A Creed in Stone Creek Part 8

MELISSA'S NORMAL JOGGING ROUTE took her by the B&B most mornings, but not that one. took her by the B&B most mornings, but not that one.

What was she afraid of, she asked herself, giving a wry chortle as she picked up her pace, going two streets out of her way just to avoid pa.s.sing Ashley and Jack's place. That the nude croquet game might have been moved to the front yard?

You're getting to be a real party p.o.o.per, Melissa O'Ballivan, she told herself. she told herself.

At home, she went through her front gate and did a few cool-down moves and some stretches on the lawn. She finished off her water, started for the porch and nearly choked, she was so startled.

There, in the shadows of the grand old lady peony bushes on either side of the walk, their huge white blossoms already fading as June wore on toward July, sat Byron Cahill.

Andrea was beside him, and seeing Melissa's expression, the two kids touched shoulders, maybe trying to give each other courage.

"Well," Melissa said, not sure what to think. "Good morning."

Byron got to his feet. He was probably just being polite, and there was nothing threatening in his stance, but he was a big kid, and Melissa automatically took a step back.

"Andrea tells me you might need somebody to mow the lawn and trim the shrubbery and stuff," Byron said gravely. He'd filled out in jail, and he was neatly dressed in inexpensive jeans, high-top sneakers and a clean T-shirt. While he was away, his acne had cleared up, too.

He was actually quite good-looking, though still a kid.

Melissa had had made a few noises around the office about hiring somebody to whip her yard into shape, but it had never occurred to her that Andrea was listening, let alone planning to bring her recently released boyfriend by to apply for the job. made a few noises around the office about hiring somebody to whip her yard into shape, but it had never occurred to her that Andrea was listening, let alone planning to bring her recently released boyfriend by to apply for the job.

"Well-" she said, looking at the overgrown peony bushes.

The gra.s.s was so deep that small animals could get lost in it, and the branches of the venerable old maple tree were practically sc.r.a.ping the sidewalk in front of her picket fence. Which could use sanding down and painting.

"I can borrow a mower," Byron said, and there was a catch in his voice. One that gave Melissa a twinge of sympathy.

Times were tough. There weren't a lot of jobs in Stone Creek, especially for kids with a police record.

Andrea watched Melissa hopefully, chewing on her lower lip before blurting, "Miss Mamie and Miss Marge hired Byron to reline the koi pond in the backyard over at their place. You know, empty it out and put down new plastic and then fill it and put all the fish back in-"

Evidently, this was Andrea's idea of a sales pitch, but it fell away in midstream when Byron gave the girl's hand a squeeze.

"I thought I'd ask," he said to Melissa. There was resignation in his tone, but his gaze was direct. If she'd stepped aside, he would have walked past her, toward the gate.

But Melissa didn't step aside.

"It's a big job," she said, sizing him up again. "And probably temporary." Mike Smith, the teenager who took care of Ashley and Jack's gra.s.s and flowerbeds, usually did yardwork for Melissa, too. This year, though, Mike was attending summer school, and he was running short on spare time.

Byron's eyes widened slightly, and a smile tugged at a corner of his mouth. "I'm not afraid of big jobs," he said. "As for the temporary part, I can deal with that."

Melissa wondered if Andrea had nagged him into asking her for work, or if he'd thought of it on his own. Either way, it took guts to come over here and make the request, considering past history.

"When could you start?" Melissa asked. She named an hourly wage that seemed to please him.

He shoved a hand through his sandy-brown hair. Considered his answer. "Well," he said, "Miss Mamie and Miss Marge need to come first, since all their fish are swimming around in buckets waiting for me to clean out the pond."

Melissa smiled at the colorful image that popped into her mind. "Tomorrow, then?" she asked.

"Sure," Byron answered.

Melissa finally moved, so he could descend the steps. He paused, facing her, Andrea still clinging to his left hand.

He put his right out to Melissa. "Thanks," he said.

She hesitated only a moment before taking the offered hand. "If you screw up," she told him, frankly but in a friendly tone, "you are so out of here."

He laughed. "Yes, ma'am," he said.

He started toward the gate, and Andrea double-stepped behind him, looking back at Melissa and mouthing, "Thank you!" as she went.

Hoping she'd done the right thing, Melissa went on into the house and walked straight through to the kitchen. There she popped her empty water bottle into the recycling bin and hesitated in front of her old-fashioned wall phone.

It was Sat.u.r.day morning-early Sat.u.r.day morning. Sat.u.r.day morning.

Surely no emergencies had taken place while she was out for her run-she hadn't been gone more than an hour.

Even prosecutors had weekends off, didn't they?

Melissa's mind flashed on Steven Creed, standing in front of the Sunflower Cafe a little while before, when she stopped by for water, not that she expected him him to call or anything. to call or anything.

But hot d.a.m.n, hot d.a.m.n, the way he looked in those rancher's clothes she'd fantasized about seeing him in the day before. It ought to require some kind of legal permit, being that handsome. the way he looked in those rancher's clothes she'd fantasized about seeing him in the day before. It ought to require some kind of legal permit, being that handsome.

Melissa sighed-not being able to ignore voice mail was the curse of the competent, she reminded herself-and reached out for the receiver. If she didn't check for messages, she wouldn't relax and enjoy her time off.

There had been one caller.

Ona Frame's recorded voice rang over the wire. "Melissa? I hope it isn't too early to be calling you, dear, but I was just so excited when Tommy stopped by this morning and told me you were willing to fill in for me on the Parade Committee this year-" Here, the older woman paused, turned tearful. "You see, I'm going to have to have this darn ol' gallbladder of mine removed, and there's nothing for it, but we've kicked off the annual rodeo with a parade every single year for nigh on half a century now and I don't mind telling you, it almost broke my heart to think of canceling-"

While she was out for her run, Melissa had come up with seven or eight really good excuses for turning down parade duty, but they all flew away as she listened to Ona rant on. And on. The message lasted so long, in fact, that Ona had to call back because she'd timed out on the first run.

The essence of it was that the committee meeting had been scheduled for three o'clock that very afternoon, all along. It was to be held in the community room over at the Creekside Academy, and since the whole crew had been planning on attending anyway, she thought it was the perfect opportunity to present Melissa as their new leader.

"Call me and let me know if you can make it!" Ona finished off merrily. "And I do hope you weren't sleeping in or something, and I spoiled it by calling-"

Melissa hung up, let her sweaty forehead rest against a cupboard door while she drew slow, deep breaths.

There was no getting out of it. She was stuck. Might as well accept the fact and move on, she thought.

She did allow herself one indulgence before returning Ona's call and committing herself to the job, though. Melissa took her shower first.

DURING BREAKFAST, Steven got a call on his cell phone from the Flagstaff auto dealership he'd contacted several weeks before; the extended cab truck he'd custom-ordered was in, and they could deliver it that day if he wanted.

Steven agreed, relieved that he'd have a backseat for Matt and Zeke to ride in now. Plus, his old rig looked like it had been driven West in the '30s by some family fleeing the Dust Bowl, though, of course, it wasn't quite old enough for that scenario.

He smiled, remembering his dad's apt description of the vehicle.

Steven's got himself one of those two-toned rigs, Davis Creed had told a friend, tongue firmly planted in his cheek. Davis Creed had told a friend, tongue firmly planted in his cheek. And one of those tones is rust. And one of those tones is rust.

"Do I have to clean up my plate?" Matt asked, anxious to get outside and keep Zeke company.

Steven was still thinking about rigs. In Denver, he'd driven a candy-apple-red Corvette-also unsuitable for carting around a little boy and a dog.

But Melissa O'Ballivan would look mighty fine riding shotgun in the sports car, he thought. He pictured her wearing a blue-and-white polka-dot sundress, strapless, with her hair tumbling down around her bare shoulders and her lips all glossy.

"Steven?" Matt said, waving one hand in his face.

"Go see to Zeke," Steven replied, with a chuckle, as he pushed away his plate. "While I take care of the bill."

Matt scooted away from the table and zipped to the door, and Steven waited until he saw the boy with Zeke before he turned from the window.

A few minutes later, he joined them outside.

"We might as well go over and see if the office is fit for human habitation," he told Matt, shoving his wallet into his hip pocket as he spoke.

"Okay," Matt said, conscientiously, "but Zeke drank all the dog water." He held up the empty pan as proof. "See?"

Steven mussed the boy's hair and nodded. "Good call," he said. "You figure you're tall enough to reach the faucet on the men's room sink and fill it up again, then get all the way back out here without spilling?"

Matt nodded and headed for the door, pausing only to say, "Keep an eye on Zeke while I'm gone."

Steven grinned and executed an affirmative half salute.

Matt proved to be a competent water bearer, and they headed for the office on foot, since it was just down the street.

As it turned out, the place was in fairly good shape. The property management people had had the walls painted a subtle off-white, as requested, and the utilitarian gray carpet looked clean.

Two desks, some file cabinets and a half-dozen bookshelves had been delivered, and when Steven picked up the handset on the three-line phone his a.s.sistant would use-once he'd hired an a.s.sistant, anyway-there was a dial tone.

"Looks like we're in business, Tex," he told Matt, who was busy exploring the small place with Zeke.

There wasn't much to to explore, actually-just an inner office, a storage closet and a unis.e.x restroom that was hardly big enough to turn around in. explore, actually-just an inner office, a storage closet and a unis.e.x restroom that was hardly big enough to turn around in.

And all that was fine with Steven.

He probably wouldn't have all that many cases anyway, even though his services would be free. Stone Creek wasn't what you'd call crime-ridden, after all, and that, too, was fine with him.

It was one of the main reasons he'd chosen to come here. He'd wanted to raise Matt in a small town-a small town that wasn't wasn't Lonesome Bend, Colorado. Lonesome Bend, Colorado.

"Are we going to look at the day-camp place now?" Matt asked, once he'd peeked into every corner of the office. He didn't sound overly enthusiastic about the prospect.

Steven checked his watch. "The dealer said we'd have our new truck within an hour and a half," he replied. "Why don't we go back out to the ranch and wait for it to be delivered, then swing into town again and visit Creekside Academy?"

Matt liked that idea, and it was settled.

They headed back home, and when they got there and piled out of the ancient pickup, Zeke ran around and around in happy circles in the gra.s.s, glorying in his freedom or maybe just glad to be alive, and obviously a country kind of dog.

Two and a half hours later, the new vehicle was delivered, sky-blue and shiny, with the chrome gleaming fit to dazzle the eye. A second man followed in a small car, to give the driver a ride back.

Steven signed for his purchase, accepted the keys and waved the deliverymen off in the second car.

Matt, meanwhile, had climbed onto the running board, probably hoping to stick his face against the driver's-side window and peer inside. Too bad he was so short.

Chuckling, Steven walked over, hooked the boy around the waist with one arm, and opened the truck door with the other. He hoisted Matt inside, and watched, grinning, as he plunked himself on the seat, gripped the wheel and made that time-honored, spit-flinging varoom-varoom varoom-varoom sound kids use to mimic the roar of an engine. sound kids use to mimic the roar of an engine.

"It won't be long," Matt crowed, steering speedily, "until I'm old enough to drive!"

The words saddened Steven a little, because he knew they were true. Like all kids, Matt would grow up way too soon.

"Yeah," Steven agreed, with a laugh, "but as of today, you're still too vertically challenged to see over the dashboard."

"Varoom!" Matt yelled, undaunted. Matt yelled, undaunted.

Steven went to the other truck for Matt's car seat, brought it over and installed it carefully in back of the new rig while the boy continued to "drive" up front. Zeke, evidently feeling left out of the action, put his front paws up on the running board and whined to get inside.

With a shake of his head, Steven finished rigging up the car seat, shut the door and went around to the other side, whistling for Zeke to follow.

He opened the door behind the driver's seat and Zeke leaped right up, nimble as a pup, and sat panting happily on the heretofore spotless leather upholstery, waiting for the next adventure to begin.

"Come on, buddy," Steven said to Matt, when the kid didn't move from behind the wheel. "Time to switch seats."

"Can't I ride in front, like I did in the old truck?" Matt asked. He sounded a touch on the whiny side-probably needed a nap-but since Steven knew the boy wouldn't take one, he couldn't see any sense in allowing himself to dream of an hour or two of peace and quiet when there was no hope of it happening.

"No," Steven said firmly, "you can't. Anyhow, Zeke will get lonely if he has to sit back here all by himself."

Matt couldn't argue with that logic. The dog's well-being was at stake, after all.

So the boy scrambled between the front seats to the back and only sighed a couple of times while Steven was buckling him in.

"Let's see how this thing runs," Steven said, when Matt was secure.

Zeke had moved over next to Matt, probably lending moral support, and when Steven got into the truck and started it up, the dog's big hairy head was blocking the rearview mirror. So Steven had to reach back and maneuver Zeke out of his way, a tricky proposition at best.

By the time they finally hit the road, Steven was starting to think they ought to save the visit to the day camp for another day, but he decided against the idea because their wheels were already turning and, besides, Matt was supposed to start on Monday morning.

The place would probably be locked up tomorrow, since it was Sunday, and that would mean no advance reconnaissance mission for Matt. He was five, a new kid in a new community. Steven wanted to give him every chance to get his bearings.

On the way back into Stone Creek, Matt nodded off. Zeke, ever the sport, sank down on the seat and went to sleep, too. The peace and quiet was a wash, though, because that dog snored like a buzz saw gnawing into hardwood.

As soon as they pulled up in front of Creekside Academy, a long, low redbrick structure with green shutters on the windows, a large fenced playground and a tall flagpole, with Old Glory up there flapping in the breeze, Matt and Zeke woke up.

Zeke barked jubilantly. Maybe he was patriotic.

Considering that it was Sat.u.r.day afternoon, it seemed to Steven that there were a lot of cars in the paved parking lot, which looked out over the creek mentioned in the school's name. He knew Creekside was open six days a week, though, and figured the camp must be doing a brisk business.