Creed's Honor (19 page)

“Sasha,” Tricia scolded softly.

“It’s all right,” Conner said, finding his voice at last. It was a discovery he’d soon regret. “I just stopped by to see if you still planned on giving away this dog.”

All the eager welcome drained out of Sasha’s face in a single moment, and Conner was terrified that she was fixing to cry. There was only one thing worse than a woman shedding tears, in his estimation, and that was a
child
shedding tears. Particularly a
girl
child.

By contrast to the little kid, Tricia looked as though she might cuss him out, breathe fire on him, or maybe
brain him with the skillet that was still smoking a little, there in the sink.

She must have decided that none of those options were viable, with Sasha around anyway, because she just stood there, glaring at him, and didn’t move or speak at all.

He dug up a grin. Finally remembered to take off his hat.

“I guess that was a little blunt,” he allowed.

Tricia’s cheeks were bright pink, and her blue eyes flashed. “Ya think?” she said.

T
RICIA REMINDED HERSELF
that Conner Creed was a guest in her home, albeit an uninvited one, and hadn’t she just told Diana over the telephone that she would fly over to Seattle on Wednesday if she could be sure both Valentino and Natty would be all right during her absence?

Her great-grandmother’s care remained a problem, but Tricia knew in her very bones that Valentino would be fine in Conner’s care. Half the dilemma solved.

“Sit down,” she told him, her tone clipped. Then, addressing Sasha, Tricia forced a wobbly smile and said, “Do you suppose Natty is ready to have some lunch now? Would you mind checking with her, please?”

Sasha was flushed, and there was a rebellion brewing in her normally clear eyes.

Valentino, having skulked under the table by then, let out a worried little whimper.

Conner sat down, after shooting an unreadable glance at Tricia, and bent to peer under the tabletop and speak quietly to the dog. “There, now, buddy,” he said. “Don’t be scared. Nobody’s gonna hurt anybody.”

As tough and masculine as he was, Conner’s voice sounded almost fatherly, comforting Valentino like that.

“Go,”
Tricia told Sasha.

Sasha got to her feet, but she was none too happy about obeying, that much was plain to see. “Mom
said
you could bring Valentino to Seattle!” she reminded Tricia, but she was on her way toward the inside stairs.

“Seattle is a city,” Tricia told the little girl quietly, and very gently. This outburst, she knew, wasn’t entirely about the dog. Sasha was realizing a lot of things, like how far away Paris actually was, and how different her life would be there. The move, probably just an abstraction to her before, was taking on substance now. “Valentino will be happier on a ranch.”

“No, he
won’t!
” Sasha cried. “He’ll know you went off and
left him!
” With that, she bolted, clattering down the inside staircase.

Tricia closed her eyes, praying the child wouldn’t fall and hurt herself.

“Well,” Conner said, after clearing his throat, “now I wish I’d kept my mouth shut about the dog.”

“Me, too,” Tricia said, with icy sweetness. A part of her still wanted to wring the man’s neck but, fortunately, good sense and civility prevailed. “Valentino needs another place to live,” she said carefully, moving to stand behind the chair opposite Conner’s and gripping its back so hard that her knuckles ached. “If you promise he’ll be
loved,
not just tolerated—that you won’t make him live outside or in the barn or anything like that—he’s yours.”

Tricia had to turn her head then, since she felt as though the words had been coated with hot wax, pressed into her flesh and then ripped away. Merely
saying
them had left a raw sting in her throat.

She heard Conner’s chair slide back and then he was
in front of her, taking a firm but gentle hold on her shoulders, the blue of his eyes practically burning into her face.

“Dammit,”
he rasped, on a single hoarse breath. And then, just like that, Conner
kissed
Tricia—hard and deep and with a thoroughness that left her gasping when he drew back.

Even after the fact, lightning continued to bolt through Tricia, fairly fusing her feet to the floor. She stared at him, amazed by what he made her feel. By what he made her
want
.

“No,” she heard herself say. And she had no earthly idea what she was talking about, or who she was talking
to,
exactly. It might have been Conner, it might have been herself, it might have been the universe as a whole.
“No.”

Conner’s gaze softened unexpectedly and a smile kicked up at the corner of his mouth as he brushed her cheek with a touch so light and so fleeting that it might have been a soft summer breeze instead of a caress.

He was smiling. He’d just rocked her world, and he was
smiling.

A passionate rage rose up inside Tricia, fierce and delicious, and there was no telling what she might have said to that man if Natty hadn’t appeared at the top of the stairs at that exact moment, her breathing rapid and a little shallow, one be-ringed hand pressed to her chest.

“Good heavens,” Natty said, when she could speak. “What’s the matter with Sasha? Why, the child is practically hysterical!”

Stricken with alarm, Tricia started toward Natty, meaning to take her arm and help her to a chair, but
Conner got there first. He sat the old woman down and went straight to the sink to run a glass of water for her.

Even in that fractured moment, Tricia had to admire his presence of mind. He was so
calm.

Natty sat fluttering one hand in front of her face. “I’m
fine,
” she insisted. “It’s
Sasha
who needs tending.”

Tricia’s gaze collided with Conner’s, over Natty’s head, then ricocheted away, like a bullet.

“I’ll see to Sasha,” she said quietly.

Conner gave a nod, his face grim, and brought Natty the glass of water.

Tricia found her goddaughter in Natty’s pantry, sitting on the floor between the built-in flour bin and a ten-pound sack of potatoes, her face buried in her hands.

“Sweetheart,” Tricia said softly, crouching. Reaching out to touch the child.

But Sasha must have been peeking between her fingers, because she knew the touch was coming and jerked away to avoid contact. Sobs racked the little girl, causing her shoulders to shake, and she was making an awful wailing sound, woven through with threads of pure, childlike despair.

“Go away!” she almost shrieked.

Tricia shifted to her knees, facing her best friend’s daughter. “Sasha, honey—please listen to me—”

“No! I don’t
want
to listen, I want to
cry! Leave me alone!
”

Tricia wasn’t going anywhere. The hard floor made her knees ache, so she sat cross-legged on the pantry floor, facing Sasha, prepared to wait the child out, no matter how long that might take.

Having already expended considerable energy, Sasha
soon began to wind down. The sobs became sniffles, and then hiccups, and finally, after what seemed like a very long time, she lowered her hands and looked at Tricia with red-rimmed, swollen eyes.

“Everything is changing,” Sasha said, her voice so small that Tricia barely heard her, even in that small space. “I’m
tired
of things changing!”

Tricia spotted a roll of paper towels within easy reach on a low shelf and picked it up. Tore away the plastic wrapper and handed Sasha a sheet.

“I know,” she said tenderly. “Same here. Blow.”

Sasha wadded up the paper towel and blew her nose into it.

“Sometimes it’s really hard when things change,” Tricia said. She drew a deep breath, let it out. “You’re going to love Paris, Sasha,” she went on. “You’ll make new friends and see wonderful things and learn more than you can even imagine right now. Best of all, your mom and dad will be right there with you, the whole time, loving you and keeping you safe.”

Sasha pondered all that. Crumpled the used paper towel in one hand. At considerable length, she asked, “What if Valentino doesn’t
like
being a ranch dog?”

Tricia moved to sit beside her. Slipped an arm around the child, but loosely, because the moment was fragile and so was this beloved child. “He will,” she said. “Valentino’s going to be a very big dog one of these days, Sasha. And big dogs need space to run. Plus, he’ll enjoy riding around in Conner’s truck and all the rest of it.”

“There are dog parks in Seattle,” Sasha wasted no time in reminding her. “And lots of people have big dogs. It’s not as if they’re
illegal
or anything.”

“Valentino would be alone in some condo all day,
honey, while I worked. He’d be lonesome and bored and he wouldn’t get enough exercise.” Tricia paused, surprised at how attached she’d become to that silly dog in such a short time. “Trust me, if I could offer him a choice, he’d take the ranch life, any day.”

Sasha drew up her knees and rested her forearms on them. “Don’t you want to keep him, even the littlest bit?”

“I’d
love
to keep Valentino,” Tricia replied. “But we’re not talking about what I want, here, Sasha. We’re talking about what’s best for a growing dog.”

Sasha turned to her, looked up at her with tired eyes, and dropped a bombshell. “You could marry Conner, and then you and Valentino would
both
live on the Creed ranch. That would be the perfect solution.”

Tricia laughed, hugged Sasha close and rested her chin on top of the little girl’s head. “It’s not that simple, honey,” she said, but just the same, she couldn’t help imagining what it would be like to live under the same roof with Conner. Her body did a déjà vu thing, reliving that kiss they’d shared earlier.

Sasha gave a big sigh. “I’m sorry, Aunt Tricia. For acting like a baby and everything.”

Tricia squeezed her again. “Don’t worry about it,” she said. “You’re allowed to have feelings, you know.”

“I’m going to miss Valentino,” Sasha admitted.

By some unspoken agreement, they both stood up.

“So will I,” Tricia said.

“And I’ll miss
you,
” the child replied. “I thought I’d gotten used to it, you’ve been away from Seattle for so long, but being here with you, and doing fun stuff—” Sasha fell silent, and Tricia was afraid she’d start to cry again. Afraid both of them would.

So Tricia paused, when they were out of the pantry and standing in Natty’s quiet, fragrant kitchen. She cupped a hand under Sasha’s chin, and gently lifted. “I’ll miss you, too. But we can email, write each other letters, talk on the phone once in a while, and maybe—” she tried to look stern, but a smile broke through “—
just maybe
—no promises, now—I’ll come to visit.”

Sasha threw both her arms around Tricia’s waist and hugged her hard, clinging a little.

A bittersweet ache filled Tricia, made up of love for this child, for Natty and her lost father and her dog, Rusty. Love for Seattle
and
for Lonesome Bend, for life itself, so fleeting and so very precious.

Love hurts,
she thought, as the wispy strains of an old song drifted up from her memory. That was the paradox—love
did
hurt, though not always, of course. Yet, just as the poet said, it was surely better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.

“Let’s go upstairs and see how Natty’s doing,” Tricia said. “She needs to know you’re all right, for one thing.”

Sasha nodded and led the way, her small hand clasping Tricia’s. They arrived to find Natty looking much restored, her color good and her eyes shining, chatting happily away while Conner stood at the stove, listening and tending a whole new batch of grilled cheese sandwiches.

Sasha went straight to Natty, and the old woman gathered the child into an embrace. Tricia had to look away—if she hadn’t, she would have burst out crying for sure—but as luck or fate would have it, her gaze landed on Conner’s face and stuck there.

Something silent and powerful passed between them;
for Tricia, it was as if their two souls had met and joined, in a way their bodies never had, sealing some sacred bargain. Or
renewing
one that was older than the stars.

Tricia might have thought she was going crazy if she hadn’t seen a flicker of confounded shock ignite in Conner’s eyes. Within half a heartbeat, the look was gone, but it had been there, all right—proof that he’d felt something, too.

Deftly, Conner picked up a spatula and scooped one of the golden-crisp sandwiches he’d made onto a plate, and then carried it over to Natty.

Natty looked up at Tricia, who was still trying to recover her inner equilibrium, and winked. “He even cooks,” she said, as though Conner wasn’t standing right there, hearing every word. “If I were sixty years younger, Tricia McCall, I’d give you a run for your money.”

Tricia’s cheeks blazed.

Conner gave her one of those tilted grins, probably to let her know he was enjoying her obvious discomfort, and Sasha sank into the chair nearest Natty’s and chimed, “That sandwich smells a lot better than the ones
Tricia
made. Hers were burnt offerings.”

Conner laughed at that, breaking the spell he’d cast over Tricia. “Want one, shortstop?” he asked the child.

“Yes, please,” Sasha said. Like Natty, she appeared to have recovered completely—Tricia was the only one still traumatized.

Conner’s glance slanted to Tricia. “Hungry?” he asked. He had a puzzled expression in his eyes now, and his voice was husky.

Oh, she was
hungry,
all right—but not for grilled cheese sandwiches.

The air seemed to collapse and then withdraw, leaving a vacuum behind.

“N-No, thanks,” she said.

He dished up a second sandwich and set it before Sasha, who would have dug in immediately if Tricia hadn’t warned, “Wash your hands.”

Sasha sighed dramatically and headed for the bathroom.

“Yes, indeed,” Natty went on, as though there had been no interruption in her observations, “a man who cooks is a rare commodity.”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” Tricia muttered, mortified all over again.

“You can’t blame a girl for trying,” Natty remarked, singsong.

Tricia set her hands on her hips, wondering which ‘girl’ Natty was referring to—herself or her great-granddaughter. “Oh, yes, you can,” she replied.

Conner interceded skillfully, retrieving his jacket from the back of the chair, shrugging it on with a gesture that could only be described as masculine grace. “I’ll come back for Valentino another time,” he told Tricia, just as Sasha bounded back into the room.

“Good idea,” Tricia said, her voice taut. She was careful not to look directly at Conner. He
still
didn’t leave.
When
was the man planning to
leave?

All his attention was on Sasha now, and she was about to inhale her grilled cheese. Apparently, the major emotional storm over Valentino’s impending change of address hadn’t done her appetite any harm.