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

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.

      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