The Creed Legacy. Linda Lael Miller

boots. The buckskin, long-legged with a black mane and tail, picked his way cautiously down the steep slope that led to the water’s edge.

      Behind them and a hundred yards farther along the riverbank, in a westerly direction, hammers clacked and power saws screeched, and Brody glanced back, pleased, as always, to see the steel-and-lumber skeletons of his house and barn rising.

      Not so long ago, there had been a campground and RV park on the site, owned by Tricia McCall, now his sister-in-law and therefore a Creed. The picnic tables and the concrete fire pits were gone, along with the public showers and electrical hookups for trailers. Only the log building that had once served as the office remained; Brody had been baching in it since last Thanksgiving, when he’d moved out of the main ranch house.

      The peace between him and twin brother, Conner, could be a fragile one at times, and they both benefited by a little distance.

      Now, ready to get moving, Brody clucked his tongue and gave the gelding, Moonshine, another tap with his heels.

      “Come on, now,” he told the buckskin, his tone reasonable. “The water’s shallow here, and it’s real calm. If we’re going to be working livestock on both sides of this river, then you’ve got to learn how to cross it.”

      Moonshine, recently acquired at an auction in Denver, was young, and Brody hadn’t had a chance to train him in the ways of a cow pony.

      No time like the present, he figured.

      Brody was about to get down out of the saddle and lead the horse into the water, which lapped gently at the stony shore that used to be a swimming beach, back when the River’s Bend Campground was a going concern, when Moonshine suddenly decided he was willing to get wet after all.

      He plunged into the water, up to his chest, making a mighty splash in the process. Brody, gripping the barrel of that horse hard between his knees, just to stay in the saddle, laughed out loud before giving a whoop of pure delight.

      His boots filled, and within moments his jeans were soaked to the tops of his thighs, but he didn’t care. Moonshine swam that river like he had Olympic aspirations, his powerful legs pumping, his head high and his ears pricked up.

      “Good boy,” Brody told the horse, with gruff appreciation. “You’re doing just fine.”

      Reaching the other side, Moonshine bunched his haunches for the effort and bunny-hopped up the steepest part of the bank, water pouring off him in sheets. Once he’d gained level ground, the animal shook himself like a dog and Brody laughed again, for no other reason than that life was good.

      He was home.

      And, for the most part, he was happy to be there.

      Drenched, he got down from the saddle to pull off his boots, empty them and yank them back on over his sodden socks. When he got to the main house, he’d swap his wet duds for dry ones from Conner’s closet.

      Having an identical twin brother had its advantages, and one of them was access to a whole other wardrobe.

      There’d been a time when Conner would have groused about Brody’s tendency to borrow his stuff, but last New Year’s Eve, Brody’s “little brother,” born a couple of minutes after he was, had taken a wife. Conner was happy with Tricia, and these days it took more than a missing shirt or pair of jeans to get under his hide.

      They were on a perpetual honeymoon, Conner and Tricia, and now, with a baby due in three months, they glowed, the both of them, as if they were lit from within.

      Brody mounted up again and reined Moonshine toward the home-place, feeling a mixture of things as he considered his twin’s good fortune.

      Sure, he was glad things were working out so well for Conner, but he was a little envious, too.

      Not that he’d have admitted it to anybody.

      Tricia was beautiful, smart and funny, and she’d taken to ranch life with surprising ease, for a city girl. Essentially a greenhorn, she’d gone horseback riding almost every day since the wedding, when the weather allowed, anyway—until her pregnancy was confirmed. Then Conner had put a stop to the pursuit.

      No more trail rides until after the baby’s arrival.

      Period, end of discussion.

      Brody grinned, recalling how adamant his brother had been. For the most part, the marriage appeared to be an equal partnership, but this time, Conner had laid down the law. And Tricia, normally the independent type, had capitulated.

      That was just common sense, to Brody’s mind, though a lot of country women continued to ride when they were expecting a baby, herding cattle, rounding up strays, checking fence lines. Conner’s strong opposition was a no-brainer—Rachel Creed, Conner and Brody’s mother, had continued to enter barrel-racing events long after she learned she was carrying twins. There hadn’t been a specific incident, but soon after giving birth to Brody and Conner, Rachel’s health had begun to go downhill.

      She’d died when her infant sons were less than a month old.

      Blue Creed, their father, hadn’t lasted much longer. Overwhelmed by the responsibility, he’d brought the babies home to the ranch, right around their first birthday, and handed them over to his brother, Davis, and Davis’s wife, Kim. Soon afterward, Blue himself had been thrown from a horse and broken his neck. He’d been in a coma for six weeks, and then died.

      Now, crossing the range between the river and the two-story house Conner and Tricia had been sharing since they got hitched, the grass rippling around him like a green sea, Brody did his best to ignore the clammy chill of wet denim clinging to his legs—and the old, deep-seated sorrow rooted in his soul. He did take some consolation from seeing the cattle grazing all around, most of them Herefords, with a few Black Anguses to break the red-brown monotony. Two dozen broncos, specially bred for the rodeo, and six Brahma bulls completed the menagerie.

      Clint and Juan and a couple of the other ranch hands wove in and out among the different critters on horseback, mainly keeping the peace. Brody touched his hatbrim to the other men as he passed, and those who were looking his way returned the favor.

      By then, Moonshine was restless, trying to work the bit between his teeth, so Brody gave him his head. That cayuse might be skittish when it came to crossing rivers, but he sure did like to run.

      Brody bent low over the buckskin’s neck, holding his hat in place with one hand and keeping a loose grip on the reins with the other.

      And that horse ate up ground like a jet taxiing along a runway before takeoff.

      Brody was enjoying the ride so much that the corral fence sprang up in front of them as suddenly as a line of magic beanstalks.

      Moonshine soared over that top rail as if he’d sprouted wings, practically stretched out flat, and came in for a magnificent landing about one foot short of the place where Conner stood, looking like he’d had rusty nails for breakfast instead of bacon and eggs.

      Brody gazed down into a face so like his own that the sight of it even took him aback sometimes, and he was used to being pretty much an exact duplicate of his brother.

      Conner was scowling up at him, through swirls of settling dust, and he looked as though he’d like to grab hold of Brody, haul him off that horse and beat the holy bejesus out of him. So much for personality improvements resulting from wedded bliss!

      “Oops,” Brody said cheerfully, because he knew that would piss off Conner and he still enjoyed doing that now and again, even though they’d been getting along well for a respectable length of time. “Sorry.”

      He swung down and faced Conner, who was taut with annoyance, his shoulders squared, his fists clenched and his attitude contentious.

      “Damn it, Brody,” he growled, “am I having one of my invisible days, or are you going blind? You darn near ran me down, and it’ll take me the better part of the morning to get this mare calm enough to work with again!”

      Prior to the leap, Brody hadn’t