The Creed Legacy

by Linda Lael Miller

  In the saddle, she ruled. Her confidence, once she was on the back of a horse—any horse—was complete. Unshakable.

  This was something she knew, something that came as easily to her as her breathing or the beating of her heart.

  “Let’s go,” she said.

  “See if you can keep up,” Brody taunted, with another grin.

  “If I don’t, it will be this horse’s fault, not mine,” Carolyn replied, pressing the words through her teeth.

  Brody laughed, an exultant, whooping sound, and he turned that buckskin in the general direction of the ranch and took it from a trot to a gallop to a full run in the space of half a dozen strides. The animal fairly flew along that unpaved road, like a butter-colored Pegasus, with Brody bent low over its neck, the two of them melded into one magnificent creature.

  Pride swelled in Carolyn, and some emotion fiercer and more intense than joy, and she let Conner’s horse have its head. The two geldings ran neck-and-neck then, over vacant lots and across dirt roads, over railroad tracks so long unused that the rails had rusted, and through breast-high brush.

  When they both splashed into the river, Carolyn gave a shout of startled jubilation and held on as the waters filled her boots, soaked her jeans from the knees down and then saturated the denim covering her thighs.

  Brody turned his head to look at her, and in his eyes she thought she saw the one emotion she’d never expected to inspire in him: respect.

  By the time they reached the opposite bank, the horses were wearing out, slowing down. They plodded up the steep bank, laboring for high ground.

  Gaining the road that edged the ridge above the river, Brody and Carolyn let the horses set their own ambling pace.

  Carolyn knew this road from her own rides on Blossom, knew the direction they were taking would bring them to the main ranch house.

  She was wet, and breathless, and thoroughly exhilarated. Only one thing was better than a full-out, hellbent-for-election ride like the one she and Brody had just shared, and that was the kind of shattering orgasm he’d brought her to, so easily and so often, back when they were lovers.

  A shiver went through her, but it had nothing to do with the chill of the river water.

  At last, Brody deigned to break the silence. Cocky bastard.

  “Tricia probably has some clothes that will fit you,” he said. “You need to get into some dry duds, and the sooner, the better.”

  She looked at him, which was a concession in and of itself. “Did you plan that plunge into the river?” she asked. She wouldn’t have put it past him—what better way to get her out of her clothes?—but, on the other hand, he probably hadn’t, because he couldn’t have known whether or not she’d be able to rise to the challenge.

  And whatever else she might have believed about Brody, she didn’t believe he’d deliberately put anyone at risk for any reason.

  “Nope,” he said, with another easy grin. He was as wet as she was; even his hat was soaked. He leaned to pat Moonshine’s neck affectionately. “I should have seen it coming, though. This horse loves the water.” He studied her, a grin in his eyes and playing around, but not quite settling on, his mouth. “You all right, cowgirl?” he asked.

  Something in his voice, in the way he sat that horse and the way he looked at her, touched Carolyn in a deep and inexplicable way.

  “I’m all right,” she confirmed.

  “You ride,” he said, “like a Comanche.”

  It was a compliment, and Carolyn took it in. Owned it. Knew she’d bring it out, in future lonely hours, and turn it over and over in her mind, savoring it like some precious heirloom passed down through generations of forbearers.

  “So do you,” she replied, as they rode slowly toward the ranch house.

  “Thanks,” he answered.

  After that, the horses picked up their pace, probably expecting a rubdown and a flake or two of grass-hay once they got to the barn.

  Once there, Carolyn and Brody dismounted, led their tired mounts into waiting stalls and worked in easy concert with each other, grooming the animals carefully, filling their feeders and finally meeting up again in the breezeway.

  “Let’s get you into some warmer clothes,” Brody said, extending his hand.

  Like a sleepwalker, Carolyn accepted the offer, let him lead her out into the bright sunlight of early afternoon.

  She’d expected Conner and Tricia to be around— they’d had plenty of time to drive from town to the ranch in Tricia’s Pathfinder—but there was no sign of them.

  Brody tightened his grasp on Carolyn’s hand, but only briefly and only slightly.

  Entering the house, they were immediately greeted by two dogs, Valentino and Brody’s Barney.

  “I thought Conner and Tricia would be here,” Carolyn said.

  Brody smiled. “And miss a chance for some alonetime in that big Victorian house?” he teased. “The place has a lot of meaning for them. By now, they’re probably making love.”

  Carolyn blushed again. Looked away, to avoid Brody’s knowing gaze. “I should—” She hesitated, bit down on her lower lip. “I should be getting back to the shop. Would you mind giving me a lift into town?”

  “Later,” Brody said, taking her hand. He led her across the kitchen, through a doorway into a long corridor. Pushing open a door, he gestured for her to enter.

  Carolyn was already in so deep that there was no going back. She stepped into the full bathroom that linked two small guest suites.

  Brody had to know he had the advantage, an advantage he could have pressed, but he remained in the hallway, watching her with a sort of grave amusement. “While you shower, I’ll rustle up something for you to wear,” he said.

  Carolyn was cold, and the thought of a hot shower was enticing.

  Still, to take a shower, one had to get naked. And getting naked in the same house with Brody Creed was asking for trouble. Especially in her present mood.

  For whatever reason, Carolyn wasn’t her usual self.

  “Tricia keeps extra robes for company,” Brody went on, as calmly as if the situation were—well…a nonsituation. “They’re in the closet next to the linen cabinet.” He inclined his head, indicating the huge antique wardrobe behind her. “Help yourself.”

  With that, he walked off down the hall.

  Carolyn shut the door quickly, then she turned the lock. Then she scurried to make sure the doors leading into the adjoining guest suites were locked, too.

  It was silly, she knew, as, shivering, she started the water running in the shower and began peeling away her soggy clothes.

  Whatever his other faults might be, Brody wasn’t one to force himself on a woman.

  But, then, it wasn’t what Brody might do that worried her.

  It was what she might do.

  CHAPTER NINE

  BRODY HID OUT in the laundry room at the main ranch house, keeping his voice down as he spoke into his cell phone.

  “Tricia,” he growled, feeling his neck turn warm, “cut it out. This isn’t funny. Carolyn needs to borrow some of your pre-pregnant clothes because she got wet while we were crossing the river.”

  “I absolutely believe you,” his sister-in-law chimed sunnily on the other end of the call he hadn’t wanted to make. “If Carolyn had taken off her clothes for any other reason, she would simply put them back on when necessary.”

  Brody had called for permission to pilfer Tricia’s wardrobe, not for a ration. Helping himself to Conner’s stuff when he needed it was one thing, and pawing through Tricia’s dresser drawers and closets was another.

  Tricia went prattling on, without waiting for him to talk again, which was a good thing, because he didn’t have a clue what to say. He’d stated his business, and now all he could do was wait.

  “One minute,” Tricia chirped, in a to-sum-it-all-up kind of tone, “Carolyn was right here in the shop, perfectly dry. The next, she’s racing away on a horse and winds up drenched to the skin—”

  “Tricia,” Bro
dy interrupted hoarsely, getting des perate.

  She laughed. Paused to repeat Brody’s earlier request to Conner, making him laugh, too.

  It didn’t help one damn bit that his brother’s easy, rumbling chortle had a distinctively satisfied quality to it. Brody, being Conner’s identical twin, and therefore wired the same way, right down to the double helix, knew what that sound meant.

  Sure enough, Conner and Tricia had just made love.

  Conner, you lucky SOB, Brody thought, too distracted to catch the irony.

  Silently, Brody seethed, his body taut with the anticipation of something that wasn’t going to happen. Not that he couldn’t have had Carolyn—he knew he could. He’d sensed her vulnerability, and the biochemical signals had definitely been traveling both ways.

  The lovemaking wasn’t going to happen, though, because he wasn’t going to let it happen. Not yet. It was too soon, the situation was delicate, and while he hadn’t learned all his life lessons, or probably even a fraction of them, he had learned that one.

  Carolyn wanted him, but she wasn’t ready.

  Oh, she’d respond, all right—she was a responsive woman, as spirited as a wild mare—but when the effects wore off, when the afterglow went out like yesterday’s fire in the woodstove, she’d hate him.

  Worse, she’d hate herself, too.

  So Brody meant to wait—no matter what it cost him.

  He shoved a hand through his river-dampened hair— one dunk in the water hadn’t been enough to do him for a whole day. He’d had to get wet twice.

  Serve him right if he came down with pneumonia.

  While he was thinking all these thoughts, Conner and Tricia were still enjoying the hilarity of it all.

  At his expense. And here he was, being freaking noble, too.

  He deserved better.

  At last, Tricia took pity on him. “My skinny clothes are in boxes at the back of the walk-in closet in Conner’s and my room,” she said, very sweetly. “Feel free to plunder.”

  Brody had to smile then, even though he was still feeling pretty darned grumpy, all things considered. “Thanks,” he said. “I appreciate it.” He paused. In the distance, he could hear the water running in the downstairs bathroom. He pictured Carolyn naked, her trim body sluiced with soap suds and spray, and got so hard that the ache practically doubled him over. After a moment spent recovering, he cleared his throat. “You two will be coming home soon, right?” he asked.

  Say yes.

  Say no.

  “Wrong,” Tricia said happily. “Conner is taking me out for a very romantic dinner. Would you mind feeding Valentino for us? And the horses?”

  “Sure,” Brody said, thrown by what ought to have been a perfectly ordinary turn of events. “I mean, no, I wouldn’t mind feeding the critters for you. Have fun at dinner.”

  “We will,” Tricia said, and he didn’t need to see her smile, because he could feel it, hear it in her voice. This, he dimly recalled, was how a woman sounded, when she was in love. “We’ll see you hours—hours and hours— from now.”

  Brody chuckled, shook his head. If only. “Suit yourselves,” he said.

  Goodbyes were exchanged, and the call ended.

  Brody rubbed his stubbled chin, sighed as he set the cell phone aside on a counter. Obviously, Tricia thought he and Carolyn were going to spend those “hours and hours” making up for lost time, getting it on.

  He was going to have the name without the game, and so was Carolyn.

  It just plain sucked.

  CAROLYN STEPPED OUT of the shower, dried off with a thirsty towel and appropriated one of the guest robes from the exquisitely carved antique wardrobe against the long wall. Fleece-lined, the garment brushed against her skin like a whole-body caress.

  Don’t go there, she admonished herself silently. Do not think about skin and caresses. You are in deep yogurt here, lady. Out of your depth.

  She padded over to one of the two sinks set into the counter, with its custom-painted ceramic sinks, and stared at her image in the mirror, combing her hair with splayed fingers and making eye contact with that other Carolyn.

  “Well,” she began in a whisper, though she didn’t really think Brody had his ear stuck to any of the bathroom doors, “you have done it this time. You are in a real fix, and it won’t be easy to get out of this one.”

  If you even want to get out of here without giving in to the overwhelming urge to have sex with Brody Creed.

  Carolyn flushed, indignant. “Of course I want to get out of here without having sex with Brody,” she muttered. She often had these kinds of conversations with herself—what the rest of the world didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them.

  Do you want to make love with him or not?

  “Well,” Carolyn admitted, deflating a little as she sighed, “yes. What healthy, red-blooded woman in her right mind wouldn’t want to have sex with Brody Creed?” She drew in a deep breath, raised her chin and squared her shoulders under the sensuous fabric of that ridiculously luxurious robe. “But,” she went on, “I’m not going to give in to temptation. Period. I’ve already been down this road once, remember, and once was more than enough.”

  She must have made her case because after that, the argumentative little voice in her head was silent.

  A rap sounded at the door leading into the hallway.

  “Yes?” Carolyn asked, with only the slightest tremor, finger-combing her hair again.

  Brody’s low-pitched chuckle penetrated the thick wood of the door. “I’ve got some of Tricia’s things here,” he said. “I’ll just set them down on the floor and back away real slow.”

  A smile crooked Carolyn’s mouth, but she quickly subdued it. This was a serious situation, she reminded herself, and if she wasn’t very, very careful, all her drummed-up resolution to take the high road would go right down the old drain.

  “Thank you,” she called back stiffly.

  She waited until she heard Brody walk away, then waited a few moments longer, for good measure. Once she was sure the proverbial coast was clear, she unlocked the door, bent to grab up the untidy stack of feminine garments from the floor and locked herself in again.

  Sitting down on the edge of the humungous bathtub because, all of a sudden, her knees had gone squishy, holding the borrowed blue jeans and white cotton shirt on her lap, she considered hiding out in that bathroom until Tricia and Conner got home.

  That would be silly, though.

  And boring. Who knew how long they’d be gone?

  So, with another sigh, Carolyn put on the jeans and the shirt, sans underwear because her own bra and panties were still wet and no self-respecting woman borrows or lends lingerie, fluffed out her hair with her fingers one more time and marched out into the corridor.

  She found Brody in the kitchen, fiddling with the coffee machine. He’d showered, too, and changed into jeans and a blue chambray shirt, Western-cut with snaps. His boots were old and scuffed, which completed the singularly appealing look.

  With a frown, he glanced in her direction. “Do you know how to work this thingamajig?” he asked. “I cannot for the life of me figure out why people can’t be satisfied with an ordinary coffeepot.”

  The question relaxed Carolyn slightly, neutralized some of the charge in the atmosphere. Tricia loved gadgets, and Carolyn had been with her when she bought the machine. They’d given it a trial run at the shop, studying the instruction book and finally mastering the thing.

  It was, in a world thick with enigmas, a problem she could solve.

  “Like this,” Carolyn said, popping a pod into the top, setting a clean cup under the spigot and pushing the buttons. It was only after the java began to brew that she realized closing the gap between herself and Brody might not have been the smartest thing she’d ever done.

  Brody didn’t move. Why should he? He’d been there first.

  Carolyn didn’t move, either. It wasn’t pride, or stubbornness, that made her stay put. It was some strange, thrumming kind of cen
trifugal force.

  Brody cleared his throat, an affable sound, but raw at the edges. “Just so there are no misunderstandings,” he said, finally, and Carolyn had to strain to hear him over the beat of her heart, “I can’t remember when I’ve ever wanted a woman the way I want you. Fact is, if my conscience would allow it, I’d do my cowboy-best to seduce you, right here and right now.”

  Carolyn gave a twittery little laugh. “You have a conscience?”

  Lame.

  The single shot of fresh coffee had long since finished processing itself, but neither of them paid any attention to it.

  Brody’s mouth kicked up at the corner, but the expression in his eyes was soft. “Believe it or not,” he replied, “I do indeed have a conscience. And it’s telling me not to screw up.” A pause, another quirk of his mouth. “So to speak.”

  Color flooded Carolyn’s face, and heat suffused her traitorous body. “Gee, thanks,” she said, somehow keeping her tone level, despite what felt like a million tiny universes colliding within her.

  His grin went full-throttle then.

  It wasn’t the least bit fair.

  “A while back,” Brody went on, mercifully lowering the wattage on his grin, “I asked you for a second chance. I meant it, Carolyn. Even if this doesn’t go anywhere—whatever it is that’s happening between you and me—I think we should explore it.”

  Carolyn couldn’t speak. Couldn’t even swallow past the lump in her throat. So she just looked up into Brody Creed’s damnably handsome, deceptively earnest face, powerless against him. Hoping and praying he hadn’t already guessed that.

  Fat chance.

  He curved his right index finger under her chin, lifted ever so gently, so their gazes locked with an almost audible click, like the tumblers in a lock.

  “Carolyn?”

  “I’m listening,” she whispered. And she was. With her whole being, body, mind and spirit.

  Again, the wicked grin flashed. He nodded once. “So do you have an opinion?” he teased. “And, if so, how about letting me in on it?”

  “There is—” Carolyn had to stop, clear the frog from her throat, before she could go on. “There is apparently something…well…going on, here. And I think, most definitely—maybe—we ought to find out what it is. Sometime.”