Creed's Honor

by Linda Lael Miller

  “Precisely,” Natty said. Then she turned a warm smile on Sasha. “Dear, would you mind carrying in some of that nice firewood Conner brought by while I was in Denver? I think a cozy blaze would be just the thing, on a cold day like this.”

  Sasha hesitated, clearly aware that she was getting the bum’s rush so the adults could talk freely, but in the end she was too well-mannered to object. She gave an eloquent sigh and pounded upstairs to get her jacket. Carrying wood in from the shed out back would be chilly, splintery work.

  “All you have to do is sign on the dotted line, accepting Brody’s very generous terms, and we can get this thing rolling,” Carla said, slapping her portfolio down on Natty’s tablecloth and slipping out of her stylish coat.

  “Why were they so secretive in the beginning?” Tricia asked, barely scratching the surface of what she wanted to know. “Brody and Conner, I mean. You said the offers came through corporate attorneys.”

  “They did,” Carla said, taking a chair and briskly unzipping the portfolio, taking out a sheaf of documents. Again, Tricia had that disturbing sense of everything speeding up, reeling out of control, like some carnival ride gone berserk. “But each of them was trying to keep the other out of the loop—they weren’t out to deceive us in any way.”

  “But—”

  Sasha reappeared, wearing her coat, and headed outside to get the requested firewood, closing the door hard behind her.

  Both Natty and Tricia smiled.

  Carla merely started slightly and shook her head. Her expression said, Kids.

  “Did Brody happen to say why he wants River’s Bend and the drive-in?” Natty asked mildly.

  Carla smiled an oh-happy-day kind of smile, tapping the already tidy stack of papers against the table. “Does it matter?”

  Tricia thought about her dad, cutting the grass out at the drive-in for years after it closed, picking up litter over at the campground, teaching her to fish at the edge of the river. “Yes,” she said, very quietly. “It matters.”

  Carla reddened slightly. Hesitated.

  From the woman’s expression, a person would have thought Brody Creed intended to turn River’s Bend into a dumping ground for toxic waste.

  Carla held out the pen.

  Tricia ignored it.

  Outside, chunks of firewood could be heard striking the back porch.

  Carla sighed. “Brody wants to make the properties part of the Creed ranch,” she said, her eyes darting between Natty and Tricia. “That’s all.”

  Tricia kind of liked that idea. She’d always known, of course, that the old movie screen would have to come down; it was an eyesore. It was nice to imagine cattle and horses grazing there, meandering down to the riverside to drink.

  “Why did Conner try to buy it?” Natty asked.

  “You know how those two are,” Carla said, with another anxious little smile. “They—compete. It goes all the way back to—well—that scuffle over Joleen.”

  “Ancient history,” Natty said.

  “I guess so,” Carla agreed, uncertainly.

  “Joleen used to come here for piano lessons,” Natty recalled fondly. “Every Tuesday, after school. She was a spirited girl, there was no denying that, and she enjoyed playing games, too, always pushing the envelope when it came to flirting and boys. But she wasn’t cut out to marry Conner Creed, or live in Lonesome Bend for the rest of her life, and everybody knew it.”

  Everybody except, maybe, Conner, Tricia thought, with rising despair. Had Conner wanted to buy her land because he knew she meant to leave town as soon as the ink was dry on the contracts?

  “And we’re talking about seven figures, here,” Carla reminded everyone.

  Tricia sighed. Ah, yes. The money. Until she’d learned what Brody’s plans were, she’d been secretly afraid a housing development might be going in where the campground and the drive-in were now or, God forbid, one of those sprawling big box stores.

  “Right,” she said, knowing how pleased Joe would be that his long-range plans for his daughter’s financial well-being had paid off so handsomely. For him as much as for herself, Tricia picked up the stack of documents and read every word on every page.

  Sasha came through the back door, her little arms full of wood. “Can I come in now?” she asked. Her lower lip was protruding slightly, and her gaze was fiery. She didn’t like being sidelined. “It’s cold out there, you know.”

  “Yes,” Natty said, with a tiny smile. “You may.”

  Tricia read on. Everything seemed to be in order as far as Brody’s offer was concerned; he wasn’t asking for any improvements or upgrades and he was prepared to close at any time. Satisfied, Tricia signed beside each of the little stick-on arrows Carla had put in place ahead of time.

  Carla all but snatched up the documents, as if she thought Tricia might change her mind and cancel the deal. Only after the woman had tucked the papers into her portfolio and zipped the zipper did she speak. “Well, then, that’s done,” she said, clearly relieved. Rising, she stuck out a hand to Tricia. “Congratulations.”

  “Thank you,” Tricia murmured. Because her head was spinning a little—even considering taxes, the last of Joe’s debts and Carla’s commission, she was a wealthy woman—she didn’t get out of her chair.

  “I’ll just be on my way. I’ll call you with a choice of dates for the closing,” Carla said. Putting her coat back on proved an awkward enterprise, since she was evidently unwilling to lay the portfolio down and free both hands at once.

  “I’ll be out of town for a little over a week,” Tricia recalled. “Starting tomorrow. But you can reach me on my cell phone.”

  Carla smiled. “Eventually, yes,” she said.

  And, moments later, she was gone, back in her big real-estate agent’s car, driving away. Tricia frowned.

  “You don’t seem very happy,” Natty ventured, watching her.

  “I’m happy,” Tricia lied.

  One stubborn woman recognizing another, Natty didn’t press the point.

  CONNER WAITED UNTIL he was sure Tricia and the little girl had left for Denver the next morning, before stopping by to get Valentino.

  Natty, busy lording it over a crew of moving men, paused long enough to smile sadly and say, “We are going to miss that dog.”

  “I’ll take good care of him, Natty,” Conner answered. Sure, he’d been meaning to get a dog for a while, but he was doing somebody a favor here, wasn’t he? So why did he feel guilty, like he was kidnapping the critter or something?

  “I know,” Natty said softly, patting his arm distractedly. “I really thought Tricia would want to keep more of this stuff,” she confided. “Turns out she only wanted family photos and some of the china. She’s not much for things, though.”

  Word was all over town about Natty’s move to Denver, so Conner wasn’t surprised to find her sorting her belongings. Still, she was shedding a lot of memories, it seemed to him, right along with the figurines and the needlepoint pillows and the like. And she wasn’t wasting much time doing it.

  “What’s the big hurry, Natty?” Conner asked, without planning on saying anything of the sort.

  “Once I make a decision,” Natty replied, “I like to move on it. There’s nothing to be gained, in my opinion, by dillydallying.” She paused. “Don’t you agree?”

  “I don’t reckon it’s my place to agree or disagree,” Conner hedged. The dog, soon to be rechristened Bill, leaned heavily against his leg.

  Natty sighed and put her hands on her hips. She looked a little quaint, standing there in a flashy gold lamé running suit and sequined shoes. Bring on those big-city lights, her getup seemed to say. And let’s party!

  She also looked annoyed. “I declare, Conner Creed,” she said, causing him to rock back slightly on his boot heels, “for an intelligent man, you can be remarkably obtuse!”

  He blinked and, knowing all the while that he’d live to regret it, asked, “What are you talking about?”

  Natty looked back over one s
houlder, probably making sure the moving men were doing what she’d hired them to do, but her blue eyes had a chill in them when they landed on Conner again.

  The dog sighed and sat down.

  “I’m talking about Tricia,” Natty said, in a stage whisper. “And if you weren’t such a lunkhead, you’d have known that without asking!”

  Conner felt that sinking sensation again. It was as though the floor had suddenly turned to foam rubber. “What about Tricia?”

  “You know darned well what about Tricia,” Natty lectured. “Are you really, truly going to stand by and do nothing while she makes the biggest mistake of her life?”

  They were standing in the entryway.

  The moving men were listening in.

  So Conner took Natty lightly by the elbow and escorted her into the small parlor, where there were still plenty of chairs.

  Valentino slogged resolutely along, apparently resigned to go with the flow. There was something sad about that, to Conner’s mind—as if the dog knew he was being ditched and had decided not to fight it.

  “Sit,” he told the animal.

  “I beg your pardon?” Natty demanded, feathers ruffling right up.

  Conner chuckled. “I was talking to Bill, here,” he said.

  Natty frowned. “Bill?”

  “The canine formerly known as Valentino,” Conner explained.

  Natty sank into a prissy little chair. Now, there were tears in her eyes.

  Conner’s heart skittered up into his throat, because he hated it when women cried. He never knew what to do, or say.

  “It’s all so sad,” Natty said, after a short silence.

  Conner dropped to one knee, ruffled the dog’s ears to let him know he’d be okay, but he kept his gaze fastened on Natty McCall, an institution in Lonesome Bend. “What’s sad, Natty?” he asked, very quietly. “Leaving this house? If you don’t want to go, just say so, and I’ll have those guys packing up your stuff out of here in no time—”

  Natty interrupted him with a shake of her head. She dabbed at her eyes with a lace-trimmed hanky plucked from the pocket of her sparkly jacket. “It’s time for me to go,” she said.

  Something in her tone gave Conner a chill. “I hope you didn’t mean that the way it sounded,” he said carefully.

  “To Denver,” she clarified, with a moist giggle. “Conner, I’m an old woman, but I’m not so far gone that I don’t know passion when I see it, that I don’t know love.”

  “Whoa,” Conner said gravely. “Passion? Love? You’ve lost me again.”

  Natty shook her head, set her very small jaw. “Men,” she scoffed, her tone mild but her eyes fiery. “Are you just going to let Tricia move back to Seattle without even giving the two of you a chance?”

  Tricia’s plans to leave were never too far from his mind, but the facts had a way of pouncing on him when he wasn’t paying attention. He got to his feet, after murmuring a few soothing words to the dog.

  “I can’t make Tricia stay in Lonesome Bend, Natty,” he said quietly. “She’s a grown woman, with her own plans.” He paused, cleared his throat, remembering the ski-guy in the screen-saver picture. “Anyway, there’s somebody else in her life. Somebody she wants to get back to.”

  Natty waved a hand at him. “Nonsense,” she said. “Tricia is attracted to you, Conner. She told me so, just yesterday. In fact, she went so far as to confide that she’s been fooling herself about having a future with Hunter.”

  Conner didn’t know what to say to that. Tricia had responded to his kiss, he knew that, and every time they were in the same room, the air crackled. So they were attracted to each other? That was a far cry from being in love, and if all Conner had wanted from a woman was good sex, well, hell, there had never been any shortage of that.

  The problem was that Conner wanted a lot more than a bedmate. He wanted a full partner, a confidante, somebody he could trust with all those dusty old dreams of his. He wanted kids and dogs running every which way. He wanted a family.

  And he wasn’t willing to settle for less, even if it meant being alone for the rest of his life.

  “Bill and I had better get going,” he finally said, his voice gravelly. “We’re burning daylight.”

  With that, he crossed to Natty’s chair, bent and kissed her lightly on the forehead.

  “Goodbye, Natty,” he said. “If you need anything, anything at all, you just let me know.”

  She put a small hand on his coat sleeve, held on for a moment then let go.

  His last image of Natty McCall was of her sitting there in that slipper chair, dressed up like Elvis, her eyes that much bluer for the sorrow they held.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  TRICIA HAD BEEN IN SEATTLE for three full days when Diana finally shamed her into contacting Hunter.

  “If you won’t call or email the man,” Diana said, one morning when the two of them were sitting in her sunny kitchen, chatting and drinking coffee, “then go and see him in person. You can’t go on like this, Tricia.”

  Tricia sighed. “Like what?” she stalled. Since her and Sasha’s plane had landed on Wednesday afternoon—they’d waited only an hour for a jet-lagged Diana and Paul to arrive via Air France—it seemed as though every minute of her time had been occupied.

  While catching up, she and Diana had shopped for groceries, picked up dry cleaning, cooked together and pored over about a million digital photos of the new house in Paris.

  After much discussion, the couple had decided to put most of their things in storage and lease out their lovely suburban home in Seattle, rather than sell it. That meant sorting stuff, stuff and more stuff.

  “You seem—confused,” Diana said, after thinking about Tricia’s response for a few moments. “Or down, or something. For nearly two years, all you’ve talked about was Hunter this, and Hunter that, and I’ll bet you haven’t said three words about the man since you got here. That spells A-V-O-I-D-A-N-C-E, my friend. On top of that, you’re about to be debt-free and rolling in money, but you haven’t looked at a single storefront for that gallery you’ve wanted to open for as long as I’ve known you, or even checked out a condo, for that matter.”

  “We have been a little busy,” Tricia pointed out.

  “Tell me I’m right,” Diana said, undaunted. “You’ve seen the error of your ways. You’re about to dump the biggest loser. That’s why you’ve been so preoccupied, isn’t it? That and the cowboy Sasha can’t stop talking about?”

  Tricia sighed, raised and lowered her shoulders in a slow semblance of a shrug. “It’s just that so many things have happened lately,” she said, hoping Diana wouldn’t press the Conner issue. Fat chance.

  “Sasha says she saw him kiss you,” Diana said. “The cowboy, I mean.”

  “His name is Conner,” Tricia said. “And the kiss was just—a kiss. An impulse. We lost our heads.”

  “Sure you did,” Diana said, with a saucy little smile.

  Tricia blushed. “Okay, so maybe I enjoyed the kiss, all right?”

  Diana laughed. “Nothing wrong with that.”

  “There is something wrong with it,” Tricia argued, after looking around to make sure Sasha wasn’t within earshot, “if you’re technically involved with someone else.”

  “‘Involved’? You and Hunter? Give me a break. When was the last time you even saw the man, let alone had sex with him?”

  “Shhh!” Tricia scolded, color stinging her cheeks. “What if Sasha had heard that?”

  “Sasha,” Diana replied, “is in the garage helping her dad decide which set of golf clubs he wants to take to Paris.” She leaned forward slightly, her green eyes twinkling as she studied Tricia. “What about Conner? Come on, ’fess up—have you been to bed with him?”

  “Of course not,” Tricia said.

  “Pity,” Diana said. “You want to, though, don’t you?”

  “Diana.”

  “Don’t you?”

  Tricia groaned. “Okay,” she admitted grudgingly. “Yes. Maybe.”

/>   “‘Yes, maybe’? Now there’s a definitive answer. Either you want to hit the hay with this Conner dude, or you don’t.”

  Tricia looked away.

  “You do!” Diana exulted.

  Tricia forced herself to meet her friend’s gaze. “All right, I do,” she said. “Maybe.”

  “Maybe nothing,” Diana said. “You want him. And from the way Sasha described that kiss, he definitely wants you. So what’s the holdup?”

  “What’s the holdup?” Tricia echoed, frustrated and embarrassed. She felt as shy as she ever had as an adolescent. Any minute now, her teeth would sprout braces and her skin would break out. “I told you. I have to clear things up with Hunter first. And even if I—even if I do end up—” she lowered her voice to a near whisper “—going to bed with Conner Creed, it might not change anything.”

  “Oh, it’ll change something, all right,” Diana teased. Then she stood up, walked over to the desk in the corner, and came back with her purse. She rummaged through it and laid a set of keys on the table in front of Tricia. “As a general rule, I like to keep certain observations to myself, but this time, I’m making an exception. You’re acting just like your mother, Tricia.”

  A pang of recognition struck Tricia in that moment, so she went into immediate denial. “Oh, right. My mother is at an emotional remove from everything, including herself. She’s afraid to care about anything other than a natural disaster of some kind.”

  Diana simply sat back in her chair, folded her arms and said, “Isn’t that why you stuck it out with Hunter all this time? Because you could keep your distance and still enjoy the fantasy that you were in a real relationship?”

  Tricia blinked. “No,” she replied, but it took a beat too long. “For heaven’s sake, Diana, you make me sound like one of those women who marries a guy serving life in prison—”

  Diana arched an eyebrow, gave her head a slight shake. “I wouldn’t go that far,” she said. “But you’re scared of really connecting with a man—especially a man who, unlike Hunter, won’t settle for anything less. My guess is, the cowboy terrifies you.”