Creed's Honor (31 page)

“No fair starting without me,” Conner said.

Tricia fought her way into her clothes. Her voice muffled by layers of covers, she replied, “This is
not
funny.”

Again, he laughed. “Of course it is,” he said. “It’s a hoot. If I didn’t know better, I’d say there was a wrestling match going on under those quilts.”

“Just for that,” Tricia said, dressed at last, “you can make your
own
coffee.”

“Is this what it’s going to be like when we’re married?” Conner teased.

By the time she tossed the blankets back, she was smiling. “Probably,” she said, glancing at the window, which was still opaque with frost. “What’s going on outside? Is it still snowing?”

Valentino squeezed past Conner in the bedroom doorway and shook himself, hard, sending icy moisture flying in every direction.

“No,” Conner said, after a pause to enjoy Tricia’s consternation over the impromptu christening, “but there must be two feet of the stuff on the ground. The sun’s out and the sky is clear and blue enough to break your heart.”

Tricia stroked Valentino’s damp head, looking around for her slippers. Then she remembered—she’d donated them to the rummage sale.

She got out a pair of socks and sat down on the edge of the bed to pull them on.

“I suppose you have to go and feed cattle or something,” she said, because this intimacy—taking the dog out, making coffee—was in some ways more profound than making love. It was a reflex, that attempt to establish a distance between them, however slight.

Conner nodded. “Yep,” he said. “I’m a rancher, Tricia. That’s what we do.”

“What if the roads haven’t been plowed?” she asked reasonably, slipping past him to enter the kitchen.

“That truck will go anywhere,” he said. “I’ll put chains on the back tires and then roll.”

She reached for the coffee carafe, filled it with water at the sink. Through the kitchen window, which hadn’t frosted over, she could see the pristine shimmer of a snow-whitened world. It looked almost magical, but Tricia’s feelings were bittersweet. On the one hand, she was glad the storm was over, at least for now, so people could start digging themselves out and get on with their daily life. But on the other, she didn’t want Conner to leave.

“You could ride along, as far as the ranch house, anyway,” Conner ventured, his voice quiet and a little gruff. “Keep Kim and those little dogs of hers company while Davis and Brody and I go out and check the herd.”

Tricia hesitated long enough to push the button on the coffeemaker. Sighed. “I’d better not,” she said. “Winston— Natty’s cat—is supposed to arrive any day now. I have to be here to take delivery if, by some miracle, the truck gets through.”

Conner approached her, pinned her gently against the counter in front of the coffee machine. “You could call the delivery company to make sure,” he said. “Unless, of course, you’re set on putting some space between us.”

Tricia blinked up at him. She was getting aroused again, starting to ache in needy places. “Why would you say that?”

“Because you’ve seen my soul and I’ve seen yours,” Conner replied, kissing her forehead. “If you’re like me, you’re happy, but you’re scared, too.” He drew back just far enough to hook a finger under her chin and lift, so that she had to look at him. “We love each other, Tricia,” he reminded her. “We’ll have to find our way forward from there, like everybody else, but we’ll make it. One step at a time, we’ll make it.”

Tricia relaxed, with a soft sigh, and put her arms around Conner, let herself lean into him. Her cheek rested against his heart; she could feel the strong, steady beat of it. “You’re right,” she said, thinking of her parents, and their ill-fated union. “Nobody gets a guarantee, do they?”

He stroked her hair, coming loose from its usually
tidy braid. “Nobody gets a guarantee,” he agreed. “But we can stack the odds in our favor, Tricia.”

“How?” she asked, thinking that if she loved this man any more than she already did, she’d burst from it.

“Davis told me one time that he and Kim have stayed married all these years mainly because neither of them was willing to give up on the other. They scrap once in a while—they’re both strong-minded people—and they’ve had their share of disappointments and setbacks, too, but they don’t quit.”

Tricia nodded, loving the feel of Conner Creed, the scent of him, the warm strength of his arms around her, the pressure of his chest and hips. “Natty adored my great-grandfather, Henry, but according to her, the secret of a good marriage is not expecting to be happy all the time, because no one is. Whenever she and Henry went through tough times, Natty said, they made sure they were on the same side, stood shoulder to shoulder and took on whatever came their way.”

“Natty’s a pioneer,” Conner said, with amused admiration.

Out on the street, a mighty roar sounded, and Valentino tilted his head back and howled once, like his distant ancestor, the gray wolf.

“Snowplow,” Conner told him. “Take a breath.”

Valentino went over to his bed, sighed, and lay down on top of his blue chicken, resigned.

After coffee and a couple of slices of toast, Conner took a quick—and lukewarm—shower, got dressed again and, after giving her a kiss and a promise that he’d be back no matter what, headed for the ranch.

Tricia waited until the water was hot before taking her own shower.

She dressed warmly, in jeans and a bulky blue sweater, found Doris’s Denver number in her address book and dialed. Tricia figured the great-aunt-and-grandmother combo might already have left for New York, where they would board the cruise ship, but it was worth a try.

Doris answered on the other end, greeted Tricia in her fond but businesslike way, and called out, “Natty Jean! It’s for you.”

Tricia smiled to herself as she waited

“Did Winston get there yet?” Doris asked, while both of them waited for Natty to made her way to the phone. “Buddy stopped by and picked him up this morning. He said the highways were clear all the way to Lonesome Bend, thanks to a whole night of plowing.”

“No sign of Winston yet,” Tricia answered, smiling, “but I’ll be sure to call and let you know when he arrives.”

“That’s good,” Doris said. “Natty Jean frets about him, you know.”

“I know,” Tricia said gently. “But Winston will be fine here, with Valentino and Carolyn and me.”

Doris didn’t get a chance to respond; Natty must have wrested the handset from her, because the next voice Tricia heard was her great-grandmother’s.

“Is Winston there, dear?”

The smile was back. “No,” Tricia said, “but I’m expecting him anytime now. Shall I tell him you called?”

Natty laughed. “Yes,” she said. “Right after you call
me
to say he’s safe and sound.”

Tricia repeated her promise.

“So the old house is still standing, then?” Natty
inquired. “Phew! I haven’t seen that much snow fall in one night since the blizzard of 1968. You wouldn’t remember that, of course.”

“The house is as sturdy as ever,” Tricia said. “Will the weather be a problem for you and Doris, cruise-wise, I mean?”

“Heavens, no,” Natty informed her, and her tone made Tricia think of Conner’s words, earlier that morning.
Natty’s a pioneer.
“The airport is already open again and, anyway, we don’t leave until day after tomorrow.”

“Send me a postcard?”

“Of course, dear,” Natty said. “At least one from every port.”

Tricia’s heart warmed. “There’s something I need to tell you, before you go jetting off to board the QE2, or whatever your ship is called.”

An indrawn breath. “I presume it’s something good?” Natty murmured.

“Very good,” Tricia said, feeling so happy in that moment that her throat thickened and her eyes burned. “You were right, Natty. About Conner being the right man for me, I mean.”

Natty’s voice was fluttery—and loud. “Doris!” she called, making Tricia wince and hold the handset away from her ear for a moment. “Doris! It’s happening—just like I told you it would—” A pause, with Doris muttering unintelligibly in the background. “Well,
of course
I mean that Conner and Tricia have fallen in love! What else would it be?”

Tricia chuckled. “We’re getting married,” she said.

More delight on Natty’s end, followed by, “Oh, dear,
that’s
wonderful.
When, though? Not before Doris and I get back from our trip, I hope.”

“Not before then,” Tricia promised. “I couldn’t get married without you there, Natty.”

“I should hope not,” Natty said stoutly. Then, brightening, she went on to ask, “Are you planning on living in sin in the meantime, dear?”

“Maybe not
living
in sin, but it’s safe to say there might be some dabbling.”

This time, it was Natty who laughed. “Henry and I lived in sin for a whole week,” she confided. “Hush, Doris, it’s true and you know it. Don’t be such a stick-in-the-mud.”

“You and great-grandpa
lived in sin?
” Tricia couldn’t help being intrigued, though a part of her pleaded silently,
Don’t tell me!

“Well,” Natty said, after clearing her throat and lowering her voice to a confidential tone, even though Doris had obviously gotten the gist of the conversation and, thus, the proverbial horse was out of the barn, “we didn’t move in together, like young people do today, but we
did
run off to get married. We were so busy honeymooning that we forgot all about the wedding, though, and Papa showed up and made a terrible scene before he dragged me back home. Mama was furious, and when Henry came looking for me—he was very brave, my Henry—she met him at the front gate and told him she’d shoot him with an elephant gun if he didn’t make an honest woman out of me. I’ll never forget what he said to her.
‘Eleanor,’
he told Mama, just as bold as you please,
‘I can’t make Natty an honest woman, because she already is one. But I’d be proud to make her my wife.’
Isn’t that what he said, Doris? Don’t deny it, you were
hiding behind the lilac bush the whole time, and you heard everything.”

Tricia smiled, imagining the scene. She’d probably never pass through the gate out front again without thinking of her spirited great-grandparents and the romantic scandal they must have created, back in the day.

Some things, she thought happily, never change.

Downstairs, the doorbell rang.

Tricia carried the phone into her bedroom, which was at the front of the house, and wiped a circle in the thawing frost covering the window. A large brown truck was parked at the curb, undaunted by the high snowbanks.

“I’m pretty sure Winston is here,” Tricia announced.

“Well, then, you go and welcome him, dear. Doris says they have computers on the ship, so I’ll be in touch after we set sail.”

“Natty?” Tricia said, moving through the house, toward the inside staircase. “Yes, dear?”

“I love you.”

Natty gave a pleased little chuckle. “Well, I love you, too, dear. Take good care of Winston.”

“I will,” Tricia promised, disconnecting and laying the handset on the wide windowsill in the entryway so she could open the door.

“Meow,” Winston complained peevishly, from inside his plastic carrier.

The driver, presumably the aforementioned Buddy, wore earmuffs as well as a stocking cap, a heavy scarf and a quilted uniform to match his truck.

“Tricia McCall?” he asked.

“That’s me,” Tricia said.

“Reooooow,” Winston insisted.

Buddy handed Tricia the electronic equivalent of a clipboard, so she could sign for the cat.

“He’s been doing that since we left Denver this morning,” Buddy said. “Miss Natty gave me all his gear, but that’s still in the truck. Maybe you ought to take him inside, though, while I fetch it. I wouldn’t want the noisy little feller to catch a cold or anything.”

“Good idea,” Tricia said. She stepped into the house, set the carrier down on the floor and opened the little gate.

Winston shot through the opening like a furry bullet and made a dash for the stairway.

Valentino gave a brief, happy bark of welcome, already partway down the stairs.

Just as Buddy was handing over the pet-store bags filled with cat toys, a fluffy little bed, a new litter box, a five-pound bag of cat food and three cans of sardines, Carolyn drove up.

She passed the retreating Buddy on the as-yet-un-shoveled walk, high-stepping it toward the porch.

“I see you survived the storm,” Carolyn called, her voice sunny.

Tricia thought of the chain of tumultuous orgasms she’d enjoyed, first on the floor in front of the downstairs fireplace and then
up
stairs, in her bed.
Survived
was hardly the word, but for now, she’d keep that to herself.

“Come in,” Tricia said, smiling at her friend. “Before you freeze.”

Winston zoomed past, evidently running off some of his excess energy.

Carolyn laughed and raised one eyebrow in good-natured question.

“That’s Winston,” Tricia explained. “When he calms down, I’ll introduce the two of you. In the meantime, the coffee’s on upstairs, and you look like you could use a cup.”

Carolyn nodded, and the two of them climbed the stairs.

In Tricia’s kitchen, they settled themselves at the table, their steaming cups in front of them. Tricia was bursting with her news, but she wanted to tell Diana first, now that Natty knew.

Carolyn took on a serious expression. “I think you should know about Brody Creed and me,” she said.

Surprised, Tricia studied her. “That’s not necessary,” she said carefully.

“It is for me,” Carolyn said. “I know you and Conner have something going, and he’s Brody’s brother, of course, and—well—it will just be too awkward, keeping secrets.”

“Okay,” Tricia said, drawing out the word, wondering if, as curious as she was, she really wanted to hear this story.

Carolyn took in a long breath and let it out very slowly, in a here-goes kind of way. Her high cheekbones were pink, partly because she’d been out in the cold, certainly, but mostly because she was embarrassed.

“A couple of years ago,” she began, “I was housesitting for Davis and Kim, while they were on the road. One night, Brody showed up—I thought he was Conner, of course, but I realized my mistake as soon as I got a good look at him, standing there under the porch light. I told him the Creeds weren’t home, and he said that
was just his luck, or something like that. He looked so tired and discouraged and—well, sort of
scruffy
—that’s mainly how I knew he wasn’t Conner—he said he’d spend the night in the barn and head out in the morning.” Carolyn stopped, sipped her coffee, swallowed in a way that looked painful. “He didn’t leave in the morning,” she said finally. “And after that first night, he didn’t sleep in the barn, either.”