“Did you see Trooper?”
“Hunter,” Tricia corrected, with amused patience.
“Hunter, then,” Natty conceded, with good-natured impatience. “Did you see him?”
“Yes,” Tricia said. “I saw him.”
“And?”
Tricia laughed. “And we decided to go our separate ways,” she answered.
“My dear,” Natty told her, “you and Hunter went your separate ways a long time ago.”
Tricia closed her eyes for a moment. Thought of her mother. And it spilled out of her then, without her ever intending for it to happen. “Do you think I’m like Mom?” she blurted.
Natty was quiet, an unusual situation in and of itself. “In what way, dear?” she asked, at long last. “Physically, you’ve always been more like your father—”
“You’re stalling,” Tricia accused. “Diana said I was only interested in Hunter because he was unavailable, and therefore safe, and that allowed me to keep my distance and still claim to be in a relationship. Is that how it was with Mom and Dad?”
Again, Natty hesitated. Then she spoke decisively, but with her usual gentleness. “Your father was available. That was the problem, for your mother. I don’t think she was comfortable being close to another human being.”
Including me, Tricia thought, rueful.
“You mustn’t blame Laurel,” Natty said quickly. “She was doing the very best she could. She was raised in foster homes, remember. Joe always said she tried, and I believed it, too.”
Tricia, standing all this time, made her way to a chair and dropped into it. Shut her eyes tightly against the memory of all those lonely days and nights, when her mother had been working, working, working, while her daughter made do with nannies and babysitters and housekeepers.
“Her best wasn’t all that terrific, Natty.”
“I know that, sweetheart,” Natty replied softly. “And it’s unfortunate. Nevertheless, there is only one way to deal with something like this, and that’s to make up your mind to do better, in your turn, than poor Laurel did.”
By that time, Tricia could only nod. She wasn’t crying, but she was definitely choked up. She’d resented her mother for so long, yet now she felt sorry for her.
And happy about Harvey.
Once the conversation with Natty was over, Tricia returned to her computer. Made her way back into Laurel’s effusive email.
Harvey was a doctor, Laurel had written. He was funny and strong and she loved him with all her heart. They’d gotten married on a recent and apparently brief sabbatical in Barcelona and sincerely hoped Tricia wouldn’t mind that she’d missed the wedding.
It had all happened so quickly.
Tricia smiled as she studied the photo for a second time. Then she hit reply and began her response, starting with, “Congratulations!”
After that, well aware that she was procrastinating, Tricia read Diana’s emails, both of which were comfortingly mundane, and then Sasha’s. The child reported that she was already learning French, so she could start making new friends right after the family arrived in Paris.
Finally, Tricia turned to Hunter’s emails. She considered deleting them, unopened, but decided that that would be cowardly. They weren’t enemies, after all. Just two people who didn’t belong together.
The first message contained a long and involved explanation of how lonely he’d been, after she’d left Seattle. Tricia nodded as she read.
Six more emails followed, all of them much shorter, thankfully, and progressively less woeful. In the final one, clearly an afterthought, he said he wished her well and hoped they could get together for a friendly dinner if and when she returned to Seattle.
Tricia sent off a lighthearted reply and went offline.
Glancing up at the window, she saw that the snow was coming down harder and faster, the flakes feathery and big. Later, she’d walk Valentino again, she decided, and this time, she’d be careful not to let him off his leash before they were safely inside the apartment again.
One thing was for sure, she thought, with a sigh, looking around her small, well-organized kitchen.
She needed something to do. The leisurely life was not for her.
It gave her too much time to think.
HIS TRUCK WAS GONE.
Conner stood in the driveway, Tricia’s forgotten suitcase at his feet, shaking his head in consternation.
Damn Brody, anyhow. It was just like him to take off in somebody else’s rig, without so much as a howdy-do, and leave his own rusted bucket of bolts behind in its place.
Conner picked up the suitcase and gave Brody’s old pickup a rueful once-over. The tires looked low, the back bumper was held in place by grimy duct tape, and the rear window was so cracked that the glass was opaque.
He swore under his breath. Brody wasn’t a poor man, no more than he was. He could afford to drive a decent vehicle—he was buying the McCall properties for a huge chunk of cash, after all—but, no. A modern-day saddle bum, Brody liked to look the part.
Except when he was heading for Tricia’s place, bringing back her dog. He’d wanted Conner’s truck for that. Conner’s clothes and haircut, too.
The realization stung its way through him like a jolt of snake venom. Made him swear again, but with a lot more vehemence this time.
Brody knew he was interested in Tricia. Was it happening again? Was that even possible?
“That’s crazy!” Conner said out loud, but he tossed Tricia’s suitcase into the back of that beat-up old truck just the same and, seeing that Brody had left the keys in the ignition, he plunked down behind the wheel. After a few grinding wheezes, the engine started, and he pointed that rig toward town.
The drive was short, but it gave him enough time to cool down.
Brody wasn’t above betraying him, as history proved, but Tricia was another kind of person entirely. She wasn’t like Brody and she wasn’t like Joleen, either—she had her share of hang-ups, like everybody else on the planet, but she didn’t play games with people’s heads.
Or their hearts.
He knew that much about her, if little else.
When he pulled up in front of Natty’s place, there was no sign of Brody or of Conner’s truck. But Tricia and the dog were in the front yard, Valentino was on his leash and Carolyn was there, too, smiling, with both hands shoved into the pockets of her coat. Flurries of snow swirled around both women, like capes in motion.
Conner sat for a moment, before shutting off the engine and getting out of Brody’s sorry-looking rig.
Carolyn and Tricia had been engaged in conversation before, but now they turned to look at him as he crossed the sidewalk and stepped onto the lawn. The difference in their expressions was something to see—Tricia looked shy but pleased, Carolyn stunned. She even took a step backward.
Conner recalled how she’d split herself off from the rest of the people on the trail ride Sunday afternoon, out at the ranch, and realized that she thought he was Brody—probably because of the truck.
He started to speak, wanting to put the woman at ease by identifying himself, but before he got a word out, Valentino broke free of Tricia’s grip on his leash and bolted toward him, barking gleefully, the strand of nylon dragging through the dying grass behind him.
Three feet shy of slamming right into him, the dog leaped through the air like a circus performer and Conner barely had time to brace himself before twenty-plus pounds of squirmy canine landed in his arms.
He laughed, scrambling to hold on to the dog so it wouldn’t fall. The wonder was that both of them didn’t hit the ground.
Tricia hurried over, her eyes shining, her cheeks the same shade of pink they’d been after she’d had the umpteenth orgasm that morning, in his bed. “Valentino!” she scolded lovingly. “Bad dog!”
Conner set Valentino down and shoved a hand through his hair. In his hurry to reach Tricia, he’d forgotten his hat and, come to think of it, his coat, too.
She was exuding a glow that w
armed him, though. Through and through.
“I’m sorry,” she said, sputtering a little. “I guess Valentino was glad to see you.”
“Guess so,” Conner agreed.
By that time, Carolyn had reached them. Her hands were still balled up in her jacket pockets, and her eyes were narrowed as she peered at him through the thickening snow.
“Conner?” she said.
He gave her a half salute and a slight grin. “That’s me,” he affirmed.
Carolyn studied him, studied the old truck at the curb. “I thought—”
“Common mistake,” Conner said. He was having trouble looking at anybody or anything besides Tricia.
Damn, she was hot. He wanted her all over again.
He was about to go back to the truck and hoist the suitcase out of the back, but it came to him that such a thing as that could be misunderstood. So he wedged his hands into the pockets of his jeans, like some kid with a confidence problem, and waited to see what would happen next.
“I’d better be going,” Carolyn said, breaking the silence. “I’m expecting Kim and Davis at any time, and I want to have a special meal waiting for them when they get home.”
Tricia nodded, but she was looking back at Conner. It was as though their gazes had snagged on each other, like fleece on barbed wire, and neither one of them could pull free.
Tricia managed it first. Handing Valentino’s leash to Conner, she hurried to catch up with Carolyn, who was already making her way toward her car, head down against the cold wind.
“I’ll be in and out tomorrow,” Conner heard Tricia say to Carolyn. “Because of the closing and everything. But you have a key, right? When your furniture gets here, you’ll be able to let the movers in?”
Carolyn nodded and gave some response Conner didn’t hear, over the noise of the worsening weather. Then her eyes slipped past Tricia, past Conner, and touched briefly on Brody’s old truck.
Conner couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen a sadder look on anybody’s face. Someone had done one hell of a number on Carolyn Simmons, and that someone was most likely Brody.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
NATTY’S FRONT DOOR STOOD AJAR, since Carolyn and Tricia had been inside, moments before Conner’s arrival, discussing where to put various items of furniture once Carolyn’s things had been delivered the next day.
Tricia was definitely looking forward to having a housemate again.
“Let’s go in,” she told Conner, as Carolyn backed out of the driveway and drove away, giving a jaunty toot of her horn in parting. The woman had obviously been shaken by Conner’s arrival—she’d mistaken him for Brody at first, and had all but gone limp with relief when he identified himself. “It’s cold out here.”
Snowflakes rested on Conner’s caramel-colored hair and on his eyelashes. He’d gotten an early start on his five o’clock shadow, too.
Tricia felt the same bone-deep, visceral attraction she had on previous encounters with this enigmatic man. Maybe, she reflected, inviting him into the house hadn’t been the best idea; she was still assimilating aspects of that morning’s wild lovemaking, emotionally and physically, and she needed more time, but she was dangerously amenable to a repeat performance, too.
Conner Creed had a way of making her nerves dance, with no discernible effort.
He handed her Valentino’s leash and, for one awful moment, Tricia thought he was about to tell her he couldn’t stay, that he’d just turn right around and leave again.
While that probably would have been the ideal scenario, given her ambivalence about getting romantically involved so soon after cutting Hunter loose, the thought of Conner’s going blew through her like a cold and desolate wind.
Did she love Conner, or did she love the idea of loving him? Was she ready to be fully present in a relationship, as she hadn’t been with Hunter, or any of the other men she’d dated over the years?
There were just too many questions. And way too few answers.
But then, in the midst of her private dilemma, Conner gave that tilted grin that warmed her all the way to her toes, and the very landscape of her soul seemed to shift, powerfully and with a series of aftershocks. “You forgot your suitcase when you left this morning,” he said. “You and Valentino go on inside, and I’ll get the bag out of the truck.”
Tricia hesitated, then nodded, and went up the porch steps. Valentino stopped at the top and sat down, looking back at Conner. The animal made a low, mournful sound in his throat.
She thought of Brody’s offhanded theory—that Valentino might be doing a little canine matchmaking by running back and forth between her house and Conner’s—and sighed. She’d dismissed the idea as silly before, but now she wasn’t so sure. Of anything.
She gave Valentino’s leash a gentle tug. “Hey, you,” she said. “Be a good dog and come inside with me.”
But Valentino didn’t budge until he saw Conner turning back, coming up the walk, grasping the handle of Tricia’s heavy suitcase and carrying the thing as though its weight could be measured in ounces instead of megatons.
The dog gave a happy little yelp as Conner reached the porch, shifted the suitcase to his left hand and pressed the palm of his right to the small of Tricia’s back, guiding her gently but firmly through the doorway.
Now, of course, Valentino cooperated. He was all bright eyes and lolling tongue and wagging tail. Everything was right in his world—because Conner was around.
Tricia sighed. She knew where the dog was coming from on that one.
Standing in the entryway, Conner took in the large, empty parlor where Natty’s belongings had huddled together in lace-trimmed little groups for decades.
Tricia stood beside him, feeling a lump gather in her throat. The wallpaper was faded, and speckled with bright spots where paintings and photographs had hung. If Tricia recalled correctly, her great-grandmother had once confessed that she hadn’t redecorated since 1959, but it hardly mattered. Carolyn, thrilled that her mail would be coming to an actual address instead of a box at the post office, planned to paint several rooms and sew new curtains for the kitchen windows.
“You sew?” Tricia had asked, impressed.
And Carolyn had laughed and retorted, “Yes. It’s not brain surgery, Tricia.”
For me, it might as well be, Tricia thought now.
Conner nudged her with an elbow. “Missing Natty?”
“The way I’d miss a severed limb is all,” Tricia answered, with a roll of her eyes for emphasis. Since the front door was safely shut now, she leaned down and unfastened Valentino’s leash. “Guess what she’s up to now.”
“I couldn’t begin to,” Conner said, as the two of them started up the inside staircase. It was narrow, so he paused to let Tricia step in front of him, and Valentino gamely brought up the rear.
“Natty and Doris,” Tricia said, stepping into her kitchen and turning to wait for Conner and Valentino to catch up, “are going on a three-week cruise. They leave New York next week, sailing to Amsterdam and then beyond, through the Baltic Sea. They’re even going to St. Petersburg.”
Conner’s voice was gruff and arguably tender when he replied, “Is that something you’d like to do, Tricia? See the world?”
She considered the question. “My mother has the travel bug,” she said, “but I think it skipped me entirely. I’m more like my dad, I guess—something of a homebody, really.” She bit her lip. “Color me boring,” she finished, blushing a little. She hoped it was true, what Natty had always told her about blushing—that it was good for the complexion—because she’d sure been doing a lot of it lately.
“I guess it’s a matter of perspective,” Conner said, looking around for a place to put the suitcase down and finally just setting it on the floor beside him. “There’s a lot to be said for home, if it’s a good one.”
Tricia didn’t know how to answer that. “I could make coffee,” she said.
You’re a conversational whiz, McCall, mocked a voice in her head.
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“I really just stopped by to drop off the suitcase and make sure the dog had stayed put,” Conner said.
Tricia’s gaze dropped to the bag. “Thanks for not sending it with Brody,” she said, and promptly wished she hadn’t. Conner didn’t react overtly to the mention of his brother’s name, but she would have taken it back anyway, if that had been possible.
Conner gave that crooked grin, but the usually vibrant blue of his eyes had darkened to a stormy gray. It wasn’t that he looked angry—just unhappy. He started to say something, then stopped himself.
“And for not bringing it in when Carolyn was here,” Tricia added quickly, because the moment seemed oddly tenuous. “I wouldn’t want people to get the wrong idea.”
Conner’s grin didn’t waver. “Like that we slept together?” he countered.
A small, nervous laugh escaped Tricia. “We slept?”
That made him chuckle. “Not that I recall,” he said.
They stood looking at each other then, neither one moving or speaking.
Valentino finally wedged himself between them and tilted his head back to gaze up at them in frank adoration.
Conner grinned. “He likes us,” he said.
“Ya think?” Tricia teased. Her voice came out sounding small and breathless, though. Even with the dog between them, she felt things stirring around inside her, in response to Conner’s nearness.
She took a quick step backward.
His grin softened to an understanding smile. “No pressure, Tricia,” he said quietly.
Tricia swallowed. “Right,” she said. “No pressure.”
He started for the outside door. Valentino trailed after him, making that whimpery sound again. The message couldn’t have been clearer if that dog had suddenly developed the capacity for speech: Don’t go. Please, don’t go.
Conner turned, leaned slightly to pat the top of Valentino’s head and muss up his floppy ears a little. “Hey, now,” he said, in a low rumble of a voice, “no fair playing the heartstrings, buddy.”
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