Montana Creeds: Dylan. Linda Miller Lael

logging accident, and both my folks—”

      “Daddy!” Bonnie whooped suddenly, shrill with joy. “Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!”

      She ran at Dylan and he scooped her up in his arms.

      “Potty!” Bonnie yelled triumphantly.

      Dylan sighed. “Would you mind taking her to the women’s room?” he asked Kristy.

      Glad of an excuse to break out of his orbit, if only for a few minutes, and hoping to God her legs had woken up, Kristy got to her feet, took Bonnie by the hand and escorted her to the bathroom.

      Because so many of the children who came to the library were small, Kristy was used to that particular duty. But this was Dylan’s little girl. He’d conceived this beautiful moppet with some nameless, faceless woman—not with her.

      Damn it. When they’d made love all those times, before the rodeo and death and a lot of other things came between them, they’d always ended up choosing names afterward. They’d call a boy Timothy Jacob, for their fathers. A girl, Maggie Louise, for their mothers …

      When she and Bonnie stepped out of the restroom, Dylan was waiting in the corridor, leaning against the wall with that indolent grace that seemed to emanate from his very DNA.

      “Thanks,” he said.

      “You’re welcome,” she replied.

      He hoisted Bonnie up into his arms. “Good to see you again, Kristy,” he said, his voice a little hoarse.

      “You, too,” Kristy said. Fortunately, he left before the tears sprang to her eyes.

       Thanks.

       You’re welcome.

       Good to see you again …

       You, too.

      Kristy ducked back into the women’s restroom, turned on the cold-water faucet and stood splashing her face until the burning stopped. But she still heard the voices, hers and Dylan’s, though this time, they came from the long ago.

       When the moon strays off into space, Dylan Creed, and the last star winks out forever, I will still love you.

      He’d smiled, and stroked her hair, and kissed her, sending fire skittering along her veins all over again. You read too much, he’d teased. I love that about you. Our kids will have a chance at being smart, with you for a mother.

      You’re smart, too, Dylan, she’d protested, meaning it.

      Not book-smart, he’d replied. I can’t talk in poetry the way you do.

      Does it matter? she’d asked, her heart brimming with tenderness.

       Nothing matters but you and me, Kristy.

       Nothing matters but you and me.

      CHAPTER THREE

      DROPPING BY THE LIBRARY had probably been a tactical error, Dylan admitted to himself; it had been a spur-of-the-moment thing, a sudden compulsion to see Kristy again, if only from a distance.

      As it happened, though, she’d just rounded up a herd of kids for story-time when he and Bonnie came through the front door, and he’d been drawn into her circle immediately. There might as well have been beating drums and a fire pit, like the one in Cassie’s teepee—the gathering had that same kind of elemental, visceral attraction.

      Kristy was still beautiful—five years of living without him to complicate her life had only made her more so. She seemed more centered and serene than before, though it had pleased him to notice that his unexpected presence had thrown her a little.

      The only bad part was the hurt he’d glimpsed in her eyes when she’d registered Bonnie’s identity.

      He glanced over at his daughter, buckled into her car seat and hugging her inky doll. By rights, the toy should probably be burned, since it had to be germ-central, but he couldn’t bring himself to take it away. Maybe later, when Bonnie was asleep, he’d douse the thing in Lysol or something.

      In the meantime, cruising through the shady streets of Stillwater Springs, he was careful to keep to the speed limit. All he needed was Floyd Book or one of his deputies pulling him over and asking for some kind of proof that he hadn’t committed parental kidnapping. He had the note from Sharlene, found in his truck with Bonnie and the duffel bag, but who knew how much weight that would carry?

      Logan would, of course. Logan could draw up papers, get everything on the up-and-up.

      He headed for the ranch, partly in the vain hope that Logan would be there, and partly because it was home.

      “This is where I grew up,” he told Bonnie, as they drove under the newly repaired Stillwater Springs Ranch sign hanging over the main gate.

      “No,” Bonnie said cheerfully, chewing on the doll’s punk-rocker hair.

      Four words, now. The kid was developing an impressive vocabulary, all right.

      The work on the barn was almost finished—new timbers supported it, and the roof had been replaced.

      Dylan parked the truck, rolled down his window as one of the workmen came toward him, grinning.

      He recognized Dan Phillips, a guy who’d graduated a few years ahead of him, at Stillwater Springs High.

      “Logan around?” Dylan asked, though he knew the answer.

      Dan shook his head. “Off to Las Vegas to get married.”

      “The barn’s looking good,” Dylan said.

      Dan stooped for a glimpse at Bonnie. “Didn’t know you were a family man, Dylan,” he commented, with a twinkle.

      “I’m full of surprises,” Dylan replied. “You happen to know if Logan arranged to have my house fixed up after that last break-in?”

      “Took a crew over there and did it myself. Logan asked me to have Briana’s and the boys’ stuff picked up and moved here, and I did that, too.”

      That was something, anyhow, Dylan thought, still unaccountably disappointed that Logan wasn’t home. He and Bonnie could get some groceries and move right in. Cassie had made them welcome, but her place was small and he didn’t want to impose any longer than necessary.

      “This must be old home week,” Dan went on, just as Dylan was about to shift gears and drive overland to his place to figure out what he and Bonnie would need besides groceries. “I just saw Tyler. He’s holed up in that old cabin of his, out there by the lake, and he asked me not to tell anybody he’s around. Don’t figure he’d mind your knowing, though.”

      Dan figured wrong, but Dylan saw no reason to say so. “I’ll stop by and say howdy,” he answered easily. If I’m lucky, little brother won’t run me off with a shotgun.

      “Starting on the house next,” Dan said, with a nod toward the venerable old place. “Putting in some pretty fancy rigging—new master bathroom and a state-of-the-art kitchen to start.”

      Dylan grinned. Logan still expected to stay on, settle down, raise a pack of kids with Briana.

      He’d believe it when the last of the bunch grew up and got married.

      But, then, considering how he felt about his own child, it was possible Logan really had set his mind to “making the Creed name mean something,” as he put it.

      “Be seeing you,” Dylan told Dan, because that was what you said, in the boonies, when you wanted to make a polite but speedy exit.

      Dan nodded, executed a half salute and went back to work.

      Dylan headed for his own place.

      “Potty,” Bonnie said solemnly,