A Creed in Stone Creek (31 page)

The man had to be Steven’s father, Melissa thought, distracted in spite of her better intentions. Same build, same hair color, same innate sense of quiet confidence. The sight of them all made her throat catch, for some reason, and caused the backs of her eyes to tingle slightly. She smiled and waved to the little boy, pretending not to notice the man, and turned to give the signal that would start the parade rolling.

Folks along the way cheered, their faces alight with pleasure in this simplest of all small-town-America celebrations. Many of them were people Melissa knew, lifelong residents of Stone Creek and Indian Rock and the surrounding areas, but others were strangers, passing through. The annual rodeo, with its customary trimmings, always drew plenty of fans, along with competitors from all over the country.

Melissa felt as though she’d been swept up in something, and was being carried along, watching that parade pass. She was, in those moments, ridiculously proud of her hometown, and the stalwart people who inhabited it.
She was even a little proud of
herself,
for sticking with it, for seeing the task through to its fruition.

Not that she ever intended to get roped into heading the Parade Committee again, as long as she lived, because she most certainly didn’t. Next year, someone else would have to oversee the project, keep Bea Brady and Adelaide Hillingsley from coming to blows, and make sure no one wound up pinned beneath an enormous cardboard ice cream cone.

She looked over toward the fairgrounds—the rodeo would start at noon the following day and run well into the night, and the festivities would be repeated on Sunday, the Fourth, with a finale of spectacular fireworks. Meanwhile, the Ferris wheel loomed neon-pink against the darkening sky. As the parade noise subsided, the tinny music from the carousel and all the other rides and games would settle over the town like a blanket.

Once the last float had wobbled down Main Street, people would head over to the carnival, kids in tow, to fill up on roasted corn, served on sticks, barbecued meat and chicken, cotton candy and plenty of other nutritional disasters as well.

Some of Melissa’s first memories were of that carnival and the big rodeo, before the family had splintered apart. The old sequence played out in her mind, yet again. Delia had left them, getting onto a bus one day and never coming back. Not long after that, their dad was killed. Then Big John died, too.

A strange mix of sadness and gratitude overtook Melissa, right there on Main Street, with friends and strangers all around her. She’d lost a lot in her life, but she still had Brad and Olivia and Ashley, their spouses, and all her nieces and nephews.

She was part of a close and ever-growing family, and that was more than a lot of people could say. So why wasn’t it
enough?

S
TEVEN KEPT TRACK OF
M
ELISSA
as best he could, given how crowded the sidewalks were. He’d lose sight of her, then get onto the balls of his feet and crane his neck to find her again, all the while trying to look like he wasn’t looking.

Kim was beside him; she and Davis had rolled in that afternoon, their new RV almost as fancy as Brad O’Ballivan’s tour bus. Brody was still missing in action, and Conner, apparently, had been temporarily detained up in Lonesome Bend. He’d be there by morning.

For now, it was just the four of them.

“Where’s Melissa?” Kim asked, nudging Steven lightly in the side when there was a lull between the high-school marching band and the sheriff’s posse on horseback. “Point her out to me.”

Steven was a little taken aback—as far as he could recall, he hadn’t mentioned Melissa to his folks—and while he was still trying to come up with a response, Matt leaped into the conversational breach.

“That’s her!” he fairly shouted, shifting excitedly atop Steven’s shoulders to point. “That really pretty lady with the twisty curls in her hair!”

Matt’s voice carried far and wide, and Melissa, looking country-delicious in her well-cut jeans and peach-colored off-the-shoulder blouse with lots of little ruffles, reappeared from the throng and turned her head in their direction.

“Melissa!” Matt called out, overjoyed, it seemed, to see her. By then, he was waving so wildly that Steven
had to tighten his grip on the kid to keep him from tumbling to the sidewalk. “Melissa! Over here!”

Steven watched her scrounge up a smile, and then crank up the wattage for Matt’s sake.

“Nice parade!” Matt complimented her, when she entered their small family circle. “You did a
great job,
Melissa!”

“Thanks, cowboy,” she said, with tenderness in her voice as well as her eyes, as she reached up to tug at Matt’s “rodeo” hat. It was one of several presents Kim and Davis had brought along.

“I’m Kim Creed,” Steven’s stepmother said warmly, putting a hand out to Melissa. “And this is my husband, Davis.”

Davis’s eyes twinkled as he shook hands with Melissa. “Well, now,” he said, giving a tug at the brim of his own hat, a larger version of the one Matt was wearing, but otherwise a near duplicate. “It’s nice to meet you in person, though I will admit that I feel like I already knew you.”

Melissa blinked at that, and her cheeks turned almost the same enticing shade of peach as her blouse as she darted a confused glance at Steven, looking as though she might be wondering if he was the type to kiss and tell.

So to speak.

“Matt’s been talking about you pretty much nonstop,” Kim explained, smiling at Melissa.

“I showed them the picture I drew,” Matt piped up. “You’re in it. It’s you and me and Dad and Zeke and my pony, looking like a family.”

Inwardly, Steven groaned. Outwardly, he managed to keep his cool.

If Melissa had any reaction at all to the boy’s remark, it didn’t show.

“Not that I
have
a pony,” Matt added, when no one else spoke up right away. “Even though Dad
promised
we’d both have horses as soon as the barn was finished.”

Davis chuckled at that. “Give your dad a chance, boy,” he said easily, looking up at Matt. “It was just yesterday that the shavings were put down in the stalls and the water supply was hooked up.”

Steven was grateful to his father for saying something, because his own tongue still felt like a twist of rusted barbed wire. Though he couldn’t stop staring, he hoped Melissa would be too distracted by Matt and Davis and Kim to notice.

I love you, Melissa O’Ballivan,
said something inside him.

Steven was, oddly, as shaken by that silent voice as Melissa and the others would have been, if he’d said it out loud. Thank God, he hadn’t. Had he?

She looked up at him, her expression curious. Somehow unsettled.

Then she recovered, smiled a brilliant smile that skirted over him but took in Davis, Kim and especially Matt.

“I’d better be going,” she said. “Once the parade wraps up, I’ll be expected to offer my congratulations to one and all.”

With that, she walked away.

Steven didn’t make a sound. He couldn’t see where Matt was looking, but it wasn’t hard to guess.

Davis and Kim, of course, were watching Melissa
hurrying alongside the last straggling remnants of the Independence Day parade.

“I want Dad to marry Melissa,” Matt said, with so much enthusiasm that more people than just his grandparents heard the statement and turned to grin as they registered it. “But I’m not getting anywhere with it.”

Steven reddened, starting with his neck and ending somewhere above his hairline.

Kim smiled, and reached up for Matt with both arms. “The parade’s almost over,” she said, as the boy went to her, readily. “Let’s head over to the fairgrounds and get a jump on the line for the Ferris wheel.”

Matt nodded eagerly.

“And you,” Kim said to Steven, holding the child comfortably in those strong, ranch-woman’s arms of hers, “can probably find something constructive to do while your dad and I spend a little time with our grandson.”

Davis chuckled again, and slapped Steven on the back.

And then all three of them walked away and left him standing there, looking like a damn fool who hadn’t figured out that the parade had already passed him by.

S
TEVEN FELT LIKE A STALKER,
but he trailed Melissa to the supermarket parking lot at the other end of town, where the parade was already breaking apart into colorful segments, like some snake undergoing a mysterious rite of renewal.

There was a lot of hugging and hand-shaking, and then more hugging. The kids from the marching band stripped right there in the open, shedding uniform coats and creased pants to reveal the shorts and T-shirts underneath. Then they tossed the discards, including their hats with the spiffy gold insignia above the brim, into the backseats of various minivans and SUVs. They were off to the carnival, traveling in noisy packs, thinning the crowd as they went.

Steven tried to stay out of sight, but, as luck would have it, Brad O’Ballivan, there with a few ranch hands and several large horse trailers, spotted him and called out. Which made Melissa turn her head toward him and then away again. Quickly.

Feeling like an idiot, Steven managed a grin he hoped looked easy and unconcerned, and walked over to where Brad was standing.

“Need some help loading these horses?” he asked.

“Sure,” Brad replied. His gaze, while not unfriendly, seemed a little more intent than usual.

Steven busied himself with work he could do without thinking, removing saddles, replacing bridles with halters, leading weary critters up hoof-scarred ramps and into trailers that smelled pleasantly of hay and horse, securing them there, so they could make the trip home in safety.

All the time, he thought about Melissa, though he didn’t dare look in her direction. Stupid, he decided, since she was the whole reason he’d followed the parade to this parking lot in the first place. But there it was.

By the time the last of the animals were loaded and the doors on the trailers shut and bolted, she’d vanished. Brad approached and said thanks, and the two men shook hands.

“Looking for Melissa?” Brad asked, after a few moments of awkward silence.

“Was it that obvious?” Steven countered, discouraged.

Brad grinned. “Oh, yeah,” he said. “It was that obvious.” Then he sobered again. “This is the part where I ask you if your intentions are honorable, as far as my sister is concerned.”

“And if they are?”

“I’ll be real pleased,” Brad answered affably. Then he leaned in slightly and commenced to using John Wayne’s voice in place of his own. “On the other hand, Pilgrim, if it turns out that you’re just looking for a good time, I’ll have to personally feed you your own ears, one at a time. And after that, I’ll hurt you.”

Steven laughed. He reckoned if he’d had a sister, he’d have felt much the same way. “Fair enough,” he said.

“Melissa caught a ride back to the other end of town, where she left her car before the parade,” Brad went
on, back to being himself again, though his imitation of the Duke had been more than passable. “She’s worn out—plans on going straight home, as I understand it, and heating canned soup for supper.”

After a short hesitation, Steven nodded, said thanks, and turned to walk back to the center of town. He’d left his own rig parked beside his office, and he hurried toward it now, cutting between buildings instead of taking a more direct route, which would have led him past the courthouse. He still felt the pull of habit, even though he knew she hadn’t gone back to work.

He didn’t know what he’d say to Melissa once he caught up to her, but as he reached his truck, got inside and started up the engine, he felt a peculiar sense of urgency, as if there was no time to waste.

That, of course, was crazy. Brad had told him what Melissa meant to do—collect her car from the parking lot behind the high school and then go home. She probably
was
exhausted, after all the rigmarole of making sure the Fourth of July parade came off with no notable hitches, and the wiser course would almost certainly be to leave her alone.

Steven couldn’t do that, for whatever reason. Something compelled him to find her and say—what? What, exactly, was there to say?

Damned if he knew, but he had to see her, without Matt and his parents around. When he looked into her eyes, the words would come to him—or not.

He pulled out onto Main Street, now dappled with horse manure the clowns with brooms had missed, multicolored bits of confetti and the remains of the wrapped pieces of hard candy the mayor had tossed from his
perch in the convertible, and was gratified to see Melissa one intersection over, at the wheel of her roadster.

She’d put the top down, since the weather was good, and even from that distance, Steven could see the last spangles of daylight catching in her hair.

There wasn’t another vehicle in sight, in either direction, and the effect was eerie, almost postapocalyptic. He’d missed the green light, since he wasn’t paying attention, and watched with some surprise as Melissa turned right, instead of left, which would have taken her in the direction of home.

She cruised past Steven, and he pulled out behind her.

Sure, she’d see him, but he was tired of skulking around like some character in a bad spy movie. He’d defended a stalker or two in his time, but he’d never expected to be one. He did have a little more insight into the nature of obsession than most people, which he wryly supposed was a plus.

When she signaled her intention to turn in at the Stop & Shop, Steven got that spooky feeling again, as if he ought to stay close by, keep her in sight.

Melissa stopped at the gas pump, got out of the roadster to swipe her credit card and fill up.

Steven drove right past her, to a parking space in front of the store, which looked deserted, like the rest of town, feeling ridiculously self-conscious again.

She looked up, smiled vaguely and went back to fiddling with the nozzle on the pump hose. Her brow creased into a frown as she clicked away at the starter lever, getting no response.

Steven sighed, turned, and forced himself to walk casually toward her.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hello,” she responded. She didn’t sound unfriendly, just distracted, as though she knew they were acquainted, but she couldn’t quite place him.

Oh, yeah,
he imagined her saying, as realization hit, tapping her forehead with the heel of one palm,
that guy I went to bed with.

“Where’s Matt?” she asked. There was a certain distance in her tone, and they might as well have been facing each other from opposite sides of an electric fence—with razor wire strung along the top.

“He’s over at the carnival, with my parents,” Steven answered, in a perfectly normal tone of voice, which was amazing because on the inside, he felt as though he’d swallowed a hive full of bees, all taking flight, all buzzing.

“Oh,” Melissa said, averting her eyes.

Something had to give. Break through the barrier, get them talking like adults instead of feuding teenagers. “Melissa—”

“What?”

“I—we need to talk.”

One of her perfect eyebrows rose slightly. “About—?”

“About us, dammit,” Steven said.

Her voice was sugar-sweet. “And what ‘us’ would that be?”

Exasperated, Steven gestured toward the gas pump. “Maybe you’ve noticed that that thing isn’t working,” he told her.

She sighed, sounding put-upon. “I guess I’ll have to go inside to pay,” she answered. “Get Martine to flip the switch.”

With that, she walked away, moving toward the glass doors of the entrance at an impressive clip.

Steven followed, double-stepping to catch up. “I can’t stop thinking about you,” he was surprised—and mortified—to hear himself say.

Melissa favored him with a winning smile, waited while he held one of the doors for her, and whispered, “Try a little harder, then.”

She was inside in the next moment, Steven right behind her.

“There has to be a way around this lawyer thing,” he whispered back, nearly colliding with Melissa when she stopped abruptly.

The store was silent, and yet the air seemed to vibrate.

Martine was indeed behind the counter, and Nathan Carter was right beside her, with the barrel of a pistol pressed up hard under her fleshy chin. Her eyes were round with fear and they flitted between Steven and Melissa, begging for help.

Steven acted instinctively; caught Melissa by one arm and fairly threw her behind him.

“Put the gun down,” he told Nathan, his voice calm.

Melissa was back, and she tried to edge around him, but, with one arm, he eased her behind him again.

Carter merely cocked the pistol, a flashy move, like he’d watched a lot of old Westerns on TV or something, and then practiced endlessly.

Oddly, it struck Steven then, and certainly not for the first time, that if criminals put the same effort into honest work as they did taking illegal shortcuts, they wouldn’t need to turn to crime.

Martine made a small, whimperlike sound. “The armored car service came today,” she said weakly, her eyes awash in tears now, “picked up most of the cash we had on hand. All I have is a couple hundred dollars, so I can make change.”

“Shut up,” Carter rasped, poking Martine harder with the gun.

“Easy,” Steven said, in a tone he usually reserved for spooked horses and unfriendly dogs. “You don’t want the kind of trouble you’ll be in if Martine gets hurt. Believe me, you don’t.”

Carter was sweating, and his pupils seemed to be spiraling in the centers of his eyes. He was high, or drunk, maybe both. Very bad news. Drugs, alcohol and stupidity didn’t make a good combination.

“She’s lying about the money,” the thief growled. “She won’t tell me where the money is!”

“I just have what’s right here in the till,” Martine insisted, in a frantic squeak. “We’ve been selling a lot of gas and beer and soda and stuff, with all these people in town for the parade and the rodeo, and the boss wanted most of the money in the bank—”

“I
told
you to shut up,” Carter said. Then, quicker than Steven would have thought anybody could move, especially when they were stoned, he turned the pistol in his hand and used the butt of it to whack Martine hard in the side of the head.

The sound was like a baseball bat striking a water-melon.

Melissa screamed, more in objection than fright.

And Steven pitched himself over the counter at Carter, who, in that split second, was fumbling with the weapon.

A shot ripped through the air, shattered the glass in the front window.

The alarm began to shriek.

Steven landed on Carter and they both went down, in a tangle, not far from where Martine lay, perfectly still and bleeding.

The quarters were close behind that counter. Carter still had the gun—Steven could feel it pressed sideways between him and his adversary, knew the other man was groping for the trigger, and if he managed to get a finger around it—

Sirens sounded in the distance—too
far
in the distance.

The struggle for control of the gun seemed never-ending, although it couldn’t have lasted more than a few seconds. When the pistol went off, Steven froze, waiting for the bullet to tear through him.

But it was Carter who’d been hit.

He looked up at Steven, smirked and then closed his eyes.

Steven raised himself slowly, got as far as his knees, then took the gun from the dead man’s fingers—there was blood everywhere by then, some of it Carter’s, some of it Martine’s.

Melissa scrambled, half crawling, around the base of the counter, her eyes huge, her face chalk-white. Her gaze found Steven, clung to him for a fraction of a moment, skittered over Nathan Carter and fixed itself on Martine, who was beginning to stir. Moaning a little.

“Are you hit?” Melissa asked. And when she didn’t get an answer in the next second, she repeated,
“Steven, are you hit?”

“No,” he said. The bloody pistol made a thunking sound as he reached up and set it on the counter.

She wriggled past him, and Carter, to reach Martine. “Hold on,” she murmured to the other woman. “Please, hold on. Help is coming. Do you hear the sirens? You’re all right now, you’re safe—”

The sirens were louder.

Closer.

Steven hauled himself to his feet, dazed.

Flashing lights swiped at the windows, a slap of red, a slap of blue.

He blinked.

Melissa was still on the floor, trying to comfort Martine.

Tom Parker burst in, gun drawn, still wearing his fancy parade uniform. “What the hell—?” he said.

“You can holster that thing,” Steven told him, in a remarkably calm voice. “The shooting is over.”

Tom hesitated as two deputies piled in behind him, their own service revolvers out and ready.

Tom raised a hand, evidently a signal that any immediate danger was past, and ordered, “Tell the EMTs it’s okay to come in, and make sure—make
damn sure
—nobody else sets foot in here. I don’t want this scene messed up.”

The deputies obeyed.

Things had been happening at warp speed right along, but now time seemed to move even faster.

The EMTs appeared.

Steven took Melissa’s hand, and pulled her out from behind the counter, held her close while the medics worked to stabilize Martine.

“I’m all right,” Martine said, over and over again.

Steven tightened his arms around Melissa when she began to cry.

Martine was carried out on a stretcher, and loaded into a waiting ambulance.

Tom rounded the end of the counter to look down at Nathan Carter, who was so obviously dead that the paramedics hadn’t bothered with him.

“What happened?” Tom asked, in the thunderous silence.

Outside, the world was still a noisy place, a thrumming void, threaded through with panicked shouts and carnival music and the screech of tires on asphalt as the ambulance sped away. Instead, that store was like the bottom of a lake. Or an ocean.

Melissa buried her face in Steven’s shirt, avoiding the blood for the most part, and trembled against his chest.

Slowly, Steven recounted what had happened.

The State Police arrived, along with their crime scene techs. The store was secured, and Tom told Melissa and Steven to go on home, because there was nothing more to be done here.