A Creed in Stone Creek (20 page)

“Was?” Melissa’s tone was casual, but she was watching him closely.

“My uncles still run it. It wasn’t the same after my mother and grandfather passed away.”

“Wasn’t there a place for you—afterward?” she asked.

Steven shook his head. “Not one I’d fit into,” he said. “Zack—Matt’s father—was a good friend of mine, from way back. He put in a good word for me where he worked, and I moved to Denver.” He paused, looking back. It wasn’t something he allowed himself to do very often; in his opinion, there wasn’t much to gain by
indulging in personal retrospectives. “Turned out I liked practicing criminal law a lot better than corporate. And I was good at it.”

“But you didn’t stay,” Melissa said smoothly.

He grinned. “You must be pretty good in a courtroom yourself,” he observed. Though the remark had been prompted by her subtle way of going after sensitive information, Steven meant what he was saying. Melissa wasn’t just beautiful, she was smart, and most likely successful at just about everything she did.

Take sex, for instance.

Melissa smiled, and that was almost Steven’s undoing. When the lady smiled, her eyes shone and her whole face lit up. “I do all right,” she replied easily. Then she drew a deep breath, let it out, and squared her shoulders. “So,” she went on. “What brings you to Stone Creek?”

“It’s a great place to raise a kid,” Steven said.

“So are lots of other places, like Denver. And Boston. And wherever else you’ve been in your travels.”

Like Lonesome Bend, Colorado, he thought, with a touch of sadness.

He didn’t see any need to tell Melissa about the experience that had soured him on the place. So he merely raised and lowered one shoulder slightly in what was meant to serve as a shrug. “As you probably know, your sister-in-law and I are distantly related. Turns out the founders of the McKettrick and Creed clans were half brothers. Meg tracked me down online, and we started emailing back and forth. The more she told me about Stone Creek, the more it appealed to me. I paid a brief visit, met Meg and the rest of the McKettrick family, saw that this ranch was for sale and made an offer.”

Melissa bit down on her lower lip, her eyes luminous with worried curiosity. “Today at lunch, you mentioned spending summers on a Colorado ranch while you were growing up. Is that near Denver?”

Steven nodded. “It’s outside a town called Lonesome Bend. My dad and stepmother still live there, when they’re not traveling around the country in their RV. My cousin Conner runs the operation now.”

“Your cousin?” She arched one eyebrow. The woman didn’t miss much. “If the ranch was your home, at least part of the time, why not make a life there?”

He sat back, folded his arms. Tessa Quinn’s meat loaf was fantastic, but he was satisfied. When it came to food, anyway. “Conner and Brody’s father was the firstborn son in his generation. He inherited the ranch when my grandparents were both gone, and even though my dad stepped in and took over after his older brother died, there was never any question of ownership. Legally, the ranch passed to my cousins when they turned twenty-one.”

“And your dad was just out in the cold after that?”

Steven grinned. “Hardly. The executors paid Dad a good salary for taking care of the spread, not to mention raising Conner and Brody, and he had some money of his own to start with. He’s a master saddle maker—there aren’t many of those left—and he fills custom orders for a pretty elite list of customers.”

Melissa smiled. “When he’s not RVing with your stepmother?”

“It’s a big RV,” Steven answered. “Dad does a lot of work on the road.”

Melissa, also through eating, rested her forearms on
the table and leaned forward a little way. “Does it bother you?” she asked.

“Does what bother me?”

“That your cousins each got a share of the ranch but you evidently didn’t?

“No,” Steven said. “That was the deal. I knew it from the beginning. And, anyway, Conner and Brody offered me a third of the outfit. I turned it down.”

“Because?”

“Because I wanted to build a legacy of my own,” Steven said.

She spread her hands. “And here you are,” she said, with another of those wrenching smiles of hers.

“Here I am,” he agreed.

“Have you ever been in love?”

Steven chuckled. “Yeah,” he said. “At least, I thought so at the time.”

“But you were mistaken?”

“I guess you could say that.”

“What was she like?”

“Beautiful. Smart. Tough as nails.”

They were quiet for a few moments, while Melissa mulled over what he’d said. For his part, Steven was content just to look at her, though he wouldn’t have said no to more sex.

“How about you?” he asked, in good time. “Have you ever been in love?”

As soon as he’d asked that question, he regretted it, because the atmosphere changed. He saw Melissa draw further into herself; her smile wobbled and the happy light in her eyes dimmed a little.

“I guess it’s only fair, your asking me that,” she said.
“Since I asked
you
the same thing about two minutes ago.”

His heart went out to her, and he wasn’t sure it was going to find its way back where it belonged anytime soon.

He reached across the narrow table, took her hand, gave her fingers a light squeeze. “Another time,” he said, watching her. Thinking he might just fall right into the blue of her eyes, tumbling head over heels forever, never hitting bottom.

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “Fair is fair.”

“If you don’t feel like talking, Melissa, that’s all right.”

Melissa looked straight into his eyes, didn’t move to pull her hand from his grasp, but it was a long time before she spoke. “His name was—
is
—Dan Guthrie. He wanted to get married, and he had these two great kids. I said yes. But every time we tried to go through with the plan and actually throw a wedding, I’d back off. Eventually, Dan got tired of that, and he—well—he’s married to someone else now. They’re going to have a baby.”

Steven wanted to ask if she still loved this Guthrie yahoo, but he figured there had been enough soul-baring for one night.

Besides that, he wasn’t sure he could stand hearing the answer.

P
INK AND GOLD CRACKS
split the dawn sky as Melissa rose from Steven Creed’s bed, being careful not to wake him, crept into the bathroom for a hasty shower and slipped back into the sundress she’d worn the night before.

Common sense said to get out while the getting was good—she definitely didn’t want Brad or Meg to find her there at that hour, if they had to bring Matt home early for some reason, for instance—but she couldn’t resist leaning down to plant a whisper-light kiss on Steven’s forehead before leaving. And when she did, he took her by the shoulders and eased her down beside him.

Startled, she gave a little shriek as she landed. Then she laughed and scrambled right back up again, careful to stay out of his reach this time.

Steven yawned luxuriously and cupped his hands behind his head, watching her with a glint of mischief in his eyes and a grin resting on his mouth. “Leaving so soon?” he asked, in a teasing tone.

“‘Soon’?” Melissa echoed, pretending indignation. “I got here at six o’clock last night, and now the
sun
is about to come up. I should have left
hours
ago.”

“I’m glad you didn’t.”

She couldn’t help smiling; she felt so good. “I’m glad, too,” she admitted. “But I’ve got to go. All the neighbors
will probably see me pulling in at first light as it is, and I’m due at the office in a couple of hours.”

“Right,” Steven said, sounding resigned. Outside in the narrow hallway, Zeke gave an anxious little whimper. “Dog needs to go outside,” he added, sitting up and starting to throw back the comforter.

Knowing only too well what was
under
that comforter, Melissa turned on her heel and rushed out. “Come on, boy,” she told the waiting canine. “I’ll let you out.”

As she retreated, Zeke hurrying along behind her, she heard Steven chuckle.

Moments later, he appeared in the doorway of the bus, barefoot and shirtless, with his jeans misbuttoned. Melissa had been waiting for Zeke to relieve himself so she could let him back into the bus before starting for town. Seeing Steven shook her resolve a little, though.

Did he have to look so damn good, even five minutes after he got out of bed? He hadn’t shaved or showered or even combed his hair, and he still made her ache for more of the same.

“Call you later?” Steven asked, shoving a hand through his hair.

Melissa could still feel the silken texture of that hair between her fingers. “Okay,” she said. “Thanks for—” Heat surged into her face. “Thanks for supper.”

He grinned. “Thanks for coming,” he said mildly.

Another blush followed the first one, winding up at Melissa’s hairline, where she could feel it throbbing in time with her heartbeat. She was
damned
if she’d say,
You’re welcome.
“Okay,” she repeated, heading for her car as the dog frolicked toward his master.

Melissa jumped into her car, started the engine and
drove away. Fast. Her face didn’t cool down until she was almost at the town limits.

After that, she thought about how conspicuous her car was. If she’d been driving a normal subcompact, or some kind of sedan, she might have a chance of going unnoticed. In a bright red replica of an MG Roadster—not so much.

Melissa straightened her spine. Breathed in the fresh morning air, and tried to think sensibly. She’d had a relationship with Dan, after all, and the whole town knew it. Why was she so worried that news of her night with Steven Creed would get around?

She bit her lower lip. It definitely wasn’t about shame or embarrassment—that much she was sure of. So
what,
then?

It didn’t take her long to figure it out. Her time with Steven was precious and, therefore,
private.
She needed a while to process all that had happened, to make some kind of sense of things.

Good luck with that,
she thought.

She was especially careful to stay within the speed limit as she cruised through town, because all she needed right then was for an early-rising Tom Parker to pull her over and give her a ticket.

At home, she parked the car in her tiny detached garage instead of leaving it at the curb or in the driveway, feeling grateful that none of the neighbors seemed to be stirring yet. She made a dash for the back door, keys in hand, and ducked inside like some fugitive two steps ahead of the law.

This morning, she was determined, would be like any
other
morning.

She got into shorts and a sports bra and a tank top,
pulled on some socks and her running shoes, left again by way of the front door, pausing on the porch to lock up before slipping her ribbon-strung key over her neck.

The cuts and bruises from yesterday’s fall hadn’t been magically healed, but they didn’t hurt the way they did before, either, so she warmed up as usual and jogged through the gate and down the sidewalk, following her favorite route.

Running always straightened out any tangles in Melissa’s brain, and this run was no exception.

Mentally, she reviewed the situation. Fact: she’d slept with Steven Creed. Fact: she’d enjoyed the experience, and she wasn’t one bit sorry. Fact: she’d better watch out, if she didn’t want her heart smashed to bits all over again.

She dried a stray tear with the back of one hand and picked up her pace.

She jogged along Main Street, not stopping in for a bottle of deliciously cold water as she passed the Sunflower Café after lapping the town park three times, then headed for home.

All was quiet at Ashley’s but, hey, she thought, with a small smile, it was early. The ancient ones were probably still snoozing away in their various beds, but who knew what they’d be up to after a hearty breakfast.

Minutes later, cooling down in her side yard, Melissa heard the phone ringing inside, and the tone seemed oddly urgent. She unlocked the door and hurried inside,

“Hello?” she sputtered. Not her usual way of answering.

“Hello,” Tom responded. “Any chance you can come in early today?”

A prickle danced up Melissa’s spine and then back down again. “I guess. Why?”

Tom was quiet for a moment. “It’s the Carter kid— Nathan,” he finally went on. “One of my deputies ran him in last night for loitering—mainly so the boy would have someplace to sleep. This morning, Carter’s claiming that Pete knocked him around, and he’s got a shiner to prove it. Says he wants to press charges.”

Melissa released a long sigh. Deputy Pete Ferguson, a solid citizen with a wife and four kids and a sterling reputation in the community. It was hard to imagine him abusing his authority in any way whatsoever.

“Great,” she muttered.

“You’re the prosecutor, O’Ballivan,” Tom said, his tone light, but grim, too. “Ferguson is being accused of a felony. And he’s beside himself over it. So you’d better get down here and decide whether or not the people have a case.”

“I’ll be there,” Melissa confirmed. “Tell Pete to hold on.”

She took a quick shower, got dressed and skipped the makeup, except for mascara and a swipe of lip gloss.

Melissa paused only briefly to check herself out in the full-length mirror before leaving the bedroom. Her tailored black slacks and peacock-blue silk blouse made her feel—and look—more like her old self. And that was important because, since last night, she hadn’t been quite sure
who
the heck she was.

As soon as she set foot inside the municipal building, a sense of dread settled over her spirit. After pausing to steel herself for a moment, Melissa marched down the corridor to Tom’s office, drew a deep breath outside his door, let it out again and went in.

Steven was standing by Tom’s desk, all spiffed up for the day and yet still managing to look like a man who’s just enjoyed a night of lively sex.

Which, of course, he was. Moreover, he was a lawyer, there to represent
someone
—Pete? Nathan Carter?

It was anybody’s guess, at that point, but one thing was for sure. Steven would inevitably side against her.

Melissa felt dazed, as though she’d collided with an invisible brick wall, crazy as it seemed.

Steven looked as cool as could be, in no apparent hurry to do anything.

His mouth crooked up at one corner when his gaze connected with Melissa’s, after a slow cruise from her feet to her face. He was trying to unsettle her, of course, and it was working.

Melissa felt strangely
exposed,
as though Steven had X-ray vision or her clothes had turned to cellophane.

“Morning,” he drawled. His eyes and that faint grin said it all.

He’d played her body the way Charlie Daniels plays a fiddle, during the night, and he wasn’t going to pretend it hadn’t happened, much as she wanted to do exactly that.

Melissa hoped Tom hadn’t picked up on the note of intimacy in Steven’s tone. He’d razz her mercilessly if he knew what was going on.

“Good morning,” she replied stiffly, as though she and Steven were mere acquaintances instead of very recent lovers. She glanced past him, as dismissively as she could, toward the cells, where Nathan stood behind bars, smirking at her.

Pete Ferguson, who had been fidgeting at his desk,
bolted to his feet. “It’s a lie, Melissa,” he blurted out. “You
know
I’d never rough up a prisoner—”

Carter simply pointed to his eye, which was nearly swollen shut, the flesh around it shot through with varying shades of purple and green as well as bruise-blue.

Nobody spoke for a few moments.

Then Steven cleared his throat and said, “In addition to the injury Mr. Carter suffered, there seems to be some question of Deputy Ferguson’s reasons for detaining him in the first place.”

Melissa felt as though she’d been kicked in the solar plexus. Hard. “You’re representing Mr. Carter, then?”

Ferguson, tall and clean-cut, with a military haircut and pale blue eyes, looked sick. Tom just looked disgusted.

“It would be more accurate to say I’m advising him,” Steven said. His tone was even, though a bedrock of resolve ran beneath it.

Melissa turned on Nathan Carter. He looked her over insolently, and the effect was quite different from when Steven had done almost the same thing. “What happened?” she asked.

“He was hanging around the park, and it looked like he didn’t have any place to spend the night,” Pete put in. “So I bought him a hamburger and let him sleep in the cell.”

“You’ll have your turn, Pete,” Melissa said calmly. “Right now, I want to hear Mr. Carter’s side of the story.”

“I told the deputy I was fine with sleeping in the park,” Nathan said. The smirk was gone now, replaced by a cagey narrowing of his eyes. “He said that was
vagrancy and he had to take me in. When I argued with him, he put his fist in my face.”

“That’s not true!” Deputy Ferguson protested heatedly.

“Pete,” Tom said, very quietly.

“But Carter already
had
that black eye when I approached him,” Pete insisted. Color pulsed in his neck and his round, earnest face.

“I guess it’s his word against mine,” Nathan said, his tone dejected.

“Or not,” Steven said mildly.

Melissa ignored him. “Were there any witnesses?” she asked, looking at Nathan.

Tom gave a derisive snort.

Melissa flashed him a look, which he returned in kind.

“Unless specific charges are being brought against Mr. Carter,” Steven interjected, “I would suggest releasing him.”

Melissa held her temper, while Tom made a production of jingling his keys, crossing to the cell and unlocking the door.

“You’re free to go,” he told the erstwhile prisoner.

“Whoop-de-do,” Nathan mocked, waltzing through the opening and crossing the room to stand next to Steven. “How about locking up the deputy, there?” Again, he indicated his shiner. “I’m accusing him of police brutality.”

Pete turned crimson.

Tom shut the cell door with a clang.

“Be quiet,” Steven told Nathan, who remained in the sheriff’s office.

Melissa turned to Pete. “What’s your story?” she
asked him. He was an old friend, like Tom, but if he
had
struck Carter without adequate provocation, there would be repercussions.

Miserably, Pete recounted the events of the night before. He’d been on routine patrol, he said, and spotted somebody skulking around the bandstand in the town park. He’d gotten out of his car and walked over, with a flashlight, to investigate.

Carter had flipped him some attitude, but it was nothing serious. The boy had ridden in the front seat of the squad car, without cuffs, and they’d both had burgers and fries from the drive-through at McDonald’s. Pete added that he’d thought about taking Nathan home with him, letting him sleep on the couch, instead of parking him in a cell, but he’d decided against that because of the wife and kids.

“Are you going to arrest him or not?” Nathan barked, when the tale ended.

“No,” Melissa said. “Not without a credible witness to verify that Deputy Ferguson actually struck you.”

“Then I want to sue the Stone Creek County Sheriff’s Office,” Nathan said. “I want to sue the whole damn
town!
My rights have been violated here!”

Melissa didn’t look at Nathan Carter, but at Steven. “Have at it,” she said.

“Just go,” Steven told the younger man, holding Melissa’s gaze with no problem at all. He produced a wallet from the inside pocket of his spiffy suit coat and handed Carter some money.

Nathan hesitated, then snatched the bills from Steven’s hand and stormed out of the sheriff’s office.

Over by the water cooler, Elvis yawned loudly, making his presence known for the first time, and then
shook himself hard, so that his ears made a loud flapping sound.

That broke the silence that had descended after Nathan’s outburst.

“Go on home,” Tom said to Pete Ferguson.

“I’m not suspended, pending some kind of investigation?” Pete asked, turning to the sheriff.

Tom shook his head. “No,” he said.

Pete left, giving Melissa a wounded glance as he passed her.

Tom, meanwhile, focused on Steven. “I guess your work here is done, counselor, for the moment, anyway,”