Part 32 (2/2)

”Melissa-” Ashley said.

Melissa picked up her purse, ferreted inside it for her car keys and headed for the Quinns' front door. There, she paused and turned to a.s.sess-very coolly-the three other women who had summoned her on false pretenses. ”The parade starts at six tomorrow night,” she said. ”We're gathering at four, in the parking lot behind the high school. If any of you actually want to help, help, be there.” be there.”

n.o.body said anything.

Naturally.

Slinging the strap of her purse over one shoulder, Melissa left with a flourish.

IT HAD BEEN OVER A WEEK since he'd seen Melissa, except at a distance, and Steven did his d.a.m.nedest to carry on as if nothing had changed. since he'd seen Melissa, except at a distance, and Steven did his d.a.m.nedest to carry on as if nothing had changed.

Every morning, he fed Matt and the dog breakfast, made do with stale, reheated coffee himself. At night, he slept heavily, mired in mixed-up dreams he couldn't remember two seconds after he opened his eyes, and he sure as h.e.l.l didn't feel rested-more like a wino, hung over after a three-day binge.

Quite a trick, since he hadn't had anything to drink since before Brody left.

Leaving the tour bus that Friday morning, locking it behind him, Steven was mildly pleased to see that the renovation crew had already arrived to put in another day's work. The barn, a nifty-looking prebuilt structure, already had walls and a roof and, by Monday, the stalls would be in, as well. He stopped to confer briefly with the foreman, who told him they were putting up drywall in the bedrooms that day, and they'd start installing the kitchen and bathroom fixtures tomorrow.

”If you don't watch it,” Steven said, only half kidding, ”you're going to give the contracting business a good name.”

The foreman smiled at the comment, puny as it was, and informed Steven that the company was family-owned, had been in business for four generations and there had been at least one member of the clan on one crew or another from the first.

The watchword, Steven thought, was continuity. continuity. It was a way of life with most of the Creeds-the McKettricks and the O'Ballivans, too. And it was what Steven wanted for Matt, for himself, and for any descendants inclined to live out their lives on a ranch. It was a way of life with most of the Creeds-the McKettricks and the O'Ballivans, too. And it was what Steven wanted for Matt, for himself, and for any descendants inclined to live out their lives on a ranch.

He hadn't reckoned on Melissa when he'd decided to put down roots in Stone Creek, but life was full of things n.o.body had reckoned on, wasn't it? A man had to do the best he could with whatever hand he was dealt, press on, take the good with the bad.

Some family histories just happened. Others were deliberately created.

Steven intended to build a dandy one, and to do that, he'd need a wife. Eventually.

Things would turn out just fine, he a.s.sured himself, while he was buckling Matt into his safety seat in the truck, as long as he stayed away from lady lawyers- Cindy aside, he'd never been able to get along with them, outside the office or the courtroom, even when they played on his team.

Insanity, the saying went, was doing the same thing over and over again and expecting to get different results.

Melissa was beautiful and funny and smart, everything he admired in a woman, but when push came to shove, she had the prosecutorial mind-set: The accused was guilty until proven innocent, not the other way around. And Steven, to the roots of his being, was all about all about the other way around. the other way around.

Matt brought him out of his reflections with a jolt, his tone worried. ”You look really sad.”

”Maybe I am a little,” Steven said, once he'd helped Zeke onto the seat, next to his pint-size master.

”Because you're not going out on dates with Melissa anymore?”

”Partly,” Steven replied. He never lied to the boy, but he wasn't inclined to burden a five-year-old with adult problems, either. He just wished Matt hadn't developed a s.h.i.+ning set of high hopes as far as the Stone Creek County prosecutor was concerned.

In Matt's mind, Steven was sure, Melissa was on the fast track to becoming his new mommy. His drawing of the stick-people family was still taped to the refrigerator door, and he wouldn't hear of taking it down, except to pore over it and add a detail here and there, with a pencil or a stub of crayon.

”I guess it's grown-up stuff?” Matt asked, with a certain resignation.

Steven grinned, though he felt hollow inside. ”Grownup stuff,” he confirmed. ”Nothing you need to worry about.”

”Okay,” Matt agreed, but he didn't seem convinced.

Steven shut the door, walked around the truck and hauled himself up behind the wheel. He was only thirty-five, but he felt about eighty that morning.

The dreams he couldn't remember still weighed on him.

He shoved a hand through his hair and started the engine.

Matt was quiet during the drive into town; Steven could almost hear the gears grinding in that little head.

When they pulled up at Creekside Academy, Matt didn't seem happy to be there, as he usually did.

Kids, Steven rea.s.sured himself, as Matt dawdled along the sidewalk, delaying entering the building for as long as he could, are resilient.

Must be nice, he thought, trying to remember what it felt like, being good at bouncing back.

He watched until Matt was safely inside the building, then turned and got into the truck again. Zeke, still in back, craned his neck and laved the side of Steven's face once with his sandpaper tongue.

Steven chuckled, checked all the mirrors and backed out of the parking s.p.a.ce.

The Stop & Shop was back to business as usual, had been since the morning after the robbery.

Talk about resilience.

On impulse, he turned into the lot and parked.

Martine was back at work, as he'd hoped-she'd taken some time off after the robbery, and Steven hadn't wanted to bother her at home.

After adjusting the windows and telling Zeke he'd be right back, he walked into the store.

Martine was there, looking a little pale around the gills, but otherwise she seemed pretty cheerful.

A plain young woman standing at the counter paid for her purchases-a half gallon of milk and two lottery tickets-and nodded to Steven as she pa.s.sed him on her way out of the store.

Steven nodded back, waited until he and Martine were alone, then reintroduced himself. They'd already met, of course, but she'd been through a trauma and he figured she might not remember.

”h.e.l.lo, again,” Martine responded, with a wan smile, proving him wrong. He recalled last time's reference to her unmarried daughter. ”What can I do for you, Mr. Creed?”

”Steven,” he corrected, approaching the counter. ”I'd like to ask you a couple of questions about the other night, if you wouldn't mind.”

Martine looked reluctant, almost pained, but she nodded. ”You and half the cops in the state of Arizona,” she sighed. Evidently not one to be idle, she wiped ineffectually at the gla.s.s countertop with a cloth as she spoke. ”It started out as a normal night. Things were quiet, so I went back to the storage room to call my boyfriend on my cell. We've been having some trouble lately, him and me. Anyhow, when we were finished talking, I was too antsy to finish my break, so I headed for the front of the store. And the guy with the ski mask was standing there, right about where you are now, with a gun in one hand-” she paused to point, blanching as the experience replayed itself in her mind.

”And you recognized Byron, even with the ski mask covering his entire head?”

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