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.
CHAPTER EIGHT
MONDAY MORNING ROLLED around way too soon, as it is inclined to do. Grumbling under her breath, Melissa practically crawled out of bed, went to the window and peered out between the slats of the wooden blinds.
Great.
The gray sky looked heavy-bellied with rain and, somewhere in the distance, thunder rolled, like a sound effect from the old Garth Brooks song.
The night before, feeling optimistic about the weather, she’d set out shorts and a tank top with a built-in sports bra, along with socks, running shoes and cotton underpants. Now, disheartened, Melissa opted for sweats, instead of the shorts and top, pulled her hair back and up in a ponytail, and went out into the front yard to stretch.
The fresh air, with its misty chill, did a lot to revive her, made her glad she’d overcome her first waking instinct of the day—to go straight back to sleep.
The lawn certainly looked a lot better, she thought, as she opened the gate in her picket fence and stepped out onto the sidewalk. Byron had spent the whole afternoon mowing and clipping and weeding, and the results were impressive.
Melissa breathed in the moist green scent of newly cut grass.
The branches of the maple tree no longer hung low over the sidewalk, and millions of tiny raindrops dotted the leaves, shimmering like bits of crystal, finely ground and then sprinkled on.
She started off at a slow trot, warming up. A light drizzle began before she got as far as the corner, and another clap of thunder sounded, way outside of town but ominous.
Melissa raised the hood of her sweatshirt and picked up her pace. She liked to vary her route and that day she circled the town’s small, well-kept park three times before turning onto Main Street.
Most of the businesses were still closed, of course, since it was only about 7:30 a.m., but the Sunflower was open, along with the feed store and the auto repair shop.
Tessa Quinn stood outside her café, her long, dark brown hair tumbling down her back, pouring fresh water into the community dog dish. She smiled and waved as Melissa trotted past on the opposite side of the street.
Melissa waved back, pondering an idea that had been rattling around in the back of her brain for a while now: playing matchmaker by inviting both Tessa and Tom over for supper on the same night. Of course it would mean borrowing more food from Ashley’s freezer stash—or even convincing her twin to whip up some culinary wonder befitting the occasion. Sure, it would be a risk—Tom and Tessa might wind up disliking not only each other, but her as well—but suppose luck was with them? Suppose it was the start of something big?
The Cowboy Way Page 12
