Creed's Honor (6 page)

It’s against the law here, too,
Tricia thought ruefully, rummaging up a smile. “We’ll stop and buy one first thing,” she said.

“What’s the dog’s name?” Sasha asked, straining to pat his head, when Tricia was behind the wheel, belted in, and ready to head out.

“Valentino,” Tricia answered, wondering if she ought to explain that she was just keeping him until she could find him a good home and deciding against the idea in the next instant. Sasha wouldn’t understand.

When the time came, Tricia thought sadly, neither would Valentino.

“Doesn’t he need to get out of the car before we go?” Sasha inquired, ever practical. She got that from her dad; Diana was smart, but impulsive.

“We’ll hit the first rest stop,” Tricia promised.

“What if he can’t wait?” Sasha fretted.

“He’s a good boy,” Tricia said, driving slowly along the aisle leading to the nearest exit. “He’ll wait.”

“Not if he
can’t,
” Sasha said.

“Sash,” Tricia said gently. “He’ll be okay.”

“He doesn’t look anything like Rusty,” the little girl observed, after a short silence, while Tricia was stopped at the pay window, handing over her ticket and the price of parking.

The remark gave Tricia a bittersweet feeling, a combination of affection for the child and grief for Rusty. “No,” she said softly, as they pulled away. “He’s not Rusty.”

“That’s okay,” Sasha said earnestly, evidently addressing Valentino. “Rusty was a
really nice dog,
but you’re nice, too.”

Tricia smiled, though her eyes stung a little.

They stopped at the first shopping center they passed and took Valentino on a little tour of the grassy dividers in the parking lot before settling him in the Pathfinder again and dashing into a chain store, hand in hand, to buy a proper booster seat.

Though Tricia was at a loss, Sasha knew the layout of the store from visiting the branch nearest her home in Seattle, and she went straight to the section with car seats. Once the purchase was made and they were back at the car again, they wrestled the bulky seat out of its box, laughing the whole time, and it was Sasha who showed Tricia how the various straps and buckles worked.

She had a booster seat just like it, she said.

A store employee, rounding up red plastic shopping carts, took charge of the empty box, and they were good to go.

“Now we’re legal,” Sasha said. “Valentino and I would be stranded if you got arrested.”

Tricia drove out of the lot and onto the highway. “The most important thing is that you’re safer now,” she told her goddaughter. “But even if something did happen, you wouldn’t be left to manage on your own.”

“But who’s going to use this seat when I’m in Paris?” Sasha asked. “It cost a lot of money.”

There it was again—her practical side. How many kids troubled their heads about such things?

“Not to worry,” Tricia answered, wanting to reassure
the child. “It’ll come in handy now, and when you visit again.”

Sasha sighed. “But it might be a long time before that happens,” she said. “I might be too big to even
need
a booster seat next time I come to Colorado. I might even be a
teenager
by then.” From her tone, she didn’t find the idea of being a teen completely unappealing.

“It’ll be a while,” Tricia said, though she knew Sasha would be grown-up long before anybody else—Diana and Paul included—was the least bit ready for that to happen.

Mercifully, Sasha moved between subjects like a firefly flitting from branch to bough, and her concern over the expense of the booster seat was apparently forgotten. “Are we going to do fun stuff while I’m staying with you?” she asked.

Tricia reached up and adjusted the rearview mirror just far enough, and just long enough, to catch a glimpse of Sasha’s face. Valentino, living up to his name, rested his muzzle against the little girl’s cheek.

“Yes,” she said. “We are going to do fun stuff.”

“Like what?”

“Well, we could go out for pizza. And rent some DVDs at the supermarket—”

Tricia couldn’t help thinking how ordinary those activities must sound to an urban child, and she stumbled a little. “And there’s a barbecue at River’s Bend tomorrow afternoon. We’re invited.”

The mysterious Sunday reservation had been made under the name “Stone Creek Cattle Company,” and Tricia had regarded the invitation as a formality, never intending to attend as a guest. Now that she had a child to entertain, it sounded like a good idea after all—the
sort of Western shindig one might expect to see in Lonesome Bend, Colorado.

“Will it be like a party?” Sasha piped up, clearly intrigued. “With music and sack races and games of horseshoes and stuff?”

“I don’t know,” Tricia confessed, mildly deflated. Good heavens, she was really batting a thousand here.

“You’re invited, but you don’t know what kind of party it’s going to be?”

Sasha, Tricia thought wryly, would probably grow up to be a lawyer.

“The people are from out of town,” she said. “I had the impression that it’s a pretty big gathering.”

“They’re strangers?”

“I guess so, but—”

“A barbecue might be fun. They have them in people’s backyards sometimes, in Seattle, but I’ll bet cookouts are pretty unusual in France.”

Tricia smiled. “Probably,” she agreed. “But the French are very good cooks.”

“My friend Jessie,” Sasha remarked, “says the French don’t like Americans.”

“Jessie?” Tricia countered, stalling so she could think for a few moments.

“Jessie’s mom homeschools her and her brother, the same way my mom does me,” Sasha said. “She’s ten, just like me—Jessie, I mean—but she doesn’t have to sit in a booster seat anymore because she’s taller than I am. A
lot
taller.” She paused, drew a breath. “What if I don’t grow any bigger? What if I’m as old as you and Mom and I still have to ride in a stupid booster seat, like a baby, because I’m
short?
Jessie says it could happen.”

“Jessie sounds—precocious,” Tricia said. “You aren’t
through growing, kiddo—take it from me. Your dad is six-two, and your mom is five-seven. What are the genetic chances that you’ll be short?”

“Grandma is short,” Sasha reasoned.

“I’ve met your grandmother,” Tricia responded. “And you don’t take after her at all.”

“But she is short,” Sasha insisted.

“I guess,” Tricia allowed, picturing Paul’s sweet mother, who was indeed vertically challenged. “Care to make a wager?”

“What kind of wager?” Sasha asked, sounding eager.

“I’ll bet that when you come home from France, you’ll be at least five-five.”

“What if I win? I mean, suppose I’m still four-six-and-a-half?”

“I’ll buy you a whole season, on DVD, of whatever shows your mom will let you watch.”

“Mom
hates
TV,” Sasha said. “But I get to watch an hour a day when we live in Paris, if I have all my homework done, because that will help me learn the language.”

Tricia barely kept from rolling her eyes. Sometimes Diana, who had been adventurous in the extreme before Sasha came along, overdid the whole responsible-parenting thing. “Okay,” she said. “What would work for you?”

“The
Twilight
series,” Sasha answered, with a marked lack of hesitation. “
All
the books in it.”

“Deal,” Tricia said, hoping she wouldn’t have to pay up before Sasha was old enough to read about teenage vampires in love.

“What do you get if I lose?” Sasha wanted to know.

Tricia considered carefully before she replied. “Well, you could draw me a picture.”

“I’d be willing to do that anyway,” Sasha said, sweet thing that she was. “Your prize has to be something better than
that.
”

“Let’s think about it,” Tricia suggested.

“Pizza for supper tonight?” Sasha asked.

“Pizza for supper tonight,” Tricia confirmed.

“Yes!” Sasha shouted, punching the air with one small fist. “Mom
never
lets me eat real pizza, but Dad and I sneak it sometimes.”

Valentino, caught up in the excitement of the moment, barked in happy agreement.

T
HE
S
TONE
C
REEK
C
ATTLE
C
OMPANY
, Tricia discovered the next day, when she and Sasha arrived at the campground to attend the barbecue, was owned by none other than Steven Creed.

There were Creeds everywhere—Davis and Kim, whom Tricia liked very much, were in attendance, each of them carrying a duplicate baby, dressed up warm. Conner was there, too, looking better than good, hazy in the heat mirage rising from the big central bonfire.

“Hello, Tricia,” Steven said, when she stopped in her tracks. Suddenly, all her youthful shyness was back; she might actually have fled the scene if Sasha hadn’t been with her, all primed for a Wild West experience she could brag about when she started school in Paris.

“Steven,” she said, with a polite nod. “How are you?”

“Fantastic,” Steven replied. “Married, with children.” His blue gaze shifted to Sasha, who was staring at him
in apparent fascination, probably thinking, as a lot of people did, that he looked like Brad Pitt. “Is this lovely young lady your daughter?”

Sasha gave a peal of laughter at that, as if it was totally inconceivable that her honorary aunt could be somebody’s mother.

“No,” she answered. “Aunt Tricia is my mom’s best friend. I’m visiting for
two whole weeks
because we’re moving to Paris in a couple of months—”

“Nice to see you again, Steven,” Tricia said, after laying a hand lightly on Sasha’s small shoulder to stem the flow.

He looked around, probably for his wife, and when his eyes landed on the friendly woman bouncing one of the matching babies on one hip while she chatted with some other guests, they softened in a way that moved Tricia deeply and unexpectedly.

Had Hunter ever looked at
her
that way? If he had, she hadn’t noticed.

“Looks like Melissa is caught up in conversation,” Steven mused, smiling. “Don’t take off before I get a chance to introduce you two.”

“Sure,” Tricia answered, blushing. “I’d like that.”

Steven nodded, excused himself and walked away. Sasha had wandered off to play with some of the other kids, but Tricia wasn’t alone for long. She followed him with her gaze, and when she looked back at the space he’d occupied before, Conner was there.

“Hi,” he said.

She smiled up at him, even though she felt incredibly nervous. The dancing-to-a-jukebox fantasy from the day before, when she’d had to turn off Kenny Chesney, filled her mind.

“Hi,” she replied. Oh, she was a sparkling conversationalist, all right.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Conner said. She wouldn’t have known that by his expression; he wasn’t smiling. In fact, he looked as though he were trying to work out some complex equation in his head. “How’s the dog?”

“Valentino’s fine,” she answered. She’d thought she was over her childhood shyness, but here it was, back again. “He’s at home, with Natty’s cat.”

Could
she sound any more inane?

Conner finally grinned, a spare, slanted motion of his mouth. “He’s going to be big when he’s full grown, you know,” he remarked.

Was it possible that Conner Creed was shy, too? Nah, she decided.

“That’s why I’m hoping to find him a home in the country someplace,” she said. “Where he can run.”

Conner merely nodded at that.

Tricia blushed, wishing the tension would subside. It didn’t, of course, and she couldn’t stand the brief silence that had settled between them, at once a bond and a barrier, so she burst out with, “He was supposed to live here, in the office, but he wouldn’t stay put. He managed to escape somehow, and showed up on my doorstep in the middle of that last big rainstorm—”

Stop babbling,
she ordered herself silently.

Conner frowned. “How could he have gotten out?” he asked, and when he walked over to examine the office door, Tricia followed right along. The rest of the world seemed to fall away, forgotten. “You locked up, right?”

“I forget sometimes,” Tricia said, enjoying his apparent concern for her personal security more than she
probably should have. “And the lock is old, like the rest of this place, and it doesn’t always catch. A gust of wind could have blown it open.”

“Or somebody could have broken in,” Conner said, taking the dark view evidently. “Did you call Jim Young and report what happened?”

“No,” Tricia said. “I drove over here and checked things out myself, after I got Valentino dried off and settled at the apartment. Nothing was missing, or anything like that.”

Just then, Steven’s attractive wife joined them, baby tugging happily at a lock of her bright hair.

“I’m Melissa Creed,” she said, smiling at Tricia, putting out her free hand.

Tricia took the other woman’s hand and smiled back. “Tricia McCall,” she said.

Melissa slanted a mischievous glance at Conner, who was just standing there, contributing nothing at all. “Of course I might have expected you to introduce me,” she told him.

He shoved a hand through his hair, sighed. He looked mildly uncomfortable now, as though he might bolt. “Clearly,” he said, “that wasn’t necessary.”

Melissa laughed at that, and her eyes shone as she turned her attention back to Tricia. “The food is almost ready,” she said. “Women and children get to be first in line.”

By tacit agreement, they started toward the picnic area, where the huge grill was emitting delicious aromas, savory-sweet.

Tricia called to Sasha, who came reluctantly. She’d already made friends with some of the other kids, though they’d only been there a few minutes.

Melissa stayed at Tricia’s side while they waited their turns.

“What’s the occasion?” Tricia asked, taking in the crowds of people. She recognized most of them, but there were some strangers, too. “For the party, I mean?”

Melissa smiled. “My husband likes to bring people together,” she said. “The more, the merrier, as far as Steven’s concerned.”