A Creed in Stone Creek

by Linda Lael Miller

  It was a long time ago, she thought. Let it go.

  Melissa was good at shaking things off—and it helped when she spotted Olivia and Tanner waltzing on the other side of the hall, lost in each other’s eyes, seemingly oblivious to the fast song the band was thrumming out and the dancers spinning and gyrating around them.

  Her sister and brother-in-law were happy together, as were Ashley and Jack and Brad and Meg. There was no antilove curse looming over the O’Ballivan family.

  When the band struck up a slow tune, Steven drew Melissa into his arms and claimed a space for them on the crowded dance floor.

  Melissa drew in the delicious, fresh-air-and-green-grass scent of his skin and hair. Reveled in the hard heat of him, though the sensation wasn’t about sexual attraction—though God knew there was plenty of that—but instead came from a sense of being protected and even cherished.

  Steven’s breath was like a balmy breeze against her ear. “I’m issuing a blanket apology, in advance,” he told her, with a note of laughter in his voice. “I’ve never been much of a dancer, and if I step on your feet, please assume it’s unintentional.”

  She smiled, tilted her head back to look up at him. She could see the underside of his chin, the strong line of his jaw, but only part of his face. By then, the memories of her youthful parents had been carefully folded and tucked away in the softest places in her heart.

  “You’re doing just fine,” she said.

  He drew back just far enough to look her full in the face. She saw tenderness in those periwinkle eyes of his, and something that glowed like light. “Thanks,” he replied.

  And they danced.

  Dan Guthrie passed, with Holly in his arms, and Melissa waited for the pang she usually got when she saw them together, but it didn’t come.

  When the song ended, the crowd parted, women laughing and fanning their flushed faces with their hands, men looking relieved to get a break from dancing.

  Dan and Holly, hands clasped, came right through the path that had opened for them and straight to where Melissa and Steven were standing.

  “Hello, Melissa,” Dan said, his tone solemn, his eyes fond as they rested on her for that first moment. His gaze almost immediately shifted to Steven, and he put out a hand, the way men do when they introduce themselves to a stranger, and added, “Dan Guthrie.”

  Steven accepted the handshake. “Steven Creed,” he replied. “Good to meet you.”

  Holly, a pretty thing, skinny except for the prominent baby bump pushing out the front of her cotton sundress, wore her blond hair pulled up into a ponytail that night. It bobbed near the top of her head. She couldn’t seem to stop smiling.

  Dan slipped an arm around Holly’s waist and said, “This is my wife, Holly.”

  Steven smiled and said hello.

  It was all so ordinary, Melissa thought. So comfortable.

  She and Dan might have been old friends, perhaps one-time classmates, instead of former lovers.

  “How are Michael and Ray?” Melissa asked, as Steven took her hand.

  Dan grinned proudly at the mention of his young sons. “They’re growing like weeds,” he said. “I swear, a bunkhouse full of hardworking cowpunchers couldn’t put away more food at a sitting than those two.”

  Melissa laughed, felt a whisper of tenderness deep in her heart, not for Dan, but for what they’d once had together, and for his children. She opened her mouth to make some comment she wouldn’t remember two seconds later, but a burst of happy laughter from near the entrance stopped her.

  Tom and Tessa had arrived, Tom looking handsome in civilian clothes—jeans and a nice Western shirt—Tessa exquisite in a sundress with a blue print and ruffles.

  Seeing Melissa, Tom grinned and pointed an index finger at her before pulling Tessa through the throng of Stone Creekers to approach the group.

  Dan and Tom shook hands, and the music started up again, compelling Dan and Holly to drift off into the swirl of sweaty noise and motion.

  Melissa and Tessa chatted briefly, but since conversation was almost impossible, they soon gave up.

  She sighed, looking up at Steven, as the other pair moved away. “They make a great couple,” she said.

  Steven responded with a nod and then they, too, were dancing again.

  After an hour or so, they stepped outside to get some fresh air and admire a sky full of stars. As the strains of a romantic ballad spilled from inside, Steven took Melissa into his arms and they waltzed in the shadows of the old building.

  His smile was tender as he looked down at her. “I warned you about my dancing, didn’t I?” he drawled.

  She laughed, enjoying the sheer masculinity he exuded, the controlled strength, the hard muscles of his arms and chest, the clean, woodsy scent of his cologne.

  “You’re doing just fine,” she told him.

  And they continued to dance, even between songs.

  For Melissa, it was a time out of time. They’d stopped, and she’d just tilted her head back for the kiss she knew was coming, when someone drove into the lot at top speed, tires flinging gravel in all directions.

  “What the hell—?” Steven muttered, still holding Melissa’s shoulders in his hands, but distracted now.

  She peered through the darkness, saw Martine, who worked over at the Stop & Shop, jump out of her beat-up sedan.

  “Help!” Martine yelled. “Somebody, help!”

  The music drowned out her voice, but Steven and Melissa heard her plaintive cry, and they rushed toward her.

  “Martine—” Melissa sputtered “—what on earth?”

  “There’s been a robbery!” Martine choked out. “A man wearing a ski mask—he took all the money in the till and made me open the safe—he had a gun—”

  “Breathe,” Melissa ordered, taking Martine’s hands.

  “I’ll get the sheriff,” Steven said from somewhere at the fringes of Melissa’s awareness, and she nodded without looking at him.

  “Are you hurt?” Melissa asked, and Martine shook her head, still half-hysterical.

  “No—I did what he said—there was nobody else in the store, thank God—”

  Melissa steered Martine, who was trembling violently by then, back to her car. Seated her on the passenger side.

  Tom arrived quickly, with Tessa and Steven and several other people following. Melissa moved aside, and Tom crouched next to Martine’s car, looking up into her pale face.

  “Tell me what happened,” he said gently.

  Martine repeated what she’d told Melissa. A man had come into the store, waving a gun and wearing a ski mask. She’d been so scared—certain he meant to kill her, he was so jittery—and she’d done what she was told. Given him all the money she had access to, including the contents of her own wallet.

  Tom asked if she’d recognized the man.

  Martine shook her head, bit down hard on her lower lip.

  “What?” Tom prompted, very quietly. “Tell me, Martine.”

  “I was practically out of my head with fear, but—but something made me look out the window—I guess I wanted to make sure he wasn’t coming back—and I saw him get into a car and drive off.” She paused again, looking miserably uncertain. “I can’t swear to it, Tom, but it sure looked like that old heap of Velda Cahill’s.”

  Melissa felt a tightening in the pit of her stomach.

  Dear God. Byron?

  Tom straightened, turned to Tessa. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice gruff.

  Tessa nodded, reached out to touch his arm. “I can get home on my own,” she said. “You be careful.”

  Call it a premonition, call it common sense. Whatever the feeling was, it washed over Melissa like ice-cold water.

  For now, maybe forever, the fun was over.

  STEVEN AND MELISSA took Tessa home, pulling into the alley behind the Sunflower Café, where an outside stairway led to the apartment upstairs.

  Leaving Melissa in the truck, Steven saw Tessa to her door, waited while she worked the
lock, leaned inside to switch on the living room lights. A visible shudder moved through her as she paused on the threshold.

  “It’s creepy,” she said. “Knowing a criminal might be running loose in Stone Creek, I mean.”

  “We could wait,” Steven offered. “Until your brother and his wife get here, at least.”

  “I’ll be all right,” Tessa replied quietly. “Olivia and Tanner won’t be long—they just wanted to go by their place and make sure the kids were okay.”

  Tessa might have been a lot of things, but “all right” wasn’t among them. She looked scared to death.

  “We wouldn’t mind hanging around for a while,” Steven reiterated.

  Tears glimmered in Tessa’s eyes. She sniffled and shook her head once, as though to fling away her fears. “This guy threatened Martine with a gun. What if—what if something happens to Tom—?”

  “He strikes me as the type who can take care of himself,” Steven said truthfully. “And, besides, he has deputies to back him up.”

  “If anything happened—” Tessa fretted, more to herself than to Steven.

  Steven didn’t answer. He wasn’t about to throw out a flippant “Don’t worry, everything will be all right” experience had taught him that that wasn’t necessarily so. Nor did he feel right about leaving quite yet.

  “I’ve never told Tom that I love him,” Tessa said, looking directly into his eyes. “What if I don’t get a chance to tell him?”

  Steven touched her arm. “What if you do?” he countered gently.

  Just then, another truck appeared in the alley below, sitting headlights-to-headlights with his own rig.

  “Looks like Tanner and Olivia are here,” Tessa said, with obvious relief.

  Melissa had gotten out of Steven’s rig to speak to them. The two women were embracing, while Tanner took the stairs two at a time.

  Steven nodded to him and stepped back, and Quinn pulled Tessa in for a quick, brotherly hug.

  “I’m all right,” Tessa insisted. Then she made introductions, and the two men shook hands.

  “Thanks for looking out for my sister,” Tanner said.

  Steven merely nodded, then headed down the steps. At the bottom, he met Olivia, Melissa’s sister, for the first time.

  Not a word passed between him and Melissa until they’d both gotten back into his truck and he’d backed out of the alley and onto a side street, coming to a stop at the only traffic light in Stone Creek.

  A right turn, and they would be headed for her place. A left, for his.

  Steven was torn. He didn’t want to leave Melissa alone, but suggesting that she spend the night with him didn’t seem right, either.

  “Where to?” he finally asked.

  “The courthouse,” Melissa said, not looking at him.

  She didn’t offer any further explanation, but Steven knew all too well why she wanted to go there. She meant to wait, either in her office or in Tom’s, until there was some kind of news.

  “Okay,” Steven agreed, and when the light finally changed, he turned neither left nor right, but drove straight through the intersection, headed for the parking lot behind the courthouse.

  The whole building was blazing with light, and Tom’s cruiser, along with two others, sat at angles from the main entrance, as though quickly abandoned. One of the motors was still making a ticking sound, in fact.

  A group of onlookers stood watching.

  “Showtime,” Melissa said, under her breath, without even a semblance of humor.

  Steven kept pace with her, nodding to various locals as he passed them.

  They reached the large glass doors, and he opened one of them, then waited while Melissa crossed the threshold.

  “You don’t have to stay,” she told him, when they were inside the corridor.

  Noise spilled from Tom’s office at the other end of the hallway—a woman was alternately sobbing and shrieking, and a dog, probably Elvis, was barking.

  Steven made no response.

  Melissa gave a small sigh of apparent resignation, and they walked toward the sheriff’s office.

  VELDA CAHILL REELED, wild-eyed, when Melissa stepped through the doorway, but the woman was looking past her, to Steven.

  “You’ve got to help my boy!” she cried. Word that he was a defense attorney must have gotten around.

  Melissa stiffened slightly, but that was the only outward indication she gave that she knew what was going to happen. In some strange way, she’d known it all along.

  Byron Cahill hadn’t lasted long on the outside. Most likely, she’d be filing charges of armed robbery against him by morning, if not before then.

  Steven spoke quietly to Velda; Melissa didn’t attempt to listen in. She exchanged glances with Tom Parker and then swung her gaze toward the old-fashioned cells at the back of the office.

  Byron sat on the cot in one of them, his head down, his hands hanging between his knees, fingers loosely intertwined. Elvis peered in at him, through the bars, reminding Melissa momentarily of one of the scenes in the Pirates of the Caribbean ride at Disneyland.

  “What happened?” Melissa asked, speaking to Tom but still watching Byron. She had a sinking feeling in her middle, and she knew the trouble went beyond the sure and certain knowledge that she and Steven would be on opposite sides of the coming fight.

  They were emotionally involved so, technically, anyway, she and Steven could not legally oppose each other in a courtroom.

  She could handle the prosecution, or Steven could defend Byron Cahill, but not both. One of them would have to withdraw.

  And it wasn’t going to be her.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  STANDING BESIDE MELISSA as she gazed at Byron Cahill through the bars of the cell, Tom explained what had happened after he’d spoken to Martine in the Grange Hall parking lot. He’d started for the Stop & Shop, intending to begin his investigation where the crime had taken place, and had nearly been hit by the Cahill car as it shot out of an alley.

  Tom had stuck his portable light on the roof of his personal vehicle and set it flashing, wishing he had a siren, too.

  The driver hadn’t slowed; in fact, if Byron hadn’t swerved to miss a cat running across the road in front of him, and pitched his mother’s car into the ditch in the process, the chase would still be on.

  “I didn’t do anything wrong,” Byron said, lifting his eyes at last, looking out at them with an expression so hopeless that Melissa felt that drowning sensation again, like a swimmer going under.

  “You didn’t stop when I pulled in behind you and turned on the light,” Tom reminded him calmly.

  “I was scared,” Byron answered. “I knew you wouldn’t believe me!”

  “Know why I don’t believe you, Byron?” Tom inquired, his tone smooth. Even. “Because on top of trying to outrun me, you happened to be carrying a ski mask and a backpack full of $5, $10 and $20 bills in the trunk of your car.”

  Melissa folded her arms. She didn’t want it to be true; if only for Andrea’s sake and for Velda’s, she’d hoped Byron would keep his nose clean. Make a new start.

  But the evidence was stacked against him.

  “If you didn’t rob the Stop & Shop,” she ventured, watching Byron’s faced closely, “who did?”

  Elvis made a slight whimpering sound, full of sympathy.

  Byron looked away. “I don’t know,” he said.

  Years of taking depositions and reading juries had taught Melissa to spot a lie, and Byron Cahill was definitely not telling the truth now.

  “Do we have a case?” Tom asked Melissa.

  It was a rhetorical question, of course.

  “I’m afraid so,” Melissa answered wearily. “I’ll file formal charges in the morning. In the meantime, since Mr. Cahill did his best to evade you when you tried to pull him over, it would be best to keep him here.”

  Byron was on his feet, knuckles white where he gripped the bars with both hands, looking past Melissa and Tom. “Can they do that?” he de
manded. “Can they hold me when no charges have been filed?”

  Steven joined the group in front of the cell. Melissa slanted a sideways glance at his face, through her lashes, but said nothing.

  “Depends,” Steven answered.

  “I can always file charges tonight,” Melissa told Byron crisply, “if that’s what you want.”

  Steven sighed.

  Byron spun away.

  “That went well,” Tom observed, leaning down to pat Elvis on the head.

  When Melissa turned around, she was surprised to see that Velda had left.

  “I asked Mrs. Cahill to wait in my truck,” Steven said. “I’m taking her home.”

  “That’s very nice of you,” Melissa said, without inflection.

  “You might as well go on home,” Tom interjected. “Both of you. There won’t be much going on here for the rest of the night.”

  Cautiously, Steven touched Melissa’s elbow. “I’ll drop you off at your place,” he said.

  “No, thanks,” Melissa replied lightly, but with an edge. “I’ll call someone.”

  A look passed between Steven and Tom. Tom walked away, whistled for Elvis, who remained in front of the cell, keeping watch over the prisoner.

  “I’d like a word with you, in private,” Steven told Melissa.

  Melissa gave one abrupt nod and followed Steven out into the corridor.

  She surprised herself by being the first one to speak. “You know damn well you can’t ethically defend Cahill,” she said, glaring up at him. “Not while I’m the prosecutor.”

  “And you do intend to prosecute?”

  “Of course I do,” Melissa answered impatiently. “It’s my job.”

  “Has it occurred to you that the kid might be innocent, just as he claims?”

  “He’ll have a public defender,” Melissa pointed out.

  “No,” Steven argued, his tone and his eyes stone cold. “He won’t.”

  “You can’t defend him, because—because of—”

  “Us?”

  “Yes,” Melissa said, fighting a humiliating urge to break down and cry.