A Creed in Stone Creek - Linda Lael Miller [33]
While she was out for her run, Melissa had come up with seven or eight really good excuses for turning down parade duty, but they all flew away as she listened to Ona rant on. And on. The message lasted so long, in fact, that Ona had to call back because she’d timed out on the first run.
The essence of it was that the committee meeting had been scheduled for three o’clock that very afternoon, all along. It was to be held in the community room over at the Creekside Academy, and since the whole crew had been planning on attending anyway, she thought it was the perfect opportunity to present Melissa as their new leader.
“Call me and let me know if you can make it!” Ona finished off merrily. “And I do hope you weren’t sleeping in or something, and I spoiled it by calling—”
Melissa hung up, let her sweaty forehead rest against a cupboard door while she drew slow, deep breaths.
There was no getting out of it. She was stuck. Might as well accept the fact and move on, she thought.
She did allow herself one indulgence before returning Ona’s call and committing herself to the job, though. Melissa took her shower first.
DURING BREAKFAST, Steven got a call on his cell phone from the Flagstaff auto dealership he’d contacted several weeks before; the extended cab truck he’d custom-ordered was in, and they could deliver it that day if he wanted.
Steven agreed, relieved that he’d have a backseat for Matt and Zeke to ride in now. Plus, his old rig looked like it had been driven West in the ’30s by some family fleeing the Dust Bowl, though, of course, it wasn’t quite old enough for that scenario.
He smiled, remembering his dad’s apt description of the vehicle.
Steven’s got himself one of those two-toned rigs, Davis Creed had told a friend, tongue firmly planted in his cheek. And one of those tones is rust.
“Do I have to clean up my plate?” Matt asked, anxious to get outside and keep Zeke company.
Steven was still thinking about rigs. In Denver, he’d driven a candy-apple-red Corvette—also unsuitable for carting around a little boy and a dog.
But Melissa O’Ballivan would look mighty fine riding shotgun in the sports car, he thought. He pictured her wearing a blue-and-white polka-dot sundress, strapless, with her hair tumbling down around her bare shoulders and her lips all glossy.
“Steven?” Matt said, waving one hand in his face.
“Go see to Zeke,” Steven replied, with a chuckle, as he pushed away his plate. “While I take care of the bill.”
Matt scooted away from the table and zipped to the door, and Steven waited until he saw the boy with Zeke before he turned from the window.
A few minutes later, he joined them outside.
“We might as well go over and see if the office is fit for human habitation,” he told Matt, shoving his wallet into his hip pocket as he spoke.
“Okay,” Matt said, conscientiously, “but Zeke drank all the dog water.” He held up the empty pan as proof. “See?”
Steven mussed the boy’s hair and nodded. “Good call,” he said. “You figure you’re tall enough to reach the faucet on the men’s room sink and fill it up again, then get all the way back out here without spilling?”
Matt nodded and headed for the door, pausing only to say, “Keep an eye on Zeke while I’m gone.”
Steven grinned and executed an affirmative half salute.
Matt proved to be a competent water bearer, and they headed for the office on foot, since it was just down the street.
As it turned out, the place was in fairly good shape. The property management people had had the walls painted a subtle off-white, as requested, and the utilitarian gray carpet looked clean.
Two desks, some file cabinets and a half-dozen bookshelves had been delivered, and when Steven picked up the handset on the three-line phone his assistant