The Cowboy Way: A Creed in Stone Creek / Part Time Cowboy

Melissa watched as the flashy blue truck, which probably sucked up enough gas for four or five cars to run on, drew up alongside her roadster, and the front passenger-side window buzzed down.

“Is everything all right?” Steven leaned across to ask. His eyes were doing that mischievous little dance again, generating blue heat.

Tom waved at him, smiled cordially. “Everything’s fine.”

Steven studied Melissa for a long moment, and when she didn’t refute Tom’s statement, he seemed satisfied. “See you at six,” he said.

And then he just drove away.

Just like that.

Not that that annoyed her or anything.

Melissa folded her arms. “What’s this all about?” she demanded. “You know damn well you had no business pulling me over. I stopped for that sign.”

Tom was still gazing after Steven’s truck. “I just wanted to say hello,” he lied.

“What a load,” Melissa replied. “The truth is, you’re just as nosy as your aunt Ona. You saw Steven following me and you wanted to know what was going on.”

“He said, ‘See you at six,’” Tom went on, as if she hadn’t spoken. “You two have a date or something?”

“Or something,” Melissa said. “Not that it’s any of your business.” She flexed her fingers, then regripped the steering wheel, hard. “This is harassment,” she pointed out.

Tom chuckled, shook his head. But there was something watchful in his eyes. “At least let me run a check on Creed’s background before you get involved,” he said. “A person can’t be too careful these days.”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” Melissa retorted, exasperated. “A person can be too careful. Like you, for instance. When are you going to ask Tessa Quinn out for dinner and a movie, you big coward?”

Tom blinked. Straightened his spine. “When I get around to it,” he said, in a mildly affronted tone.

“Have you run a background check on her yet?”

“Of course I haven’t.”

“A person can’t be too careful,” Melissa threw out. Then she sighed and changed the subject. “I was just coming from the Parade Committee meeting,” she said pointedly. “You know, that little thing I’m doing because your aunt, Ms. Ona Frame, has to have her gall-bladder out? You owe me, Sheriff Parker. And if you think I’m going to put up with being pulled over for no reason—”

Tom did a parody of righteous horror. Laid a hand to his chest. Back in the squad car, Elvis let out a yip, as though putting in his two cents’ worth. Then Tom laughed, held up both hands, palms out. Elvis yipped again.

Melissa leaned to retrieve her purse and that stupid clipboard.

He laughed again. “He’s got you pretty flustered, that Creed yahoo,” he said, looking pleased at the realization. “I haven’t seen you this worked up since you were dating Dan Guthrie—”

Too late, Tom seemed to realize he’d struck a raw nerve. He stopped, reddened, and flung his hands out from his sides. “I’m sorry.”

“You should be,” Melissa huffed, turning on one heel.

Tom followed her as far as her front gate. “It’s not as if you’re the only person who’s ever loved and lost, Melissa O’Ballivan,” he blurted out, in a furious under tone. “Imagine how it feels to be crazy about a woman who looks right through you like you were transparent!”

“I can’t begin to imagine that, for obvious reasons,” Melissa replied, heading up the walk.

Elvis howled.

Tom stuck with Melissa until she’d mounted the first two porch steps and rounded to look down into his upturned face. “You deliberately misunderstood that,” he accused, but he’d lost most of his steam by then.

Melissa sighed. “You were referring to Tessa Quinn, I presume?” she asked, though everybody in town and for miles around knew that Tom loved the woman with a passion of truly epic proportions. Everybody, with the probable exception of Tessa herself, that is.

Tessa was either clueless, playing it cool or just not interested in Tom Parker.

Tom thrust out a miserable breath. “You know damn well it’s Tessa,” he said.

Melissa cocked a thumb toward the squad car and said, “Get Elvis and come inside. I made a pitcher of iced tea before I went out.”

But Tom shook his head. “I’m supposed to be on patrol,” he said.

“Well, that’s noble,” Melissa replied, as the dog gave another long, plaintive howl, “but I’m not sure Elvis is onboard with the plan.”

“I was just taking him over to the Groom-and-Bloom for his weekly bath,” Tom said. He took very good care of Elvis; everybody knew that as well as they knew his feelings for Tessa. “He’s just worried about missing his appointment, that’s all. He’s particular about his appearance, Elvis is.”

Melissa smiled. Nodded. “Tom?”

He was turning away. “What?”

“Why don’t you ask Tessa for a date?”

He looked all of fourteen as he considered that idea. His neck went a dull red, and his earlobes glowed like they were lit up from the inside. “She might say no.”

“Here’s a thought, Tom. She might say yes. Then what would you do?”

“Probably have a coronary on the spot.” Tom sounded pretty serious, but there was a tentative smile playing around his lips. “Same as if she said no.”

“So you’re damned if you do and damned if you don’t.”

“That’s about the size of it,” Tom said.

“I dare you,” Melissa said. When they were kids, that was the way to get Tom Parker to do just about anything. Of course, she hadn’t tried it since playground days.

He flushed again, and his eyes narrowed. “What?”

“You heard me, Parker,” Melissa said, jutting her chin out a little ways. “I double-dog dare you to ask Tessa Quinn out to dinner. Or to a movie. Or to a dance—there’s one next weekend, at the Grange Hall. And if you don’t ask her out, well, you’re just plain—chicken.”

Instantly, they were both nine years old again.

Tom stepped closer and glared up at her. “Oh, yeah?” he said.

“Yeah,” Melissa replied stoutly.

“You’re on,” Tom told her.

“Good,” Melissa answered, without smiling.