Creed's Honor Page 17

  “Sasha,” Tricia said patiently, “knows how to ride a horse. She didn’t need babysitting the whole time, the way I did.”

  Natty arched one snowy eyebrow. “‘Babysitting’?” she repeated. Her tone was innocent, but her eyes danced with amused interest.

  “Conner gave me a horse reserved for greenhorns, and rode beside me the entire time,” Tricia said.

  “Why, that awful man,” Natty teased.

  Tricia frowned. When it came to the list of things she wanted to talk about, Conner Creed ranked dead last. “It was embarrassing,” she said, somewhat lamely.

  Natty sighed deeply. “How I miss that particular brand of embarrassment,” she said. “In my day, we women liked being protected by a handsome cowboy.”

  Tricia huffed out a breath.

  And Natty chuckled. “From what you’ve told me so far,” she said cheerfully, “I’d hesitate to describe the experience as a ‘disaster.’ But that’s just me.”

  Tricia thought of Carolyn then, and the way she’d vanished after Brody and Joleen showed up out there on the range, racing their horses and laughing into the wind. She’d looked for her friend after she and Conner got back to the barn area, but Carolyn had already put her horse away, gotten into her car and left.

  “All right,” she conceded, “maybe disaster is too strong a word.”

  Just then, there was an exuberant clatter of small feet on the inside stairway and, moments later, Sasha burst into Natty’s kitchen, fully dressed, her hair still damp from the shower. “Mom and Dad sent me an email!” she announced. “They’re coming back early!”

  While this was obviously good news to Sasha, who had missed her parents a lot, it further dampened Tricia’s already low spirits. “Oh,” she said, aware of the understanding glance Natty sent her way. “They found the perfect house for us to live in,” Sasha said, bubbling with enthusiasm, “and they’re lonesome for me, so they’re catching an earlier flight. Mom said she’ll call you later today, on your cell phone, so the two of you can decide what to do next.”

  Tricia managed a smile—if Sasha was happy, she was happy—and went to hug the child. “I’m going to miss you something fierce,” she said.

  “You could live in Paris, too,” Sasha suggested. “Then we could all be together, you and me and Mom and Dad, whenever we wanted.”

  Tricia held on to her smile, though it felt shaky on her mouth, as if it might fall away at any moment. “I’ll visit if I can,” she said, very quietly. “In the meantime, let’s make the most of our together-time. I’ll fix us all some breakfast, and then, while Natty’s resting, you and I will go over to the campground and make sure it’s still standing.”

  Sasha nodded, pleased by the simple prospect of food and an outing. Of course, her excitement might wane a little when she realized they were going to pick up litter and sweep ashes out of the fire pits.

  Breakfast was a speedy matter of cold cereal, sliced bananas and milk, as it happened. Natty declined the meal and went into the “parlor” to watch her favorite morning news show on television. She was a big fan of Robin Roberts.

  By the time Tricia, Sasha and Valentino reached River’s Bend in the Pathfinder, the campers were all gone, though it looked as if they’d left the place in unusually tidy condition. Without the tents and the RVs, not to mention the people, the campground had the lonely feel of a ghost town, not only deserted, but forgotten as well.

  “Why are you so sad?” Sasha asked, tugging at the sleeve of Tricia’s jacket to get her attention. Her eyes were huge and somber in her little face.

  Tricia swallowed. “I’m not sad,” she said, and her voice came out sounding hoarse. “I’m just feeling a little nostalgic at the moment, that’s all.”

  “Isn’t nostalgia the same thing as sadness?”

  Tricia smiled and tugged lightly at one of Sasha’s pigtails. “A perceptive question if I’ve ever heard one,” she replied. “But there is a subtle difference. Nostalgia is a way of remembering people and places and things, and wishing things hadn’t changed. It has a sweetness to it. Sadness is just—well—being sad.”

  “Okay,” Sasha said, drawing the word out and looking benignly skeptical.

  Tricia laughed, though her eyes were stinging.

  “I’m glad I came to Lonesome Bend,” Sasha said, when they’d both been quiet for a while. Valentino had wandered down to the swimming beach, and he was sniffing at some invisible trail running along the edge of the river. “Now, when I think about you, I’ll be able to put houses and people around you in my head.”

  Tricia bent, kissed her goddaughter on top of the head. “I’m glad you came to Lonesome Bend, too,” she said. “Let’s go inside and get a fire started. I have some paperwork to do, and I want to check the voice mail one last time before I shut this place down for the winter.”

  Sasha nodded, but her arm was still around Tricia’s waist, and her face was pressed into her side. It took Tricia a moment to realize that the little girl was crying.

  “What is it, honey?” she asked, leading Sasha to the nearest picnic table, so they could sit down side by side on the bench.

  Sasha sniffled and rested her head against Tricia’s upper arm. “I know you love your great-grandma Natty and Valentino,” she replied, “but it makes me have nostalgia when I think about you being here and Mom and Dad and me being all the way over a whole ocean, in Paris, France.”

  Touched, Tricia held the child close for a long moment. “You’re going to have a wonderful time in Paris,” she said, when she could trust herself to speak. “But you won’t be in Europe forever. Your mom is pretty sure your dad will be transferred back to Seattle in a couple of years, and I’ll be right there waiting for you when you get home.”

  “But I’ll be a different me then,” Sasha protested, “and you’ll be a different you.”

  “And we’ll still be the very best of friends,” Tricia promised gently. Then she gave a little shiver—the wind blowing in off the river had a bite.

  Valentino came when Tricia summoned him, and settled himself in front of the fire inside the office as soon as she’d gotten it going.

  Sasha, though still a bit subdued, explored the tiny lodge while Tricia booted up her computer to enter the weekend’s receipts from River’s Bend into her accounting program. Joe had taken a number of black-and-white photographs of the place over the years, and he’d framed a lot of them.

  “Is that you, with the fishing pole?” Sasha asked once.

  “Um-hmm,” Tricia replied, concentrating on debits and credits. Once she’d made her entries, she would write up a bank deposit slip.

  “That must be your dad,” Sasha said, a little later. “The guy standing on the swimming dock with the kayak?”

  “Yup,” Tricia said. “That’s him.”

  Soon, the little girl got bored, since there was only so much to see in a place that small. She curled up on the rug next to Valentino, wrapping both arms around him, and drifted off to sleep.

  The sight brought tears to Tricia’s eyes again, but she blinked them away. Parting would be difficult, but that was life for you. There was always someone to say goodbye to, always someone to miss when they were gone.

  Determined to keep it together, Tricia added up checks, cash and credit card slips from the weekend just past, and filled out the deposit slip.

  Then, reluctant to disturb Sasha and Valentino—why trifle with a perfect moment before it was absolutely necessary?—she dialed the number and access code for her voice mail. She was pretty much going through the motions, given that the season was over and people wouldn’t be asking for reservations at the campground or looking for a place to park travel trailers and RVs until early spring, at least.

  Tricia wondered if she’d still be in Lonesome Bend then, marking time, waiting for somebody to buy River’s Bend and the Bluebird Drive-in and getting older by the minute. It was a dismal thought.

  “You have two messages,” a robotic female voice reported from in
side the ancient telephone receiver.

  Tricia frowned slightly and settled back in her uncomfortable desk chair to wait.

  “This is Carla, with Lonesome Bend Real Estate,” said another voice, this one fully human. “It’s Monday morning, early. Call me. I have big news.”

  Tricia’s heart shinnied up into the back of her throat.

  The second message came on. “It’s Carla again. I forgot to leave my cell number, and since you might not have it handy—” A pause, during which Carla drew in an audible breath. “It’s 555-7242. Call me.”

  Tricia hung up the handset, picked it up again and worked the rotary dial with an unsteady index finger.

  Carla didn’t even say hello when she answered her cell, she simply blurted out, “Two offers! Tricia, we have two offers on your properties, and they’re good ones!”

  Tricia put a hand to her heart, temporarily speechless. Nearly two years without a single showing, and now, all of a sudden, they had offers?

  “One came in this morning, and one was waiting in my fax machine when I got home last night,” Carla rushed on. “It was late, or I would have called you then. I was so excited, I didn’t even think about leaving a message on your cell.”

  “But how, who—?”

  Carla laughed. “Well, that’s the mystery,” she said merrily.

  “The mystery?”

  “It’s corporate,” Carla said, almost whispering, like she was confiding a secret. “That’s how these big companies operate. They buy real estate through their attorneys—most often as tax write-offs, but sometimes as investments.”

  Tricia wondered why she wasn’t happier. After all, she’d been waiting for this news. Hoping for it. Constructing her whole future around it.

  Now here it was—her problems, the financial ones, at least—were over. And she felt hollow, rather than jubilant.

  “Okay,” she managed. “What happens now?”

  “Well,” Carla nearly sang, “we’re in the enviable position of choosing between two excellent offers. They’re very similar, both a little over the asking price, if you can believe it, and all cash.” She paused, clearly savoring what she was going to say next. “There might even be a bidding war, Tricia.”

  Tricia’s head was spinning by then, and Valentino and Sasha were both awake, and watching her. A bidding war? Was this really happening? It was all too much to take in.

  “Tricia?” A giggle from Carla. “Are you still there? You didn’t faint, did you?”

  “I’m here,” Tricia said woodenly. “These corporations—which ones are they?”

  “Why should we care?” Carla reasoned. “We’re going to be laughing all the way to the bank, as the old saying goes.” She was quiet for a moment. “Tricia, this is what you want, isn’t it?”

  Tricia imagined leaving Lonesome Bend. Leaving Natty. Leaving her apartment. Maybe never seeing Conner again.

  “I—yes—yes, of course this is what I want.”

  She’d set the asking price high, in the beginning, to leave room for negotiation. Even after settling debts and paying taxes, and opening her own art gallery in Seattle, she would be very well off indeed. In fact, working would be optional—so maybe she’d take that trip to France after all. She’d set herself up in a modest hotel, refusing to impose on Diana and Paul, and get to know Paris. She might even purchase a train pass and explore the Continent—

  But what about Natty?

  Her great-grandmother might be seriously ill—after all, she was over ninety—and Tricia had made certain promises. Just that morning, in fact, she’d assured Natty that Winston would be looked after, no matter what.

  And then there was Valentino. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—abandon him just because she suddenly had the means to live anywhere she chose. No, she would have to find the dog a home—and just the right one, too—before she could even consider leaving town for good.

  “Tricia?” Carla prompted again.

  “Still here,” Tricia said weakly.

  “Forgive me,” Carla said, gentle now. “I guess I got a little carried away for a minute there. I know River’s Bend and the Bluebird have been in your family for a long time, and you must have a sentimental attachment to them. Letting go won’t be easy, and we don’t have to decide this second.”

  Realistically, Tricia couldn’t afford to miss out on this opportunity, and she knew it. What if both buyers changed their minds, and she never got another chance to sell the businesses? River’s Bend barely brought in enough to cover local taxes and a very modest living allowance for her. The Bluebird, going unused, was probably costing her money.

  “Get the best deal you can,” she told Carla.

  “Leave it to me,” Carla said. Very briefly, she outlined her plan to contact both buyers’ representatives and explain the situation. “I’ll get back to you as soon as I know anything more.”

  When the conversation was over, Tricia was slow to hang up.

  “I guess that wasn’t my mom calling,” Sasha said, approaching Tricia to perch on the arm of her chair and slip an arm around her shoulders.

  “No,” Tricia said. “It wasn’t your mom.”

  “Is something wrong?” Sasha asked, in a small voice, looking worried. “You’d tell me if something happened to my mom and dad, wouldn’t you? If their plane went down or they got into a really bad car crash, like Princess Diana did?”

  “They’re fine,” Tricia told the child, pulling her onto her lap and hugging her tightly. “That call was from my real-estate agent, Carla Perkins. The news is good, kiddo. Somebody—two somebodies, actually—wants to buy the properties my dad left me.”

  “Then how come you look like you’re going to cry?” Sasha asked. “Are you nostalgic, or sad?”

  Tricia smiled, kissed the little girl’s forehead. “Nostalgic,” she said.

  “Good,” Sasha said.

  “Tell you what,” Tricia began. “We’ll run by the bank, you and me and Valentino, so I can make a deposit to my account, and then we’ll go home and make lunch. By then, I’ll bet we’ll have heard from your mom.”

  Sasha smiled, slid off Tricia’s lap. “Grilled cheese sandwiches?” she asked. “They’re my favorite thing to have for lunch, and Natty likes them, too. She told me so.”

  “Well, that settles it, then,” Tricia said. “Grilled cheese it is.”

  CONNER HELD THE CORDLESS PHONE away from his head for a moment, glared at it, and then pressed it to his ear again. “What do you mean, there’s another offer? Those properties have been for sale since Joe McCall died and now, all of a sudden, there’s a land rush?”

  Conner’s lawyer, Mike Summerville, chuckled. “Somebody else wants the Bluebird Drive-in Movie-o-rama and that sorry, run-down excuse for a campground. Go figure.”

  “Who?” Conner demanded.

  “How should I know?” Mike retorted good-naturedly. “According to Ms. McCall’s real-estate agent, the other offer is solid, all cash, ready to go into escrow.”

  Brody ambled into the kitchen, having slept in late enough to miss helping out with the chores. Some things just never changed.

  Conner glared at his shirtless brother, who yawned, took a mug from a shelf and headed for the coffeemaker, paying him no mind at all.

  Mike waited.

  Conner glowered at Brody.

  Brody grinned and raised his coffee mug in a smart-ass toast. “Cheers,” he said.

  Mike cleared his throat. “Business is business, Conner,” he said. “Do you want to raise the offer you made, or let it ride?”

  “I want you to find out who the competition is and what they plan on doing with that land, Mike,” Conner responded.

  “What are you planning to do with it?” Mike countered. He was a friend of the family, having gone through law school with Steven, so he could ask questions like that and get away with it.

  “Add it to the ranch, I guess,” Conner said. He’d made the offer for one reason and one reason only—so Tricia could leave town, if th
at was what she wanted, and go back to Seattle and the guy in the ski gear.

  “For as long as I can remember,” Mike said, “the party line has been that the ranch is big enough already. Why make it bigger?”

  “I just want to, that’s all,” Conner replied, still peevish.

  Brody snickered, shook his head once, and took a slurp from his coffee mug. It would be nice if he’d at least pretend he wasn’t eavesdropping, Conner thought, but that was probably too much to ask.

  “All right, all right,” Mike sighed. “I’ll try to find out who else is interested, and get back to you.”

  “Fine,” Conner said. Then he bit out a testy “Goodbye” and hung up.

  “Still mad because Joleen and I crashed the trail ride yesterday?” Brody asked, with that damnable tilted grin of his.

  “I never gave a rat’s ass in the first place,” Conner replied. “I believe I’ve already told you that.”

  “Right,” Brody drawled.

  “If you want to get under my hide, brother,” Conner challenged grimly, “you’re going to have to do a little better than that.”

  Brody laughed. Nodded in the general direction of the phone. “You in the market for some real estate?” he asked, with a casualness that should have alerted Conner to what was coming, but didn’t.

  “Maybe,” Conner said.

  “I’ll outbid you,” Brody told him.

  Conner, about to open the fridge and see if there was anything in there that could possibly be construed as lunch, froze in his tracks.

  “What?” he asked.

  “I want that land,” Brody said easily. “And I’m willing to pay for it.”

  Conner narrowed his eyes. He could barely believe what he was hearing. “You’re the competition?”

  Brody raised one hand to shoulder level, like he was swearing an oath. “That’s me,” he said.

  “Now why the hell would a saddle bum like you want that land?”

  Brody made a shruglike movement, all but imperceptible. “Maybe I’m tired of being a saddle bum,” he said. He was using that quiet voice again, the one that didn’t sound like it was really him talking. “I mean to bulldoze the whole thing—except for the trees, of course—and build myself a house overlooking the river. A barn, too.”