The Cowboy Way. Maisey Yates
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peering into the casserole dish in the center of the table.
Melissa began to wish she’d served something little-boy friendly, like pizza or hamburgers or hot dogs.
Steven, perhaps hoping to put her at ease, speared one of the game hens with the serving fork, dropped it onto his plate, and began cutting it into bite-size pieces. His movements were quick and deft, with a subtle elegance about them.
Don’t think about his hands.
Melissa blinked, snapping out of yet another mini-daze.
Steven switched plates with Matt, who nibbled at a bite, then began to eat in earnest.
“Slow down,” Steven said, helping himself when Melissa didn’t move to dish up a portion of her own.
Matt nodded, chewing and swallowing. “You’re a good cook,” he told Melissa.
Melissa felt heat pulse under her cheeks, longing to fib and take all the credit—and completely unable to do so. She was terminally honest; it was her personal cross to bear.
“My sister Ashley is,” she clarified. “I—well—sort of borrowed supper from her.”
Steven’s eyes danced with blue mischief, but he didn’t offer a comment. He did seem to be enjoying Ashley’s culinary expertise, though.
Everybody did.
“Oh,” Matt said. Having taken the edge off his appetite, he paused, looking across the table at Steven. “Do you think Zeke is okay?” he asked.
Zeke? Then Melissa remembered the dog.
“Zeke,” Steven said easily, “is just fine.”
“I wanted to bring him with us,” Matt confided to Melissa, who, by then, had begun to eat, however tentatively. “But Dad wouldn’t let me. He said it wouldn’t be polite to do that.”
Melissa smiled, willing herself to relax. Steven Creed, with his broad shoulders and his quiet confidence and his mere presence, seemed to fill that small kitchen, breathing all the air, absorbing the light.
Absorbing her. The experience, though disquieting, had a certain zip to it, too.
“Zeke,” Steven repeated, his eyes smiling as he looked at Matt, “is just fine.”
“You could bring him next time,” Melissa said.
Next time? Who said there was going to be a “next time”?
Matt cheered at the news.
“Bring it down a few decibels,” Steven instructed.
Matt grinned. “I’m too loud sometimes,” he said to Melissa, in a stage whisper.
She laughed and stopped just short of ruffling his hair. “That’s okay,” she whispered back.
After that, a companionable silence fell.
It wasn’t until the meal was over, and they were contemplating dessert, that Matt got down to brass tacks.
“Are you married?” he asked Melissa bluntly. “Do you have any kids?”
Steven, so far unflappable, it seemed to Melissa, reddened slightly. Narrowed his eyes at Matt and started to speak.
Melissa cut him off before he could say a word. “No,” she told Matt. “I’m not married, and I don’t have any kids.”
Matt’s smile was glorious, like dawn breaking after a cold and moonless night. “Good!” he said. “Then you could marry my dad and be my mom. We’d help with the cooking, so you wouldn’t have to keep borrowing supper from your sister, and even do the laundry.”
“Matt,” Steven said, fighting a smile.
Without thinking about it first—if she had, she would surely have stopped herself—Melissa rested a hand on Steven’s forearm. Felt the muscles tighten and then ease again under her fingertips.
“It’s okay,” she said, very softly.
Matt looked from Steven to Melissa, and his small shoulders stooped a little. “I guess I shouldn’t have said that stuff about marrying Dad and me,” he admitted.
“Ya think?” Steven asked.
Melissa smiled, anxious to reassure the child. “Know what?” she said, addressing Matt, finally removing her hand from Steven’s arm.
“What?” Matt asked.
“If I’m ever lucky enough to have a little boy of my own, I hope he’ll be just like you.”
It came again, then. That beaming smile.
When this kid grew up, he was going to be a heartbreaker, no doubt about it.
“Really?” Matt asked.
Steven shifted in his chair, but said nothing.
“Really,” Melissa confirmed. “Now, who wants ice cream and cobbler?”
* * *
MATT RESTED OVER Steven’s right shoulder, like a sack of potatoes. Once the kid hit the proverbial wall and gave himself over to sleep, that was it. His surroundings didn’t matter—he was down for the count.
Melissa, looking better than any dessert ever could have, walked out to the truck alongside Steven, hugging herself against the chill of a high country night.
There was hardly anything to that sundress of hers, which was fine with Steven, except that he didn’t want her catching pneumonia or anything.
“Thank you,” he said gruffly, pausing on the sidewalk, turning toward her.
He wanted to kiss Melissa, but holding Matt the way he was, the logistics were just plain off.
Melissa smiled, reached past him to open the rear door of the rig.
Matt mumbled something as Steven set him in the car seat and began buckling him in but, true to form, he didn’t wake up.
“He’s terrific,” she said softly.
“I agree,” Steven told her, after Matt was secured. They stood facing each other now, on that darkened sidewalk. “Of course it would be a real plus if he’d stop proposing to women.”
There was something flirty in Melissa’s smile, but something vulnerable, too. “Does he do that a lot? Ask people to marry you, I mean?”
Steven chuckled, even though he felt inexplicably nervous, and shook his head. “No,” he replied. “Actually, Matt is pretty discerning when it comes to women.” A grin tugged at one corner of his mouth. “He doesn’t suggest marriage and instant motherhood to just anybody, you know.”
Melissa laughed at that; it was soft and musical, that sound, and it found a place inside Steven and stowed away there, perhaps for keeps. “He’s sweet,” she said.
Again—still—Steven wanted to kiss Melissa O’Ballivan. Full on the mouth, with tongue.
Since the direct approach might scare her away, he settled for leaning in and giving her a light peck on the forehead.
“Tonight was great,” he said, resting his hands on her shoulders.
Given that the sundress left that part of her bare, the gesture might have been misguided. Melissa’s skin felt warm and smooth under his palms, taut with vitality. Steven tightened his fingers, briefly and almost imperceptibly, then withdrew, letting his hands fall to his sides.
“Thanks,” he said again, grinding out the word.
He saw the heat flash in her eyes, the knowing, a desire that might even match his own, and everything inside him soared.
It was inevitable, he realized. Written in the stars.
Right or wrong, for better or for worse, at some point, he and Melissa