Читать книгу The Cowboy Way: A Creed in Stone Creek / Part Time Cowboy - Maisey Yates - Страница 14
ОглавлениеBY 5:59 P.M., MELISSA was ready to serve supper—the game hens, warming in the seldom-used oven, filled her small, bright kitchen with their savory aroma. The cobbler, already thawed and heated through, sat cooling on the counter nearest the stove, covered by a clean dishtowel. The antique table, which too often served as a catchall for newspapers and junk mail, looked like something straight off the cover of Country Living magazine.
Melissa took a moment to admire the crisp white tablecloth, the green-tinted glass jar in the center, spilling over with perfect white peonies from the bushes on either side of the front steps. The plates, purchased on impulse in, of all places, an airport gift shop, were decorated with checks and flowers and polka dots.
She tilted her head to one side, considering the look. Fussy, yes. Feminine, definitely. Cheerful, to the max.
But was it too fussy, feminine and cheerful?
After all, this wasn’t a reunion of her high school cheerleading squad; she was entertaining a little boy and a grown man.
And what a man. There should have been a law.
Melissa chewed briefly on one fingernail, fretting. With the exception of the flowers in the jar, none of this was at all like her—the fancy dishes had been gathering dust in the cupboard above the refrigerator for a couple of years, she hadn’t cooked the food and she had exactly one tablecloth to her name—this one. It didn’t even have any sentimental value, that tablecloth—it hadn’t been passed down through generations of O’Ballivans, like the various linens Ashley and Olivia so prized. No, Melissa had bought it on clearance at a discount store, just in case she might need it someday—her share of the heirlooms were stored in a chest, out on the ranch. Did she have time to drive out there and grab some?
Deep breath, she instructed herself silently.
Just as she drew in air, a rap sounded at the front door. They’re here.
No time to tone down—or tone up—the decorations now, obviously.
Melissa, feeling especially womanly in her summery dress, a multicolored Southwestern print with touches of turquoise and magenta, gold and black, went to greet her company.
Matt stood on the porch with his nose pressed into the screen door, his damp hair already beginning to rebel against a recent combing, springing up into a rooster tail at the back of his head and swirling into little cowlick eddies here and there.
Melissa’s heart melted at the sight of him; a smile rose up within her and spilled across her face, warm on her mouth. Of course she was aware of Steven, standing behind the boy—how could she not have been aware?—but she didn’t make eye contact right away.
No, she needed a few more deep breaths before she could risk that.
So she concentrated on Matt—unlocking and opening the screen door, stepping back so he could spill into her house, all energy and eagerness and boy.
“You look very handsome,” she told the child, resisting a motherly urge to smooth down the rooster tail with a light pass of her hand.
Matt’s smile seemed to encompass her, like an actual embrace. “And you look beautiful!” he responded.
“Amen,” Steven said huskily. That single word coursed right over Matt’s head to lodge itself in Melissa like a velvet arrow.
Her throat caught, and her gaze betrayed her, going straight to him long before she was ready.
Steven wore jeans, a little newer than the ones he’d had on earlier, along with polished black boots and a white, collarless shirt of the sort men favored back in the Old West days. His hair was damp from a recent shower, like Matt’s, but there were no cowlicks and no rooster tails, and he smelled like a field of newly sprouted clover after a soft rain.
A free-fall sensation seized Melissa, buffeted the breath from her lungs, as though she were skydiving without a parachute, or riding a runaway roller coaster.
The feeling was stunning. Terrifying, in fact.
And categorically wonderful.
“I hope you’re both hungry,” she heard herself say, and the normality of her tone amazed her, because on the inside, she was still being swept along, helter-skelter, like a swimmer caught in a fast current.
“We’re starved,” Matt answered, looking around the living room, as alert as a detective scanning for clues.
Steven smiled and cleared his throat slightly, raising one eyebrow when Matt turned to look up at him.
“Well, we are,” the boy insisted, folding his small arms.
Steven grinned, unwittingly—or wittingly—sending a charge of electricity through Melissa. His eyes, so very blue and with a touch of lavender to them that reminded her of summer twilights and late-blooming lilacs, ranged idly over her, pausing here and there, lingering to light small fires under her skin. It seemed lazy-slow, that look, but she knew it couldn’t have lasted more than a fraction of a moment.
“Then let’s get you some supper,” Melissa told Matt, extra glad he was there, and not just because she was already so fond of him. If she’d been alone with Steven Creed, considering her strange state of mind, she might have jumped the man’s bones right there in the living room.
Okay, so maybe that was an exaggeration. But she was definitely attracted to him, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was on dangerous ground.
Remembering her duties as a hostess, she led the way into the kitchen.
Matt started toward the table the moment they entered the room, but Steven caught the child lightly by one shoulder and stopped him.
“Where do we wash up?” Steven asked, looking at Melissa.
She pointed toward the hallway just to the left of the stove. “The bathroom is that way,” she said.
The Creed men disappeared in the direction she’d indicated, then returned a couple of minutes later.
Melissa was just setting out the main course. Since she didn’t own a platter, she’d left the food in Ashley’s freezer-to-oven casserole dish.
“Are those chickens?” Matt asked, eyeing the halved game hens dubiously.
Steven chuckled. “Yes,” he said mildly. “They’re chickens.” And then he caught Melissa’s eye, waiting for something.
After an awkward moment, Melissa pointed to one of the chairs. Steven pulled it back, let Matt scramble up onto the seat.
“Can I eat with my fingers?” Matt wanted to know.
Steven answered without taking his eyes off Melissa. “Thanks for asking,” he said, in an easy drawl. “But no, Tex, you can’t eat with your fingers.”
It finally came home to Melissa that Steven wasn’t going to sit down until she was seated. She moved toward the middle chair, oddly embarrassed, waited for Steven to pull it out for her and sat.
She noticed a sparkle in the man’s eyes as he joined her and Matt.
“I don’t think those are really chickens,” Matt said, in a tone of good-natured skepticism, peering into the casserole dish in the center of the table.
Melissa began to wish she’d served something little-boy friendly, like pizza or hamburgers or hot dogs.
Steven, perhaps hoping to put her at ease, speared one of the game hens with the serving fork, dropped it onto his plate, and began cutting it into bite-size pieces. His movements were quick and deft, with a subtle elegance about them.
Don’t think about his hands.
Melissa blinked, snapping out of yet another mini-daze.
Steven switched plates with Matt, who nibbled at a bite, then began to eat in earnest.
“Slow down,” Steven said, helping himself when Melissa didn’t move to dish up a portion of her own.
Matt nodded, chewing and swallowing. “You’re a good cook,” he told Melissa.
Melissa felt heat pulse under her cheeks, longing to fib and take all the credit—and completely unable to do so. She was terminally honest; it was her personal cross to bear.
“My sister Ashley is,” she clarified. “I—well—sort of borrowed supper from her.”
Steven’s eyes danced with blue mischief, but he didn’t offer a comment. He did seem to be enjoying Ashley’s culinary expertise, though.
Everybody did.
“Oh,” Matt said. Having taken the edge off his appetite, he paused, looking across the table at Steven. “Do you think Zeke is okay?” he asked.
Zeke? Then Melissa remembered the dog.
“Zeke,” Steven said easily, “is just fine.”
“I wanted to bring him with us,” Matt confided to Melissa, who, by then, had begun to eat, however tentatively. “But Dad wouldn’t let me. He said it wouldn’t be polite to do that.”
Melissa smiled, willing herself to relax. Steven Creed, with his broad shoulders and his quiet confidence and his mere presence, seemed to fill that small kitchen, breathing all the air, absorbing the light.
Absorbing her. The experience, though disquieting, had a certain zip to it, too.
“Zeke,” Steven repeated, his eyes smiling as he looked at Matt, “is just fine.”
“You could bring him next time,” Melissa said.
Next time? Who said there was going to be a “next time”?
Matt cheered at the news.
“Bring it down a few decibels,” Steven instructed.
Matt grinned. “I’m too loud sometimes,” he said to Melissa, in a stage whisper.
She laughed and stopped just short of ruffling his hair. “That’s okay,” she whispered back.
After that, a companionable silence fell.
It wasn’t until the meal was over, and they were contemplating dessert, that Matt got down to brass tacks.
“Are you married?” he asked Melissa bluntly. “Do you have any kids?”
Steven, so far unflappable, it seemed to Melissa, reddened slightly. Narrowed his eyes at Matt and started to speak.
Melissa cut him off before he could say a word. “No,” she told Matt. “I’m not married, and I don’t have any kids.”
Matt’s smile was glorious, like dawn breaking after a cold and moonless night. “Good!” he said. “Then you could marry my dad and be my mom. We’d help with the cooking, so you wouldn’t have to keep borrowing supper from your sister, and even do the laundry.”
“Matt,” Steven said, fighting a smile.
Without thinking about it first—if she had, she would surely have stopped herself—Melissa rested a hand on Steven’s forearm. Felt the muscles tighten and then ease again under her fingertips.
“It’s okay,” she said, very softly.
Matt looked from Steven to Melissa, and his small shoulders stooped a little. “I guess I shouldn’t have said that stuff about marrying Dad and me,” he admitted.
“Ya think?” Steven asked.
Melissa smiled, anxious to reassure the child. “Know what?” she said, addressing Matt, finally removing her hand from Steven’s arm.
“What?” Matt asked.
“If I’m ever lucky enough to have a little boy of my own, I hope he’ll be just like you.”
It came again, then. That beaming smile.
When this kid grew up, he was going to be a heartbreaker, no doubt about it.
“Really?” Matt asked.
Steven shifted in his chair, but said nothing.
“Really,” Melissa confirmed. “Now, who wants ice cream and cobbler?”
* * *
MATT RESTED OVER Steven’s right shoulder, like a sack of potatoes. Once the kid hit the proverbial wall and gave himself over to sleep, that was it. His surroundings didn’t matter—he was down for the count.
Melissa, looking better than any dessert ever could have, walked out to the truck alongside Steven, hugging herself against the chill of a high country night.
There was hardly anything to that sundress of hers, which was fine with Steven, except that he didn’t want her catching pneumonia or anything.
“Thank you,” he said gruffly, pausing on the sidewalk, turning toward her.
He wanted to kiss Melissa, but holding Matt the way he was, the logistics were just plain off.
Melissa smiled, reached past him to open the rear door of the rig.
Matt mumbled something as Steven set him in the car seat and began buckling him in but, true to form, he didn’t wake up.
“He’s terrific,” she said softly.
“I agree,” Steven told her, after Matt was secured. They stood facing each other now, on that darkened sidewalk. “Of course it would be a real plus if he’d stop proposing to women.”
There was something flirty in Melissa’s smile, but something vulnerable, too. “Does he do that a lot? Ask people to marry you, I mean?”
Steven chuckled, even though he felt inexplicably nervous, and shook his head. “No,” he replied. “Actually, Matt is pretty discerning when it comes to women.” A grin tugged at one corner of his mouth. “He doesn’t suggest marriage and instant motherhood to just anybody, you know.”
Melissa laughed at that; it was soft and musical, that sound, and it found a place inside Steven and stowed away there, perhaps for keeps. “He’s sweet,” she said.
Again—still—Steven wanted to kiss Melissa O’Ballivan. Full on the mouth, with tongue.
Since the direct approach might scare her away, he settled for leaning in and giving her a light peck on the forehead.
“Tonight was great,” he said, resting his hands on her shoulders.
Given that the sundress left that part of her bare, the gesture might have been misguided. Melissa’s skin felt warm and smooth under his palms, taut with vitality. Steven tightened his fingers, briefly and almost imperceptibly, then withdrew, letting his hands fall to his sides.
“Thanks,” he said again, grinding out the word.
He saw the heat flash in her eyes, the knowing, a desire that might even match his own, and everything inside him soared.
It was inevitable, he realized. Written in the stars.
Right or wrong, for better or for worse, at some point, he and Melissa O’Ballivan would make love.
Whoa, you big dumb cowboy, said the voice of reason, causing Steven to sigh. You just met the woman yesterday.
Once, before Matt became a part of his day-to-day life, Steven would have countered the voice with a resounding So what? living, as he had, by the philosophy that he-who-hesitates-is-lost, especially when it came to beautiful women and the opportunity to bed them.
Melissa certainly qualified as beautiful, and that was the least of it. He sensed a vastness within her, a fascinating inner landscape he yearned to explore.
In time.
“Go inside,” he told her, smiling down into her eyes, “you’re shivering.”
“Yes, I really should,” she agreed, shivering harder.
But she didn’t move and neither did he.
They just stood there, looking at each other.
Finally, Melissa rolled up onto the balls of her feet and touched her mouth to his, the contact light and brief, over almost before it began.
The kiss electrified Steven, left him confounded.
In the next moment, a wistful little smile playing on her lips, Melissa turned and hurried back through the gate, up the walk, across the porch, finally disappearing into the house.
Steven, wondering what the hell had just hit him, still didn’t move.
Then he heard one of the truck windows open, with a whirring sound, turned to see Matt looking out at him, rubbing his eyes once with the heels of his palms and then grinning sleepily. “Melissa kissed you,” he said.
Steven chuckled and rounded the truck, climbed behind the wheel.
“She did,” Matt insisted, as they pulled away from the curb. “I saw Melissa kiss you.”
“Okay,” Steven said, adjusting the mirrors. “She kissed me. It was no big deal, Tex. Just ‘good-night.’”
“Melissa likes you.”
“I like her, too.”
“I bet she doesn’t go around kissing everybody she likes,” Matt went on.
“Go back to sleep,” Steven responded, with a smile in his voice.
Matt giggled. He was wide-awake—so much for his usual tendency to sleep through anything. “Are you going to ask Melissa out for a date?”
Steven suppressed a broad grin. They were on the main street of Stone Creek now, headed in the direction of home.
Such as home was.
“You’re five,” he pointed out. “What would make you ask a question like that?”
Matt gave a huge sigh. “I know what dating is,” he said, very patiently. “I watch TV. Guys on TV give lots of women roses and take them on dates, in limos. At the end of the season, the guy has to decide which one of them is a keeper and gets down on one knee and gives her a ring.”
“And you watched all this stuff when?” Steven asked. In their household, television was strictly monitored, especially the “reality” kind.
“Mrs. Hooper has this big set of DVDs. We watched all of them.”
Mrs. Hooper had been Matt’s babysitter back in Denver. Steven had worked a lot of nights, tying up loose ends at his old law firm before making the move to Stone Creek.
“You didn’t mention that at the time,” Steven said dryly. Once they were past the city limits, he shifted gears and sped up a little.
“You never once asked me if Mrs. Hooper and I were watching smoochy dating shows on TV,” Matt informed him.
“You’d make a great lawyer, you know that?”
“I don’t want to be a lawyer,” Matt said. “I want to be a cowboy.” A pause. “I just need a horse, that’s all. You can’t be a cowboy without a horse. So, when are we going to build the new barn?”
Steven laughed and shoved his left hand through his hair, keeping his right on the steering wheel. “When I’ve had a chance to get some estimates and hire a contractor,” he answered. “Until then, you’ll just have to be patient.”
Another sigh.
“What?” Steven asked.
“I was just wondering something.”
“And that would be—?”
“Are you going to ask Melissa out on a date?”
Now it was Steven who sighed. “Guess what?” he said. “That just happens to be none of your darned business, buddy.”
“How am I ever supposed to get a mom if you won’t go out with women?”
“I do go out with women, Matt.”
“Okay,” Matt conceded. “You went out sometimes when we lived in Denver. But this is Stone Creek.”
“And we haven’t even been here two full days,” Steven said reasonably. “Give me a chance, will you?”
“So you’ll do it?”
“So I’ll do what?”
Matt sounded exasperated. “Ask. Melissa. Out. On. A. Date.”
Steven laughed again, harder this time. They were bumping their way over a country road now. Their turn-off was just ahead and he switched on the signal, even though there was no one behind them. “Do you ever give up?”
“No,” Matt replied, without hesitation. “Do you?”
Steven sighed. “No,” he admitted.
“Because a Creed never gives up, right?”
Steven didn’t answer.
“Right?” Matt persisted, through a yawn.
“Okay,” Steven said. “Yes. That’s right.”
“And you’re going to ask Melissa to go out with you, right?”
Steven stopped the rig near the tour bus, shut off the engine and turned in his seat to look back at Matt. “If I say yes, will you shut up about it?” he asked, not unkindly.
Inside the bus, Zeke began to bark.
“Yes,” Matt said, and Steven thought his expression might have been a little smug, though that could have been a trick of the light.
“Promise?”
“Promise,” Matt confirmed. “But you have to promise, too.”
Steven got out of the truck, went to open Matt’s door and began unhitching the kid from his safety gear. “All right, I promise. But if she says no, that’s it, understand?” He lifted Matt into his arms. “You don’t get to pester me about it until the crack of doom.”
Matt squeezed his neck. “Melissa won’t say no, Dad,” he said. “She likes you, remember? She kissed you.”
Steven sighed. It sure felt good to be called “Dad,” though.
Reaching the bus, he opened the door and stepped aside just before Zeke shot out of the interior like a hairy bullet.
“One other thing,” Steven said.
Matt yawned again, watching fondly as Zeke ran in widening circles, barking his brains out. “What?” the boy asked, sounding only mildly interested.
Steven set him down, and they both waited for the dog to do his thing.
“When it comes to dating,” Steven said, “three’s a crowd, old buddy. You’ll have to stay home with a babysitter.”
Zeke raised a hind leg and christened the left rear tire of Steven’s new truck.
“Okay,” Matt agreed solemnly. “It’s a deal.”
When the dog was finished, Steven reached to switch on a light. Then the three of them went into the flashy tour bus with a silhouette of Brad O’Ballivan’s head painted on the side.
Within a few minutes, Matt was washed up and in his pajamas, his breath smelling of mint from a vigorous tooth-brushing session at the bathroom sink. Steven tucked the boy in and pretended not to notice when Zeke immediately jumped up onto the mattress and settled himself in for the night.
Smiling slightly, Steven stepped out of Matt’s room, remembering his own childhood. In Boston, he wasn’t allowed to have a dog—his mother said the antique Persian rugs in Granddad’s house were far too valuable to put at risk and besides, animals were generally noisy—but on the ranch outside Lonesome Bend, the plank floors were hardwood, worn smooth by a century of use, and the rugs were all washable. Nobody seemed to mind the occasional mess and the near-constant clamor of kids and dogs banging in and out of the doors.
There had been a succession of pets over the years; Brody and Conner each had their own mutt, and so did Steven. His had been a lop-eared Yellow Lab named Lucky, and when he arrived in the spring, right after school let out, that dog would be waiting at the ranch gate when they pulled in.
The reunions were always joyous.
The goodbyes, when the end of August came around, and it was time for Steven to return to Boston, were an ache he could still feel, even after all those years.
Of course, Brody and Conner had looked out for Lucky while he was gone, but it couldn’t have been the same as when Steven was there. Brody had Fletch and Conner had Hannibal, and that made Lucky odd dog out, any way you looked at it.
Summer after summer, though, Lucky had been there to offer a lively welcome when Steven came back, and the two of them had been inseparable, together 24/7.
His throat tight and his eyes hot, Steven tried to shake off the recollection of that dog, because he still missed him, no matter how much time had gone by. Lucky had been one of the truest friends he’d ever had, or expected to have.
Steven cleared his throat, then set about locating the drawings he’d been working on intermittently since he decided to buy fifty acres, a two-story house and a wreck of a barn outside Stone Creek, Arizona. Over the last several weeks, he’d redesigned the house a couple of times, and come up with what he considered a workable plan for the outbuildings, too.
Looking at the sketches, all of them scrawled on the now-scruffy yellow pages of a legal pad, Steven figured he was ready to hire an architect and start getting estimates from local contractors. Not that there were likely to be all that many in a community the size of Stone Creek.
He flipped through the pages, checking and rechecking. Somewhere along the line, he’d learned to multi-task—a part of his mind was still back there on that sidewalk in town, face-to-face with Melissa O’Ballivan, who might as well have zapped him with a cattle prod as kiss him, even quickly and lightly, the way she had.
The effect had been about the same, as far as he could tell. On the other hand, he figured a real kiss probably would have struck him dead on the spot, like a bolt of lightning.
And then there was Matt, campaigning to marry him off ASAP, preferably to Melissa, but if that didn’t fly, the kid was bound to zero in on another candidate without much delay.
Roses and limos and engagement rings offered on bended knee indeed, he thought, smiling.
A ringing noise jolted Steven out of his musings. He checked the caller ID panel on his cell phone—he didn’t recognize the number—and answered with his name.
“This is Brody,” replied his long-lost cousin. Brody’s voice was so much like his twin brother’s that Steven might have thought the call was from Conner, if it hadn’t been for the opening announcement.
Relief and temper surged up in Steven, all tangled up. “Where the hell are you?” he demanded, in a ragged whisper. If it hadn’t been for Matt, he probably would have yelled that question.
“It’s good to talk to you again, too,” Brody said, employing the exaggerated drawl he used when he didn’t give a rat’s ass whether he pissed off whoever he happened to be talking to. Which was all the time.
Steven let out a long breath, and he had to press it between his teeth, since his jaw was clamped down hard.
“You still there, Boston?” Brody asked.
The old nickname, once a taunt, enabled Steven to relax a little. And relaxing made it possible to work the hinges on his jawbones so he could open his mouth to answer.
“I’m here,” he said. The second time he asked Brody where he was, he managed a civil tone.
Brody chuckled before he replied, “Now, cousin, if you followed the rodeo the way you used to, you’d know I’ve been out there on the circuit. In plain sight, you might say.”
Steven’s anger revved up again, like an engine locked in Neutral and pumped full of gas. “Dammit, Brody,” he growled, braced on one elbow, with his fingers spread out wide through his hair. “I did follow the rodeo, online and sometimes in person, and I didn’t hear your name or see your face even one time.”
“I might have been in Canada for a while there,” Brody allowed.
“Or doing time somewhere,” Steven said, voicing his second worst fear. His first, of course, had been the distinct possibility that Brody was dead.
Brody laughed, and there was something broken in the sound. “I’ve been tossed into the hoosegow once or twice in my illustrious career,” he replied. “But I’ve never served a stretch, Boston, and I don’t mind admitting that I’m a little indignant over your lack of faith in the quality of my character.”
Steven tried again. “Where are you, Brody?”
“Denver,” Brody answered readily. “But I won’t be here for long. Just passin’ through, as they say.”
“Have you been to the ranch?” Lonesome Bend wasn’t that far from Denver; maybe Brody had paid a visit to the home folks. Mended fences with Conner, spent some time with Steven’s dad and with Kim, both of whom loved both the twins like their own.
Even as the thought crossed his mind, he knew it was too much to hope for.
A Creed never gave up. Especially not on a grudge.
Brody gave another laugh, as raw as the last one. Maybe a little more so. “No,” he said. “I’m not ready for that.”
“It’s been a lot of years,” Steven said, straightening his spine, letting his hand drop to the tabletop. He glanced toward the hall, half expecting to see Matt standing there, watching him. “You planning on being ‘ready’ anytime soon?”
“Probably not.”
“But you called me.”
“Yeah,” Brody agreed, with a sigh that said he didn’t quite believe it himself. “I hooked up with a pretty girl in a cowboy bar last night, and it turned out that she used to work for you and Zack St. John, as a secretary or an assistant or something like that. Jessica, I think her name was.”
Steven smiled sadly. Some things never changed. “You ‘hooked up’ with her, and you’re not sure what her name was?”
“Hey,” Brody said, “not everybody is detail-oriented the way you are, Boston. She was definitely a Jessica.”
“Or maybe a Jennifer,” Steven said. He’d never worked with anybody named Jessica, but there had been a Jennifer Adams at the law firm in Denver when he was there. She’d been a highly skilled paralegal.
“Maybe that was it,” Brody admitted, with a chuckle. “Anyhow, she said you’d moved to Stone Creek, Arizona. When I heard that, I decided to get in touch, and damned if she didn’t have your cell number handy.”
“Whatever the reason was, Brody, I’m really glad to hear from you.”
“There’s a rodeo coming up,” Brody went on, gliding right over any hint of sentiment, the way he always had. “There in Stone Creek, I mean.”
“So I hear,” Steven said mildly. “You mean to enter, Brody? Compared to what you’re used to, it’s small potatoes.”
“It isn’t so little,” Brody said. “I’ve been there before. Nice buckle and a good paycheck, if I draw the right bronc and the competition isn’t too bad.”
“It would be mighty good to see you again, cousin,” Steven said, knowing full well that Conner would be in town then, too. It didn’t seem right to keep that fact from Brody, but Steven didn’t want to risk losing contact again, and he figured Brody was bound to hang up at the mention of his brother’s name.
“I was hoping you’d say that,” Brody answered.
