A Creed in Stone Creek - Linda Lael Miller [62]
“Nothing,” Melissa answered. “That’s why the word almost comes into play.”
His fine jawline tightened briefly, relaxed again.
“Let’s talk about something else besides accidents that didn’t quite happen,” she suggested, hoping to lighten the mood.
The grin was back, and it was as dangerous as ever. “Like what?”
“Well, not sex,” Melissa said, and then regretted it.
He laughed. “I agree,” he said. “It’s better to just go ahead and do some things, rather than wasting time talking about them.”
Melissa blinked. “Did you just say what I think you just said?” she demanded, whispering again. Leaning toward him.
“You were the one who brought up the subject of sex,” Steven pointed out reasonably. “Not me.”
He looked so damnably comfortable, sitting there, easy in his skin, with his glass of iced tea in front of him and his eyes that indescribable shade of blue-violet.
“Then I’m officially unbringing it up,” Melissa said. “Forget I mentioned sex at all. It was totally inappropriate. A slip of the tongue—”
His grin flashed again.
She blushed even more. “I didn’t mean—”
Mercifully, the food arrived then.
Since her stomach was still doing the circus thing, Melissa was surprised to realize that she was hungry. She picked up her spoon and focused on the delicious beef stew.
“What do you like to do, Melissa?” Steven asked, about midway through the meal. He’d made a pretty good dent in his club sandwich, and pushed away his plate to focus all his attention on her.
The feeling that gave her was exciting, in an unsettling sort of way. She was an attractive woman, and she knew it, but like many people, she felt invisible a lot of the time. “Do?” she echoed, confused. “I work. I read. And I jog.”
“How do you feel about horses?”
“I grew up on a ranch,” Melissa answered. “I rode a lot when I was younger. Not so much lately.” And until she’d gotten over the effects of that morning’s spill, she wouldn’t be climbing into any saddles, thank you very much.
“I spent summers on the family ranch up in Colorado when I was a kid,” he said. “Riding was about my favorite thing.”
A picture flashed in Melissa’s mind—she could imagine Steven as he must have looked growing up. That thatch of brownish-gold hair, those eyes, full of mischief. And probably a smattering of freckles, too. “Just summers?” she asked. “Where did you live the rest of the time?”
“Boston.” That was all. Just “Boston.” And the way he said it was clipped, almost abrupt.
“I’ve been there a few times,” Melissa said. “To Boston, I mean. It’s a great city. I especially love the Common, and the swan boats.”
Steven relaxed then, but Melissa saw that it took an effort, and that made her wonder what the rest of the Creeds were like, specifically his parents. She’d met the Montana branch of the family—Logan, Dylan and Tyler—when they visited their McKettrick cousins on the Triple M, over near Indian Rock. Those three hadn’t had the easiest of childhoods, that was for sure, but they’d turned out to be fine men.
It had been Melissa’s experience that some adversity made a person strong. She and Ashley, and certainly Brad and Olivia, were proof of that. Their mother, Delia, had abandoned them at a young age, and later on their dad, the classic man of few words but nonetheless the most solid presence in their lives, had been killed.
“Once my grandfather and my mother were both gone,” Steven said, “that left my uncles running the show. Boston sort of lost its charm then.”
It was a lot to absorb, and the café, however pleasant, surely wasn’t the best place to discuss the things they were obviously destined to discuss.
Melissa figured things were getting too heavy. “Are we going to build our friendship around food, Steven Creed?” she asked. “We seem to be sharing quite a few meals these days.”
Steven caught Tessa’s eye, silently asking for the check.
Looking at Melissa again, he smiled. “I want to spend more time with you,” he said forthrightly. “And out here in the countryside, that seems to include breaking bread together.”
One of the waitresses brought the bill,