A Creed in Stone Creek - Linda Lael Miller [45]
Melissa’s heart melted at the sight of him; a smile rose up within her and spilled across her face, warm on her mouth. Of course she was aware of Steven, standing behind the boy—how could she not have been aware?—but she didn’t make eye contact right away.
No, she needed a few more deep breaths before she could risk that.
So she concentrated on Matt—unlocking and opening the screen door, stepping back so he could spill into her house, all energy and eagerness and boy.
“You look very handsome,” she told the child, resisting a motherly urge to smooth down the rooster tail with a light pass of her hand.
Matt’s smile seemed to encompass her, like an actual embrace. “And you look beautiful!” he responded.
“Amen,” Steven said huskily. That single word coursed right over Matt’s head to lodge itself in Melissa like a velvet arrow.
Her throat caught, and her gaze betrayed her, going straight to him long before she was ready.
Steven wore jeans, a little newer than the ones he’d had on earlier, along with polished black boots and a white, collarless shirt of the sort men favored back in the Old West days. His hair was damp from a recent shower, like Matt’s, but there were no cowlicks and no rooster tails, and he smelled like a field of newly sprouted clover after a soft rain.
A free-fall sensation seized Melissa, buffeted the breath from her lungs, as though she were skydiving without a parachute, or riding a runaway roller coaster.
The feeling was stunning. Terrifying, in fact.
And categorically wonderful.
“I hope you’re both hungry,” she heard herself say, and the normality of her tone amazed her, because on the inside, she was still being swept along, helter-skelter, like a swimmer caught in a fast current.
“We’re starved,” Matt answered, looking around the living room, as alert as a detective scanning for clues.
Steven smiled and cleared his throat slightly, raising one eyebrow when Matt turned to look up at him.
“Well, we are,” the boy insisted, folding his small arms.
Steven grinned, unwittingly—or wittingly—sending a charge of electricity through Melissa. His eyes, so very blue and with a touch of lavender to them that reminded her of summer twilights and late-blooming lilacs, ranged idly over her, pausing here and there, lingering to light small fires under her skin. It seemed lazy-slow, that look, but she knew it couldn’t have lasted more than a fraction of a moment.
“Then let’s get you some supper,” Melissa told Matt, extra glad he was there, and not just because she was already so fond of him. If she’d been alone with Steven Creed, considering her strange state of mind, she might have jumped the man’s bones right there in the living room.
Okay, so maybe that was an exaggeration. But she was definitely attracted to him, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was on dangerous ground.
Remembering her duties as a hostess, she led the way into the kitchen.
Matt started toward the table the moment they entered the room, but Steven caught the child lightly by one shoulder and stopped him.
“Where do we wash up?” Steven asked, looking at Melissa.
She pointed toward the hallway just to the left of the stove. “The bathroom is that way,” she said.
The Creed men disappeared in the direction she’d indicated, then returned a couple of minutes later.
Melissa was just setting out the main course. Since she didn’t own a platter, she’d left the food in Ashley’s freezer-to-oven casserole dish.
“Are those chickens?” Matt asked, eyeing the halved game hens dubiously.
Steven chuckled. “Yes,” he said mildly. “They’re chickens.” And then he caught Melissa’s eye, waiting for something.
After an awkward moment, Melissa pointed to one of the chairs. Steven pulled it back, let Matt scramble up onto the seat.
“Can I eat with my fingers?” Matt wanted to know.
Steven answered without taking his eyes off Melissa. “Thanks