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

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,” Brody interrupted hoarsely, getting desperate.

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.