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

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       CHAPTER EIGHT

      MONDAY MORNING ROLLED around way too soon, as it is inclined to do. Grumbling under her breath, Melissa practically crawled out of bed, went to the window and peered out between the slats of the wooden blinds.

      Great.

      The gray sky looked heavy-bellied with rain and, somewhere in the distance, thunder rolled, like a sound effect from the old Garth Brooks song.

      The night before, feeling optimistic about the weather, she’d set out shorts and a tank top with a built-in sports bra, along with socks, running shoes and cotton underpants. Now, disheartened, Melissa opted for sweats, instead of the shorts and top, pulled her hair back and up in a ponytail, and went out into the front yard to stretch.

      The fresh air, with its misty chill, did a lot to revive her, made her glad she’d overcome her first waking instinct of the day—to go straight back to sleep.

      The lawn certainly looked a lot better, she thought, as she opened the gate in her picket fence and stepped out onto the sidewalk. Byron had spent the whole afternoon mowing and clipping and weeding, and the results were impressive.

      Melissa breathed in the moist green scent of newly cut grass.

      The branches of the maple tree no longer hung low over the sidewalk, and millions of tiny raindrops dotted the leaves, shimmering like bits of crystal, finely ground and then sprinkled on.

      She started off at a slow trot, warming up. A light drizzle began before she got as far as the corner, and another clap of thunder sounded, way outside of town but ominous.

      Melissa raised the hood of her sweatshirt and picked up her pace. She liked to vary her route and that day she circled the town’s small, well-kept park three times before turning onto Main Street.

      Most of the businesses were still closed, of course, since it was only about 7:30 a.m., but the Sunflower was open, along with the feed store and the auto repair shop.

      Tessa Quinn stood outside her café, her long, dark brown hair tumbling down her back, pouring fresh water into the community dog dish. She smiled and waved as Melissa trotted past on the opposite side of the street.

      Melissa waved back, pondering an idea that had been rattling around in the back of her brain for a while now: playing matchmaker by inviting both Tessa and Tom over for supper on the same night. Of course it would mean borrowing more food from Ashley’s freezer stash—or even convincing her twin to whip up some culinary wonder befitting the occasion. Sure, it would be a risk—Tom and Tessa might wind up disliking not only each other, but her as well—but suppose luck was with them? Suppose it was the start of something big?

      She smiled at the thought. Maybe, so she wouldn’t feel like a third wheel, and Tom wouldn’t feel outnumbered, she would ask Steven to come back, too. This time, of course, she wouldn’t practically tackle the man on the sidewalk at the end of the evening and kiss his face.

      Remembering, Melissa blushed. She’d had the remainder of Saturday night and all of Sunday to get over giving in to that one foolhardy impulse, but here she was, still obsessing about it. What was her problem? She decided to hold off on the matchmaking, at least until Ashley got back from Chicago and could serve as a sort of advisor.

      Lord, she missed her sister.

      Melissa jogged on, passing by the library, and the log post office, with its large green lawn, flag and flagpole, and the row of bright blue mailboxes facing the street. It was time to head for home, she decided, leaving Main for the oak-shaded residential street that lay parallel to it.

      Every house was familiar; Melissa knew who lived there now and who had lived there before that, and before that. She knew the people and their histories and their hopes and the names of their pets, living and gone.

      That was life in a small town for you.

      Eventually, she reached Ashley’s B&B, and was pleased to note a conspicuous absence of naked croquet players, at least in the front yard. Maybe it was the inclement weather, she thought, with a smile.

      Or they could be around back, cavorting away.

      Melissa was so distracted by those thoughts, and so used to running along that street in the early morning, that she wasn’t paying attention, and nearly СКАЧАТЬ