Читать книгу The Cowboy Way: A Creed in Stone Creek / Part Time Cowboy - Maisey Yates - Страница 13
ОглавлениеARE YOU STILL looking for volunteers?
Melissa narrowed her eyes at Steven Creed for a moment, wondering what the heck he was up to. Wondering what he was even doing at the Parade Committee meeting in the first place.
Okay, sure, he was new in town, and he’d said something in her office the day before about helping out. Joining groups was a good way of getting acquainted with the locals, and all that, but, still. Could he really be all that concerned about whether or not toilet paper could be used to bedeck floats in the Fourth of July parade?
“I guess,” she said, well aware that her tone was lackluster.
A low, speculative murmur moved through the crowd.
Stone Creek liked to think of itself as a friendly place, extending a ready welcome to newcomers, and it was.
Mostly.
Steven Creed merely grinned, probably enjoying Melissa’s discomfort, though only in the kindest possible way, of course.
And he waited for the proverbial ball to bounce back into his court.
Melissa worked up a smile. “Sure,” she said. “We can always use another volunteer—can’t we, people?”
Everybody clapped.
“Okay,” Melissa went on, wobbly-smiled, ready to bring this thing in for a landing so she could go home, weed her tomato plants, dine on canned soup or something equally easy to prepare and curl up in the corner of her couch to read. “Remember—we’re doing a walk-through next Saturday afternoon, in the parking lot behind the high school. Nobody bring an actual float, though. We’ll be tweaking the marching order, that’s all.”
There were nods and comments, but the meeting was finally over.
Melissa collected her purse and her clipboard, hanging back while the dozen or so parade participants and general committee members meandered out.
Steven Creed didn’t leave with them.
He stood near the door now, watching her, his arms folded, a twinkle in those summer-blue eyes.
Hoping he’d just go because, frankly, she didn’t have the first idea how to deal with him, Melissa nodded, coolly cordial, and got busy folding up the chairs and stacking them against the far wall.
Steven remained. In fact, he helped her put away the chairs.
“I didn’t expect to run into you here,” she said, when the work was done and there was no avoiding looking at him.
“Matt starts day camp here on Monday, so I brought him out for a tour,” he explained, just as the boy appeared behind him, half dragged by the sheepdog she’d seen them with that morning, at the Sunflower.
Elaine Carpenter, J.P.’s daughter and a friend of Melissa’s, brought up the rear, smiling.
“Ms. Carpenter said I could show Zeke the inside of the school building,” Matt told his father. “So far, he likes it.”
He was such a cute kid, and so bright. Just looking at the little guy made Melissa’s biological clock tick audibly. And here she’d thought the battery was dead.
Seeing Melissa, Matt beamed at her and said hello.
Melissa relaxed a little, though she was still conscious of the man standing so nearby that she could actually feel the hard warmth of his body.
Okay, maybe she’d just assumed the “hard” part. It wasn’t difficult to make the leap, since he looked so lean and yet so muscular...
What was it about him that set off all her internal alarm bells?
“Hello, again,” she told the child.
“We’re staying in your brother’s tour bus,” Matt told her exuberantly. “He says you’ve got a twin sister, but the two of you don’t look anything alike.”
Melissa smiled, nodded. “Ashley and I are fraternal twins,” she said.
The boy frowned, holding Zeke’s leash in both hands to restrain the animal. “What’s fraternal?” he asked.
Steven Creed’s eyes twinkled at that, and his mouth had a “you’re-on-your-own” kind of hitch at one corner.
Not about to explain the fertilization process to a child, Melissa brightened her smile and replied, “I think you should ask your dad about that.”
“My real dad died,” Matt said, wiping that smile right off her face. “But I could ask Steven.”
Melissa saw pain mute the twinkle in Steven’s eyes, and she felt a twinge of regret. J.P. had mentioned that the child was adopted, but she’d forgotten. “Oh,” she said.
“We haven’t exactly worked out what I should be called,” Steven told her.
Elaine had already left the room by that time, so it was just the three of them and, of course, the dog.
Melissa felt a strange, hollow ache in her throat. This time, she couldn’t even manage an “Oh.”
For the next few moments, the room seemed to pulse, like a quiet heartbeat.
Then Steven smiled at her and said, “I’ve never helped out with a parade before, but I’m pretty good with a hammer and nails.”
“It’s kind of you to offer,” Melissa said, finding her voice at last.
“Do you want to come out to our place and have supper?” Matt asked her, out of the blue.
Steven looked a little taken aback, though he had the good grace not to come right out and say it wasn’t a good idea.
Melissa was oddly reluctant to see Steven Creed go, even though she hadn’t wanted him there in the first place.
He was just too—much. Too good-looking. Too sexy. Too lots of things.
All of which worked together to make her say the crazy thing she said next.
“What if you and your—you and Mr. Creed—came to my house for supper, instead?” I’m not the greatest cook in the world, Melissa thought to herself, but my sister is, and I’m willing to raid her freezer for an entrée even though it means risking another encounter with a naked croquet team.
Matt giggled, probably at the reference to “Mr. Creed,” and then swung around to look up at the man standing behind him.
“Can we?” he asked eagerly. “Please?”
Steven’s smile seemed a touch wistful to Melissa; he probably thought she’d suggested supper at her place to be polite, as a way of letting him off the hook for the impulsive invitation Matt had issued.
He’d be right, if he thought that, Melissa concluded, but she still hoped he’d say yes. And it surprised her how much she hoped that.
“Six o’clock?” Melissa added, when Steven still hesitated.
He sighed, looked down at Matt, shook his head. “We didn’t leave the lady with much choice now, did we?” he said to the boy.
“It would be nice to have company,” Melissa heard herself say. Her voice was softer than usual, and a little tentative. It came to her that she was going to be very disappointed if Steven refused, which was just one more indication that she was losing her ever-loving mind, since she should have been relieved. “And it’s no trouble. Really.”
That last part was certainly no lie. She’d snitch one of the culinary triumphs Ashley always kept on hand, in case of God knew what kind of food emergency, slip some foil-covered casserole dish into the oven at her place, and gladly accept all the accolades.
Without actually claiming the cooking credit, of course. If anybody asked, she wouldn’t lie. If they didn’t ask, on the other hand, why say anything at all?
Steven still looked troubled, but Melissa could tell that he wanted to take her up on the offer, too, and that knowledge did funny things to her heart.
“How else are you going to get to know people in Stone Creek,” Melissa urged, starting toward the door as though supper were a done deal, “if you don’t let them feed you? It’s the way we country folks do things, you know. Your best bull dies? We feed you. Your house burns down? We feed you. Not that being new in town falls into that kind of category—”
Why was she rattling on like this, making an idiot of herself?
At last, Steven made a decision. “Okay, six o’clock,” he said. “Can we bring anything?”
Matt let out a whoop of delight, and the dog joined the celebration with a happy bark.
“Just bring yourselves,” Melissa said.
Steven, Matt and the dog followed her out into the brightness of afternoon. Splotches of silver and gold sunlight danced and flickered on the waters of the creek as they burbled by.
A smile flashed in Steven’s eyes when Melissa tossed her purse and clipboard into the passenger seat of her roadster.
“That’s some ride,” he said. “I was admiring it earlier.”
The remark seemed oddly personal, as though he’d commented on the shape of her backside or the curve of her breasts or the scent of her hair.
And Melissa was immensely pleased.
“Thanks,” she replied, her tone modest, her cheeks warm.
“One question, though,” Steven went on, opening the door of the ginormous blue truck parked next to the roadster. The dog went in first, then the little boy, who submitted fretfully to being fastened into a safety seat. Melissa waited for the question to come.
Steven didn’t ask it until he’d shut the truck door again and turned to face her. “Where exactly do you live?”
Their toes were practically touching; Melissa breathed in the green-grass, sun-dried laundry smell of him, felt dizzy.
“I’ve never been very good at giving directions,” she said, when she thought she could talk without sounding weird. “Why don’t you follow me over right now? That way, when you come back later, you’ll know the way.”
“Okay,” Steven said, with a little nod. His expression, though, had turned serious again. “I still think you’ve been painted into a corner here, Melissa, because you didn’t want to hurt Matt’s feelings about all of us having supper together, and while I certainly appreciate that, I’m not real comfortable with the idea of imposing on you, especially on short notice.”
“It’s only one meal,” she pointed out.
If it was “only one meal,” another part of her mind wanted to know, why was her heart beating so hard and so fast? Why was her breath shallow and why, pray tell, did she feel all warm and melty in places where she had no damn business feeling all warm and melty?
Steven was quiet, absorbing her answer.
It was disturbing for Melissa to realize that she even liked watching this man think.
“You’re right,” he said at last, with a sigh that was all the more wicked for its boyish innocence. “It’s only supper. We’ll be there at six.”
“Good,” Melissa said, wondering exactly when—and how—she’d lost her reason. Hadn’t she been down this same road with Dan Guthrie a few years ago?
Dan, the sexy rancher, widowed father of two charming little boys.
Dan, the patient, fiery lover who’d turned her inside out in his bed on the nights when they managed to have the house to themselves.
Dan, who’d finally dumped her, in no uncertain terms, claiming she couldn’t commit to a serious relationship, and had taken up with a waitress named Holly, from over in Indian Rock?
Dan and Holly were married now. Expecting a baby.
And the little boys Melissa had come to love like her own children called Holly Mom.
Inwardly, she took a step back from Steven Creed, and he seemed to know it, because a shadow fell across his eyes and, for just a millisecond, a muscle bunched in his jaw. He wanted to lodge a protest, she guessed, having sensed her sudden reticence, but he didn’t know what about.
“Follow me,” Melissa said, in the voice of a sleepwalker.
Steven sighed, like a man who thought better of the idea but couldn’t think of an alternative, and nodded.
Melissa drove slowly from the parking lot of Creekside Academy, out onto the main road, and straight into Stone Creek.
Every few moments, she checked her rearview, and the big blue truck was back there each time, Steven an indiscernible shadow at the wheel.
You just want to sleep with him, Melissa accused herself silently. And what does that say about your character?
Melissa squared her shoulders and answered the accusation out loud, since there was no one else in the roadster to overhear. “It says that I’m a natural woman, with red blood flowing through my veins,” she replied.
You’ll start caring for Steven Creed. Worse, you’ll start caring for Matt. It’s a case of burn me once, shame on you, burn me twice, shame on me.
Have you forgotten how much it hurt, losing Dan and the boys? It was like losing your mom and dad all over again, wasn’t it?
“Oh, shut up,” Melissa said. “I’m serving the man supper, not a night of steamy sex.” She sighed. She could really have used a night of steamy sex. “And the joke’s on you. I already care for Matt.”
You need a child of your own. Not a substitute.
“Didn’t I ask you to shut up?” Melissa countered, almost forgetting to stop at a sign.
Sure enough, Tom Parker’s cruiser slipped in between her car and Steven’s truck, lights whirling. The siren gave an irritating little whine, for good measure.
As if she wouldn’t have noticed him back there.
Swearing, Melissa kept driving the half block to her own house, and parked.
“Did you see that stop sign?” Tom asked cordially, climbing out of the squad car. His dog, Elvis, rode in the passenger seat. In Stone Creek, Elvis counted as backup.
“Yes,” Melissa said tersely, “and I stopped for it.”
“Just barely,” Tom pointed out, glancing back at Steven’s rig.
Melissa watched as the flashy blue truck, which probably sucked up enough gas for four or five cars to run on, drew up alongside her roadster, and the front passenger-side window buzzed down.
“Is everything all right?” Steven leaned across to ask. His eyes were doing that mischievous little dance again, generating blue heat.
Tom waved at him, smiled cordially. “Everything’s fine.”
Steven studied Melissa for a long moment, and when she didn’t refute Tom’s statement, he seemed satisfied. “See you at six,” he said.
And then he just drove away.
Just like that.
Not that that annoyed her or anything.
Melissa folded her arms. “What’s this all about?” she demanded. “You know damn well you had no business pulling me over. I stopped for that sign.”
Tom was still gazing after Steven’s truck. “I just wanted to say hello,” he lied.
“What a load,” Melissa replied. “The truth is, you’re just as nosy as your aunt Ona. You saw Steven following me and you wanted to know what was going on.”
“He said, ‘See you at six,’” Tom went on, as if she hadn’t spoken. “You two have a date or something?”
“Or something,” Melissa said. “Not that it’s any of your business.” She flexed her fingers, then regripped the steering wheel, hard. “This is harassment,” she pointed out.
Tom chuckled, shook his head. But there was something watchful in his eyes. “At least let me run a check on Creed’s background before you get involved,” he said. “A person can’t be too careful these days.”
“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” Melissa retorted, exasperated. “A person can be too careful. Like you, for instance. When are you going to ask Tessa Quinn out for dinner and a movie, you big coward?”
Tom blinked. Straightened his spine. “When I get around to it,” he said, in a mildly affronted tone.
“Have you run a background check on her yet?”
“Of course I haven’t.”
“A person can’t be too careful,” Melissa threw out. Then she sighed and changed the subject. “I was just coming from the Parade Committee meeting,” she said pointedly. “You know, that little thing I’m doing because your aunt, Ms. Ona Frame, has to have her gall-bladder out? You owe me, Sheriff Parker. And if you think I’m going to put up with being pulled over for no reason—”
Tom did a parody of righteous horror. Laid a hand to his chest. Back in the squad car, Elvis let out a yip, as though putting in his two cents’ worth. Then Tom laughed, held up both hands, palms out. Elvis yipped again.
Melissa leaned to retrieve her purse and that stupid clipboard.
He laughed again. “He’s got you pretty flustered, that Creed yahoo,” he said, looking pleased at the realization. “I haven’t seen you this worked up since you were dating Dan Guthrie—”
Too late, Tom seemed to realize he’d struck a raw nerve. He stopped, reddened, and flung his hands out from his sides. “I’m sorry.”
“You should be,” Melissa huffed, turning on one heel.
Tom followed her as far as her front gate. “It’s not as if you’re the only person who’s ever loved and lost, Melissa O’Ballivan,” he blurted out, in a furious under tone. “Imagine how it feels to be crazy about a woman who looks right through you like you were transparent!”
“I can’t begin to imagine that, for obvious reasons,” Melissa replied, heading up the walk.
Elvis howled.
Tom stuck with Melissa until she’d mounted the first two porch steps and rounded to look down into his upturned face. “You deliberately misunderstood that,” he accused, but he’d lost most of his steam by then.
Melissa sighed. “You were referring to Tessa Quinn, I presume?” she asked, though everybody in town and for miles around knew that Tom loved the woman with a passion of truly epic proportions. Everybody, with the probable exception of Tessa herself, that is.
Tessa was either clueless, playing it cool or just not interested in Tom Parker.
Tom thrust out a miserable breath. “You know damn well it’s Tessa,” he said.
Melissa cocked a thumb toward the squad car and said, “Get Elvis and come inside. I made a pitcher of iced tea before I went out.”
But Tom shook his head. “I’m supposed to be on patrol,” he said.
“Well, that’s noble,” Melissa replied, as the dog gave another long, plaintive howl, “but I’m not sure Elvis is onboard with the plan.”
“I was just taking him over to the Groom-and-Bloom for his weekly bath,” Tom said. He took very good care of Elvis; everybody knew that as well as they knew his feelings for Tessa. “He’s just worried about missing his appointment, that’s all. He’s particular about his appearance, Elvis is.”
Melissa smiled. Nodded. “Tom?”
He was turning away. “What?”
“Why don’t you ask Tessa for a date?”
He looked all of fourteen as he considered that idea. His neck went a dull red, and his earlobes glowed like they were lit up from the inside. “She might say no.”
“Here’s a thought, Tom. She might say yes. Then what would you do?”
“Probably have a coronary on the spot.” Tom sounded pretty serious, but there was a tentative smile playing around his lips. “Same as if she said no.”
“So you’re damned if you do and damned if you don’t.”
“That’s about the size of it,” Tom said.
“I dare you,” Melissa said. When they were kids, that was the way to get Tom Parker to do just about anything. Of course, she hadn’t tried it since playground days.
He flushed again, and his eyes narrowed. “What?”
“You heard me, Parker,” Melissa said, jutting her chin out a little ways. “I double-dog dare you to ask Tessa Quinn out to dinner. Or to a movie. Or to a dance—there’s one next weekend, at the Grange Hall. And if you don’t ask her out, well, you’re just plain—chicken.”
Instantly, they were both nine years old again.
Tom stepped closer and glared up at her. “Oh, yeah?” he said.
“Yeah,” Melissa replied stoutly.
“You’re on,” Tom told her.
“Good,” Melissa answered, without smiling.
“What do I get if you lose?” Tom wanted to know.
Melissa thought quickly. “I’ll buy you dinner.”
“As long as you’re not cooking,” Tom specified, looking and sounding dead serious.
This was a bet Melissa wanted to lose. “I’ll recruit Ashley,” she said. “She can do those specially marinated spare ribs you like so much.”
“Deal,” Tom said, without cracking a smile. Even as a little kid, he’d been a sucker for a bet.
“Wait just a second,” Melissa said. “What if I win? What happens then?”
“I’ll take over as chairman of the Parade Committee,” Tom told her, after some thought.
“Deal,” Melissa agreed, putting out her free hand.
They shook on it, then Tom turned and stalked back to the gate, through it and down the sidewalk to his car. “Just remember one thing!” he called back to her.
“What?” Melissa retorted, about to turn around and open her front door.
“Two can play this game,” Tom said.
Then he got into the cruiser, slammed his door and ground the engine to life with a twist of the key in the ignition, leaving Melissa to wonder what the hell he’d meant by that.
He made the siren give one eloquent moan as he drove on past her house and vanished around the corner.
“Damn,” Melissa said, as the answer dawned on her.
Now she’d gone and done it.
Tom would lie awake nights until he came up with a dare for her. And it would be a doozy, knowing him.
But she didn’t dwell on the problem too long, because she had things to do. Like go over to Ashley’s, thereby braving the wild bunch, who might well be swinging from the chandeliers in their birthday suits, to steal a main course and a dessert from one of the freezers.
* * *
“NEXT TIME,” STEVEN told the rearview reflection of a chagrined Matt, as they drove out of town, “it would be a really good idea to talk it over with me before you go inviting people to our place for supper.”
Matt was no pouter, but his lower lip poked out a-ways, and he was blinking real fast, both of which were signs that he might cry.
It killed Steven when he cried.
“I was just trying to be a good neighbor,” Matt explained, sounding as wounded as he looked. “Anyhow, I like Ms. O’Ballivan, don’t you?”
“Yes,” he said, tightening his fingers on the steering wheel, then relaxing them again. “I understand that your intentions were good,” he went on quietly. “But sometimes, if that person happens to have other plans, or some other reason why they need to say no, it puts them on the spot. There’s no graceful way for them to turn you down.”
Matt listened in silence, sniffling a couple of times.
“Do you know what I’m saying, here?” Steven asked, keeping his voice gentle.
Matt nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “I get it. I’m gifted, remember?”
Steven laughed. “There’s no forgetting that,” he said.
“Are you mad at me?”
An ache went through Steven, like a sharp pole jabbed down through the top of his heart to lodge at the bottom. “No,” he said. “If I straighten you out about something, it doesn’t mean I’m angry. It just means I want you to think things through a little better the next time.”
Matt let out a long sigh, back there in the peanut gallery, one of his arms wrapped around Zeke, who was panting and, incredibly, managing to keep his canine head from blocking the rearview mirror.
“It’s kind of weird, calling you Steven,” Matt said, after a long time. He was looking out the window by then, but even with just a glance at the boy’s reflection to go on, Steven could see the tension he was trying to hide.
“Who says so?” Steven asked carefully. Conversations like this one always made his stomach clench.
“I do,” Matt told him. His voice was small.
The turn onto their road was just ahead; Steven flipped the signal lever and slowed to make a dusty left. “What would you like to call me?” he asked.
“Dad,” Matt said simply.
Steven’s eyes scalded, and his vision blurred.
“But that doesn’t seem right, because I used to have another dad,” Matt went on. “Do you think it would hurt my first daddy’s feelings if I went around calling somebody else ‘Dad’?”
“I think your dad would want you to be happy,” Steven said. It was almost a croak, that statement, but, fortunately, Matt didn’t seem to notice. They’d reached the top of the driveway, so Steven pulled up beside the old two-tone truck and shifted out of gear. Shut the motor off. And just sat there, not knowing what to say. Or do.
“If he was Daddy,” Matt reasoned, “then I guess it would be all right if you were Dad.”
Steven’s throat constricted. He literally couldn’t speak just then, so he shoved open the truck door and got out. Stood staring off toward the foothills and the mountains beyond for a few moments, until he’d recovered some measure of control.
When he turned around again, both Matt and Zeke had their faces pressed to the window, gumming it up big-time with their breaths.
He laughed and carefully opened the door, so Zeke wouldn’t plunge right over Matt and his safety seat and take a header onto the ground.
“I think that’s a great idea,” Steven said.
“So I can call you Dad?” Matt asked.
“Yeah,” Steven replied, ducking his head slightly while he undid the snaps and buckles. “You can call me Dad.”
“That’s good,” Matt said. A pause. “Dad?” He said the word softly, like he was trying it on for size.
“What?” Steven ground out, hoisting the little boy to the ground, and then the dog.
“How come your eyes are all red?”
Steven sniffled, ran a forearm across his face. “I guess it’s the dust,” he said. He pretended to assess the sky, sprawling blue from horizon to horizon. “A good rain would help.”
* * *
“HELLO?” MELISSA RAPPED lightly at her sister’s kitchen door, though she’d already opened it and stuck her head inside. “Anybody home?”
There was no answer, but she could hear voices coming from the dining room.
Melissa hadn’t seen a car parked outside, so she’d hoped the lively group had gone out, maybe to play miniature golf or take in a movie. She would have loved to raid the freezer and duck out again, unnoticed, but she was afraid one of the oldsters would wander in, be startled and collapse from a massive coronary.
So she moved to the middle of the floor and tried again. “Hello?”
This time, they heard her. “Melissa, is that you?” a woman’s voice called cheerfully.
“Yes,” she answered. Then she drew a deep breath, proceeded to the inside door and drew another deep breath before pushing it open.
The guests were gathered at one end of the formal dining table, playing cards. And they were all wearing clothes.
Melissa was so profoundly relieved that she gave a nervous, high-pitched giggle and put one hand to her heart.
How amused Ashley and Olivia and Brad would be if they could see her now. In her family, she did not have a reputation for shyness, and her sibs would have gotten a major kick out of her newfound fear of naked croquet players.
“Come and join us,” Mr. Winthrop said, rising from his seat. “We’re playing gin rummy, and I’m afraid we’ve all known each other so well, for so long, that there just aren’t any new tricks.”
I’ll just bet there aren’t, Melissa thought, but not with rancor. Initial embarrassment aside, she liked these people. They had spirit. Imagination. Wrinkles. Lots and lots of wrinkles.
“I can’t stay,” she said, and the regret in her tone was only partly feigned. She enjoyed gin rummy and, heck, everybody was dressed, weren’t they? “I’m having company tonight, so I came by to borrow a few things.” She waggled her fingers at them, backing toward the swinging door. “Enjoy your game.”
“Don’t take the roast duck,” one of the women sang out, shuffling the deck for another hand of cards. “Your sister promised that to us. It’s Herbert’s favorite, and he’s turning ninety tomorrow.”
“Hands off the duck,” Melissa promised, palms up and facing the group at the table, and then she slipped out. She was smiling to herself as she headed for the large storage room, off the kitchen, where Ashley had two huge freezers, invariably well-stocked.
One was reserved for desserts, one for main courses.
She selected a container marked Game Hens with Cranberries and Wild Rice, Serves 6, Ashley’s graceful handwriting looping across the label. Melissa hoped that Matt liked chicken, as most kids did, and would therefore accept a reasonable facsimile.
For dessert, she purloined a lovely blueberry cobbler.
Best with Vanilla Ice Cream, Ashley had written on the sticker. It was almost as if she’d known, somehow, that her twin would be breaking into her frozen-food supply soon and would need guidance.
Melissa set the food on the counter, went back to the inside door to poke her head in and say goodbye.
The card players were still clothed and so normal-looking that she could almost believe she’d imagined the notorious backyard croquet game. Maybe she really was going nuts.
“See you,” Melissa said stupidly, her face strangely hot as she backed away from the door.
She turned, grabbed the food containers and boogied out the back door, glad she’d parked her car in the alley, so she wouldn’t have to walk around front, where she might have to stop and chat with one of her sister’s neighbors. She wasn’t feeling very sociable at the moment.
She made a quick stop at the supermarket for ice cream and a premade spinach salad, then hurried home.
When she got there, Byron was working, shirtless, in the front yard, pruning shears in hand, snipping errant branches off the maple tree and stemming its invasion of the sidewalk.
Nathan Carter, a local dropout with a history of misdemeanors to his credit and not much else, sat cross-legged in the as-yet-unmowed grass, watching him.
“I thought you couldn’t come until tomorrow,” Melissa said, addressing Byron but shooting a curious glance at Nathan as she spoke, then grappling with Ashley’s plastic containers and the stuff she’d bought at the store. “Something about relining the Crocketts’ koi pond?”
Nathan returned her look, smirking. She’d never liked the kid; a sort of latter-day James Dean type, he seemed to fancy himself a rebel without a cause.
He was also without a job, a house or a car, as far as she knew. He came and went, turning up every so often to bunk on his cousin Lulu’s screened-in side porch and stir up whatever trouble he could.
Byron, sweating, paused and pulled an arm across his forehead. His eyes were wary, and oddly hopeful, as he watched Melissa and nodded once. “Got that done,” he said. “Those fish are back in the pond, swimming around like they had good sense. I’ll be back in the morning to finish up around here, but I thought I’d whack off some of these branches tonight.”
Melissa looked from Byron to Nathan and back to Byron, tempted to take her temporary yard man aside and remind him that he ought to be careful who he hung around with, given that he was on parole.
“Byron, here,” Nathan put in helpfully, “is a little short on cash.”
“I could advance you a few dollars,” Melissa said.
Nathan and Byron responded simultaneously.
“Awesome,” Nathan drawled, his tone oily, like his mouse-brown hair and his filthy T-shirt and jeans.
“I wouldn’t feel right taking money,” said Byron, with a decisive shake of his head. “Not when I haven’t finished the job.”
Had this kid changed in jail, Melissa wondered, or had she misjudged him, way back when? There had never been any question of his guilt, that was true, but maybe Velda had been right.
Maybe she should have tried for mandatory treatment in a drug and alcohol facility instead of time behind bars.... No. She had considered every angle, consulted experts, lain awake nights. She’d done what she thought was right and there was no use second-guessing the decision now.
She turned her thoughts to her supper guests—Steven and Matt Creed. Nathan dropped off her radar, a nonentity.
And she immediately felt better.
The containers of frozen food, now beginning to thaw, stung like dry ice through the front of Melissa’s top and she still wanted to tidy up the house a little, choose an outfit—nothing too come-hither—do something with her hair, and put on some makeup. A touch of mascara, some lip gloss, that was all.
Maybe a little perfume.
The message she wanted to send was, Welcome to Stone Creek, not, Hey, big guy, what do you say we hire a sitter, slip out of here, and go find ourselves a place to get it on?
She blushed, because the second version wasn’t without a certain appeal, then realized she hadn’t responded to Byron’s last statement. “Okay, then,” she told him, ignoring Nathan, tugging open the screen door with a quick motion of one hand and holding it open with her hip. “See you tomorrow.”
Byron nodded and went back to snipping branches off the maple tree.
