Creed's Honor (22 page)

“Aren’t you going to ask about the buyers?” Carla trilled, coming up the steps of the back porch.

Tricia stepped back to let her in, nearly tripping over Sasha as she did so.

She didn’t get a chance to say anything, though, because Carla entered talking.

“Both Brody and Conner Creed put in bids,” she said, nodding to Natty and eyeing Valentino with a degree of trepidation. Given that he was sleeping, the trepidation was brief. “Conner withdrew his offer this morning, but Brody is prepared to close the deal at any time.
And
he’s willing to pay your asking price, if you recall.”

Tricia just stood there, not knowing
what
to think.

Conner
had wanted to buy the campground, the RV park and the Bluebird Drive-in? Why?

Carla laughed merrily at Tricia’s look of consternation. “Who would have thought Brody Creed would ever show his face in Lonesome Bend again after—” She looked at Natty, then at Sasha. “After what happened,” she finished.

“What happened?” Sasha asked.

“Never you mind,” said Natty, watching Carla but speaking to the child. Then, for Carla’s benefit, she added, “Besides, all of that was a long time ago, wasn’t it?”

Carla gave another of her tinkly, music-box giggles, but it sounded tinny this time around. “Yes,” she said. “What’s done is done. Water under the bridge, and all that.”

“Precisely,” Natty said. Then she turned a warm smile on Sasha. “Dear, would you mind carrying in some of that nice firewood Conner brought by while I
was in Denver? I think a cozy blaze would be just the thing, on a cold day like this.”

Sasha hesitated, clearly aware that she was getting the bum’s rush so the adults could talk freely, but in the end she was too well-mannered to object. She gave an eloquent sigh and pounded upstairs to get her jacket. Carrying wood in from the shed out back would be chilly, splintery work.

“All you have to do is sign on the dotted line, accepting Brody’s very generous terms, and we can get this thing rolling,” Carla said, slapping her portfolio down on Natty’s tablecloth and slipping out of her stylish coat.

“Why were they so secretive in the beginning?” Tricia asked, barely scratching the surface of what she wanted to know. “Brody and Conner, I mean. You said the offers came through corporate attorneys.”

“They did,” Carla said, taking a chair and briskly unzipping the portfolio, taking out a sheaf of documents. Again, Tricia had that disturbing sense of everything speeding up, reeling out of control, like some carnival ride gone berserk. “But each of them was trying to keep the other out of the loop—they weren’t out to deceive us in any way.”

“But—”

Sasha reappeared, wearing her coat, and headed outside to get the requested firewood, closing the door hard behind her.

Both Natty and Tricia smiled.

Carla merely started slightly and shook her head. Her expression said,
Kids.

“Did Brody happen to say why he wants River’s Bend and the drive-in?” Natty asked mildly.

Carla smiled an oh-happy-day kind of smile, tapping
the already tidy stack of papers against the table. “Does it matter?”

Tricia thought about her dad, cutting the grass out at the drive-in for years after it closed, picking up litter over at the campground, teaching her to fish at the edge of the river. “Yes,” she said, very quietly. “It matters.”

Carla reddened slightly. Hesitated.

From the woman’s expression, a person would have thought Brody Creed intended to turn River’s Bend into a dumping ground for toxic waste.

Carla held out the pen.

Tricia ignored it.

Outside, chunks of firewood could be heard striking the back porch.

Carla sighed. “Brody wants to make the properties part of the Creed ranch,” she said, her eyes darting between Natty and Tricia. “That’s all.”

Tricia kind of liked that idea. She’d always known, of course, that the old movie screen would have to come down; it was an eyesore. It was nice to imagine cattle and horses grazing there, meandering down to the riverside to drink.

“Why did Conner try to buy it?” Natty asked.

“You know how those two are,” Carla said, with another anxious little smile. “They—compete. It goes all the way back to—well—that scuffle over Joleen.”

“Ancient history,” Natty said.

“I guess so,” Carla agreed, uncertainly.

“Joleen used to come here for piano lessons,” Natty recalled fondly. “Every Tuesday, after school. She was a spirited girl, there was no denying that, and she enjoyed playing games, too, always pushing the envelope when it came to flirting and boys. But she wasn’t cut out to
marry Conner Creed, or live in Lonesome Bend for the rest of her life, and everybody knew it.”

Everybody except, maybe, Conner,
Tricia thought, with rising despair. Had Conner wanted to buy her land because he knew she meant to leave town as soon as the ink was dry on the contracts?

“And we’re talking about seven figures, here,” Carla reminded everyone.

Tricia sighed.
Ah, yes. The money.
Until she’d learned what Brody’s plans were, she’d been secretly afraid a housing development might be going in where the campground and the drive-in were now or, God forbid, one of those sprawling big box stores.

“Right,” she said, knowing how pleased Joe would be that his long-range plans for his daughter’s financial well-being had paid off so handsomely. For him as much as for herself, Tricia picked up the stack of documents and read every word on every page.

Sasha came through the back door, her little arms full of wood. “Can I come in now?” she asked. Her lower lip was protruding slightly, and her gaze was fiery. She didn’t like being sidelined. “It’s
cold
out there, you know.”

“Yes,” Natty said, with a tiny smile. “You may.”

Tricia read on. Everything seemed to be in order as far as Brody’s offer was concerned; he wasn’t asking for any improvements or upgrades and he was prepared to close at any time. Satisfied, Tricia signed beside each of the little stick-on arrows Carla had put in place ahead of time.

Carla all but snatched up the documents, as if she thought Tricia might change her mind and cancel the deal. Only after the woman had tucked the papers into
her portfolio and zipped the zipper did she speak. “Well, then, that’s done,” she said, clearly relieved. Rising, she stuck out a hand to Tricia. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” Tricia murmured. Because her head was spinning a little—even considering taxes, the last of Joe’s debts and Carla’s commission, she was a wealthy woman—she didn’t get out of her chair.

“I’ll just be on my way. I’ll call you with a choice of dates for the closing,” Carla said. Putting her coat back on proved an awkward enterprise, since she was evidently unwilling to lay the portfolio down and free both hands at once.

“I’ll be out of town for a little over a week,” Tricia recalled. “Starting tomorrow. But you can reach me on my cell phone.”

Carla smiled. “Eventually, yes,” she said.

And, moments later, she was gone, back in her big real-estate agent’s car, driving away. Tricia frowned.

“You don’t seem very happy,” Natty ventured, watching her.

“I’m
happy,
” Tricia lied.

One stubborn woman recognizing another, Natty didn’t press the point.

C
ONNER WAITED UNTIL
he was sure Tricia and the little girl had left for Denver the next morning, before stopping by to get Valentino.

Natty, busy lording it over a crew of moving men, paused long enough to smile sadly and say, “We are going to miss that dog.”

“I’ll take good care of him, Natty,” Conner answered. Sure, he’d been meaning to get a dog for a while, but he
was doing somebody a
favor
here, wasn’t he? So why did he feel guilty, like he was kidnapping the critter or something?

“I know,” Natty said softly, patting his arm distractedly. “I really thought Tricia would want to keep more of this stuff,” she confided. “Turns out she only wanted family photos and some of the china. She’s not much for
things,
though.”

Word was all over town about Natty’s move to Denver, so Conner wasn’t surprised to find her sorting her belongings. Still, she
was
shedding a lot of memories, it seemed to him, right along with the figurines and the needlepoint pillows and the like. And she wasn’t wasting much time doing it.

“What’s the big hurry, Natty?” Conner asked, without planning on saying anything of the sort.

“Once I make a decision,” Natty replied, “I like to move on it. There’s nothing to be gained, in my opinion, by dillydallying.” She paused. “Don’t you agree?”

“I don’t reckon it’s my place to agree or disagree,” Conner hedged. The dog, soon to be rechristened Bill, leaned heavily against his leg.

Natty sighed and put her hands on her hips. She looked a little quaint, standing there in a flashy gold lamé running suit and sequined shoes.
Bring on those big-city lights,
her getup seemed to say.
And let’s party!

She also looked annoyed. “I declare, Conner Creed,” she said, causing him to rock back slightly on his boot heels, “for an intelligent man, you can be remarkably obtuse!”

He blinked and, knowing all the while that he’d live to regret it, asked, “What are you talking about?”

Natty looked back over one shoulder, probably making sure the moving men were doing what she’d hired them to do, but her blue eyes had a chill in them when they landed on Conner again.

The dog sighed and sat down.

“I’m talking about Tricia,” Natty said, in a stage whisper. “And if you weren’t such a lunkhead, you’d have known that without asking!”

Conner felt that sinking sensation again. It was as though the floor had suddenly turned to foam rubber. “What
about
Tricia?”

“You know darned well
what about Tricia,
” Natty lectured. “Are you really,
truly
going to stand by and do nothing while she makes the biggest mistake of her life?”

They were standing in the entryway.

The moving men were listening in.

So Conner took Natty lightly by the elbow and escorted her into the small parlor, where there were still plenty of chairs.

Valentino slogged resolutely along, apparently resigned to go with the flow. There was something sad about that, to Conner’s mind—as if the dog knew he was being ditched and had decided not to fight it.

“Sit,” he told the animal.

“I beg your pardon?” Natty demanded, feathers ruffling right up.

Conner chuckled. “I was talking to Bill, here,” he said.

Natty frowned. “Bill?”

“The canine formerly known as Valentino,” Conner explained.

Natty sank into a prissy little chair. Now, there were tears in her eyes.

Conner’s heart skittered up into his throat, because he hated it when women cried. He never knew what to do, or say.

“It’s all so sad,” Natty said, after a short silence.

Conner dropped to one knee, ruffled the dog’s ears to let him know he’d be okay, but he kept his gaze fastened on Natty McCall, an institution in Lonesome Bend. “What’s sad, Natty?” he asked, very quietly. “Leaving this house? If you don’t want to go, just say so, and I’ll have those guys packing up your stuff out of here in no time—”

Natty interrupted him with a shake of her head. She dabbed at her eyes with a lace-trimmed hanky plucked from the pocket of her sparkly jacket. “It’s time for me to go,” she said.

Something in her tone gave Conner a chill. “I hope you didn’t mean that the way it sounded,” he said carefully.

“To
Denver,
” she clarified, with a moist giggle. “Conner, I’m an old woman, but I’m not so far gone that I don’t know passion when I see it, that I don’t know
love
.”

“Whoa,” Conner said gravely. “Passion? Love? You’ve lost me again.”

Natty shook her head, set her very small jaw. “Men,” she scoffed, her tone mild but her eyes fiery. “Are you just going to let Tricia move back to Seattle without even giving the two of you a
chance?
”

Tricia’s plans to leave were never too far from his mind, but the facts had a way of pouncing on him when
he wasn’t paying attention. He got to his feet, after murmuring a few soothing words to the dog.

“I can’t make Tricia stay in Lonesome Bend, Natty,” he said quietly. “She’s a grown woman, with her own plans.” He paused, cleared his throat, remembering the ski-guy in the screen-saver picture. “Anyway, there’s somebody else in her life. Somebody she wants to get back to.”

Natty waved a hand at him. “Nonsense,” she said. “Tricia is attracted to
you,
Conner. She told me so, just yesterday. In fact, she went so far as to confide that she’s been fooling herself about having a future with Hunter.”

Conner didn’t know what to say to that. Tricia had responded to his kiss, he knew that, and every time they were in the same room, the air crackled. So they were attracted to each other? That was a far cry from being in love, and if all Conner had wanted from a woman was good sex, well, hell, there had never been any shortage of that.

The problem was that Conner wanted a lot more than a bedmate. He wanted a full partner, a confidante, somebody he could trust with all those dusty old dreams of his. He wanted kids and dogs running every which way. He wanted a
family
.

And he wasn’t willing to settle for less, even if it meant being alone for the rest of his life.

“Bill and I had better get going,” he finally said, his voice gravelly. “We’re burning daylight.”

With that, he crossed to Natty’s chair, bent and kissed her lightly on the forehead.

“Goodbye, Natty,” he said. “If you need anything, anything at all, you just let me know.”

She put a small hand on his coat sleeve, held on for a moment then let go.

His last image of Natty McCall was of her sitting there in that slipper chair, dressed up like Elvis, her eyes that much bluer for the sorrow they held.

T
RICIA HAD BEEN IN
S
EATTLE
for three full days when Diana finally shamed her into contacting Hunter.

“If you won’t call or email the man,” Diana said, one morning when the two of them were sitting in her sunny kitchen, chatting and drinking coffee, “then go and see him in person. You can’t go on like this, Tricia.”

Tricia sighed. “Like what?” she stalled. Since her and Sasha’s plane had landed on Wednesday afternoon—they’d waited only an hour for a jet-lagged Diana and Paul to arrive via Air France—it seemed as though every minute of her time had been occupied.

While catching up, she and Diana had shopped for groceries, picked up dry cleaning, cooked together and pored over about a million digital photos of the new house in Paris.

After much discussion, the couple had decided to put most of their things in storage and lease out their lovely suburban home in Seattle, rather than sell it. That meant sorting stuff, stuff and more stuff.

“You seem—confused,” Diana said, after thinking about Tricia’s response for a few moments. “Or
down,
or something. For nearly two years, all you’ve talked about was Hunter this, and Hunter that, and I’ll bet you haven’t said three words about the man since you got here. That spells
A-V-O-I-D-A-N-C-E,
my friend. On top of that,
you’re about to be debt-free and rolling in money, but you haven’t looked at a single storefront for that gallery you’ve wanted to open for as long as I’ve known you, or even checked out a condo, for that matter.”

“We
have
been a little busy,” Tricia pointed out.

“Tell me I’m right,” Diana said, undaunted. “You’ve seen the error of your ways. You’re about to dump the biggest loser. That’s why you’ve been so preoccupied, isn’t it? That and the cowboy Sasha can’t stop talking about?”

Tricia sighed, raised and lowered her shoulders in a slow semblance of a shrug. “It’s just that so many things have happened lately,” she said, hoping Diana wouldn’t press the Conner issue. Fat chance.

“Sasha says she saw him kiss you,” Diana said. “The cowboy, I mean.”

“His name is Conner,” Tricia said. “And the kiss was just—a kiss. An impulse. We lost our heads.”

“Sure you did,” Diana said, with a saucy little smile.

Tricia blushed. “Okay, so maybe I enjoyed the kiss, all right?”

Diana laughed. “Nothing wrong with that.”

“There
is
something wrong with it,” Tricia argued, after looking around to make sure Sasha wasn’t within earshot, “if you’re technically involved with
someone else
.”

“‘Involved’? You and Hunter? Give me a break. When was the last time you even saw the man, let alone had sex with him?”

“Shhh!” Tricia scolded, color stinging her cheeks. “What if Sasha had heard that?”

“Sasha,” Diana replied, “is in the garage helping her dad decide which set of golf clubs he wants to take to Paris.” She leaned forward slightly, her green eyes twinkling as she studied Tricia. “What about Conner? Come on, ’fess up—have you been to bed with him?”

“Of course not,” Tricia said.

“Pity,” Diana said. “You want to, though, don’t you?”

“Diana.”

“Don’t you?”

Tricia groaned. “Okay,” she admitted grudgingly. “Yes. Maybe.”

“‘Yes, maybe’? Now there’s a definitive answer. Either you want to hit the hay with this Conner dude, or you don’t.”

Tricia looked away.

“You do!” Diana exulted.

Tricia forced herself to meet her friend’s gaze. “All right, I do,” she said. “Maybe.”

“Maybe nothing,” Diana said. “You want him. And from the way Sasha described that kiss, he definitely wants you. So what’s the holdup?”

“What’s the holdup?” Tricia echoed, frustrated and embarrassed. She felt as shy as she ever had as an adolescent. Any minute now, her teeth would sprout braces and her skin would break out. “I told you. I have to clear things up with Hunter first. And even if I—even if I
do
end up—” she lowered her voice to a near whisper “—going to bed with Conner Creed, it might not change anything.”

“Oh, it’ll change something, all right,” Diana teased. Then she stood up, walked over to the desk in the corner, and came back with her purse. She rummaged through
it and laid a set of keys on the table in front of Tricia. “As a general rule, I like to keep certain observations to myself, but this time, I’m making an exception. You’re acting just like your mother, Tricia.”

A pang of recognition struck Tricia in that moment, so she went into immediate denial. “Oh, right. My mother is at an emotional remove from everything, including herself. She’s afraid to care about anything other than a natural disaster of some kind.”

Diana simply sat back in her chair, folded her arms and said, “Isn’t that why you stuck it out with Hunter all this time? Because you could keep your distance and still enjoy the fantasy that you were in a real relationship?”

Tricia blinked. “No,” she replied, but it took a beat too long. “For heaven’s sake, Diana, you make me sound like one of those women who marries a guy serving life in prison—”

Diana arched an eyebrow, gave her head a slight shake. “I wouldn’t go that far,” she said. “But you’re scared of really
connecting
with a man—especially a man who, unlike Hunter, won’t settle for anything less. My guess is, the cowboy terrifies you.”

“That’s preposterous,” Tricia sputtered. But gears were turning in her mind.
Was
she like her mother? Was she incapable of opening her heart and her life to another person?

Diana smiled. Pushed the car keys closer. “Here. Take my car and drive yourself to Hunter’s studio and tell that egomaniac what he can do with his romantic cruise to Mexico, not to mention all those promises. That will be a start, anyway.”

Tricia swallowed hard. It didn’t seem like a start to
her, but the end of a safe and comfortable and, okay,
boring
time in her life.

In the next instant, another possibility occurred to her. “Is there something you should have told me?” Tricia asked, very quietly. But she did reach for the car keys. “Diana, what do you know about Hunter that I don’t?”

“I’m your best friend,” Diana said, with equal amounts of frustration and affection. “If I had any kind of goods on the guy, I’d have told you in a heartbeat. It’s just a feeling I have, that’s all—that he’s not good enough for you. He’s sort of—shifty.”

“Shifty.” Tricia sighed. “I’ll be back,” she said.

A few minutes later, she was driving toward downtown Seattle in her friend’s sporty blue BMW, keeping the comparison Diana had drawn between Tricia and her mother at bay by rehearsing what she’d say when she got to Hunter’s studio.

I’m sorry I didn’t call first. I know it’s rude to just show up like this.

Trouble was, she didn’t feel like apologizing. After all, she hadn’t done anything wrong.

There’s this guy in Lonesome Bend…I barely know him, you understand, but I’d like
—love—
to explore the possibilities.

No, that wouldn’t do, either. What might or might not happen between her and Conner was flat-out none of Hunter’s business, once they’d agreed to see other people.

Let’s face it, Hunter. We haven’t been a couple in a long time.

“Excellent,” Tricia said, out loud and with scorn.

She took a wrong turn at the next light and, since
downtown Seattle was composed of one-way streets, she had to drive even farther out of her way just to backtrack. By the time she pulled into the parking lot in Pioneer Square, she was no closer to deciding what to say to Hunter than she had been when she’d left Diana and Paul’s place.

And it was only then that she realized she hadn’t even checked her lipstick, let alone done anything with her hair.

She was decently dressed, though, since she and Diana were planning a trip to the mall later that day. She’d replaced her usual Lonesome Bend garb of jeans and tops—T-shirts in spring and summer, sweatshirts in fall and winter—with a pair of black jeans and a simple white top.

Breaking up, she decided, marching herself toward the brick building where Hunter lived and painted in an elegantly rustic loft, shouldn’t be all
that
hard to do.

The converted warehouse boasted a doorman, as well as a stunning view of Elliott Bay and the Olympic Mountains, and Tony recognized her right away.

His eyes rounded. “Haven’t seen you in a while,” he said awkwardly. “How have you been, Ms. McCall?”

“I’ve been fine, Tony,” Tricia said, stepping into the elevator. “I’ll see myself in, thanks.”

Tony blinked and, as the door slipped closed, Tricia would have sworn she’d seen him lunge for the intercom.

Sure enough, when the elevator reached the top floor, Hunter was standing right there, waiting for her.

He was good-looking, she thought offhandedly, in a game-show-host kind of way. All teeth and hair.

“Tricia!” he said. “I wasn’t expecting—”

“I’m sorry,” Tricia said, forgetting her firm decision not to apologize. “I should have called.”

Hunter sighed, shoved a hand through his hair. He didn’t seem to know what to do or say and, once or twice, he glanced back at the half-open door leading into his loft. “Well,” he finally stammered out, “I guess there’s no harm done.”

“Good,” Tricia said. Puzzle pieces were falling into place.

What an idiot she’d been, she was thinking. What a naïve, romantic
idiot.
Hunter wasn’t alone, and he probably
hadn’t
been, from the day she left for Colorado, intending to settle her dad’s estate and return right away.

She smiled. If she’d cared about Hunter, she might have said something catty, like, “Aren’t you going to ask me in?”

If she’d cared, she’d have been hurt and angry, because she knew in every fiber of her being that there was a woman inside, probably listening at the door. Maybe dressed and maybe not.

Instead, she felt a tremendous sense of relief. And she
laughed.
“It’s okay, Hunter,” she said. “I just came by to tell you I won’t be coming along on that cruise, but thanks anyway.”

Hunter’s eyes narrowed, and his mouth dropped open for a moment, before he regained control. Enormously successful in just about every area of his life, he wasn’t used to rejection.

A face appeared in the opening between the door and the frame. Hunter’s guest was pretty, with spiky blonde hair, and way too young for him.

“What cruise?” Lolita asked, pouting.

“Oops,” Tricia said, amused.

Hunter reddened. “Monica has been doing some modeling for me,” he said.

Along with a few other things,
Tricia thought.

“Monica,” Hunter snapped, “go back inside.”

“I want to know about this cruise,” Monica said.

“It’s all a big mistake,” Tricia told the young woman cheerfully. “I must be in the wrong building.”

“Oh,” Monica replied, still confused but willing to be mollified. With that, she retreated, and closed the door to Hunter’s loft.

“It’s just that you were gone so long,” Hunter said, miserably. Then he brightened. “But now that you’re back—”

Tricia smiled and shook her head. “I’m not back, Hunter,” she told him. “Not the way you mean, anyway.”

“If you’ll just give me a chance—the cruise—”

“No cruise,” Tricia said, turning to push the down button that would summon the elevator again. “Goodbye, Hunter. Have an excellent life.”

She truly meant those words.

It was over. She was
free.

“Wait,” Hunter protested. “What about all our plans? What about the gallery we were going to open together? What about—?”

The elevator doors swished open. It hadn’t gone anywhere.

Tricia stepped inside. Waggled her fingers at Hunter in farewell and mouthed the word
Over.

And that was it.

Tony, the doorman, was waiting anxiously when she
emerged into the lobby seconds later. He was probably used to women coming and going, used to scenes.

Tricia’s smile obviously took him aback.

He opened his mouth, closed it again, then scrambled to hold the lobby door for her. “You’re all right?” he asked meekly.

“Oh, I’m better than all right,” Tricia answered.

And I am not emotionally distant, like my mother.

Much.

T
HE DOG RAN AWAY TWICE
before he figured out that he didn’t live in town anymore.

Both times, he went straight to Tricia’s place, and both times Conner found him sitting on the landing outside her door, waiting in vain to be admitted.

The sight choked Conner up a little, and not just because the critter looked so pitiful. He knew how that dog felt, because he missed Tricia, too. Missed her more than he’d ever thought it was possible to miss a woman, especially when he’d never done anything more than kiss her.

“Tell you what,” Conner said gruffly, after hauling the dog bodily down the stairs and setting him in the passenger seat of his truck. “We’ll go back to calling you Valentino. No more Bill. How would that be?”

Valentino licked Conner’s cheek and settled himself for the ride back out to the ranch, looking straight out through the windshield.

It started to rain right after that, and Conner succumbed to the low mood that had been trying to drag him under ever since Tricia left for Seattle. At home, he did the usual chores, keeping one eye on Valentino while he worked. The dog sat in the open doorway of the
barn, his furry back turned to Conner, cutting a forlorn figure against a backdrop of gray drizzle.

Later, Conner built a fire in the stove in the kitchen and grilled up a good-size T-bone steak for supper.

He and Valentino shared the meat and a couple of cans of beer.

When Brody wandered in out of the storm, around eight that night, Conner was damn near glad to see him.

“Guess I’ve thrown in with a somber outfit,” Brody drawled, shrugging out of his wet coat and hanging it up, along with his hat. “I don’t know which of you looks more down in the mouth, little brother—you or the dog.”