A Creed in Stone Creek

by Linda Lael Miller

  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.

  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 Saturday 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.

  He parked the truck beside a spiffy replica of a 1954 MG Roadster, looking over one shoulder to admire it while he stood beside the rear passenger door of his new truck, helping Matt with all his fastenings.

  They walked Zeke, cleaned up after him and put him back in the truck, where he promptly curled up on the seat, with a big dog sigh, and resumed the nap he’d started earlier.

  Elaine Carpenter, owner and founder of Creekside Academy, greeted Steven and Matt at the front desk. She was an interesting character, Elaine was, her buzz cut at considerable variance with her ruffled cotton sundress and ankle-strap sandals.

  Steven introduced himself and Matt, since he’d never met Elaine in person, and she made serious business of leaning down, looking straight into the little boy’s eyes, and solemnly shaking his hand.

  “Welcome to Creekside Academy, Matt,” she said. “I know you’ll like it here.”

  Matt returned the handshake—and the solemn gaze. “I don’t suppose you allow dogs to come to school,” he ventured.

  Elaine smiled at Steven as she straightened, but her expression was regretful when she looked at Matt again. “Only on show-and-tell days, I’m afraid,” she said. She held out her hand to Matt, and he took it. “Let’s have a look around.”

  “Where is everybody?” Matt asked, not pulling away. “There are lots of cars in the lot, but I don’t see any kids around.”

  Elaine tilted her head toward a closed door, opposite her desk. Through the glass window, Steven saw several heads moving around, most of them female, but it was the sign taped beneath that caught his attention:

  PARADE COMMITTEE MEETING

  3:00 P.M.

  HELP US WELCOME MELISSA O’BALLIVAN

  TO OUR GROUP!

  Steven smiled.

  Guided by Elaine, he and Matt toured the day camp, checked out the mini-gym, the art room, the music room and the colorfully decorated classrooms.

  The place was kid-heaven, and Steven was impressed, though part of his mind didn’t make the journey but stayed right there in front of that door with the sign on it, coming up with all kinds of ways to welcome Melissa O’Ballivan—to all kinds of places.

  Like his bed, for instance.

  It was an inappropriate train of thought, for sure, but there you go.

  He was an adoptive father, settling his young son into a new community, introducing him to a new school.

  He was also a man, one who’d been alone too long.

  And Melissa was definitely a woman.

  By the time they’d gone full circle, Elaine wanted to meet Zeke in person, so to speak, since he must be a pretty magnificent dog, given the way Matt sang his praises.

  Elaine raised an eyebrow at Steven, who was lingering outside the community-room door. “Would that be all right?”

  Steven nodded, handed her the keys to his truck, so she could open the door and meet Zeke face-to-face.

  Matt, holding Elaine’s hand as he led the way outside, didn’t even look back at Steven. He was busy chattering on about life as he knew it. As they disappeared through the front doors, Matt was explaining how their barn had fallen down and there were rusty nails in it, and that it would mean a “titanic” shot if he stepped on one. As soon as the barn was fixed, he was saying, when the doors started to close behind him and Elaine, he was going to have his very own pony to ride.

  Steven waited until the woman and the boy had vanished. Then he drew a deep breath, pushed open the door with the sign taped to it and walked into the community room.

  Melissa was up front, clad in linen slacks and a matching top, her hair twisted and then clamped into a knot on top of her head with one of those plastic squeeze combs. She wore almost no makeup, but her toenails, peeking out of her simple sandals, were painted hot pink.

  It was harder to think of her as the county prosecutor when she looked like that, so he silently reminded himself that there was surely another side to the lady. She might appear soft and sexy, but in court, pushing for a guilty verdict, she’d be ruthless and barracuda-tough.

  Like Cindy.

  Noticing Steven, Melissa widened her eyes for a moment, then turned her attention back to the people filling the rows of folding chairs, studiously ignoring him.

  Steven took a seat in the back, watching her, struggling against a strange and not entirely unpleasant sensation that he was being reeled in, like a fish at the end of a line.

  Mentally, he dug in his heels. But the truth was that even from that distance, he could see the pulse pounding at the hollow of her throat. He wanted—hell, needed—to kiss her there.

  And a few other places.

  This is crazy, he told himself, and shifted in the chair, but
that didn’t help much.

  He folded his hands loosely in his lap, as a camouflage maneuver, and listened to Ms. O’Ballivan as earnestly as if she’d been conducting a White House press conference.

  “I’m counting on all of you to follow through with your original plans,” Melissa said, in the process of bringing the gathering to a close, it would seem. “We have less than a month until Rodeo Days start, but after reviewing all your presentations, I think we have a handle on the situation. Questions?”

  A plump woman near the front raised a hand.

  “Yes, Bea?” Melissa responded pleasantly.

  “I’d just like to remind everyone about the rule we instituted last year, concerning the use of toilet tissue in place of crepe-paper streamers on some of the more—creative floats.” Bea stood and made a slow half turn, sweeping the spectators up in one ominous glance. “Toilet tissue is in very bad taste and it has been banned in favor of good old-fashioned crepe paper.”

  No one argued the point, but when Bea faced front and sat down, there were a few subtle raspberries from the crowd.

  Seeing the expression on Melissa’s face, Steven wanted to laugh out loud.

  Talk about somebody who didn’t want to be where she was.

  He raised his hand.

  “Mr. Creed?” Melissa acknowledged, blushing slightly.

  “Steven,” he corrected. “Are you still looking for volunteers?”

  CHAPTER SIX

  ARE YOU STILL LOOKING for volunteers?

  Melissa narrowed her eyes at Steven Creed for a moment, wondering what the heck he was up to. Wondering what he was even doing at the Parade Committee meeting in the first place.

  Okay, sure, he was new in town, and he’d said something in her office the day before about helping out. Joining groups was a good way of getting acquainted with the locals, and all that, but, still. Could he really be all that concerned about whether or not toilet paper could be used to bedeck floats in the Fourth of July parade?

  “I guess,” she said, well aware that her tone was lackluster.

  A low, speculative murmur moved through the crowd.

  Stone Creek liked to think of itself as a friendly place, extending a ready welcome to newcomers, and it was.

  Mostly.

  Steven Creed merely grinned, probably enjoying Melissa’s discomfort, though only in the kindest possible way, of course.

  And he waited for the proverbial ball to bounce back into his court.

  Melissa worked up a smile. “Sure,” she said. “We can always use another volunteer—can’t we, people?”

  Everybody clapped.

  “Okay,” Melissa went on, wobbly-smiled, ready to bring this thing in for a landing so she could go home, weed her tomato plants, dine on canned soup or something equally easy to prepare and curl up in the corner of her couch to read. “Remember—we’re doing a walk-through next Saturday afternoon, in the parking lot behind the high school. Nobody bring an actual float, though. We’ll be tweaking the marching order, that’s all.”

  There were nods and comments, but the meeting was finally over.

  Melissa collected her purse and her clipboard, hanging back while the dozen or so parade participants and general committee members meandered out.

  Steven Creed didn’t leave with them.

  He stood near the door now, watching her, his arms folded, a twinkle in those summer-blue eyes.

  Hoping he’d just go because, frankly, she didn’t have the first idea how to deal with him, Melissa nodded, coolly cordial, and got busy folding up the chairs and stacking them against the far wall.

  Steven remained. In fact, he helped her put away the chairs.

  “I didn’t expect to run into you here,” she said, when the work was done and there was no avoiding looking at him.

  “Matt starts day camp here on Monday, so I brought him out for a tour,” he explained, just as the boy appeared behind him, half dragged by the sheepdog she’d seen them with that morning, at the Sunflower.

  Elaine Carpenter, J.P.’s daughter and a friend of Melissa’s, brought up the rear, smiling.

  “Ms. Carpenter said I could show Zeke the inside of the school building,” Matt told his father. “So far, he likes it.”

  He was such a cute kid, and so bright. Just looking at the little guy made Melissa’s biological clock tick audibly. And here she’d thought the battery was dead.

  Seeing Melissa, Matt beamed at her and said hello.

  Melissa relaxed a little, though she was still conscious of the man standing so nearby that she could actually feel the hard warmth of his body.

  Okay, maybe she’d just assumed the “hard” part. It wasn’t difficult to make the leap, since he looked so lean and yet so muscular…

  What was it about him that set off all her internal alarm bells?

  “Hello, again,” she told the child.

  “We’re staying in your brother’s tour bus,” Matt told her exuberantly. “He says you’ve got a twin sister, but the two of you don’t look anything alike.”

  Melissa smiled, nodded. “Ashley and I are fraternal twins,” she said.

  The boy frowned, holding Zeke’s leash in both hands to restrain the animal. “What’s fraternal?” he asked.

  Steven Creed’s eyes twinkled at that, and his mouth had a “you’re-on-your-own” kind of hitch at one corner.

  Not about to explain the fertilization process to a child, Melissa brightened her smile and replied, “I think you should ask your dad about that.”

  “My real dad died,” Matt said, wiping that smile right off her face. “But I could ask Steven.”

  Melissa saw pain mute the twinkle in Steven’s eyes, and she felt a twinge of regret. J.P. had mentioned that the child was adopted, but she’d forgotten. “Oh,” she said.

  “We haven’t exactly worked out what I should be called,” Steven told her.

  Elaine had already left the room by that time, so it was just the three of them and, of course, the dog.

  Melissa felt a strange, hollow ache in her throat. This time, she couldn’t even manage an “Oh.”

  For the next few moments, the room seemed to pulse, like a quiet heartbeat.

  Then Steven smiled at her and said, “I’ve never helped out with a parade before, but I’m pretty good with a hammer and nails.”

  “It’s kind of you to offer,” Melissa said, finding her voice at last.

  “Do you want to come out to our place and have supper?” Matt asked her, out of the blue.

  Steven looked a little taken aback, though he had the good grace not to come right out and say it wasn’t a good idea.

  Melissa was oddly reluctant to see Steven Creed go, even though she hadn’t wanted him there in the first place.

  He was just too—much. Too good-looking. Too sexy. Too lots of things.

  All of which worked together to make her say the crazy thing she said next.

  “What if you and your—you and Mr. Creed—came to my house for supper, instead?” I’m not the greatest cook in the world, Melissa thought to herself, but my sister is, and I’m willing to raid her freezer for an entrée even though it means risking another encounter with a naked croquet team.

  Matt giggled, probably at the reference to “Mr. Creed,” and then swung around to look up at the man standing behind him.

  “Can we?” he asked eagerly. “Please?”

  Steven’s smile seemed a touch wistful to Melissa; he probably thought she’d suggested supper at her place to be polite, as a way of letting him off the hook for the impulsive invitation Matt had issued.

  He’d be right, if he thought that, Melissa concluded, but she still hoped he’d say yes. And it surprised her how much she hoped that.

  “Six o’clock?” Melissa added, when Steven still hesitated.

  He sighed, looked down at Matt, shook his head. “We didn’t leave the lady with much choice now, did we?” he said to the boy.

  “It would be nice to have company,” Melissa hear
d herself say. Her voice was softer than usual, and a little tentative. It came to her that she was going to be very disappointed if Steven refused, which was just one more indication that she was losing her ever-loving mind, since she should have been relieved. “And it’s no trouble. Really.”

  That last part was certainly no lie. She’d snitch one of the culinary triumphs Ashley always kept on hand, in case of God knew what kind of food emergency, slip some foil-covered casserole dish into the oven at her place, and gladly accept all the accolades.

  Without actually claiming the cooking credit, of course. If anybody asked, she wouldn’t lie. If they didn’t ask, on the other hand, why say anything at all?

  Steven still looked troubled, but Melissa could tell that he wanted to take her up on the offer, too, and that knowledge did funny things to her heart.

  “How else are you going to get to know people in Stone Creek,” Melissa urged, starting toward the door as though supper were a done deal, “if you don’t let them feed you? It’s the way we country folks do things, you know. Your best bull dies? We feed you. Your house burns down? We feed you. Not that being new in town falls into that kind of category—”

  Why was she rattling on like this, making an idiot of herself?

  At last, Steven made a decision. “Okay, six o’clock,” he said. “Can we bring anything?”

  Matt let out a whoop of delight, and the dog joined the celebration with a happy bark.

  “Just bring yourselves,” Melissa said.

  Steven, Matt and the dog followed her out into the brightness of afternoon. Splotches of silver and gold sunlight danced and flickered on the waters of the creek as they burbled by.

  A smile flashed in Steven’s eyes when Melissa tossed her purse and clipboard into the passenger seat of her roadster.

  “That’s some ride,” he said. “I was admiring it earlier.”

  The remark seemed oddly personal, as though he’d commented on the shape of her backside or the curve of her breasts or the scent of her hair.

  And Melissa was immensely pleased.