"There's always a first time," Slade grumbled, but he began to eat his pancakes.

Hutch didn't bring up the obvious solution-which was to just pull the water tower down, once and for all, and haul off the debris-because better people than he had lobbied for that for a couple of decades now and gotten nowhere. Besides, he wasn't inclined to remind Slade of that humiliating afternoon when they were kids and he'd gotten stuck up there himself, scared s.h.i.tless and unable to move until his half brother alternately goaded and cajoled him down.

Now mercifully-at least for Hutch-the conversation took a different turn. Slade asked how long Boone's boys would be staying with him and Boone said only until Sunday night because they were both attending summer school this year.

"Summer school?" Hutch echoed. "d.a.m.n, Boone, that's harsh. Summers are for goofing off-for swimming and playing baseball and riding horses until all hours, not beating the books. And, anyway, those kids are what, six and seven years old?"

Boone favored his friend with a reproving glance. "Thank you for your profound wisdom, Professor Carmody," he drawled. "I guess if I wanted to raise a couple of cowboys, that approach would suit me just fine. It just so happens that I don't."

"What's wrong with cowboys?" Slade interjected, being one.

"If you wanted to raise Griff and Fletch," Hutch retorted, leaning forward to show Boone he wasn't cowed by his tone or his badge, "they'd be living with you, like they should."

Boone flushed from the base of his neck to the underside of his jaw. "Opinions are like a.s.sholes," he told Hutch, in a terse undertone. "Everybody has one."

Hutch grinned, picked up his coffee cup and raised it to Boone in a sort of mocking toast. "Good thing you went to college, Boone," he said. "You might not have such a good grasp on human anatomy if you were, say, just a cowboy."

Slade chuckled, but offered no comment. By and large, he wasn't much for chitchat. He'd said his piece, about Shea and the water tower, and now he was probably done talking, for the most part.

Boone huffed out a breath, plainly exasperated. "Tell me this," he demanded in a hoa.r.s.e whisper. "Why does everybody in this blasted county feel obliged to tell me what's best for my kids?"

Slade and Hutch exchanged glances, but it was Essie, back to refill their coffee cups from the carafe in her right hand, who actually answered.

"Maybe," she said crisply, "it's because you can't seem to figure it out on your own, Boone Taylor. Those boys need their daddy."

KENDRA, MADISON AND Daisy pa.s.sed the fairgrounds on their way to the community center and preschool, and Madison could barely contain her excitement. The carnival was setting up for business; banners flew in the warm breeze and a Ferris wheel towered against the sky. Carousel horses, giraffes, elephants and swans waited to take their places on the merry-go-round, hoisted there by teams of men in work clothes, and cars, trucks and vans were parked, helter-skelter, outside the exhibition hall where vendors and artisans from all over the state were getting ready to display their wares. The Fourth of July weekend was a big moneymaker for practically every business in town and it was coming up fast.

"Look, Mommy!" Madison called out as though Kendra could possibly have missed the colorful spectacle taking shape on the fairgrounds. "It's a circus!"

Kendra smiled. "Actually, it's a carnival. And we're going there on Sat.u.r.day, remember?"

"Couldn't we go now? Just to look?"

"No, sweetie," Kendra responded, signaling for a turn onto the street that led to the community center. "It's time for preschool. Besides, the carnival isn't open for business yet."

"When does it open?"

"Not until Friday afternoon," she said. "That's two days from now, so it's three days until Sat.u.r.day, when we'll go to the rodeo, and then the carnival, and then the fireworks."

"Mr. Carmody is going to ride a bull in the rodeo part," Madison said, mollified enough to move on to the next topic. "We get to watch."