The Cowboy Way

by Linda Lael Miller

  “Can’t a person do something nice for somebody?” Andrea asked. Her lower lip was wobbling now, and her eyes misted over.

  “Sit down,” Melissa repeated, but gently.

  Andrea sagged into her chair.

  “What’s this all about? This big transformation, I mean?”

  “I almost ran over you yesterday morning,” Andrea burst out, and a tear slid down her cheek. “I—I guess I’m just trying to—well—make up for what could have happened to you, at least partly, if—if—”

  Melissa felt a burning sensation behind her own eyes now. “You’ve apologized,” she reminded her assistant. “You’ve promised to be more careful in the future. You don’t need to do anything more, Andrea.”

  Andrea absorbed that in silence, looking straight ahead. Her hands rested on the surface of her desk, fingers tightly interlaced.

  Melissa waited a few moments, then asked, “Were there any messages?”

  “Mrs. Brady called,” Andrea said, turning her head. “So did Mrs. Hillingsley. They agree on one thing, anyway, that the Parade Committee meeting didn’t go very well.”

  Meeting? It was a beat before Melissa recalled the great toilet-paper debate, and how she’d suggested that the committee gather right away to settle it.

  “Oh,” she said.

  “Half of them want to let Mrs. Hillingsley decorate the Chamber of Commerce float any way she pleases,” Andrea went on, a smile creeping over her mouth as she spoke, no longer gazing off into the beyond, “and the other half say there’ll be hell to pay if she embarrasses the whole town of Stone Creek by decking the thing with miles of toilet paper.”

  Melissa muttered under her breath. If troublemakers like Nathan Carter didn’t give her a migraine, the Parade Committee would. “Did anyone else call?”

  “Mr. Blake left a voice mail,” Andrea said. “It was so long that I thought it’d be better if you just listened to it yourself, instead of me trying to write it all down. You know how he rambles on.”

  Oh, indeed she did.

  “More space aliens landing in his cornfield and scaring his sheep?” Melissa asked.

  Andrea nodded, then gave a little giggle. “Sorry,” she said, after a moment, clearly insincere.

  Melissa heaved out a sigh. “Okay,” she said. “That’s everything, then?”

  “That’s everything,” Andrea said.

  Melissa practically dove into her office.

  Concentrating on her work proved to be a challenge for the rest of the morning—she kept thinking about Steven, and the things they’d done together the night before, juxtaposed against the cold, hard reality of their separate philosophies concerning the practice of law.

  She was a prosecutor.

  He was a defense attorney.

  There were similarities between them, of course, but just then, the differences looked a whole lot bigger.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  JUST BEFORE NOON, Melissa saved a computer document to the file labeled “to be reviewed” and noticed for the first time that she was hungry. That morning’s after-jog smoothie had definitely worn off.

  Too bad the residual effects of Steven Creed’s lovemaking hadn’t—or those of the confrontation outside of Tom’s office after Nathan Carter’s release from jail. The occasional faint aftershock still rocked her—at once delicious and annoying.

  Melissa decided to remain in the office over her lunch hour, although the day was lovely and it would have been a lot more fun to munch away on a half sandwich and a fruit cup from the little market down on the corner.

  So, silently telling herself to get over it all the while, she had strawberry yogurt from her stash in the break-room fridge instead.

  And she waited.

  When she couldn’t sit still for another moment, she stood up and walked out of her private office, past Andrea and into the corridor.

  Tom was sitting at his desk when she walked in, scribbling away at some form on a clipboard. Seeing her, he pushed the paperwork away and got to his feet. His desk chair creaked in the process.

  She didn’t speak right away, so he spread his hands wide and said, “What?”

  “Do you have any idea what kind of problems you’ve opened yourself up to?” Melissa demanded. “Maybe it was all right to throw someone into jail just to get them off the street back in the day, but it isn’t anymore!”

  Tom’s eyes twinkled, though he looked weary, too. “Tell it to Pete Ferguson,” he said, slowly sinking back into his chair. “He made the arrest.”

  “You tell him,” Melissa snapped in response. “You’re his boss.”

  Tom arched an eyebrow. “Are you through?” he asked, with a grin he couldn’t quite suppress, though he did make a visible attempt.

  Melissa began to pace. “Carter could sue the county for false arrest,” she reminded her friend. “And even if Steven Creed didn’t take the case, some ambulance chaser from Flagstaff or Phoenix would be thrilled to do it!”

  Tom nodded toward the chair facing his desk. “Sit down,” he said. “You’re making me nervous.”

  She plunked herself onto the seat, arms folded.

  “Speaking of Creed,” Tom said, when she didn’t speak, “what’s going on between you two?”

  “Who says anything is ‘going on’?” Melissa countered, perhaps too quickly.

  “Oh, come on,” Tom said. “The air was flammable in here this morning. Good thing nobody smokes in public buildings anymore, because the whole crowd of us might have gone up in a blast if anybody had flicked a lighter or struck a match.”

  Melissa folded her arms. “I’m not discussing Steven Creed with you,” she said. She wanted to discuss Steven with someone—Ashley and Olivia were both likely candidates—but not Tom. Definitely not Tom, because he’d tease her to death if she admitted anything.

  Tom chuckled. “All right,” he said, spreading his hands in a gesture of affable acquiescence. “But don’t think you’re fooling anybody, because you’re not.”

  Melissa took a step toward him. Let her arms fall to her sides. “Speaking of not fooling anyone,” she said, “remember our bet? You were supposed to ask Tessa Quinn out for dinner or a movie—or have you forgotten?”

  He reddened slightly, under the jaw.

  Elvis made a rhythmic thumping sound against the floor as he scratched under his chin with one hind leg.

  “You said the bet was off,” Tom told her.

  “No, I didn’t,” Melissa argued. “You did. And that’s as good as losing, as far as I’m concerned.” She leaned in, tucked her fingers under her armpits and flapped her elbows like wings. “Cluck-cluck-cluck.”

  “Look, it isn’t that easy, okay? Tessa comes from a different world than I do. She’s beautiful. She used to be on TV—God only knows who she’s dated in the past and—”

  “Cluck,” Melissa said. “Cluck. Cluck—”

  “Stop it,” Tom ordered.

  “Arrest me,” Melissa challenged.

  “That is tempting,” came the raspy reply. Tom hooked his thumbs under his belt. “And if you think all this jabbering is throwing me off, you’re wrong. I’m a trained investigator, remember. I know there is something going on between you and Steven Creed. In fact, I’d go so far as to say you weren’t even home last night.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “I might have driven past your place once or twice.”

  Melissa raised one eyebrow. Tilted her head to one side. “Is that right? Well, let’s assume, for one wild and crazy moment, that I did have something ‘going on’ with Steven. Why would that be any of your damn business?”

  He smiled. “It wouldn’t,” he conceded. “But I’d be happy about it. The whole damn county would be happy, in fact.”

  Melissa’s tone was dangerous, which was fine, since she wanted it that way. “Because—?”

  “Because you don’t have a life. Ever since you and Dan broke up, you’ve been—it seems like you’re—”

  “And I suppo
se you have a life?”

  “I get by,” Tom hedged.

  “‘Getting by’ doesn’t count. You’re still a young man, Tom. You’re nice-looking and honest and you have a steady job. Lots of women would be interested in you, and Tessa might just be one of them, for all you know. I can’t believe that as brave a man as you are, you’re afraid to risk one tiny rejection.”

  Tom didn’t answer. He just stood there, looking like he was trying to think of a smart-ass comeback, but none was forthcoming.

  “All right,” Melissa said, “there’s a dance at the Grange Hall Saturday night. Why don’t you ask Tessa if she’d like to go?”

  He let out a breath. “Tessa’s always friendly when I stop by the café for coffee, or pick up something from the bakery side,” he confessed, “so I get to thinking she might be up for dinner and a movie, anyway, but then at other times she seems pretty distracted, like a lot of things are worrying her. How do I know I’m not misreading the smiles and all that? After all, Tessa is nice to everybody, not just me.”

  Melissa felt a rush of sisterly tenderness and touched Tom’s arm. “It’s a dance, Tom. Ask her. Either she’ll accept and you’ll both have a great time, or she’ll refuse, and you’ll be able to stop wondering and move on.”

  He turned stubborn then. “I’ll ask Tessa if you’ll ask Creed,” he said.

  The depth of her reaction to the suggestion startled Melissa. Suddenly, she wanted to run back to her office and hide behind her work again.

  Which was completely crazy, considering the things she and Steven had done in bed together just the night before.

  Weren’t parts of her still humming with sense memories?

  Tom pounced on her hesitation and jumped in feet first. “Now who’s chicken?” he asked.

  Melissa forced herself to relax. Tried for a throw-away smile. “How do I know this isn’t a trick?” she asked. “I invite Steven to the dance and then you conveniently fink out on asking Tessa. Where would that leave me?”

  “Dancing with Steven Creed?” Tom teased, a grin in his eyes.

  “You go first,” Melissa said. “And I have to be there when you ask her.”

  Tom pretended to be horrified. “You don’t trust me?”

  “Not when it comes to this,” she replied, lifting her chin. “You’ve been waffling for a year, telling me you’re going to make a move and then backing off again.”

  “You expect to be there when I talk to Tessa?”

  Melissa nodded. Glanced at her watch. “Nearly two o’clock. It would be entirely reasonable for us to go out on a coffee break right about now,” she said. “We’ll head over to the Sunflower, and when Tessa comes to the table to take our order, you just say something like, ‘There’s a dance this Saturday night and I was wondering if you’d like to go with me.’”

  Tom considered long and hard. It was a measure of how much he really liked Tessa, maybe even loved her, that taking such a small risk scared him.

  “All right,” he finally said. He whistled for Elvis, who got to his feet and crossed the office. Holding the office door open for Melissa, Tom added, “After you, counselor.”

  “I’m proud of you,” Melissa said.

  She ducked into her office for her purse—Andrea still wasn’t back—and ducked out again.

  “There’s a catch,” Tom informed her, when they were both strapped into the squad car and Elvis had taken up his post in back, behind the folding grill.

  Melissa’s stomach fluttered slightly. “What kind of catch?”

  “Fair is fair,” Tom said. “If you get to hang around when I ask Tessa to go to the dance, then the reverse is true. I have to be there when you ask Creed.”

  Awkward, Melissa thought. Her most recent exchange with Steven hadn’t exactly been a friendly one. And, anyway, there was a big difference in situations here—she’d slept with Steven Creed. Recently. There had clearly been no such intimacy between Tom and Tessa.

  Still, how could she refuse without explaining? And she certainly wasn’t about to admit that she’d spent the night with the man, even though Tom had expressed his suspicions.

  “You’re on,” she said finally. She’d think of a way out later.

  Tom nodded and started up the cruiser, and they headed for the Sunflower Café and Bakery. Alice McCoy was out front on her three-wheeled cart, putting tickets on windshields, and she waved merrily to Tom, one crime fighter acknowledging another.

  Tom smiled and waved back, but he looked a little pale around the jawline, and Melissa knew he was nervous.

  She felt fairly sympathetic toward him, even—until they walked into the café that is. There was Steven, sitting on the same stool as the first time she’d laid eyes on him, sipping coffee and going over plans with Alex Royce, an architect from Indian Rock.

  Steven turned immediately to face Melissa, and his eyes sparked when he looked at her. The corner of his mouth quirked up, too.

  Tom was so pleased to see Melissa put on the spot like this that he must have forgotten his own mission, at least for a moment.

  “We’re on a coffee break,” Melissa said, perhaps a touch too loudly.

  Conversation ceased all over the small eatery, and everyone looked in their direction. A few people smiled to themselves before going back to their late lunches, early suppers or afternoon snacks.

  Steven spoke to Alex, who nodded, and then rose from the counter stool to walk over to Melissa and Tom.

  “Have you calmed down a little?” Steven asked, unsmiling, gazing deep into Melissa’s eyes. She felt as though she were being undressed, and her cheeks flamed.

  She flushed, too tongue-tied to speak, while Tom grinned down at her, plainly enjoying her discomfort.

  Steven’s gaze held hers. “Evidently not,” he said, apparently in answer to his own question.

  Melissa glared at him. How was she supposed to ask this obnoxious man out on a date, for heaven’s sake, and in front of half the town, too?

  “I’m fine,” she managed.

  “That’s good to hear,” he said.

  At the same moment, Tom gave Melissa a light poke with his elbow. “Go ahead,” he said, in a stage whisper that probably carried clear past the jukebox and down the short hallway to the restrooms. “Ask him to the dance.”

  Melissa tallied up her chances of getting away with murder and decided they weren’t good. Too many witnesses, for one thing.

  So she had to let Tom live. For the moment.

  Steven’s grin was even more crooked than before. He might have thrown her a lifeline of some sort, said something, but not a word came out of that highly kissable mouth. He simply stood there and waited.

  Melissa cleared her throat, painfully aware that everybody in the place had an ear cocked that way. “There’s a dance at the Grange on Saturday night,” she said, because there was no way out. “And I was wondering if you’d like to go.” She paused. “With me, I mean.”

  “Is it Sadie Hawkins’ Day?” some redneck joked, from one of the booths.

  “Say what?” someone else called.

  Steven leaned in, not touching her, though his breath made her lips tingle. “Yes,” he said. “I’ll go to the dance with you, Melissa O’Ballivan, but only if you agree to pick me up in the roadster.”

  The tension subsided slightly.

  “What’s going on?” a customer yelled to a friend on the other side of the café.

  “Melissa asked that Creed fella to the Grange Dance!” the friend boomed.

  “It’s about time she had a date,” commented someone else.

  “Good,” Melissa said. Then she turned on Tom and glowered up at him. At the edge of her vision, she saw Tessa coming out of the kitchen, looking lovely in her jeans, sleeveless white top and blue cobbler’s apron smudged with flour. “Now it’s your turn.”

  Steven, after one lingering look of sheer appreciation, excused himself quietly and went back to the counter, where Alex waited with the plans.

  The clientele
was still being unusually quiet.

  “Have a seat,” Tessa said, her glance moving questioningly between Melissa and Tom. “Ella will be right with you.” Ella was the other waitress.

  Melissa flashed Tessa a bright smile. “We were hoping you could wait on us personally,” she told her friend. “Would you mind?”

  “Not at all,” Tessa replied, dusting the flour smudge off her front with a few slaps of one hand. “On my way.”

  As soon as Melissa and Tom had seated themselves at a table in front of the window, Tessa was there, order pad in hand, pencil at the ready.

  “Coffee for both of us, please,” Melissa said.

  Tom sat directly across from her, brooding. He wouldn’t look at either Melissa or Tessa.

  Melissa kicked him under the table.

  Tom started, as though he’d been off in some other world and had just come in for a crash landing.

  He looked up at Tessa, his hands so tightly interlocked that his knuckles showed white, and blurted out, “I guess you wouldn’t want to go out with me or anything.”

  Melissa sighed.

  Tessa’s cheeks turned pink. “I—I mean—”

  And nobody in that café, except for Steven and his architect that is, made any pretense of minding their own business.

  “See?” Tom said to Melissa.

  “Are you talking about—a date?” Tessa faltered.

  “Probably wants you to go to the Grange Dance with him on Saturday night,” said that same helpful redneck who had spoken up before.

  “Oh,” Tessa said.

  Tom’s ears turned bright pink.

  Tessa spoke again. “Tom Parker,” she said, “look at me.”

  Surprised, Tom did as he was told.

  Tessa leaned down, so that her nose was almost touching his, and said, “Now, say whatever it is you want to say. I want to hear it from you.”

  A sunburst of a smile broke over Tom’s face, a mix of hope and cautious joy. “Will you go out with me? To the dance on Saturday night?”

  Tessa straightened. Her face revealed nothing whatsoever.

  Tom didn’t move.