by Lori Wilde
Yes, his head said, Slow down, slow down, slow down. But his body cried, Now, now, now.
Brodie stacked the box alongside the others, then placed his palms against his lower back and stretched.
Truthfully, he was feeling vulnerable. His father had just died, and even though they’d never seen eye to eye, a part of his past was dead and buried for good. Some mourning was expected.
Also, he was the one who had inherited Willow Creek. Complete responsibility for the ranch’s success or failure lay at his feet. Brodie had to provide not only for himself but also for Kenny and his family.
There were adjustments and needs to satisfy. Needs that had been gnawing at Brodie for some time. A sharp, aching need to find a wife, get married, and have a family of his own. What was the point in pouring his heart into Willow Creek if he had no one to leave it to?
Brodie bit his bottom lip. How he longed for a chance to be a better father to his children than Rafe had been to him.
“Think about it later,” he told himself.
“Did you say something?” Deannie inquired sweetly when he returned to the living room. She glanced up from where she was sweeping dust balls out the front door.
Mid-morning sunlight splashed into the cabin, catching her fiery red hair in a shining glow. She appeared almost angelic standing there with that halo of curls tumbling around her head, and the corners of her mouth tugged upward.
His stomach clenched in response to her smile. “Nothing,” he mumbled.
The air smelled of soap and cleaning solution, and Brodie wondered if the smell might account for his dizziness. He wasn’t admitting it was sexual chemistry.
She continued her sweeping, her lithe body moving in a hypnotic rhythm. Whish, whish, whish. The broom scooted across the wood.
They’d dressed like each other, Brodie noted with a start. Both were wearing white cotton T-shirts now streaked with dirt and faded blue jeans. The only difference was he had on boots and she’d donned sneakers. It was as if their minds ran along the same track. She was a feminine version of himself.
No. She’s very different from you. Remember, you found her gambling in a bar. She’s more like Kenny or Rafe.
Yet, Brodie couldn’t shake the notion she was his female mirror image. His other half.
He watched Deannie, mesmerized by her lithe motion. How beguiling she looked, those faded denims hugging her fanny tighter than a lover’s passionate embrace, her face scrubbed free of cosmetics. It took every ounce of control he could muster not to cross that floor, gather her into his arms, and kiss her.
Brodie didn’t know how much more he could tolerate. How much longer could he keep his sanity? Yet, she’d done nothing to lead him on. It wasn’t her fault. He couldn’t toss her out on the streets.
“There,” she said, rubbing her palms together. “That’s a start.”
“Huh?” He blinked, thankful she was unaware of the direction in which his mind traveled.
“I’ll tackle the kitchen next. I’ve got an hour before I have to be back at the farmhouse to cook lunch.”
Deannie tucked a lock of hair behind one perfect seashell-shaped ear, and that utterly innocent gesture had Brodie yearning to nibble her delectable lobes.
“Are you okay?” She squinted at him.
“Yeah. Fine.” Nothing wrong except he was about to explode with desire. “Well, maybe the smell of cleaners is getting to me. Think I’ll take a walk outside and get some fresh air.”
“It is overpowering,” Deannie agreed. “I’ll open the windows.”
Shaking his head, Brodie strode over to the corral where he’d tied Ranger. The gelding neighed a greeting.
Brodie scratched Ranger behind the ears. He glanced back over his shoulder at the cabin. She’d disappeared from the door, and he felt oddly lonesome.
When he’d told her about his mother, she’d listened quietly, a sad, pensive look upon her face. She’d been so receptive, he’d felt as if he could tell her anything. That alone was enough to scare the hell out of him. He’d always been closemouthed with his private thoughts. Why did he suddenly want to tell her everything?
Dang. He had to stop thinking about her like this. Maybe a ride around the perimeter would empty his head.
He swung into the saddle and wheeled Ranger west. The sun, perched high in the sky, beat down warm and cheerful. Brodie readjusted his hat to shade his eyes.
It wasn’t fair to leave Deannie inside the cabin doing all the cleaning for his brother’s benefit, but Brodie just could not face her at this moment. Not while they were out here all alone. One glance into those piercing eyes and he would be a goner for sure.
A bonus.
He would pay her a bonus to ease his conscience. Ranger tossed his head as if in agreement. Brodie kneed the gelding in the ribs, urging him into a trot. The horse surged forward. Grasshoppers sprang up in their wake. Brodie leaned low in the saddle, guiding Ranger toward the creek.
Brodie had come here often when the family had first moved in at Willow Creek. The cabin, the creek, the willow trees had been his refuge from Rafe. That old familiar feeling of safety washed over him as Ranger traveled the creek bed, spindly willow branches slapping lightly against Brodie’s legs.
Ranger’s hooves kicked up a fine spray from the thin creek, splashing his face and cooling down the sizzle Deannie stirred inside him.
“He-ya!” Brodie called, gently kneeing the gelding.
Ranger sprang into a gallop. By this point, they had completely circled the cabin. Unable to stop himself, Brodie cast another glance at the front door.
And saw her.
Oblivious to him, Deannie was scrubbing the windows inside the cabin. The tip of her pink tongue caught between her teeth, and a narrow frown cut a path across her brow as she concentrated on the job.
Brodie stared.
Deannie stretched, reaching high to get the top panes. Her breasts, pert and firm, thrust forward, straining against her thin cotton T-shirt. Her nipples, hard as pebbles, pushing upward with the motion.
The sight generated a swift response. Immediate pressure rose below his belt, erecting an aching ballast against his zipper.
His mouth fell open. He gripped the saddle horn, and the reins slipped from his astonished fingers.
Ranger pitched up the creek bed, his hooves striking the rocks. Before Brodie could regain control, a tree branch whacked him in the face, knocking him off balance.
Brodie tumbled backward.
His arms flailed. His fingers grasped at air. He came up with a fistful of willow leaves and landed smack-dab on his backside.
In a cactus patch.
“Yeow!” Brodie howled.
His hat flew behind him. His boots hit the soft dirt, heels digging in deep. He tried to struggle to his feet but squirming only drove the spines deeper into his rear end. He stopped moving, panting against the pain.
Ranger stood there looking at him as if trying to figure out he’d managed to fall off.
“Brodie!” Deannie shouted. She dashed out the front door and ran toward him.
Strangely enough, just seeing her eased the sting. He watched her fly across the ground, with what he knew was a dopey expression on his face. Worry made her eyes shiny and her chest heave as she breathed rapid gasps.
“I saw you fall,” she exclaimed when she reached him. “Are you all right?”
“Except for the cactus in my posterior, I’m fine.”
“Oh, dear!” Deannie’s eyes widened as she realized where he had landed.
Brodie extended her his hand. “Could you help me up, please?”
Nodding, she braced herself and tugged on his arm.
Brodie winced at the sharpness shooting through his backside. He pushed up, and she hauled him to his feet.
She took a step around him and stared down at his bottom. “Oh, my gosh,” she whispered. “You’re covered in thorns.”
“Tell me about it,” Brodie muttered.
Peeking back at
his face, her mouth widened into a circle of concern. “What are we going to do?”
“There’s a first aid kit in the pickup. Hopefully, there are some tweezers in it.”
Brodie took a stiff step forward. A thousand tiny stickers pricked his skin. He hissed in a deep breath, excruciatingly aware of the embarrassing nature of his situation. Deannie would have to pluck the thorns from his butt.
Groaning more from that thought than from the pain, Brodie took another step.
“Goodness.” Deannie laid her palms on either side of her cheeks in a gesture of disquiet. “I can’t hardly stand to watch you.”
“Aw,” he said. “I’ve been through much worse than this.”
Quit sniveling, Trueblood, and get over to the cabin. He couldn’t have Deannie thinking him a wimp.
Mentally cinching himself against the pain, he set his jaw. He marched to the cabin, head held high. His blue jeans chafing against the bristles with every movement, Brodie swore under his breath.
“I’ll get the first aid kit,” Deannie volunteered and hurried over to the truck.
The pickup’s door slammed behind him, and Deannie’s feet slapped against the stone sidewalk as she caught up with him.
“Got it,” she said.
He nodded, not really in the mood for conversation.
“Where are we gonna do this?” Deannie asked when they were inside the cabin. Brodie blinked in the dim coolness that contrasted with the brightness outside and the throbbing in his rear end.
Closing his eyes briefly, Brodie gulped. Where indeed?
“The couch will do,” he replied, surprised to hear his words sound strangled. Whether it was from the pain or from what was about to happen next, he couldn’t say.
Deannie tightened her hand around the first aid kit and made a face. “How are we going to get your pants off?”
“Do I have to take them off?”
“Brodie, how do you expect me to pluck those spines out through denim?” She had a point.
He sighed. “I don’t want to expose myself.”
“I know this isn’t pleasant, but I’m the only one here to do it. You can’t climb back on Ranger or ride in the truck to the farmhouse. Can you imagine bumping across the fields in your condition?”
Brodie gritted his teeth. No, he couldn’t. “All right. I’ll try to get the jeans off.”
“While you’re at it, I’ll check the first aid kit for tweezers,” she said.
“Good idea.” Feeling like an A-number-one fool, Brodie turned his back to her and reached for his belt buckle.
11
Deannie focused her gaze on the first aid kit. Her vision narrowed to the large red cross gracing the front of the white plastic box. All moisture dried from her mouth.
Her eyes might have fixed on that kit as if it were a lifeline, but her ears attuned to every noise Brodie made from across the room. Crazy, seductive, getting-naked noises.
The sound of his belt unbuckling sent shivers skating down her spine. She heard the belt slither as he whipped it from the loops. Next came the snap. It popped as loud as a firecracker in her sensitive ears.
His zipper, easing down the track inch by painful inch, made a whispering noise that whooshed in her ears like the wild ocean tide during a lunar eclipse. Heat swamped her entire body. She was about to see Brodie’s bare behind in all its radiant glory.
Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear. What had she gotten herself into? Truth was, she’d never seen a naked man. This would be a first for her.
Deannie’s fingers fumbled with the first aid kit’s clasp. The ornery thing wouldn’t budge. Her hands were thick with sweat, and a trickle of perspiration rolled down her cheek, plopping onto her shirt.
Calm down, chill out, cool it.
“You find the tweezers?” Brodie asked.
“Uh, I’m just having a little trouble getting this thing open. Are you ready?”
“I have to shimmy my jeans down.”
At that visual image, she yanked on the lock and the kit sprang open, sending gauze and scissors and ointment flying across the room. Scrambling along the floor on her hands and knees in pursuit of the escaping supplies, she finally located the tweezers peeking out from under the edge of the couch.
“Got ’em.” She waved the tweezers in the air.
“Let’s get this over with,” Brodie said grimly.
Deannie kept her head turned while Brodie carefully shucked his jeans. He groaned a couple of times, but all in all he handled it well.
“Ready,” he said, sounding edgy and breathless.
She turned to find him lying on his stomach across the couch, his underwear still on. Thank heavens.
He wore bright-red bikini briefs. Deannie had to slap a hand over her mouth to keep from guffawing. She would never have figured straitlaced Brodie Trueblood as a man who favored bikini briefs.
Especially red ones.
Obviously, he had a deeply sensual side she would never have guessed at. “Are you going to leave your underwear on?”
“Um…is it okay if I do?”
Way more than okay.
Relief poured through her. “I’ll see if I can get the thorns out without you having to remove them.” She didn’t think she could survive seeing that firm butt completely unclothed. “I’m gonna need more light.”
“There’s a lamp in the bedroom.”
“Be right back,” she said, willing her heart to stop racing.
She hurried to the bedroom, retrieved the lamp, then returned to plug it in next to the sofa. She dropped to her knees beside him, her eyes level with his distracting fanny. Squinting, she gazed along those finely honed muscles.
“Oh, my.”
“What is it?”
“There sure are lots. I don’t know where to pluck first.”
“For pity’s sake, Deannie, grab one and yank it out,” he said, his voice muffled from having his face thrust into the couch cushion. “They hurt like hell.”
Her fingers quivered as she grasped the tweezer. Leaning over, she rested her elbow on the back of his knees to stabilize her hand. Squinting, she inspected his bottom.
The fine white quills stood out against the red cotton material. There were dozens. Over a hundred even. This could take forever. Deannie gulped.
Despite her best intentions to concentrate on the job at hand, she couldn’t help noticing his finely corded legs and how his thighs curved enticingly into his hips. He smelled rather delicious, too, like leather and sand and horses. Most definitely the aroma of home. The scent she’d craved for the past fifteen years.
“Deannie?” he mumbled. “Is something wrong?”
“I’m scared of hurting you.”
“Just do it.” He sounded rather irritated.
“Okay. Here goes nothing.”
Tweezers posed, she jerked out an offending spine.
Brodie grunted. “Keep going.”
Depositing it into the lid of the first aid kit, Deannie then tackled another one.
His skin burned warm beneath her arm. The hair on his legs glowed dark and thick. Deannie tried not to notice such things, but it was impossible.
She forgot to breathe.
Her entire body underwent an incredible metamorphosis. Her head swam. Her pulse sped up. Her nipples hardened. Her tummy melted. Her toes curled and her heart sang.
One thought and one thought only pounded in her brain.
I want to make love to Brodie Trueblood.
BRODIE WAS IN AGONY. Not from the cactus spines, but from Deannie’s hot breath torching a hole through his posterior. He couldn’t stand much more of this.
It was a darn good thing he was lying on his stomach, or she would be very shocked to discover exactly what thoughts were bouncing around his head, causing some very physical reactions.
Her soft skin brushing against the back of his legs, her glorious magnolia scent badgering his nostrils, the quiet little tsk-tsking sounds she made with her tongue drove him batty.
&n
bsp; Remember, Trueblood, you can’t let your hormones rule your head.
Then a startling notion hit him. What if Deannie felt the same way about him? What if she were hesitant to acknowledge her feelings because she worried where it might lead?
Closing his eyes, Brodie groaned into the pillow.
Deannie hissed in a breath. “I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?”
“Don’t stop.” It already seemed as if they’d been here for eons, he wanted this over and done with.
“I got all the big ones, but there are still lots of little ones I can barely see through your underwear.”
She ran a finger over the spot where the thorns were thickest. A million pinpricks shot through his nerve endings.
“Ouch!” He arched his back against the pain. “What are you doing?”
“I’m feeling them since I can’t see.” She sounded frustrated.
It probably wasn’t much easier for her than it was for him.
“Easy does it,” he urged. “Easy.”
“Brodie,” Deannie said huskily, “there’s simply no way around it. I’m going to have to push your underwear out of the way to get the rest.”
He gritted his teeth. “Do what you have to do.”
Her nimble fingers curled around the elastic at his leg. Her fingernails lightly scratched the area where his thigh merged with his buttocks. Awareness fused with discomfort, and Brodie wondered whether he had died, and this was his punishment in hell—a beautiful, sexy woman raising his undies so she could pick stickers from his bare rump.
“There,” she said, “that’s much better.”
He could tell she was keeping the cotton material pushed upward with one hand while she continued to extract thorns with the other. He’d never been in a more embarrassing situation.
The overhead ceiling fan blew cool air against his bare skin, but Brodie burned so hot inside, he scarcely noticed.
Time stretched, elongating into slow motion. He experienced each of Deannie’s measured movements in excruciating minutiae. The tip of the metal tweezers poked and prodded. Her breath whistled softly as she inhaled through clenched teeth. Her aroma, like large white flowers blooming in the spring sunshine, overwhelmed his senses.
