“It’s only one meal,” she pointed out.
If it was “only one meal,” another part of her mind wanted to know, why was her heart beating so hard and so fast? Why was her breath shallow and why, pray tell, did she feel all warm and melty in places where she had no damn business feeling all warm and melty?
Steven was quiet, absorbing her answer.
It was disturbing for Melissa to realize that she even liked watching this man think.
“You’re right,” he said at last, with a sigh that was all the more wicked for its boyish innocence. “It’s only supper. We’ll be there at six.”
“Good,” Melissa said, wondering exactly when—and how—she’d lost her reason. Hadn’t she been down this same road with Dan Guthrie a few years ago?
Dan, the sexy rancher, widowed father of two charming little boys.
Dan, the patient, fiery lover who’d turned her inside out in his bed on the nights when they managed to have the house to themselves.
Dan, who’d finally dumped her, in no uncertain terms, claiming she couldn’t commit to a serious relationship, and had taken up with a waitress named Holly, from over in Indian Rock?
Dan and Holly were married now. Expecting a baby.
And the little boys Melissa had come to love like her own children called Holly Mom.
Inwardly, she took a step back from Steven Creed, and he seemed to know it, because a shadow fell across his eyes and, for just a millisecond, a muscle bunched in his jaw. He wanted to lodge a protest, she guessed, having sensed her sudden reticence, but he didn’t know what about.
“Follow me,” Melissa said, in the voice of a sleepwalker.
Steven sighed, like a man who thought better of the idea but couldn’t think of an alternative, and nodded.
Melissa drove slowly from the parking lot of Creekside Academy, out onto the main road, and straight into Stone Creek.
Every few moments, she checked her rearview, and the big blue truck was back there each time, Steven an indiscernible shadow at the wheel.
You just want to sleep with him, Melissa accused herself silently. And what does that say about your character?
Melissa squared her shoulders and answered the accusation out loud, since there was no one else in the roadster to overhear. “It says that I’m a natural woman, with red blood flowing through my veins,” she replied.
You’ll start caring for Steven Creed. Worse, you’ll start caring for Matt. It’s a case of burn me once, shame on you, burn me twice, shame on me.
Have you forgotten how much it hurt, losing Dan and the boys? It was like losing your mom and dad all over again, wasn’t it?
“Oh, shut up,” Melissa said. “I’m serving the man supper, not a night of steamy sex.” She sighed. She could really have used a night of steamy sex. “And the joke’s on you. I already care for Matt.”
You need a child of your own. Not a substitute.
“Didn’t I ask you to shut up?” Melissa countered, almost forgetting to stop at a sign.
Sure enough, Tom Parker’s cruiser slipped in between her car and Steven’s truck, lights whirling. The siren gave an irritating little whine, for good measure.
As if she wouldn’t have noticed him back there.
Swearing, Melissa kept driving the half block to her own house, and parked.
“Did you see that stop sign?” Tom asked cordially, climbing out of the squad car. His dog, Elvis, rode in the passenger seat. In Stone Creek, Elvis counted as backup.
“Yes,” Melissa said tersely, “and I stopped for it.”
“Just barely,” Tom pointed out, glancing back at Steven’s rig.
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