Creed's Honor (26 page)

She reached out now, touched his arm. “See you,” she said, just as the landline rang behind her.

Brody grinned, raised one hand in a wave, and took his leave.

Tricia closed the door, turned, and leaped for the phone. Maybe it was Conner calling.

She hoped so.

She hoped
not.

“Doris and I are going on a cruise,” Natty announced, without preamble. “And I need someone to look after Winston while we’re gone.”

Tricia smiled, forgetting, for the moment, all the complications in her life. A new stepfather was just the beginning, though, of course, she had no intention of laying that on Natty.

“I’d be happy to do that,” she told her great-grandmother. “I’ve missed Winston almost as much as I’ve missed you.”

“I miss you, too, dear,” Natty said. “In truth, I wasn’t sure you’d still be in Lonesome Bend. I know Seattle beckons.”

“Seattle,” Tricia said, “is right where I left it. It will keep. Where are you and Aunt Doris going on this cruise of yours?”

“Everywhere,” Natty responded happily. She sounded like a teenager instead of a woman in her nineties; living with her sister was clearly good for her. “We sail to Amsterdam next week, out of New York, and then from one Baltic port to another, all the way to St. Petersburg.”

“That sounds wonderful,” Tricia said, pleased.

“You could come with us,” Natty mused. “But, then, I don’t know who would take care of Winston if you did. Doris leaves her dogs at a local kennel, but I think my poor cat has had enough to get used to lately, without being sent to some strange place.”

Tricia smiled. “Not a problem. How long will you be away?”

“Three weeks,” Natty said, after a little pause. “Is that too long?”

“No,” Tricia said, thinking of all the times Natty might have gone traveling if she hadn’t chosen to stay in Lonesome Bend and help look after her great-granddaughter every summer instead. “Of course it isn’t too long. Take all the time you want.” She looked over at Valentino, who had lifted his head to take it all in. Did he know, somehow, that his feline sidekick was coming back for a visit? “Shall I come to Denver to fetch Winston?”

“No, dear,” Natty replied, revving up again, in that old familiar way. Full of excitement and anticipation. “Doris’s friend’s oldest son, Buddy, drives a delivery
truck to Lonesome Bend and the surrounding area five days a week. He’ll bring Winston directly to your doorstep.”

“Okay,” Tricia answered. “Good.”

“There is one other thing,” Natty said.

Tricia felt her shoulders tense up slightly. It was something in her great-grandmother’s tone—a certain hesitancy. “What?”

“Carolyn Simmons is moving in downstairs,” Natty said. “She’s my new renter. Housing is at such a premium in Lonesome Bend, and with Kim and Davis Creed coming home early, she doesn’t have anywhere else to go. I didn’t think you’d mind, since the two of you seem to like each other.”

“I don’t mind,” Tricia confirmed. What she found hard to accept, though, was the sudden and certain realization that Natty really wasn’t planning to come back home. Ever.

“I kept thinking of how
abandoned
that house would be, especially if you left. It’s never been empty since it was built, you know. Not for any length of time, anyway. Even when Mama and Papa went to Europe on their honeymoon trip, my grandmother and great-grandmother were there to keep the home fires burning.” Natty stopped to draw a breath, then rushed on. “What to do, what to do. That’s what I wondered. You can just imagine. And then, all of the sudden, inspiration! I could offer that nice Carolyn Simmons a sort of home base. Everybody needs that. In any event, I knew she was housesitting for Davis and Kim, so I called her there, and she said she’d just love to stay in a beautiful house like mine and look after the plumbing and such, but she
insisted
on paying rent.”

Tricia smiled. If she did decide to move back to Seattle—or elsewhere—at any time, she wouldn’t have to worry about Natty’s house. Even when she was minding someone else’s place, Carolyn would keep an eye on the lovely old Victorian.

“I’m glad you found someone,” Tricia said.

“Not that you need to be in any kind of hurry to leave, dear,” Natty was quick to say. “After all, one day the place will be all yours.”

“Not too soon, I hope,” Tricia replied. She hadn’t told her great-grandmother about the breakup with Hunter—she hadn’t had the chance. And she certainly wasn’t going to mention the latest development with Conner. If it
was
a development.

Sex meant more to a woman than it did to a man, after all. She had to be careful not to read anything into that one incident.

I think you’d be good for my brother,
she’d heard Brody say.

“How was your trip to Seattle?” Natty asked. She’d mentioned a few times that her husband had dubbed her Chatty Natty, and it was easy to see why.

“It was fine,” Tricia answered, smiling again. “Diana and Paul are busy getting ready to leave for Paris, and of course I enjoyed getting to spend more time with Sasha. I did some shopping, too. Bought some actual
clothes.
”

“Did you see Trooper?”

“Hunter,” Tricia corrected, with amused patience.

“Hunter, then,” Natty conceded, with good-natured
im
patience. “Did you see him?”

“Yes,” Tricia said. “I saw him.”

“And?”

Tricia laughed. “And we decided to go our separate ways,” she answered.

“My dear,” Natty told her, “you and Hunter went your separate ways a
long
time ago.”

Tricia closed her eyes for a moment. Thought of her mother. And it spilled out of her then, without her ever intending for it to happen. “Do you think I’m like Mom?” she blurted.

Natty was quiet, an unusual situation in and of itself. “In what way, dear?” she asked, at long last. “Physically, you’ve always been more like your father—”

“You’re stalling,” Tricia accused. “Diana said I was only interested in Hunter because he was unavailable, and therefore
safe,
and that allowed me to keep my distance and still claim to be in a relationship. Is that how it was with Mom and Dad?”

Again, Natty hesitated. Then she spoke decisively, but with her usual gentleness. “Your father
was
available. That was the problem, for your mother. I don’t think she was comfortable being close to another human being.”

Including me,
Tricia thought, rueful.

“You mustn’t blame Laurel,” Natty said quickly. “She was doing the very best she could. She was raised in foster homes, remember. Joe always said she tried, and I believed it, too.”

Tricia, standing all this time, made her way to a chair and dropped into it. Shut her eyes tightly against the memory of all those lonely days and nights, when her mother had been working, working,
working,
while her daughter made do with nannies and babysitters and housekeepers.

“Her best wasn’t all that terrific, Natty.”

“I know that, sweetheart,” Natty replied softly. “And
it’s unfortunate. Nevertheless, there is only one way to deal with something like this, and that’s to make up your mind to do better, in your turn, than poor Laurel did.”

By that time, Tricia could only nod. She wasn’t crying, but she was definitely choked up. She’d resented her mother for so long, yet now she felt sorry for her.

And happy about Harvey.

Once the conversation with Natty was over, Tricia returned to her computer. Made her way back into Laurel’s effusive email.

Harvey was a doctor, Laurel had written. He was funny and strong and she loved him with all her heart. They’d gotten married on a recent and apparently brief sabbatical in Barcelona and sincerely hoped Tricia wouldn’t mind that she’d missed the wedding.

It had all happened so quickly.

Tricia smiled as she studied the photo for a second time. Then she hit reply and began her response, starting with, “Congratulations!”

After that, well aware that she was procrastinating, Tricia read Diana’s emails, both of which were comfortingly mundane, and then Sasha’s. The child reported that she was already learning French, so she could start making new friends right after the family arrived in Paris.

Finally, Tricia turned to Hunter’s emails. She considered deleting them, unopened, but decided that that would be cowardly. They weren’t enemies, after all. Just two people who didn’t belong together.

The first message contained a long and involved explanation of how lonely he’d been, after she’d left Seattle. Tricia nodded as she read.

Six more emails followed, all of them much shorter,
thankfully, and progressively less woeful. In the final one, clearly an afterthought, he said he wished her well and hoped they could get together for a friendly dinner if and when she returned to Seattle.

Tricia sent off a lighthearted reply and went offline.

Glancing up at the window, she saw that the snow was coming down harder and faster, the flakes feathery and big. Later, she’d walk Valentino again, she decided, and this time, she’d be careful not to let him off his leash before they were safely inside the apartment again.

One thing was for sure, she thought, with a sigh, looking around her small, well-organized kitchen.

She needed something to
do.
The leisurely life was not for her.

It gave her too much time to think.

H
IS TRUCK WAS GONE
.

Conner stood in the driveway, Tricia’s forgotten suitcase at his feet, shaking his head in consternation.

Damn
Brody, anyhow. It was just like him to take off in somebody else’s rig, without so much as a howdy-do, and leave his own rusted bucket of bolts behind in its place.

Conner picked up the suitcase and gave Brody’s old pickup a rueful once-over. The tires looked low, the back bumper was held in place by grimy duct tape, and the rear window was so cracked that the glass was opaque.

He swore under his breath. Brody wasn’t a poor man, no more than he was. He could afford to drive a decent vehicle—he was buying the McCall properties for a
huge chunk of cash, after all—but, no. A modern-day saddle bum, Brody liked to look the part.

Except when he was heading for Tricia’s place, bringing back her dog. He’d wanted
Conner’s
truck for that. Conner’s clothes and haircut, too.

The realization stung its way through him like a jolt of snake venom. Made him swear again, but with a lot more vehemence this time.

Brody knew he was interested in Tricia. Was it happening again? Was that even possible?

“That’s crazy!” Conner said out loud, but he tossed Tricia’s suitcase into the back of that beat-up old truck just the same and, seeing that Brody had left the keys in the ignition, he plunked down behind the wheel. After a few grinding wheezes, the engine started, and he pointed that rig toward town.

The drive was short, but it gave him enough time to cool down.

Brody wasn’t above betraying him, as history proved, but Tricia was another kind of person entirely. She wasn’t like Brody and she wasn’t like Joleen, either—she had her share of hang-ups, like everybody else on the planet, but she didn’t play games with people’s heads.

Or their hearts.

He knew that much about her, if little else.

When he pulled up in front of Natty’s place, there was no sign of Brody or of Conner’s truck. But Tricia and the dog were in the front yard, Valentino was on his leash and Carolyn was there, too, smiling, with both hands shoved into the pockets of her coat. Flurries of snow swirled around both women, like capes in motion.

Conner sat for a moment, before shutting off the engine and getting out of Brody’s sorry-looking rig.

Carolyn and Tricia had been engaged in conversation before, but now they turned to look at him as he crossed the sidewalk and stepped onto the lawn. The difference in their expressions was something to see—Tricia looked shy but pleased, Carolyn stunned. She even took a step backward.

Conner recalled how she’d split herself off from the rest of the people on the trail ride Sunday afternoon, out at the ranch, and realized that she thought he was Brody—probably because of the truck.

He started to speak, wanting to put the woman at ease by identifying himself, but before he got a word out, Valentino broke free of Tricia’s grip on his leash and bolted toward him, barking gleefully, the strand of nylon dragging through the dying grass behind him.

Three feet shy of slamming right into him, the dog leaped through the air like a circus performer and Conner barely had time to brace himself before twenty-plus pounds of squirmy canine landed in his arms.

He laughed, scrambling to hold on to the dog so it wouldn’t fall. The wonder was that
both
of them didn’t hit the ground.

Tricia hurried over, her eyes shining, her cheeks the same shade of pink they’d been after she’d had the umpteenth orgasm that morning, in his bed. “Valentino!” she scolded lovingly. “Bad dog!”

Conner set Valentino down and shoved a hand through his hair. In his hurry to reach Tricia, he’d forgotten his hat and, come to think of it, his coat, too.

She was exuding a glow that warmed him, though. Through and through.

“I’m sorry,” she said, sputtering a little. “I guess Valentino was glad to see you.”

“Guess so,” Conner agreed.

By that time, Carolyn had reached them. Her hands were still balled up in her jacket pockets, and her eyes were narrowed as she peered at him through the thickening snow.

“Conner?” she said.

He gave her a half salute and a slight grin. “That’s me,” he affirmed.

Carolyn studied him, studied the old truck at the curb. “I thought—”

“Common mistake,” Conner said. He was having trouble looking at anybody or anything besides Tricia.

Damn, she was hot. He wanted her all over again.

He was about to go back to the truck and hoist the suitcase out of the back, but it came to him that such a thing as that could be misunderstood. So he wedged his hands into the pockets of his jeans, like some kid with a confidence problem, and waited to see what would happen next.