Maisey Yates - The Cowboy Way - A Creed in Stone Creek / Part Time Cowboy

Tom flashed her a grin as he opened the door of the squad car for her and helped her to ease inside. “No way,” he said.

“Why not?”

“Because,” Tom said, with a wicked light in his eyes, “it takes two to tango, and I’ll have no part of it, thank you very much.”

Melissa groaned. “That was such a bad joke,” she said.

But then she laughed.

Tom turned serious. “I still think you should see a doctor. I could run you over to the clinic in Indian Rock in no time—”

“I’m fine, Tom,” she insisted. “And I’m not going anywhere but back to the office.”

Tom didn’t answer until he’d gotten behind the wheel again. “Not much going on there,” he observed. “Andrea can probably hold down the fort. Why not stay home for the rest of the day, if you won’t go to the doctor, and take it easy?” He indicated her purse with a nod of his head and another grin. “You could take care of all those phone messages. Reassure Bea Brady that you won’t allow the toilet-paper contingent to get out of hand when it comes time to decorate the floats for the big parade. Tell Steven Creed you’re hot for him and he’s welcome to come by for supper anytime.”

Melissa punched her old friend in the arm. “I’m going back to work,” she told her friend. “If I have to feel lousy, I might as well do it at the office as at home and, besides, my car is there.”

“Never argue with a lawyer,” Tom sighed, heading for the center of town.

“Maybe I will invite Steven over for supper again, though,” she said, after musing a while. “Care to join us?”

Tom pulled the cruiser into the usual parking spot behind the courthouse and looked over at her. “I smell a setup,” he said.

CHAPTER NINE

MELISSA GOT OUT of the squad car, opened the back door for Elvis, who leaped nimbly to the ground, and semi-hobbled toward the side entrance to the brick courthouse. Tom’s words echoed in her brain.

I smell a setup, he’d said, when she’d invited him to supper, moments before.

“You have a suspicious mind, Tom Parker,” she accused.

“Part of the job,” Tom admitted, holding open the heavy glass door for her.

It occurred to Melissa then, as it might have to Tom as well, that it was a shame their relationship had always been platonic. They’d have made a good couple, she guessed, but there was no spark on either side. Hanging out with Sheriff Parker was like being with her brother, Brad—easy, low-key and safe.

Keeping company with Steven, on the other hand, had the same charge as bungee jumping off a high bridge or riding a unicycle across the Grand Canyon on a tightrope.

“Taking risks is a part of your job, too,” Melissa replied briskly, as they moved—man, woman and dog—along the corridor. “But when it comes to romance, you’re nothing but a coward.”

“So it was a setup,” Tom said, with a note of triumph. “I knew it.”

“I might have been thinking of asking Tessa Quinn to join us,” Melissa answered, as they reached the outer door of her offices.

Melissa O’Ballivan, Prosecutor, read the faux-metal sign affixed to it.

She waited out a small rush of frustration. Once, she’d loved her work. Now, she was just marking time, it seemed, waiting for someone to break the law, so she could try them in court. Was that any way to live?

Tom frowned down at her, though there was a benevolent light in his eyes. “I’m looking forward to a platterful of Ashley’s spare ribs,” he said.

“You haven’t won yet,” Melissa pointed out. “In fact, the way you’re dragging your feet—you’ve had plenty of time to ask Tessa out, it seems to me—you’re looking more and more like the new chairman of the Parade Committee with every passing moment.”

“I’ll ask her,” Tom said.

“Fine,” Melissa retorted. “Let’s see some action here. I’m not going to let you drag this bet out until we’re all old and gray.”

He huffed out a loud sigh. “Here’s an idea,” he said. “Why don’t you just run your love life, O’Ballivan, and let me run mine?”

Melissa didn’t have a reply ready, since neither of them actually had a love life, so she pushed open the office door and stepped inside, leaving Tom and Elvis in the corridor.

“As far as I’m concerned, the bet is off,” Tom called after her.

“You wish,” Melissa called back.

Andrea, though puffy-eyed, looked as though she’d rallied while Melissa was away. She smiled, pushed back her chair and hurried into the tiny break room, returning moments later with a steaming cup of coffee.

The fragrance was tantalizing.

“I made it myself,” Andrea said, sweeping past her, into the inner office, and setting the cup down on Melissa’s desk.

“I thought making coffee was against your principles,” Melissa said lightly, extracting the stack of messages from her purse before putting the bag away in its usual cubbyhole.

“You’re the one who said it wasn’t in my job description,” Andrea said.

Melissa smiled. “Nevertheless, Andrea,” she replied, with a touch of irony that was probably lost on her assistant, “thank you for making the coffee. Did anyone call or stop by while I was out?”

For a fraction of a second, Andrea looked almost coy. “Mr. Creed was here,” the girl responded. “About fifteen or twenty minutes ago.”

Melissa’s heart raced, though she was all-business on the outside.

Or so she hoped, anyway.

She sat down, reached for the cup, took a sip of coffee before saying anything at all. “Oh? Did he say what he wanted?”

Be casual.

“Lunch,” Andrea said.

Lunch—an ordinary enough concept. When connected with Steven Creed, however, even the suggestion gave her that runaway roller-coaster feeling again.

Melissa merely nodded. She fanned the phone messages out on the surface of her desk, just to give herself something to do.

“I could get Mr. Creed on the phone for you,” Andrea offered, her tone eager, almost breathless.

Melissa didn’t look up from the messages. “I’ll do that myself, Andrea,” she said. “But thank you.”

“He’s pretty hot,” Andrea commented.

Melissa sighed. Agreeing that Steven was hot would have been like agreeing that the sky was blue.

Andrea hurried out of the office and closed the door behind her.

Melissa picked up the telephone handset, squinted at the written message with Steven’s name on it and dialed.

While she waited, a miniature Cirque de Soleil sprang to life in the pit of her stomach, performing death-defying spins and leaps and dives.

This was ridiculous. Maybe Steven Creed was attractive—okay, he was definitely attractive—but he was a mortal man, not a Greek god, for heaven’s sake.

Then again, that was the problem, wasn’t it? He was all man—too much man—maybe even more man than she could handle.

As if.

“Steven Creed,” he said suddenly, startling Melissa. She realized she hadn’t actually expected him to answer the call—she’d planned on leaving a message. Counted, inexplicably, on that little buffer of time.

“H-hello,” she responded, all but croaking the word. Get a grip, she told herself silently. You’re a grown woman, dammit, not a teenager.

“Melissa?”

“Yes.” She cleared her throat. Squeezed her eyes shut tight. “It’s me. I’m sorry—I was planning to answer your call earlier, but then something came up and I had to leave the office and—”

“I just wanted to invite you to lunch,” Steven said, with a smile in his voice, when she bogged down in the middle of her sentence. She’d have sworn he knew how rattled she was, and that only made her more so. “I’ll understand, of course, if you’re busy or something. It’s pretty short notice.”