Creed's Honor (21 page)

It did just that. If Juan hadn’t been so fast on his feet, and gotten Brody by the bends in his elbows before he could take a second step, the fight would have been on. And this time, there would have been no breaking it up.

After that, Brody got on with it, while Conner watched from alongside the fence as that crazy mix of bulls and broncos and thick-legged cows spread out over the range in all directions. He gave an affable nod as Brody passed by, on horseback now, to do some herding.

Clint and Juan got on their horses, too, and rode out, and for a while the whole thing was like a scene out of a modern-day
Lonesome Dove.
The truckers unloaded the third rig—just cattle in that one—and once the last cow was through the gate, Conner secured the gatepost with the customary barbed-wire loops.

Rodeo stock.

Trust Brody to come up with a fool idea like raising bad broncos and even badder bulls, on the same range with beef cattle.

Conner splayed the fingers of one hand and shoved them through his hair, now damp with snowflakes and matted with dirt, and pointed himself toward the barn, where the usual chores awaited.

If Brody thought for a New York nanosecond that he was going to stick his “little brother” with the responsibility for any or all of that extra livestock when the urge to roam came over him again, as it inevitably would, he was sadly mistaken.

Conner walked around the three semis, feeling the
cold bite into the back of his neck, and he was clear inside, out of the weather, before he realized that he was grinning fit to split his face in half.

“I
’VE MADE LISTS
for the movers,” Natty said, bright and early on Tuesday morning, standing in the middle of her coffee-scented kitchen and holding up a clipboard. The sky was blue and the ground was bare of snow, but there was a wintry nip in the air, too, one that made Tricia shiver in her jeans and wooly sweater.

Once Natty had announced her intention to move herself and Winston in with Doris and the Pomeranians in Denver, things started happening at a breakneck pace, it seemed to Tricia.

Except for a few personal belongings—clothing, books, photographs and special pieces of jewelry, mostly—Natty wasn’t taking much along with her. Tricia was to have her pick of the furniture, dishes, quilts and a myriad of other items, and the rest would be boxed up by moving men and hauled to a storage unit, there to await donation to next year’s rummage sale/chili feed.

Sasha was scheduled to fly home to Seattle the next day, and Tricia was going with her. For no reason she could pinpoint, she hadn’t called, texted or emailed Hunter. She’d gone so far as to change her screen saver for a shot of herself and Rusty, posing in front of a long-ago Christmas tree, both of them smiling amid stacks of wrapped packages.

Seeing Rusty’s image flash onto her computer
monitor still threw her a little, especially when she was thinking of the million and one things on her to-do list, but underneath was a sense of healing. The grief was beginning to subside at last, leaving a sweet, quiet joy behind.

Now, confronted with Natty’s clipboard, not to mention the outfit, a tiny red running suit with white racing stripes down the pant legs, topping off a matching pair of high-top sneakers, Tricia wedged her hands into the pockets of her hooded sweatshirt and grumbled, “Okay.”

“You’ll have to keep an eye on them,” Natty warned, shaking an index finger at Tricia. “The moving men, I mean. Make sure they put things in the right boxes and label everything properly—”

“I’ll see that they do the job right,” Tricia promised glumly.

“I’m counting on that. When Esme Smithers went into assisted living, her children hired movers, and her entire teapot collection went missing—she swore she saw her grandmother’s Wedgwood on eBay!”

Tricia sighed, bent distractedly to pat Valentino’s head. He seemed to sense change coming on, and he stayed close to her when he wasn’t following Sasha around.

“You don’t think you’re, maybe,
rushing into things,
just a little?” Tricia asked diplomatically.

Natty drew on her apparently inexhaustible supply of timeworn clichés for a reply. “Make hay while the sun shines, that’s what I always say,” she chirped, pursing her lips as she studied the papers on her clipboard. “Last week, I felt terrible.
This
week, I’m just
full
of
energy. Heaven only knows why that is, but I’m taking advantage of a good thing while it lasts.”

“Right,” Tricia said. There was no use in urging Natty to take it easy. If she wasn’t bedridden, she was bustling from project to project.

Natty looked up from the clipboard and narrowed her twinkly blue eyes. “Are you coming down with something, dear?” she asked. “You aren’t your old self.”

No, I’m
not
my old self,
Tricia thought crankily.
And I’m not at all sure who the
new
self is, either.

“I’m just tired, I guess,” she said, in belated response to Natty’s question.

“Where’s Sasha?” Natty asked, checking off an item on her list.

“She’s upstairs, in my kitchen, sitting in front of the computer and exchanging instant messages with her dad,” Tricia answered, crossing to the table and plunking down in a chair.

“There’s coffee,” Natty said. “Or would you rather have a nice cup of tea?”

“Nothing for me, thanks,” Tricia replied, as Valentino, still at her side, laid his muzzle on her knee and gave a shuddery canine sigh.

Natty took a chair opposite Tricia’s, setting the clipboard aside with a matter-of-fact motion of one hand. “I never thought I’d say this,” the older woman began, “but I think a trip to Seattle might be just what you need right now. You could use a change of scene, a fresh perspective.”

Tricia stroked Valentino’s head. He liked Conner, and she suspected he would adapt to the change of households quickly, but she dreaded saying goodbye to the
dog. It made her throat tighten painfully every time she considered the prospect.

“You may be right,” she agreed halfheartedly. She
was
looking forward to spending time with Diana and Paul, though of course they’d be busy making preparations for their upcoming move, and she planned on checking out some potential gallery spaces and condominiums, too. She wanted to do some shopping as well—her wardrobe had dwindled to jeans and casual tops since she’d moved to Lonesome Bend. She hoped to reconnect with some of her friends and possibly hit a favorite restaurant or two.

“Tell me what’s the matter, then,” Natty insisted quietly. “You’re
moping,
Tricia. Does this mood of yours have something to do with that—that man you were seeing, before you left Seattle?”

Tricia frowned. “Hunter?”

“Yes,” Natty said. Her tone wasn’t exactly disdainful, but it was crisp. “That’s it—
Hunter
.”

Tricia nodded. “Have you ever been very, very sure of something,” she began, “or of
somebody,
only to find out, when push came to shove, that you’re not sure after all?”

Natty giggled, and that broke the tension. “No,” she said, “I haven’t. I was sure of my Henry from the day I first set eyes on him to the day we laid him to rest, God keep his fine and honorable soul. But we’re not discussing me, are we, dear? We’re talking about
you
and—Trooper.”

“Hunter,” Tricia corrected wryly.

“Whoever,” Natty retorted, with a wave of one hand.

Tricia couldn’t help smiling a little, sad sack that she
was these days. “Stop it,” she said. “You know perfectly well what Hunter’s name is. There’s nothing wrong with your hearing or your memory.”

“All right,” Natty conceded sweetly, with another wave of her hand. The huge diamonds in her wedding and engagement rings caught a flash of sunlight through the window. “Hunter, then. I take it he’s the ‘thing’ you were ‘very, very sure’ about and now—not so much?”

“Not so much,” Tricia confessed, with regret. While she wasn’t sure how she felt about Hunter, she knew now that she
should
be sure, or at least have some idea. The only certainty here, as far as she could say, was
un-
certainty, but she had figured out this much: she wasn’t going on a romantic cruise with one man when she’d so enjoyed being kissed by another. Even if that kiss was bound to lead nowhere.

Deep down, she knew she had to make a clean break with Hunter—and soon. “I think,” she went on softly, and at some length, “that I’ve been in love with love all this time. I didn’t want to let go of the
concept,
even though the reality might never have existed at all.”

Natty smiled and got out of her chair, very spry for a woman getting ready to downsize practically every area of her life. “I’m making that tea,” she said firmly, “and don’t try to talk me out of it.”

Tricia chuckled, feeling better. Valentino stretched out at her feet, let out a sigh and went to sleep. “I know better than to try to talk Natty McCall out of
anything,
once she’s made up her mind. Or
into
anything, either, for that matter.”

Natty busied herself with the process of brewing tea from scratch, something she could probably have done in a catatonic state, she’d had so much practice over the
years. While the loose-leaf orange pekoe steeped in a china pot, Natty got out cups and saucers to match, and brought them to the table.

Once the teapot had been transported, too, Natty sat down with a happy sigh. “Now,” she said. “Where were we? Oh, yes. You were telling me that you only
thought
you were in love with this Hunter person, but now you realize that you’re meant to spend your life with Conner Creed instead.”

Color flared in Tricia’s cheeks. “I don’t realize anything of the sort,” she replied, not unkindly, but in a rather terse tone that she instantly regretted. She drew a deep breath and let it out very slowly. “I’m willing to admit that I’m attracted to Conner,” she said, changing her approach. The kiss replayed itself in her mind yet again—it was on a loop, evidently—and the reverberations spread into every cell of her body, causing her to blush even harder.

She held up a palm when Natty’s eyes began to dance with joyful mischief. “I said I was
attracted
to the man, not madly in love with him. And, anyway, we’re moving in different directions—Conner and I. He’ll get old and die on that ranch of his, content to live out his days within a stone’s throw of his hometown. I, on the other hand, want a city bustling around me, 24/7. I want sidewalks and bright lights and malls and bookstores and
people
. I want to go to operas and symphonies and get season tickets to the theater—”

“Denver has all those things, and it’s only an hour’s drive from here, when the roads are clear,” Natty was quick to point out. “And while I certainly wouldn’t describe you as antisocial or anything, you aren’t at all fond of crowds. They wear you down, remember? Sap
your energy. I know you’re young, and you’ve probably felt pretty isolated here in Lonesome Bend over the last couple of years, but—”

Tricia raised an eyebrow. Poured tea for her great-grandmother and then for herself. “But?” she prompted.

“It wouldn’t be wise to do anything drastic,” Natty said, her brow knitted with concern. “For heaven’s sake, Tricia, give yourself a chance to
think
before you go rushing off to things you’ve
already left behind
.”

“You’re a fine one to talk,” Tricia pointed out, thinking that she’d never loved her spunky great-grandmother more than she did right at that moment. She huffed out a breath. “You were
born
in this house, Natty. You were married here, you raised your son and your grandson here. Now, all of a sudden, you’re moving to Denver—and that isn’t
drastic?
”

“It’s not sudden,” Natty said, though she didn’t deny the “drastic” part, Tricia noticed. “Doris and I have been talking about sharing her house for years. It’s smaller and more modern—much more manageable, for two old women especially—than this one. For a long time, I couldn’t face the idea of living anywhere but here. Now, well, there’s just too much to worry about—plumbing that might freeze, heating bills that are higher with every passing year and then, when spring comes around, there’s the yard, and the flowerbeds—” Natty stopped, and her beautiful blue eyes filled with tears. “I’m
tired,
Tricia—tired of being weighed down by
things,
and commitments and responsibilities.”

Tricia nodded, took a sip of tea. It gave her an almost instant lift, and she wondered, very briefly, if the sweet old lady sitting across from her in a red running suit
might have laced it with some kind of fast-acting antidepressant.

“I just want you to be happy, Natty. That’s all.”

“I want the same thing for you, dear,” Natty pointed out. Her gaze dropped to Valentino, sleeping peacefully on the floor. “What’s the plan for the dog?” she added, in a whisper.

Before Tricia could reply that Conner would stop by the house and pick Valentino up in the morning, after she and Sasha left for the airport, Sasha strolled into the kitchen, all smiles.

“Dad had to go offline,” she told Natty and Tricia. “He and Mom are checking out of the hotel in a little while, then they’re going to have dinner, and
then
—” Her eyes sparkled with excitement and anticipation. “And
then
it will be time for them to leave for the airport so they can board their flight back to Seattle—where you and I will be waiting!”

Tricia smiled at Sasha’s happiness—it was catching—and slipped an arm around the child’s waist, holding her close.

But Sasha pulled free, and reached into the deep pocket of her pink sweater to bring out Tricia’s cell phone. “You left this on the counter upstairs,” she said. “And it rang a couple of times.”

Tricia thanked her, took the phone from her hand and checked for messages.

Carla, her real-estate agent, had called twice, clicking off the first time but leaving a message the second. “Tricia? I’m assuming you’re at home, even though you didn’t answer your phone, and I’m on the way over there in a few minutes. I know who the competing buyers are,
and you are never going to believe it—I have to see your face when I tell you.”

Tricia didn’t bother to call Carla back; it was already too late. She saw the woman’s big car bounce past Natty’s kitchen window as she sped up the driveway.

“Land sakes,” Natty said, alarmed. “If you could see your expression. What on
earth
is going on?”

Tricia didn’t answer; she just went to the back door and opened it.

Valentino roused himself to give a couple of lackluster barks before settling down again.

Carla, a small woman with a short pixie haircut and big sunglasses, was just getting out of her car. Her teetery high heels sank into the soft ground, and she carried a smart leather portfolio under one arm. “I have the papers and a check for the earnest money right here!” she sang out, beaming.

Although strangely nonplussed herself, Tricia certainly understood Carla’s delight in making a deal. Besides the reclusive movie stars and upper-echelon executives who occasionally bought or sold ridiculously large houses hidden away in copses of aspen trees, at the ends of long, long driveways, she didn’t have all that many clients. In Lonesome Bend, properties tended to be passed down from one generation to the next, without ever sporting a single For Sale sign.

To Tricia, and most of the other people in town, those VIP mansions were hardly more real than the village of Brigadoon. The owners evidently came and went under cover of darkness; no one ever saw them walking along the streets of Lonesome Bend, like the locals, and they certainly didn’t socialize.