Montana Creeds: Tyler

“How about you?” she asked Hal. “Did you rest this afternoon?”

Hal grinned. Here at home, he didn’t look so wan and gaunt as he had in the hospital. The expression of frenzied dismay in his eyes had subsided, too. He’d decided, Lily thought, to live.

“As much as I could, with half the town stopping by with food,” he answered. “The doorbell rang at least a dozen times.”

Lily was horrified. She hadn’t heard a thing. Hadn’t stirred on the hard twin bed in the sewing room. What kind of caretaker was she, anyway?

Her thoughts must have shown in her face; Hal winked and said quietly, “Sit down, Lily. You’re home now.”

You’re home now .

Kristy had said something similar, earlier that day.

It was a nice fantasy, Lily supposed, but once her father was well enough to carry on alone, she and Tess would be returning to their old lives in Chicago, to the condo, and Tess’s private school, and Lily’s job as a buyer for an online retailer of women’s clothes.

Burke’s mother, Eloise, who doted on Tess, would be lost without their weekly tea parties—just the two of them, if you didn’t count Eloise’s maid, Dolores. They used the best bone china, Eloise and Tess, and wore flowered hats and white gloves with pearl buttons. Eloise took Tess to museums, and bought her beautiful, hand-made dresses, and invited her for long weekends at the Kenyon “cottage” on Nantucket.

The place had three stories, fourteen rooms, each one graced with exquisitely shabby antique furniture. Priceless seascapes graced the walls, and even the rugs were either heirlooms or elegant finds from the finest auction houses in the world.

Tess, Eloise never hesitated to point out, was all she had left, with her husband gone and her only son killed in the prime of his life. The accusation went unspoken: if Lily had just been a little more tolerant of Burke’s “high spirits,” a little more patient—

Lily’s own mother seemed to have no time for her, or even for Tess, she was so busy gracing her powerful husband’s arm at swanky parties up and down the eastern seaboard.

Resolutely, she shook off the reverie, went to the kitchen sink and washed her hands. Then she sat down to a “sketty” supper with her family.

“I like that man with the dog,” Tess announced, midway through the meal.

Lily felt a little jolt at the mere reminder of Tyler.

“Where does he live?” Tess persisted, when neither Lily nor Hal offered a response.

Lily had no idea. Didn’t want to know. Everything would be easier if she could just pretend Tyler Creed didn’t exist, the way she had since the night he broke her heart, but that was bound to be a tall order in a town as small as Stillwater Springs.

“His family owns a ranch,” Hal explained, with a readiness that surprised Lily, given her father’s formerly low opinion of the Creeds in general and Tyler in particular. She flashed back to the friendly way he’d greeted Tyler when they found him walking along that lonely road. “It’s a big spread. Tyler’s cabin is on the lake—best fishing in the county.”

“I doubt if he’s around much,” Lily said moderately.

“He’s a busy man, all right,” Hal agreed, with quiet admiration. “He’s come a long way since he was a kid. So have Logan and Dylan. All of them went to college, with more hindrance than help from Jake, and made their mark in professional rodeo, too. Logan has a law degree, as a matter of fact.”

Lily widened her eyes at her father. “Since when are you such a fan of the Creeds?” she asked, careful to keep her tone light. Tess was so bright that she might pick up on the slightest nuance.

“Since one of them saved my life,” Hal said quietly. “And, anyway, I admire gumption. They’ve got it in spades, all three of them.”

“Is he married?” Tess asked, just a mite too cagily for Lily’s comfort. “Does he have a little girl?”

Lily nearly choked on a forkful of spaghetti casserole.

“Far as I know,” Hal said, looking at Lily instead of Tess, “he’s single. No children.”

“Do you think he’d like a little girl?” Tess persisted, with such a note of hope in her voice that Lily’s eyes filled with sudden, scalding tears. “One like me?”

“Honey—” Lily began, but words failed her.

Hal reached over to pat his granddaughter’s hand, his smile fond and full of tender understanding. “I think any man would be proud to have you for a daughter, cupcake.”

“Don’t,” Lily whispered.

And just then, the wall phone rang.

Lily rushed to answer it, partly because she needed the distraction, and partly because she didn’t want Hal rushing off to take care of somebody’s sick cow and compromising his fragile health.

“Hello?” she chimed.

“Lily? This is Tyler.”

The floor went soft beneath Lily’s feet, just the way it had when she was a teenager, and just the sound of Tyler Creed’s voice had the power to melt her knees.

“Er—hello—” Lily fumbled.

“I want to see you,” Tyler said. I want to see you. Just like that.

As if he hadn’t sold her out to sleep with a tattooed waitress. As if he hadn’t shattered her most cherished dreams, and fostered a cold distance at the center of her marriage that she and Burke had never been able to overcome.

Damn him, he had his nerve. Because he wanted to see her, he expected it to happen. It probably hadn’t even occurred to him, in his arrogance, that she might refuse.

“Lily?” he prompted, when she was silent too long.

Her face burned, her stomach did flip-flops and she turned her back on Hal and Tess, in a fruitless attempt to hide what she was feeling.

“Lily?” Tyler repeated. “Will you have dinner with me tomorrow night?”

“Okay,” Lily said, though she’d meant to say no instead.

When it came to Tyler Creed, she had no backbone at all.

CHAPTER THREE

I F T YLER HAD HAD to explain what made him call Lily and ask her out, he’d have been hard put to find the words. She’d been on his mind ever since they’d run into each other on the road, after his truck broke down, but there was more to it than that—a lot more.

Maybe it was being alone at the cabin, with just Kit Carson for company—although, in truth, solitude had always been one of his favorite things in life. He was a loner for sure—more so than either of his brothers, and that was saying something.

Maybe it was knowing only too well what it was like to be a kid like Davie McCullough—a player in a game of psychological dodgeball, always “it.” Never knowing which direction to jump, but always and forever ready to sidestep some missile.

And maybe it was the brief time he’d spent with Dylan that day, reminding him that having brothers could be a good thing.

For some people.

People who weren’t Creeds, that is.