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

Andrea’s eyes clouded over with tears. “I know you think—you think Byron was driving this morning, and that I’m covering for him, because of what happened before, to that girl, Chavonne. But I was behind the wheel, not Byron.”

Melissa sighed, continued into her office and set the vase of flowers carefully on a corner of her desk.

They really were beautiful, dewy and vibrantly colored.

“What you do in your personal life is none of my business,” she said, looking at the irises instead of Andrea. They’d both learned a lesson; now, it was time to move on.

“But—?” Andrea prompted, without inflection. Clearly, she wasn’t ready to let the subject drop. Melissa, on the other hand, would have preferred to pretend that it hadn’t happened.

“You’ve come a long way since your foster-home days, Andrea,” Melissa replied, after drawing in and expelling a deep breath. “I hope you won’t throw all that away by doing anything foolish.”

Andrea blushed miserably. “Like going out with Byron Cahill?”

“I didn’t say that,” Melissa pointed out.

“You didn’t have to,” Andrea said. Still, there was no anger in her tone or her expression.

Melissa rested a hand on the young woman’s forearm. “Okay, for what it’s worth, here’s my opinion. Byron has to be going through some major adjustments right now. He has a lot to deal with, and so do you. Maybe it would be better to let the dust settle a little before you get too—involved.”

Andrea tensed slightly. “Because he was in prison.”

“Partly, yes,” Melissa answered. “And partly because both of you are young.”

“Right,” Andrea said, her tone turning crisp as she turned on one heel to leave Melissa’s office. “I’ll get your messages.”

Bemused, and still aching all over from the tumble she’d taken into the gravel that morning, Melissa put her purse away, sat down in her chair and booted up her computer.

A tap at the framework of her open door alerted her to Tom’s presence. Melissa smiled, and even that hurt a little.

Tom glanced in Andrea’s direction and then came inside Melissa’s office and closed the door.

“We’ve got trouble,” he said. His tone was solemn.

Melissa looked up at him, her smile a thing of the past. “Sit down, Tom,” she said.

But he shook his head. “I’ve had a complaint from Ashley and Jack’s neighbors,” he told her. “About the guests. Since it’s sort of a—delicate matter, I wanted to run the report by you before I go over there.”

Melissa closed her eyes for a moment. Dammit, that bunch of geriatric outlaws were running around naked again, and this time, someone had seen them.

She did not need this.

The B&B should have been Ashley’s problem, not hers.

Tom cleared his throat, and his expression was diplomatic. His eyes twinkled, though, and he wasn’t in any rush to state his business, it seemed to Melissa. “They’re disturbing the peace,” he said.

Melissa rolled her eyes. “Disturbing the peace?”

“Apparently, they’re playing the stereo at top volume. Practicing the tango on the back patio.” Tom drew in a breath, his eyes still dancing with amusement. “The Crockett sisters are worried that the noise will scare their fish.”

“Their fish?”

“You know. Those fancy goldfish they have.”

“And this is my problem because—?”

“Well,” Tom said, “because Ashley and Jack left you in charge of the B&B, for all intents and purposes. I thought you’d want to know what was going on.”

“Good heavens,” Melissa said.

Tom chuckled. “I’m fixing to go on over there and have a word with those good folks, of course,” he went on. “I’m sure they don’t mean any harm. You can come along or stay here—your choice.”

Melissa groaned as the weight of twin responsibility settled on her shoulders. “I’d better go with you.”

Tom nodded. “That would probably be a good idea,” he allowed, his mouth twitching at one corner, “but maybe I should go in first, just in case.”

“Just in case what?” Melissa asked, feeling testy. The over-the-counter pain pills she’d taken with her morning smoothie, before leaving home, were taking the edge off, but that was about it. “Last I heard, the tango wasn’t dangerous. Not for spectators, at least.”

Tom gave her a wry look as he opened the office door and waited for her to step through before following.

Andrea was just rising from her chair, the usual handful of pink phone messages clutched in one hand. She looked pale, and there were faint shadows under her eyes.

“Anything important?” Melissa asked, with a glance at the messages.

“I’m not sure,” Andrea admitted. “There was a call from a woman complaining that one of her neighbors is buying too much toilet paper—way more than anybody needs, especially when they live alone.”

Melissa frowned, puzzled.

But Tom gave a chuckle and a low whistle that brought the faithful Elvis click-click-clicking down the hallway from his master’s office on canine toenails and said, “Sounds like the same old controversy Aunt Ona has to deal with every year when rodeo time rolls around.”

“Mr. Creed called, too,” Andrea added, while Melissa was still pondering Tom’s cryptic remark. “I guess he didn’t have your home number. Anyway, he said he and Matt really enjoyed supper last night and they’d like to reciprocate as soon as possible.”

Melissa blushed slightly. “Okay,” she said, avoiding Andrea’s gaze. She could actually feel Tom’s grin, though she didn’t look at him, either.

“We’ll be back in a while,” Tom explained to Andrea.

Out of the corner of her eye, Melissa saw Andrea nod before turning and going back to her own desk.

Moments later, Tom, Melissa and Elvis were in the squad car.

Melissa flipped through the messages to make sure there was nothing urgent, then shoved them into her purse. All except for the toilet paper concern, of course.

The caller, not surprisingly, had been Bea Brady, one of the more vocal members of the Parade Committee. She’d spoken up during the meeting out at Creekside Academy, Melissa remembered.

“Some people,” she said, with a long sigh, “have way too much free time.”

Tom’s mouth quirked at one corner. Elvis, meanwhile, sat in the middle of the backseat, behind the metal grill. “I suppose you realize,” he said dryly, “that there are a few people around Stone Creek who’d say that about us. The big joke down at the barbershop is that I don’t even need to load my service revolver—I can just carry a single bullet around in my shirt pocket, like Barney Fife.”

A giggle escaped Melissa, in spite of everything, but when she spoke, she was utterly serious. “Sometimes I think I’m in the wrong line of work,” she admitted, surprising herself as well as Tom.