Creed's Honor. Linda Miller Lael
smiled. “Probably,” she agreed. “But the French are very good cooks.”
“My friend Jessie,” Sasha remarked, “says the French don’t like Americans.”
“Jessie?” Tricia countered, stalling so she could think for a few moments.
“Jessie’s mom homeschools her and her brother, the same way my mom does me,” Sasha said. “She’s ten, just like me—Jessie, I mean—but she doesn’t have to sit in a booster seat anymore because she’s taller than I am. A lot taller.” She paused, drew a breath. “What if I don’t grow any bigger? What if I’m as old as you and Mom and I still have to ride in a stupid booster seat, like a baby, because I’m short? Jessie says it could happen.”
“Jessie sounds—precocious,” Tricia said. “You aren’t through growing, kiddo—take it from me. Your dad is six-two, and your mom is five-seven. What are the genetic chances that you’ll be short?”
“Grandma is short,” Sasha reasoned.
“I’ve met your grandmother,” Tricia responded. “And you don’t take after her at all.”
“But she is short,” Sasha insisted.
“I guess,” Tricia allowed, picturing Paul’s sweet mother, who was indeed vertically challenged. “Care to make a wager?”
“What kind of wager?” Sasha asked, sounding eager.
“I’ll bet that when you come home from France, you’ll be at least five-five.”
“What if I win? I mean, suppose I’m still four-six-and-a-half?”
“I’ll buy you a whole season, on DVD, of whatever shows your mom will let you watch.”
“Mom hates TV,” Sasha said. “But I get to watch an hour a day when we live in Paris, if I have all my homework done, because that will help me learn the language.”
Tricia barely kept from rolling her eyes. Sometimes Diana, who had been adventurous in the extreme before Sasha came along, overdid the whole responsible-parenting thing. “Okay,” she said. “What would work for you?”
“The Twilight series,” Sasha answered, with a marked lack of hesitation. “All the books in it.”
“Deal,” Tricia said, hoping she wouldn’t have to pay up before Sasha was old enough to read about teenage vampires in love.
“What do you get if I lose?” Sasha wanted to know.
Tricia considered carefully before she replied. “Well, you could draw me a picture.”
“I’d be willing to do that anyway,” Sasha said, sweet thing that she was. “Your prize has to be something better than that.”
“Let’s think about it,” Tricia suggested.
“Pizza for supper tonight?” Sasha asked.
“Pizza for supper tonight,” Tricia confirmed.
“Yes!” Sasha shouted, punching the air with one small fist. “Mom never lets me eat real pizza, but Dad and I sneak it sometimes.”
Valentino, caught up in the excitement of the moment, barked in happy agreement.
THE STONE CREEK CATTLE COMPANY, Tricia discovered the next day, when she and Sasha arrived at the campground to attend the barbecue, was owned by none other than Steven Creed.
There were Creeds everywhere—Davis and Kim, whom Tricia liked very much, were in attendance, each of them carrying a duplicate baby, dressed up warm. Conner was there, too, looking better than good, hazy in the heat mirage rising from the big central bonfire.
“Hello, Tricia,” Steven said, when she stopped in her tracks. Suddenly, all her youthful shyness was back; she might actually have fled the scene if Sasha hadn’t been with her, all primed for a Wild West experience she could brag about when she started school in Paris.
“Steven,” she said, with a polite nod. “How are you?”
“Fantastic,” Steven replied. “Married, with children.” His blue gaze shifted to Sasha, who was staring at him in apparent fascination, probably thinking, as a lot of people did, that he looked like Brad Pitt. “Is this lovely young lady your daughter?”
Sasha gave a peal of laughter at that, as if it was totally inconceivable that her honorary aunt could be somebody’s mother.
“No,” she answered. “Aunt Tricia is my mom’s best friend. I’m visiting for two whole weeks because we’re moving to Paris in a couple of months—”
“Nice to see you again, Steven,” Tricia said, after laying a hand lightly on Sasha’s small shoulder to stem the flow.
He looked around, probably for his wife, and when his eyes landed on the friendly woman bouncing one of the matching babies on one hip while she chatted with some other guests, they softened in a way that moved Tricia deeply and unexpectedly.
Had Hunter ever looked at her that way? If he had, she hadn’t noticed.
“Looks like Melissa is caught up in conversation,” Steven mused, smiling. “Don’t take off before I get a chance to introduce you two.”
“Sure,” Tricia answered, blushing. “I’d like that.”
Steven nodded, excused himself and walked away. Sasha had wandered off to play with some of the other kids, but Tricia wasn’t alone for long. She followed him with her gaze, and when she looked back at the space he’d occupied before, Conner was there.
“Hi,” he said.
She smiled up at him, even though she felt incredibly nervous. The dancing-to-a-jukebox fantasy from the day before, when she’d had to turn off Kenny Chesney, filled her mind.
“Hi,” she replied. Oh, she was a sparkling conversationalist, all right.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Conner said. She wouldn’t have known that by his expression; he wasn’t smiling. In fact, he looked as though he were trying to work out some complex equation in his head. “How’s the dog?”
“Valentino’s fine,” she answered. She’d thought she was over her childhood shyness, but here it was, back again. “He’s at home, with Natty’s cat.”
Could she sound any more inane?
Conner finally grinned, a spare, slanted motion of his mouth. “He’s going to be big when he’s full grown, you know,” he remarked.
Was it possible that Conner Creed was shy, too? Nah, she decided.
“That’s why I’m hoping to find him a home in the country someplace,” she said. “Where he can run.”
Conner merely nodded at that.
Tricia blushed, wishing the tension would subside. It didn’t, of course, and she couldn’t stand the brief silence that had settled between them, at once a bond and a barrier, so she burst out with, “He was supposed to live here, in the office, but he wouldn’t stay put. He managed to escape somehow, and showed up on my doorstep in the middle of that last big rainstorm—”
Stop babbling, she ordered herself silently.
Conner frowned. “How could he have gotten out?” he asked, and when he walked over to examine the office door, Tricia followed right along. The rest of the world seemed to fall away, forgotten. “You locked up, right?”
“I forget sometimes,” Tricia said, enjoying his apparent concern for her personal security more than she probably should have. “And the lock is old, like the rest of this place, and it doesn’t always catch. A gust of wind could have blown it open.”
“Or somebody could have broken in,” Conner said, taking the dark view evidently. “Did you call Jim Young and report what happened?”