Creed's Honor (27 page)

“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.

N
ATTY’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.

“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.”

It touched Tricia, the way Conner acted with Valentino. The way he seemed to care so much about the animal’s feelings.

Tricia held her tongue, afraid she’d say something foolish if she allowed herself to speak just then. Conner lifted his head and looked straight at her. And that was when the something-foolish tumbled out of her mouth, despite her best efforts.

“Stay,” she said. Then, flustered, she clarified, “F-For lunch, I mean.”

“All right,” he replied, after a pause. “But if we’re having grilled cheese sandwiches, I’d better make them.”

Tricia laughed, relieved. Ridiculously happy. “No worries there,” she said. “I’m fresh out of cheese. And butter. And bread. Basically, I’m out of
food
.”

“Well, then,” Conner answered, with a smile in his eyes, “I reckon we’ll have to go out. Maybe hit the drive-through, since the dog’s bound to raise a fuss if we leave him behind so we can sit in some restaurant.”

“Unthinkable,” Tricia said, practically diving for her purse and coat. She hadn’t been this excited about fast food since—well—
ever
.

“Assuming that old rattletrap Brody calls a truck can make it to the other side of town,” Conner replied, “we’re on our way to grease-burger heaven.”

Valentino barked happily then, as though he’d understood, and turned in joyous circles, making it a challenge for Tricia to fasten his leash to his collar. Conner finally had to take over the job.

The snow was coming down in earnest when they got outside, already dusting the sidewalks and the road and frosting the limbs of trees. For Valentino, it was an adventure—all the way to the pickup he leapt at the flakes, trying to catch them in his teeth.

Brody’s truck, being so old, had a single bench seat.

“Hope it starts again,” Conner said, after hefting the dog into the cab of the vehicle. “Valentino is going to be pretty disappointed if we don’t go someplace, now that he’s gotten his hopes up.”

“We can always take my car,” Tricia pointed out, but she got into the truck on the passenger side and made Valentino scoot over a little so she could fasten her seat belt—the old-fashioned kind that didn’t have a shoulder harness.

“Let’s see what happens,” Conner responded, and shut the door behind her.

Once he’d walked around the truck and climbed behind the wheel, he cranked the keys in the ignition and the motor started with a lusty roar. Tricia cheered, and Valentino joined in with a string of short barks that would probably have translated as,
Let’s go, let’s go!

They made it to the burger place, Conner ordered at the drive-through, and a clerk handed out a grease-blotched paper bag, along with two cups of cola, and
Valentino was practically beside himself at the smell of that food.

Eating in the truck would have been impossible, with the dog crammed in between them, so Conner suggested that they head for River’s Bend. If it was too cold to eat outside at one of the picnic tables, they could take refuge in the office.

Tricia agreed, though her feelings about returning to a place that wouldn’t be hers anymore, after tomorrow, were decidedly mixed. On the other hand, a visit seemed fitting, a sort of goodbye.

Since both the wind and the snowstorm had picked up some momentum, even in the short time since they’d left Natty’s, they ended up going inside. It was only marginally warmer there, so Conner built a fire in the stove before the three of them tucked into their meals. Except for the snapping of that blaze and the sounds Valentino made, snorking up a rare treat—his very own cheeseburger—the office was quiet. In fact, with the snow falling, the whole
world
seemed quiet, in a luminous kind of way.

Tricia, who managed to chew and swallow about a third of her monster burger before she was full, rose from the desk chair where she’d been sitting and walked over to look up at an old map of Lonesome Bend, hand-drawn and colored, the campground marked with a lopsided star.

She’d made that map herself, the summer she turned eleven, sketching it out carefully on butcher paper, making the river vivid blue and the land a pale, milk-paint green. There were little trees around the campground, and outsized fish in the water, and in the lower
right-hand corner, she’d carefully inscribed, “To Dad, from Tricia.”

She touched the chipped wooden frame, remembering her father, how proud he’d been of her, of that drawing, of River’s Bend and the Bluebird Drive-in. The original people-person, Joe McCall had enjoyed dealing with campers and moviegoers from late spring until early fall, and even though he’d never made much money, Tricia knew he’d considered himself a success, particularly as a father.

So had she.

“I asked my dad, once upon a time, if he’d ever wished I’d been a boy,” she mused quietly, aware that Conner was watching her and listening in that focused way he had, as if everything a person said was important. “And he said he wouldn’t trade me for a thousand boys.”

“You miss him,” Conner observed, standing behind her now, resting his hands on her shoulders.

She nodded. She
did
miss Joe McCall, but she’d done her grieving, reached a place of simple gratitude that he’d been her father. She could celebrate the part he’d played in her life, celebrate his humor and his steadiness and the easy constancy of his love.

Partly because she’d always been so sure of Joe’s affection, she was strong enough to let go. Strong enough to move on. Just as he would have wanted her to do.

“I suppose I ought to take all these pictures down,” she said, reaching up to lift the map off its hook. She’d be leaving behind all the furniture and office equipment, such as it was, but she wanted to keep the framed photos. So, primarily because she thought she might cry, and she was
sick
of crying, she set the map on the floor, leaning
it carefully against the wall, and reached for the shot of Joe on the dock, with the kayak.

Conner let her take down and stack half a dozen dusty frames before he stopped her, turned her gently around, and pulled her close.

“Shh,” he said, even though she wasn’t making a sound.

She rested her forehead against the hard flesh of his shoulder—his shirt was still damp from the snow—and slipped her arms loosely around his lean waist. Let out a long, shuddery breath.