The Cowboy Way: A Creed in Stone Creek / Part Time Cowboy. Maisey Yates

said, reaching for the truck keys and his cell phone. “But there will be days when that won’t be possible, Tex.”

      “Like if you have to be in court or something?”

      Steven smiled, gave the boy’s shoulder a light squeeze. “Like if I have to be in court or something.”

      “But sometimes he’ll be out here all alone? Shut up in the bus?”

      Steven dropped to his haunches. Some conversations had to be held eye to eye, and this was one of them. “I plan on having the contractors put in a yard and fence it off as soon as the renovations are under way,” he said. “We’ll outfit Zeke with a nice, big doghouse and he’ll be fine while I’m working and you’re at school.”

      By then, Zeke had wiped out the kibble and moved on to lap loudly from his water bowl.

      “What if the coyotes get him?” Matt asked.

      Back home in Colorado, it hadn’t been uncommon for people to lose the occasional pet to coyotes, even in the middle of town; as their habitats shrank, the animals were getting ever bolder. Because they traveled in packs, even large dogs were often at a disadvantage in a confrontation.

      “We’ll make sure the fence is real high, so they can’t get over it,” Steven said, straightening up because his knees were beginning to ache a little in the crouch.

      “How high?” Matt persisted.

      “Really, really high,” Steven promised.

      Matt brightened. “Okay,” he said, making for the door, with Zeke right behind him. “Let’s roll.”

      Steven laughed and, fifteen minutes later, they were nosing the truck into a parking spot in the lot beside the Sunflower Bakery and Café. Recalling yesterday’s parking ticket, he made sure there were no fire hydrants within fifty feet.

      They brought Zeke as far as the front of the restaurant and secured one end of his leash to a pole with a sign on it that read, “Park pets here.” An oversize pie pan full of fresh water waited within reach.

      Steven was just straightening his back, about to follow Matt inside the café, when Melissa O’Ballivan came jogging around a corner and up the sidewalk, straight toward him.

      She wore pink shorts, a skimpy white T-shirt, and one of those visor caps with no crown. Her abundance of spirally chestnut-brown hair bobbed on top of her head in a ponytail.

      Her smile nearly knocked Steven over—even if it was focused on Matt and the dog with such intensity that he might as well have been invisible.

      Holy crap, Steven thought, because the ground shook under his feet and the sky tilted at such a strange angle that his equilibrium was skewed. He gave his head a shake, in an effort to clear away some cobwebs.

      “Morning,” Melissa said, jogging in place.

      All the right things bounced, Steven noticed, grinning down at her like a damn fool. “Morning,” he responded, after clearing his throat.

      She looked up at him with a surprised expression in her blue eyes, as though she’d momentarily forgotten that he was standing there. Or never noticed him at all.

      She apparently wanted to give that impression, anyway, and he was intrigued.

      “Would you mind opening the door?” she asked, unplugging the white earbuds attached to an armband MP3 player from her head.

      It took Steven a moment to register what that simple phrase actually meant.

      She wanted to go inside the café.

      Feeling his neck warm, Steven pushed the door open and held it, so she could jog over the threshold and across to the take-out counter.

      Morning greetings and the scents of fresh coffee, baked goods and frying bacon washed over Steven, but starved though he was, he barely noticed. He couldn’t seem to take his eyes off Melissa O’Ballivan’s springy, perfect little backside.

      “Over here!” Matt whooped, mercifully distracting Steven. If he was lucky, maybe nobody had seen him staring like a pervert while the county prosecutor ran in place in front of the counter, placing a breathy order for a bottle of very cold water to go.

      The boy had found a table by one of the front windows.

      Zeke, just on the other side, put his big paws up on the sill and pressed his nose to the glass.

      Steven laughed, and that broke the tension—until Melissa jogged past again, water bottle in hand. A truck driver got up from his booth and opened the door for her, and Steven felt a stab of irritation—or was it plain old ordinary jealousy?

      Outside, Melissa trotted by the window, favoring Zeke with a smile Steven wanted for himself.

      “What’ll it be this morning, fellas?” a pleasant female voice asked, and Steven turned to see Tessa Quinn, the lovely owner of the establishment, wearing a floral print cobbler’s apron over jeans and a tank top and looking gorgeous.

      He’d recognized her on sight the day before—she’d had a major role in a long-running TV series when she was younger—but evidently she’d exchanged her SAG card for a small-town café and an apron.

      Matt asked politely for a short stack of blueberry pancakes and a big glass of milk, and Steven went for coffee and the ham-and-egg special.

      Tessa smiled and said, “Coming right up,” and the smile lingered on in her eyes when she glanced up briefly at the window Melissa had just passed.

      * * *

      MELISSA’S NORMAL JOGGING route took her by the B&B most mornings, but not that one.

      What was she afraid of? she asked herself, giving a wry chortle as she picked up her pace, going two streets out of her way just to avoid passing Ashley and Jack’s place. That the nude croquet game might have been moved to the front yard?

      You’re getting to be a real party pooper, Melissa O’Ballivan, she told herself.

      At home, she went through her front gate and did a few cool-down moves and some stretches on the lawn. She finished off her water, started for the porch and nearly choked, she was so startled.

      There, in the shadows of the grand old lady peony bushes on either side of the walk, their huge white blossoms already fading as June wore on toward July, sat Byron Cahill.

      Andrea was beside him, and seeing Melissa’s expression, the two kids touched shoulders, maybe trying to give each other courage.

      “Well,” Melissa said, not sure what to think. “Good morning.”

      Byron got to his feet. He was probably just being polite, and there was nothing threatening in his stance, but he was a big kid, and Melissa automatically took a step back.

      “Andrea tells me you might need somebody to mow the lawn and trim the shrubbery and stuff,” Byron said gravely. He’d filled out in jail, and he was neatly dressed in inexpensive jeans, high-top sneakers and a clean T-shirt. While he was away, his acne had cleared up, too.

      He was actually quite good-looking, though still a kid.

      Melissa had made a few noises around the office about hiring somebody to whip her yard into shape, but it had never occurred to her that Andrea was listening, let alone planning to bring her recently released boyfriend by to apply for the job.

      “Well—” she said, looking at the overgrown peony bushes.

      The grass was so deep that small animals could get lost in it, and the branches of the venerable old maple tree were practically scraping the sidewalk in front of her picket fence. Which could use sanding down and painting.

      “I can borrow a mower,” Byron said, and there was a catch in his voice. One that gave Melissa a twinge of sympathy.

      Times were tough. There weren’t a lot of jobs in Stone Creek, especially for kids with a police record.