Delores Fossen - Cowboy Country - The Creed Legacy / Blame It on the Cowboy

Carolyn rounded the counter, stormed past Brody toward the front window and dragged a lace curtain aside to look out at the street.

Sure enough, there were two horses, a buckskin and a bay, saddled and standing untethered at the picket fence. They were systematically devouring the leaves of Natty McCall’s century-old lilac bush.

Carolyn turned on Brody, full of challenge. And heat.

And things it was better not to identify.

“Two people, two horses,” she said tautly. “Let’s take that ride right now, Mr. Creed, and get it over with.”

“‘Get it over with’?” Brody sounded amused—and a little insulted.

“I didn’t promise to like it,” she reminded him. “All I said was that I’d go.” Carolyn indicated her jeans, boots and long-sleeved T-shirt. “And I want to go now.”

“Fine,” Brody said, inclining his head toward the fence, where the horses waited. “We’ll go now.”

Carolyn didn’t even pause to tell Tricia that she was leaving the shop, because then she’d have had to explain why she was leaving, and she wasn’t willing to do that. Steam would probably shoot out of her ears if she tried.

So she strode to the door, wrenched it open and crossed the threshold, then the porch.

“Take the bay,” Brody told her, when, reaching the gate, she finally hesitated. Ire had carried her this far, but now she was at a loss.

“Great,” she bit out.

She gathered the bay’s dangling reins, stuck one foot in the stirrup and mounted with an expertise born of outrage as much as long experience.

Brody was standing on the sidewalk one moment, and sitting easy in the saddle the next. Holding the buckskin’s reins loosely across one palm, he said, “One hour, Carolyn. Anything less than that doesn’t amount to a ride, unless you’re on a pony at the carnival.”

On the ground, Carolyn was uncertain about a great many things.

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, hell-bent-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 alone-time 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.