Creed's Honor

by Linda Lael Miller

  Conner gave a raspy laugh, without a trace of amusement in it. “Half of this place is legally yours,” he reminded his twin. “Remember?”

  “And I feel about as welcome here as a case of whooping cough on a transatlantic flight,” Brody replied. He set his coffee aside and leaned back against the counter, folding his arms. “We’ll share the rangeland—if I’m going to run cattle, I’ll have to put them someplace. Otherwise, you can keep to your side of the river and I’ll keep to mine and that’ll be that.”

  Conner opened his mouth. Closed it again. Shoved a hand through his hair. “You’re crazy,” he said, at length.

  Again, Brody chuckled. “So I’m told,” he said. “But the prodigal son is home for good, little brother, and you’d better start getting used to the idea.”

  “I’ll believe it when I see it,” Conner snapped. He didn’t dare hope Brody meant to stay—it would hurt too damn bad when he changed his mind and took off again.

  “Start believing,” Brody said. “Unless you slow things down by making a pissing match out of this, I’m going to buy that land, Conner. I’ll live in that chicken coop Joe McCall called a lodge until spring, and then I’ll start on the house and barn. I want something to leave to my kids when I die. A legacy, you might say.”

  For a long moment, Conner just stared at his brother, at this confounding version of himself, and then he said, “You have kids?”

  Brody laughed. “Not that I know of,” he replied. “But I’m capable of making some, when the time and the woman are right.”

  “With Joleen?” Conner asked. In the next instant, he wished he’d bitten off his tongue first.

  “I’ve already told you,” Brody said, serious again. “Joleen is just a friend. And frankly, I’m a little surprised at the way you keep bringing up her name. I would have sworn you were taken with Tricia McCall.”

  Conner swallowed hard. Felt his neck go red and the blood pound under his cheekbones. “If that’s what you think,” he seethed, “why haven’t you made a move on her?”

  Brody sighed. It was a heavy sound, and bleak.

  Conner was almost convinced.

  “You think I’d do a thing like that?” Brody asked. “I know you would,” Conner shot back, grabbing his jacket off the hook beside the back door. “From experience.”

  “Conner—”

  “Buy the land,” Conner broke in furiously. “Build your house and your barn and run all the cattle you want to, but, for once in your life, Brody, keep your word. Stay on your own side of the river.”

  Brody raised both hands, palms out. The look in his eyes might have been pain. More likely, it was just good acting.

  “Have it your way,” he said.

  And Conner slammed out, got into his truck. His stomach rumbled, almost as loudly as the motor.

  He’d get lunch in town, he decided.

  “DIANA?” TRICIA SAID, smiling into the mouthpiece of her cell phone. She was standing in front of her kitchen stove in the apartment, making grilled cheese sandwiches for Sasha, Natty and herself.

  “Hello!” Diana chimed. “How is my lovely child?”

  “Lovely,” Tricia answered, with a fond glance at Sasha. She and Valentino were playing nearby, with the blue chicken Tricia had bought for the dog just after she got him.

  “Did she tell you we found the perfect house—not a flat, mind you, but a house? It’s a five-minute walk from the nearest Metro stop, and the neighborhood is simply wonderful. There’s even a park across the street.”

  “It sounds great,” Tricia said.

  Diana was quiet for a few moments. “So much for wild enthusiasm on your part,” she said, sadly but gently.

  “I’m going to miss all of you,” Tricia said. “But I’m happy for you. I truly am.”

  “I know,” Diana responded. Then her voice brightened. “Listen, here’s the plan. Paul and I arrive in Seattle on Wednesday. You and Sasha can meet us there, and we’ll all have a grand old time together.”

  “I have a dog now,” Tricia said, and then marveled at her own inanity. She’d been off-kilter ever since she’d found out about the offers for River’s Bend and the drive-in.

  “Bring the dog, then,” Diana said.

  “And a great-grandmother,” Tricia added.

  Diana laughed. “Bring her, too.”

  Tricia sighed. Dragging her great-grandmother onto an airplane was out of the question, and so was making Valentino ride in the cargo hold.

  Her mind raced. Carolyn already had a housesitting job, but maybe she knew somebody who could come and stay in the apartment for a week or so, taking care of Valentino and keeping an eye on Natty at the same time.

  After all, the properties were as good as sold. There would be money soon, and plenty of it.

  Shouldn’t she be looking at condos in Seattle? Checking out possible sites for her art gallery?

  And, oh, yeah, maybe seeing Hunter?

  Strangely, the man had slipped her mind entirely.

  “Tricia?” Diana asked.

  “If I can find someone to take care of Valentino and look out for Natty while I’m away, I’ll come,” Tricia decided aloud. “If not, I suppose Sasha would be all right flying alone, the way she did on the way out here. Or I could accompany her to Seattle and then turn right around and come back home—”

  “I thought Seattle was home,” Diana said.

  Tricia bit her lip. “It is,” she said, but not right away.

  Diana caught the hesitation, but she refrained from comment. “Text me if you can get a dog-and-grandmother sitter,” she said. “If necessary, either Paul or I will make a stop in Denver to connect with Sasha. We didn’t think we’d worry, letting her fly by herself, but we did.”

  Tricia closed her eyes for a moment, realized the grilled cheese sandwiches were scorching, grabbed a pot holder and pushed the skillet off the burner. “I’ll text you as soon as I can,” she told her friend.

  Sasha, having abandoned Valentino and the blue chicken, was already at her side. Her eyes glowed, and she was all but jumping up and down.

  “Here’s your daughter,” Tricia said to Diana, and then she handed over the phone.

  CONNER DROVE PAST Natty McCall’s house three times, thinking up a new excuse for dropping in on every pass. He didn’t have wood to deliver, and Natty hadn’t called to say she was afraid the pipes might freeze.

  Bottom line: He just wanted to see Tricia again.

  Figure out some way to make up for the way he’d treated her the day before, on the trail ride. At least, that way, they could part friends.

  Going around the block for the fourth time, he came up with an excuse, if not an explanation for behaving like a jerk out there on the range. Tricia had mentioned wanting to find a home for the dog, what’s-his-name. He’d had it up to here with living alone. If she hadn’t changed her mind in the meantime, he’d offer to take the critter in.

  He parked the truck in front of Natty’s place, instead of pulling into the driveway as he usually did, and sat there for a minute, just to give himself a chance to think better of the idea and drive away. Silently, he rehearsed his speech about the dog.

  Damn if he could think of any reason for yesterday’s rudeness, though. The truth—that he was attracted to Tricia and wanted a chance to see if that would go anywhere—was flat-out unsayable. And anything else would be a lie.

  Finally, Conner shut off the truck, shoved open the door and got out. He’d bought himself a hamburger at the drive-through, and it felt like a fieldstone in his stomach. He tugged at one jacket cuff and then the other. Squared his shoulders and pointed himself toward the outside staircase. He made the climb fast, because with every step he wanted to turn around and flee before anybody saw him playing the fool in Natty McCall’s front yard.

  He knocked at the glass in Tricia’s door. Saw her and the little girl through the oval window; they were a pair of murky shapes, like they were underwater.

  Tricia opened the door.


  The smell of burned food roiled out and surrounded him.

  “Conner,” she said, like he was the last person she’d expected—or wanted—to see. The dog appeared at her side, giving an uncertain woof and then sniffing at the leg of his jeans.

  The animal’s name came back to him in that oddly disjointed moment. Valentino. That was way too fruity a handle for a cowboy’s dog. Maybe he’d call him Bill.

  Slowly, Tricia stepped back out of the doorway, so Conner could come in.

  “Hi, Conner,” Sasha chirped, from the table. “We were supposed to have grilled cheese for lunch, but Tricia wrecked the first batch, so we’re eating peanut butter and jelly instead. Want some?”

  “Sasha,” Tricia scolded softly.

  “It’s all right,” Conner said, finding his voice at last. It was a discovery he’d soon regret. “I just stopped by to see if you still planned on giving away this dog.”

  All the eager welcome drained out of Sasha’s face in a single moment, and Conner was terrified that she was fixing to cry. There was only one thing worse than a woman shedding tears, in his estimation, and that was a child shedding tears. Particularly a girl child.

  By contrast to the little kid, Tricia looked as though she might cuss him out, breathe fire on him, or maybe brain him with the skillet that was still smoking a little, there in the sink.

  She must have decided that none of those options were viable, with Sasha around anyway, because she just stood there, glaring at him, and didn’t move or speak at all.

  He dug up a grin. Finally remembered to take off his hat.

  “I guess that was a little blunt,” he allowed.

  Tricia’s cheeks were bright pink, and her blue eyes flashed. “Ya think?” she said.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  TRICIA REMINDED HERSELF that Conner Creed was a guest in her home, albeit an uninvited one, and hadn’t she just told Diana over the telephone that she would fly over to Seattle on Wednesday if she could be sure both Valentino and Natty would be all right during her absence?

  Her great-grandmother’s care remained a problem, but Tricia knew in her very bones that Valentino would be fine in Conner’s care. Half the dilemma solved.

  “Sit down,” she told him, her tone clipped. Then, addressing Sasha, Tricia forced a wobbly smile and said, “Do you suppose Natty is ready to have some lunch now? Would you mind checking with her, please?”

  Sasha was flushed, and there was a rebellion brewing in her normally clear eyes.

  Valentino, having skulked under the table by then, let out a worried little whimper.

  Conner sat down, after shooting an unreadable glance at Tricia, and bent to peer under the tabletop and speak quietly to the dog. “There, now, buddy,” he said. “Don’t be scared. Nobody’s gonna hurt anybody.”

  As tough and masculine as he was, Conner’s voice sounded almost fatherly, comforting Valentino like that.

  “Go,” Tricia told Sasha.

  Sasha got to her feet, but she was none too happy about obeying, that much was plain to see. “Mom said you could bring Valentino to Seattle!” she reminded Tricia, but she was on her way toward the inside stairs.

  “Seattle is a city,” Tricia told the little girl quietly, and very gently. This outburst, she knew, wasn’t entirely about the dog. Sasha was realizing a lot of things, like how far away Paris actually was, and how different her life would be there. The move, probably just an abstraction to her before, was taking on substance now. “Valentino will be happier on a ranch.”

  “No, he won’t!” Sasha cried. “He’ll know you went off and left him!” With that, she bolted, clattering down the inside staircase.

  Tricia closed her eyes, praying the child wouldn’t fall and hurt herself.

  “Well,” Conner said, after clearing his throat, “now I wish I’d kept my mouth shut about the dog.”

  “Me, too,” Tricia said, with icy sweetness. A part of her still wanted to wring the man’s neck but, fortunately, good sense and civility prevailed. “Valentino needs another place to live,” she said carefully, moving to stand behind the chair opposite Conner’s and gripping its back so hard that her knuckles ached. “If you promise he’ll be loved, not just tolerated—that you won’t make him live outside or in the barn or anything like that—he’s yours.”

  Tricia had to turn her head then, since she felt as though the words had been coated with hot wax, pressed into her flesh and then ripped away. Merely saying them had left a raw sting in her throat.

  She heard Conner’s chair slide back and then he was in front of her, taking a firm but gentle hold on her shoulders, the blue of his eyes practically burning into her face.

  “Dammit,” he rasped, on a single hoarse breath. And then, just like that, Conner kissed Tricia—hard and deep and with a thoroughness that left her gasping when he drew back.

  Even after the fact, lightning continued to bolt through Tricia, fairly fusing her feet to the floor. She stared at him, amazed by what he made her feel. By what he made her want.

  “No,” she heard herself say. And she had no earthly idea what she was talking about, or who she was talking to, exactly. It might have been Conner, it might have been herself, it might have been the universe as a whole. “No.”

  Conner’s gaze softened unexpectedly and a smile kicked up at the corner of his mouth as he brushed her cheek with a touch so light and so fleeting that it might have been a soft summer breeze instead of a caress.

  He was smiling. He’d just rocked her world, and he was smiling.

  A passionate rage rose up inside Tricia, fierce and delicious, and there was no telling what she might have said to that man if Natty hadn’t appeared at the top of the stairs at that exact moment, her breathing rapid and a little shallow, one be-ringed hand pressed to her chest.

  “Good heavens,” Natty said, when she could speak. “What’s the matter with Sasha? Why, the child is practically hysterical!”

  Stricken with alarm, Tricia started toward Natty, meaning to take her arm and help her to a chair, but Conner got there first. He sat the old woman down and went straight to the sink to run a glass of water for her.

  Even in that fractured moment, Tricia had to admire his presence of mind. He was so calm.

  Natty sat fluttering one hand in front of her face. “I’m fine,” she insisted. “It’s Sasha who needs tending.”

  Tricia’s gaze collided with Conner’s, over Natty’s head, then ricocheted away, like a bullet.

  “I’ll see to Sasha,” she said quietly.

  Conner gave a nod, his face grim, and brought Natty the glass of water.

  Tricia found her goddaughter in Natty’s pantry, sitting on the floor between the built-in flour bin and a ten-pound sack of potatoes, her face buried in her hands.

  “Sweetheart,” Tricia said softly, crouching. Reaching out to touch the child.

  But Sasha must have been peeking between her fingers, because she knew the touch was coming and jerked away to avoid contact. Sobs racked the little girl, causing her shoulders to shake, and she was making an awful wailing sound, woven through with threads of pure, childlike despair.

  “Go away!” she almost shrieked.

  Tricia shifted to her knees, facing her best friend’s daughter. “Sasha, honey—please listen to me—”

  “No! I don’t want to listen, I want to cry! Leave me alone!”

  Tricia wasn’t going anywhere. The hard floor made her knees ache, so she sat cross-legged on the pantry floor, facing Sasha, prepared to wait the child out, no matter how long that might take.

  Having already expended considerable energy, Sasha soon began to wind down. The sobs became sniffles, and then hiccups, and finally, after what seemed like a very long time, she lowered her hands and looked at Tricia with red-rimmed, swollen eyes.

  “Everything is changing,” Sasha said, her voice so small that Tricia barely heard her, even in that small space. “I’m tired of things changing!”

  Tricia spotted a roll of paper tow
els within easy reach on a low shelf and picked it up. Tore away the plastic wrapper and handed Sasha a sheet.

  “I know,” she said tenderly. “Same here. Blow.”

  Sasha wadded up the paper towel and blew her nose into it.

  “Sometimes it’s really hard when things change,” Tricia said. She drew a deep breath, let it out. “You’re going to love Paris, Sasha,” she went on. “You’ll make new friends and see wonderful things and learn more than you can even imagine right now. Best of all, your mom and dad will be right there with you, the whole time, loving you and keeping you safe.”

  Sasha pondered all that. Crumpled the used paper towel in one hand. At considerable length, she asked, “What if Valentino doesn’t like being a ranch dog?”

  Tricia moved to sit beside her. Slipped an arm around the child, but loosely, because the moment was fragile and so was this beloved child. “He will,” she said. “Valentino’s going to be a very big dog one of these days, Sasha. And big dogs need space to run. Plus, he’ll enjoy riding around in Conner’s truck and all the rest of it.”

  “There are dog parks in Seattle,” Sasha wasted no time in reminding her. “And lots of people have big dogs. It’s not as if they’re illegal or anything.”

  “Valentino would be alone in some condo all day, honey, while I worked. He’d be lonesome and bored and he wouldn’t get enough exercise.” Tricia paused, surprised at how attached she’d become to that silly dog in such a short time. “Trust me, if I could offer him a choice, he’d take the ranch life, any day.”

  Sasha drew up her knees and rested her forearms on them. “Don’t you want to keep him, even the littlest bit?”

  “I’d love to keep Valentino,” Tricia replied. “But we’re not talking about what I want, here, Sasha. We’re talking about what’s best for a growing dog.”

  Sasha turned to her, looked up at her with tired eyes, and dropped a bombshell. “You could marry Conner, and then you and Valentino would both live on the Creed ranch. That would be the perfect solution.”