A Creed in Stone Creek Part 26

Brody. A stranger.

How was that possible?

After supper, Matt reluctantly agreed to take his shower and get into his PJs.

Brody cleared the table, and when everything was in the sink, he paused to pick Matt's drawing of the stick family up from the desktop, pondering it solemnly.

"Everybody wants the same thing," he murmured, holding the sheet of paper as though it were somehow sacred. "A family."

Steven's throat tightened. "Yeah," he managed, when he could get the word out. He went to check on Matt next, because his eyes were burning, and while the boy probably wouldn't notice, he couldn't risk letting Brody see.

When he came back, after toweling Matt off and digging out the pajamas he'd forgotten to bring into the bathroom with him, the door was standing open and Brody was gone.

Had he left again, already, without even a goodbye?

Considering the possibility, Steven felt his heart skip a beat or two before common sense overtook him. The dog was outside, and Brody was with him.

He went to the doorway.

Brody was hauling a suitcase from under the tarp in the back of his truck. That piece of luggage looked like it was bought at a thrift store, beaten with a tire chain and then dragged down five miles of rough road behind a tractor.

But, then, so did Brody. Life had used him hard, that much was clear.

He might want to talk about it eventually, or he might never say a word. Cussed-stubborn as he was and, conversely, unpredictable, it might go either way.

Brody brought in the suitcase, along with a couple of tattered blankets, the kind they sell cheap in the markets of Tijuana and Nogales, and set everything down on or near the couch.

Steven didn't say anything. He just went to the door and whistled for Zeke, who was chasing some kind of flying bug around the yard. It was a comforting sight, somehow, a dog playing in the twilight, with the old house standing watch in the near distance.

"I'm done with my shower!" Matt announced turning up at the end of the hall. "And I brushed my teeth, too!"

"Good deal," Steven said.

"I don't need a story tonight," Matt added manfully. "You probably want to talk to Brody and everything."

Steven smiled. "There's always time for a story," he said. Ever since Matt had come to live with him, scared and small and confused, clinging to his blanket and his toy skunk, they'd read out of a book every night. Even when Steven wasn't home, he'd made sure the babysitter kept up the ritual.

"I'd just like to look at my picture for a while," Matt said. He sounded mighty philosophical, for a short guy.

My picture. The photo of Zack and Jillie, skydiving on their honeymoon, Steven thought. He was about to say it was right where they'd left it, on Matt's bedside table. The photo of Zack and Jillie, skydiving on their honeymoon, Steven thought. He was about to say it was right where they'd left it, on Matt's bedside table.

But the boy scampered across the living-roomkitchen and claimed the drawing he'd made at day camp.

That's you, and that's Melissa, and that's me.

Steven's eyes started burning again. "If you change your mind about the story," he said, his voice hoa.r.s.e, "just let me know."

Matt nodded, then gave a wide grin. "'Night, Dad. 'Night, Brody."

Steven just nodded.

"Good night, Colorado," Brody said seriously.

Matt beamed at that. Summoned the dog. "Come on, Zeke," he said. "It's time for bed."

Zeke, who had been sniffing at his empty kibble bowl, obediently trotted over to Matt, and the two of them vanished down the hallway and into the second bedroom.

"All right if I take a shower?" Brody asked Steven when they were alone again.

"Of course it's all right," Steven said, maybe a touch more abruptly than he should have. "You need anything?"

Brody grinned. "You mean, like a toothbrush, Boston? h.e.l.l, I haven't sunk that that low." low."

"You're not going to tell me about the time you've been away, are you?" Steven asked, already knowing the answer.

"Not yet," Brody said, with sadness in his eyes, briefly resting a hand on Steven's shoulder. "You asked me for a favor earlier. Now, I'm asking you for one. Let me get around to talking in my own way and my own time. I'm still sorting through things myself."

Steven nodded in agreement.

Brody left the room without another word, and a few seconds later, Steven heard the shower running.

FOR THE NEXT FOUR DAYS, Melissa's life ran smoothly.

She worked. She gained two pounds after having supper with Ashley and Jack and the one-time flashers on several nights. The tenants, meanwhile, remained on their best behavior, probably because, one, there was a child in the house and two, Jack clearly wasn't the sort to put up with any nonsense.

After work, she happily weeded her little patch of garden. She mediated more disagreements, thankfully minor, between the members of the Parade Committee, and ran into Steven fairly often-in the post office, in the grocery store, once at the Sunflower Cafe, when she stopped for a bottle of water during her run, and another time at the dry cleaner's next door to his new office. He introduced her to his visiting cousin, Brody.

These encounters, mundane as they were, both unnerved and excited Melissa, but she'd said it herself: Things had been moving pretty fast between her and Steven. She was grateful for a breather-and equally grateful that she saw him almost every day.

On top of all this, the weather was flat-out perfect. Warm, but not hot. Sunny, but not glaring.

Happily, there were no confrontations with Velda and no calls from Eustace Blake, lodging his interminable complaints about s.p.a.ce visitors.

Nathan Carter had apparently left town again, because Melissa hadn't seen him around, which was a weight off Deputy Ferguson's mind, and hers, too.

Her cuts and bruises healed, and the last of the soreness faded away, although she could still feel ecstatic little catches of physical pleasure sometimes, when she allowed herself to remember how it was, making love with Steven Creed.

Rummaging through Ashley's closet one evening, she even found a killer dress to wear to the dance on Sat.u.r.day night-an aqua-blue sundress with thinnest-of-thin vertical silver stripes shimmering through the silky fabric.

Life was downright idyllic, all things considered. Which was precisely why she should have been prepared, she would think later.

On Sat.u.r.day morning, she met with the members of the Parade Committee, as agreed, for the walk-through-a sort of rehearsal, but without the costumes and the floats.

Bea Brady and Adelaide Hillingsley were still on the outs over the toilet-paper question, but the ice was broken when Tessa Quinn and a few a.s.sistants showed up at the meeting place in the park with coffee and a big bag of fresh doughnuts, her contribution to the community effort.

Melissa, suitably clad in blue jeans, sneakers and a T-shirt, her hair pulled up into a Sat.u.r.day ponytail, her face bare of makeup, shepherded everybody into line-Tom had temporarily closed Main Street by placing a sawhorse at each end-and appropriate gaps were left for the high-school band and drill team, the sheriff's posse, and the annual offering from over in Indian Rock.

Stone Creek and Indian Rock tended to be a little compet.i.tive, as far as their town floats were concerned, but that only served to up the quality of the event.

Oscar Vernon, who owned a used-car dealership and salvage yard outside the city limits always put the Stone Creek float on the road, and he was invariably secretive as far as colors and subject matter were concerned. He was keeping his mouth shut this year, too-wouldn't give so much as a hint of what he planned-but since he'd done the place proud every year since 1978, n.o.body really pushed him for answers.

Everyone was poised to begin when Steven and Matt sprinted across the gra.s.sy expanse of the park to join in.

Melissa's heart did a thing her granddad Big John would probably have called a twenty-three-skidoo, whatever that was, and she wished she'd bothered with lip gloss and mascara and maybe even a little perfume.

"We're here to help," Matt informed all and sundry, in a piping voice. "What are volunteers supposed to do, anyhow?"

Steven chuckled and ruffled the boy's hair, but he'd locked gazes with Melissa as soon as he came to a stop, and he wasn't letting go.

"Well," Melissa fumbled, reminding herself that Steven had graciously offered to help out on the Parade Committee, managed to shift her eyes to Matt's upturned face, "you could walk where the sheriff's posse will be riding on the big day. That'll give us a better sense of-s.p.a.cing. Between the floats, I mean."

Steven smiled, well aware, obviously, that she was disconcerted and enjoying the fact. Someone pointed out where the posse went, and Matt ran to the area, earnest and eager.

Before joining him, Steven moved closer to Melissa and gave her a heated once-over, very private.

Her nipples pressed hard against the fabric of her bra, and things warmed and softened inside her.

She blushed.

Steven grinned down at her. "You haven't forgotten about our date, have you?" he asked.

Melissa bit her lower lip and rummaged up a smile, for the sake of curious onlookers-of which there were many-rather than Steven. "I haven't forgotten," she said. Then she looked past his shoulder, pretending to search for someone. "Where's that drop-dead gorgeous cousin of yours?" she asked, just to take some of the smugness out of the man's grin.

It didn't work. Steven Creed looked every bit as c.o.c.ky as before; maybe even more so. "Brody left yesterday," he said. "He had to be up in Oregon for a rodeo by tonight."

"Oh," Melissa said.

Steven turned, mainly because Matt was calling for him to do his part holding the gap for the sheriff's posse, but he looked back at her over one shoulder and his smile was so intimate that she felt as naked as any member of the infamous croquet team over at Ashley's B&B.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

"NOW, DON'T GO WEARING a three-piece suit on your hot date, Boston," Brody warned, via cell phone, at around four-thirty Sat.u.r.day afternoon. He'd called, as ordered when he left, to let Steven know he'd gotten to Oregon with no mishaps along the way. "You're going to a dance with a pretty lady, not arguing a case before the Supreme Court." a three-piece suit on your hot date, Boston," Brody warned, via cell phone, at around four-thirty Sat.u.r.day afternoon. He'd called, as ordered when he left, to let Steven know he'd gotten to Oregon with no mishaps along the way. "You're going to a dance with a pretty lady, not arguing a case before the Supreme Court."

Steven laughed, standing there in his bedroom in Brad O'Ballivan's tour bus and grimly a.s.sessing the limited wardrobe he'd brought along from Denver. Most of his clothes, like the furniture and the lion's share of his and Matt's personal belongings, were in storage until the farmhouse was ready to live in. "Point taken," he said. "What do do guys wear to a country dance these days, anyway?" guys wear to a country dance these days, anyway?"

"Well, that's that's a dumb-a.s.s question if I've ever heard you ask one-which I have, of course," Brody responded, his tone jocular. The way he talked, n.o.body would guess that he'd turned his back on the whole family almost a decade before and cut off all communications except for a once-a-year greeting card. "Wear jeans. Pretty new, if you have them, along with a halfway decent Western shirt and good boots, polished to a shine. You can dispense with the hat-you look like a dude when you wear a hat. Oh, and iron the jeans and the shirt, too." a dumb-a.s.s question if I've ever heard you ask one-which I have, of course," Brody responded, his tone jocular. The way he talked, n.o.body would guess that he'd turned his back on the whole family almost a decade before and cut off all communications except for a once-a-year greeting card. "Wear jeans. Pretty new, if you have them, along with a halfway decent Western shirt and good boots, polished to a shine. You can dispense with the hat-you look like a dude when you wear a hat. Oh, and iron the jeans and the shirt, too."

Steven pretended to be aggrieved. He and Matt had both missed Brody since he hit the road. "Are you through?"

Brody chuckled. "OK," he conceded, "you looked all right in a real real hat, back when you were rodeoing and punching cattle, but don't try to get away with anything fancy, because it won't work." hat, back when you were rodeoing and punching cattle, but don't try to get away with anything fancy, because it won't work."

"Got it," Steven said. Then he asked if Brody had signed up for his events yet, and when he thought he might be rolling back through Stone Creek.

During Brody's visit, they hadn't discussed the past much. Only a few words about Davis and Kim had pa.s.sed between them, and they hadn't talked about Conner at all. Steven felt a p.r.i.c.kle of guilt, wondered if he shouldn't tell Brody that his brother was planning on coming to Stone Creek's rodeo, and then clue Conner in, too. But since he knew neither one of them would show up if they so much as suspected the other would be there, too, he kept that knowledge to himself.

It was a little like being the only person in the world who knew that, at a certain hour, on a particular day, a colossal meteor would strike the planet.

Steven had considered warning his dad and Kim, in case they decided to change their travel plans and swing by in their RV for that visit Kim had mentioned. They'd be more than ready to spend some time with Matt, whom they missed sorely, and they had to be curious about the new place. He was still undecided on that score, because he knew Kim, the eternal optimist, might not be able to resist telling Conner. She would naturally think the twins' long overdue reconciliation was a sure thing.

Steven knew it was anything but. In fact, it might be a replay of that long ago summer night, when Conner and Brody had lit into each other with fists flying and blood in their eyes. Some risks were worth taking, though-there was always the chance that Kim was right.

"Tell the Colorado Kid I'll be seeing him again soon," Brody finished. He'd already established a bond with Matt, but would he hold up his end of the bargain?

No telling.

Steven swallowed hard. "I'll do that," he said, and rang off.

Matt was spending the night over at Brad and Meg's again, with Mac, because of the dance, and Zeke had gone with him.

That left Steven feeling a lot more alone than he cared to.

He dropped his cell into his shirt pocket, ran a hand through his hair and sighed. Not surprisingly, he had Melissa on his mind. He wondered if he ought to go for more s.e.x, or keep on giving her the s.p.a.ce he sensed she needed. In the end, he decided he'd have to play it by ear.

He got out his best pair of jeans, the only ones that were still clean as a matter of fact, and chose a shirt with snaps instead of b.u.t.tons and a Western cut to the yoke. He poked around the bus until he found an iron and a fold-down ironing board, and he managed not to scorch the duds while he pressed the wrinkles out and the creases in. Then he showered and dressed and polished his good boots with spit and a wad of paper towels, since he hadn't bought a tin of the waxy stuff he normally used to shine up his s.h.i.t-kickers.

Even with all that done, it was only 5:30 p.m., and he wasn't supposed to pick Melissa up at her place until 7:15. Too restless to stay home, without even a dog for company, he grabbed his keys, fired up the new truck and headed for town. Once there, he'd find some way to kill time, and he wanted to track down a nice bouquet for his date.

He shook his head and chuckled as he began the short drive down to the road. When had he ever been this excited about spending an evening with a woman? h.e.l.l, not since high school-if then.

And since he wasn't all that crazy about dancing in the first place, there were some serious implications here.

She's a prosecutor, he reminded himself. he reminded himself. Just like Cindy. Just like Cindy. And, just like Cindy, Melissa had worked hard to carve out a career for herself. She'd loved Dan Guthrie, loved his kids, too, but she hadn't been willing to give any ground at all to save the relationship. And, just like Cindy, Melissa had worked hard to carve out a career for herself. She'd loved Dan Guthrie, loved his kids, too, but she hadn't been willing to give any ground at all to save the relationship.

Briefly depressed, Steven shook off those thoughts and moved on to new ones. Work on the house and the new barn would begin on Monday-he had the contractor's word on it, and the guy had a solid reputation for honesty and hard work. Matt was settling in just fine at school, and Stone Creek was already proving to be a good place to call home.

In an unpredictable world like this one, that was enough.

Reaching the edge of town, Steven glanced down at the gas gauge and decided to fill up. That would use up the better part of fifteen minutes, he calculated.

He pulled in at the combination convenience storegas station, where there were exactly two pumps, one of which dispensed diesel. He shut off the truck, got out and read the handwritten sign taped to the paper-towel dispenser.

"Machine broke. Pay inside."

Steven started for the door, pa.s.sing a rusted-out Bonneville with cardboard in place of the gla.s.s that should have covered the rear window. Besides his truck, it was the only rig around.

Business must be slow this time of day, he decided.

A plump woman stood behind the counter, in front of the register, and her nametag said "Martine."