A Creed In Stone Creek by Linda Lael Miller

With a sigh, Steven squinted to make out the winding sparkle of the nearby creek, sprinkled in starlight, edged by oak trees, with night-purple mountains for a backdrop.

There was enough of a chill in the air to raise goose bumps wherever his skin was bare, so he figured Matt had to be cold, too, sitting there in his cotton pajamas. He crossed the scuffed linoleum floor, stepped over the threshold and sat down beside Matt on the step, interlacing his fingers, letting his elbows rest on his knees. Steven rolled out of bed, shirtless and barefoot, wearing a pair of black sweatpants that had seen better days. He looked even smaller than usual, sitting there in the expanse of that wide-open doorway. Matt looked back at him, shook his head instead of answering aloud. 'What's the trouble?' His voice was hoarse. Steven shoved a hand through his own dark blond hair. 'Hey, Tex,' Steven said, trying to sound casual as he sat up on the thin, lumpy mattress of the foldout sofa- he'd given the bed to the child when they checked in that evening. Jillie had succumbed to a particularly virulent form of breast cancer a year and a half ago, and Zack had only lasted a few months before the grief dragged him under, too-however indirectly. Steven's eyes burned, and he had to swallow the hard ache that rose in his throat. John, were gone for good? That they wouldn't be coming to pick him up, no matter how hard he hoped or how many stars he wished on, that night or any other. How could he be expected to comprehend that his folks, Zack and Jillie St. Matt was small, with his dad's dark hair and his mother's violet eyes, and he was exceptionally intelligent-maybe even gifted-but he was still only five years old. It wasn't hard to guess who he was waiting for. Something tightened in Steven's throat at the poignancy of the sight. A bundle-probably his favorite toy, a plush skunk named Fred, rolled up in his blanket-rested beside him, and the boy's tiny frame was rimmed in an aura of silvery-gold moonlight. The door stood open to the fresh high-country air, which was crisply cool on this early June night, but not cold, and the little boy-Steven's newly adopted son- sat on the cement step outside. One by one, the mental tumblers clicked into place: Some instinct-or maybe just a stir of a breeze-awakened Steven Creed he sat up in bed, took a fraction of a moment to orient himself to unfamiliar surroundings.

A Creed In Stone Creek by Linda Lael Miller