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to be shot out West. They had no room in their lives for each other.
    She managed to dress and leave the room quietly carrying her shoes. With one last fond glance at her Adonis lying sprawled face-down on the bed in all his naked glory, she crept toward the stairs. Her mental image of Hutch as she’d left him put a smile on her face. He might think she had the best ass in Wyoming, but she considered him a strong contender for the title.
    Halfway to the bottom a stair creaked. She paused to hold her breath and listen for sounds of activity anywhere in the house, but especially in the kitchen. Silence reigned, and she continued on. If she met Hutch’s dad before she made her escape, she’d brave it out, but she’d rather not have to.
    On the last stair, she heard a door open down the hall. Damn it! As footsteps approached, she briefly considered bolting for the kitchen door, but that could get ugly if the door was locked and she had to fumble with the knob. Being caught fleeing the scene was worse than facing the inevitable with dignity.
    She wasn’t ashamed of spending the night with Hutch. They were both adults, and they’d acted responsibly and with courtesy for the other inhabitant of the house. Well, except that one time, but surely Ronald hadn’t been home to hear that or he would have come up to investigate.
    Taking a deep breath, she descended the last step and turned to face the shadowed hallway. “I don’t want to scare you, Mr. Hutchinson,” she said distinctly.
    The footsteps paused.
    “It’s only me, Katrina Bledsoe. I…spent the night upstairs with your son.” Gulp. That had been tougher to say than she’d expected. Not the sort of proclamation she’d ever had to give.
    The footsteps continued. “And I spent the night downstairs with his father.”
    “ Mom? ” Trina stared in disbelief as her mother appeared wearing a plaid flannel bathrobe that didn’t belong to her. Her red hair stuck out in all directions, and she had…oh, good Lord, a hickey .
    “Hello, Katrina.” Her mother’s gaze was maddeningly calm. “So Hutch was the old friend , was he?”
    “Never mind that. What the hell are you doing here?” Stupid question. She knew the answer, but she didn’t want to know she knew.
    Lucy’s expression changed from benign to stern mother-mode. “You watch your language, young lady!”
    “Lucy?” Ronald Hutchinson, a tall, gaunt man with white hair and a neat white mustache, ambled down the hall wearing Snoopy pajamas. “What’s all the yelling about? What’s Katrina doing here so early?”
    Lucy folded her arms. “Ironically, I think she’s passing judgment on me.”
    Ronald put an arm around Lucy. “She wouldn’t do that, would you, Trina?”
    “No! But I hardly expected to find my mother coming down the hall wearing a strange man’s bathrobe!”
    “He’s not a strange man.” Her mother gazed fondly up at Ronald. “He’s a dear. And also very virile. He—”
    “Stop.” Trina clapped her hands over her ears. “I don’t want any details.”
    “Any details of what?” Hutch appeared at the top of the stairs wearing only his jeans.
    He looked extremely yummy, but also very much like a man who had spent the night in wild abandon. As he padded down the stairs in his bare feet, Trina noticed that he, too, had a hickey.
    Lucy glanced from Hutch to Trina. “Well, isn’t this cozy?”
    Trina waved her hands in the air. “No, it’s not cozy. It’s totally weird.”
    Apparently Ronald had just figured out the situation, because he drilled his son with a piercing glance. “Langford, what’s been going on here under my roof?”
    Hutch looked sheepish. “Well, the thing is, Trina and I—”
    “I thought I heard noises upstairs,” Lucy said. “I thought it was mice.”
    “Oh, God.” Trina covered her face with both hands. The thought of Hutch’s dad hearing something was one thing, but the idea that instead her mother …but then again, her mother had also