A Creed in Stone Creek Part 12

She tilted her head to one side, considering the look. Fussy, yes. Feminine, definitely. Cheerful, to the max.

But was it too too fussy, feminine and cheerful? fussy, feminine and cheerful?

After all, this wasn't a reunion of her high school cheerleading squad; she was entertaining a little boy and a grown man.

And what what a man. There should have been a law. a man. There should have been a law.

Melissa chewed briefly on one fingernail, fretting. With the exception of the flowers in the jar, none of this was at all like her-the fancy dishes had been gathering dust in the cupboard above the refrigerator for a couple of years, she hadn't cooked the food and she had exactly one tablecloth to her name-this one. It didn't even have any sentimental value, that tablecloth-it hadn't been pa.s.sed down through generations of O'Ballivans, like the various linens Ashley and Olivia so prized. No, Melissa had bought it on clearance at a discount store, just in case she might need it someday-her share of the heirlooms were stored in a chest, out on the ranch. Did she have time to drive out there and grab some? one. It didn't even have any sentimental value, that tablecloth-it hadn't been pa.s.sed down through generations of O'Ballivans, like the various linens Ashley and Olivia so prized. No, Melissa had bought it on clearance at a discount store, just in case she might need it someday-her share of the heirlooms were stored in a chest, out on the ranch. Did she have time to drive out there and grab some?

Deep breath, she instructed herself silently. she instructed herself silently.

Just as she drew in air, a rap sounded at the front door. They're here. They're here.

No time to tone down-or tone up up-the decorations now, obviously.

Melissa, feeling especially womanly in her summery dress, a multicolored Southwestern print with touches of turquoise and magenta, gold and black, went to greet her company.

Matt stood on the porch with his nose pressed into the screen door, his damp hair already beginning to rebel against a recent combing, springing up into a rooster tail at the back of his head and swirling into little cowlick eddies here and there.

Melissa's heart melted at the sight of him; a smile rose up within her and spilled across her face, warm on her mouth. Of course she was aware of Steven, standing behind the boy-how could she not not have been aware?-but she didn't make eye contact right away. have been aware?-but she didn't make eye contact right away.

No, she needed a few more deep breaths before she could risk that.

So she concentrated on Matt-unlocking and opening the screen door, stepping back so he could spill into her house, all energy and eagerness and boy. boy.

"You look very handsome," she told the child, resisting a motherly urge to smooth down the rooster tail with a light pa.s.s of her hand.

Matt's smile seemed to encompa.s.s her, like an actual embrace. "And you you look look beautiful! beautiful!" he responded.

"Amen," Steven said huskily. That single word coursed right over Matt's head to lodge itself in Melissa like a velvet arrow.

Her throat caught, and her gaze betrayed her, going straight to him long before she was ready.

Steven wore jeans, a little newer than the ones he'd had on earlier, along with polished black boots and a white, collarless s.h.i.+rt of the sort men favored back in the Old West days. His hair was damp from a recent shower, like Matt's, but there were no cowlicks and no rooster tails, and he smelled like a field of newly sprouted clover after a soft rain.

A free-fall sensation seized Melissa, buffeted the breath from her lungs, as though she were skydiving without a parachute, or riding a runaway roller coaster.

The feeling was stunning. Terrifying, in fact.

And categorically wonderful. wonderful.

"I hope you're both hungry," she heard herself say, and the normality of her tone amazed her, because on the inside, she was still being swept along, helter-skelter, like a swimmer caught in a fast current.

"We're starved, starved," Matt answered, looking around the living room, as alert as a detective scanning for clues.

Steven smiled and cleared his throat slightly, raising one eyebrow when Matt turned to look up at him.

"Well, we are, are," the boy insisted, folding his small arms.

Steven grinned, unwittingly-or wittingly wittingly-sending a charge of electricity through Melissa. His eyes, so very blue and with a touch of lavender to them that reminded her of summer twilights and late-blooming lilacs, ranged idly over her, pausing here and there, lingering to light small fires under her skin. It seemed lazy-slow, that look, but she knew it couldn't have lasted more than a fraction of a moment.

"Then let's get you some supper," Melissa told Matt, extra glad he was there, and not just because she was already so fond of him. If she'd been alone with Steven Creed, considering her strange state of mind, she might have jumped the man's bones right there in the living room.

Okay, so maybe that was an exaggeration. But she was definitely attracted to him, and she couldn't shake the feeling that she was on dangerous ground.

Remembering her duties as a hostess, she led the way into the kitchen.

Matt started toward the table the moment they entered the room, but Steven caught the child lightly by one shoulder and stopped him.

"Where do we wash up?" Steven asked, looking at Melissa.

She pointed toward the hallway just to the left of the stove. "The bathroom is that way," she said.

The Creed men disappeared in the direction she'd indicated, then returned a couple of minutes later.

Melissa was just setting out the main course. Since she didn't own a platter, she'd left the food in Ashley's freezer-to-oven ca.s.serole dish.

"Are those chickens?" Matt asked, eyeing the halved game hens dubiously.

Steven chuckled. "Yes," he said mildly. "They're chickens." And then he caught Melissa's eye, waiting for something.

After an awkward moment, Melissa pointed to one of the chairs. Steven pulled it back, let Matt scramble up onto the seat.

"Can I eat with my fingers?" Matt wanted to know.

Steven answered without taking his eyes off Melissa. "Thanks for asking," he said, in an easy drawl. "But no, Tex, you can't eat with your fingers."

It finally came home to Melissa that Steven wasn't going to sit down until she was seated. She moved toward the middle chair, oddly embarra.s.sed, waited for Steven to pull it out for her and sat.

She noticed a sparkle in the man's eyes as he joined her and Matt.

"I don't think those are really chickens," Matt said, in a tone of good-natured skepticism, peering into the ca.s.serole dish in the center of the table.

Melissa began to wish she'd served something little-boy friendly, like pizza or hamburgers or hot dogs.

Steven, perhaps hoping to put her at ease, speared one of the game hens with the serving fork, dropped it onto his plate, and began cutting it into bite-size pieces. His movements were quick and deft, with a subtle elegance about them.

Don't think about his hands.

Melissa blinked, snapping out of yet another mini-daze.

Steven switched plates with Matt, who nibbled at a bite, then began to eat in earnest.

"Slow down," Steven said, helping himself when Melissa didn't move to dish up a portion of her own.

Matt nodded, chewing and swallowing. "You're a good cook," he told Melissa.

Melissa felt heat pulse under her cheeks, longing to fib and take all the credit-and completely unable to do so. She was terminally honest; it was her personal cross to bear.

"My sister Ashley is," she clarified. "I-well-sort of borrowed borrowed supper from her." supper from her."

Steven's eyes danced with blue mischief, but he didn't offer a comment. He did seem to be enjoying Ashley's culinary expertise, though.

Everybody did.

"Oh," Matt said. Having taken the edge off his appet.i.te, he paused, looking across the table at Steven. "Do you think Zeke is okay?" he asked.

Zeke? Then Melissa remembered the dog.

"Zeke," Steven said easily, "is just fine."

"I wanted to bring him with us," Matt confided to Melissa, who, by then, had begun to eat, however tentatively. "But Dad wouldn't let me. He said it wouldn't be polite to do that."

Melissa smiled, willing herself to relax. Steven Creed, with his broad shoulders and his quiet confidence and his mere presence, presence, seemed to fill that small kitchen, breathing all the air, absorbing the light. seemed to fill that small kitchen, breathing all the air, absorbing the light.

Absorbing her. her. The experience, though disquieting, had a certain zip to it, too. The experience, though disquieting, had a certain zip to it, too.

"Zeke," Steven repeated, his eyes smiling as he looked at Matt, "is just fine." "is just fine."

"You could bring him next time," Melissa said.

Next time? Who said there was going to Who said there was going to be be a "next time"? a "next time"?

Matt cheered at the news.

"Bring it down a few decibels," Steven instructed.

Matt grinned. "I'm too loud sometimes," he said to Melissa, in a stage whisper.

She laughed and stopped just short of ruffling his hair. "That's okay," she whispered back.

After that, a companionable silence fell.

It wasn't until the meal was over, and they were contemplating dessert, that Matt got down to bra.s.s tacks.

"Are you married?" he asked Melissa bluntly. "Do you have any kids?"

Steven, so far unflappable, it seemed to Melissa, reddened slightly. Narrowed his eyes at Matt and started to speak.

Melissa cut him off before he could say a word. "No," she told Matt. "I'm not married, and I don't have any kids."

Matt's smile was glorious, like dawn breaking after a cold and moonless night. "Good!" he said. "Then you could marry my dad and be my mom. We'd help with the cooking, so you wouldn't have to keep borrowing supper from your sister, and even do the laundry."

"Matt," Steven said, fighting a smile.

Without thinking about it first-if she had, she would surely have stopped herself-Melissa rested a hand on Steven's forearm. Felt the muscles tighten and then ease again under her fingertips.

"It's okay," she said, very softly.

Matt looked from Steven to Melissa, and his small shoulders stooped a little. "I guess I shouldn't have said that stuff about marrying Dad and me," he admitted.

"Ya think?" Steven asked.

Melissa smiled, anxious to rea.s.sure the child. "Know what?" she said, addressing Matt, finally removing her hand from Steven's arm.

"What?" Matt asked.

"If I'm ever lucky enough to have a little boy of my own, I hope he'll be just like you."

It came again, then. That beaming smile.

When this kid grew up, he was going to be a heartbreaker, no doubt about it.

"Really?" Matt asked.

Steven s.h.i.+fted in his chair, but said nothing.

"Really," Melissa confirmed. "Now, who wants ice cream and cobbler?"

MATT RESTED OVER S STEVEN'S right shoulder, like a sack of potatoes. Once the kid hit the proverbial wall and gave himself over to sleep, that was it. His surroundings didn't matter-he was down for the count. right shoulder, like a sack of potatoes. Once the kid hit the proverbial wall and gave himself over to sleep, that was it. His surroundings didn't matter-he was down for the count.

Melissa, looking better than any dessert ever could have, walked out to the truck alongside Steven, hugging herself against the chill of a high country night.

There was hardly anything to that sundress of hers, which was fine with Steven, except that he didn't want her catching pneumonia or anything.

"Thank you," he said gruffly, pausing on the sidewalk, turning toward her.

He wanted to kiss Melissa, but holding Matt the way he was, the logistics were just plain off.

Melissa smiled, reached past him to open the rear door of the rig.

Matt mumbled something as Steven set him in the car seat and began buckling him in but, true to form, he didn't wake up.

"He's terrific," she said softly.

"I agree," Steven told her, after Matt was secured. They stood facing each other now, on that darkened sidewalk. "Of course it would would be a real plus if he'd stop proposing to women." be a real plus if he'd stop proposing to women."

There was something flirty in Melissa's smile, but something vulnerable, too. "Does he do that a lot? Ask people to marry you, I mean?"

Steven chuckled, even though he felt inexplicably nervous, and shook his head. "No," he replied. "Actually, Matt is pretty discerning when it comes to women." A grin tugged at one corner of his mouth. "He doesn't suggest marriage and instant motherhood to just anybody, anybody, you know." you know."

Melissa laughed at that; it was soft and musical, that sound, and it found a place inside Steven and stowed away there, perhaps for keeps. "He's sweet," she said.

Again-still-Steven wanted to kiss Melissa O'Ballivan. Full on the mouth, with tongue.