Brodie: Texas Rascals Book 8

by Lori Wilde

  He stared into her eyes, mesmerized. “At the Lonesome Dove this afternoon.”

  “That’s right.” She smiled.

  Unnerved, Brodie realized he was still holding on to her hand. Embarrassed, he let go and took a step back. “You were with my brother, Kenny.”

  “I was merely playing cards with him and his friends,” she corrected. “I think you got the wrong impression.”

  “Oh, no…I mean…I didn’t think…oh, hell.” Brodie swept his cowboy hat off his head. “I didn’t mean to imply any relationship between you and Kenny. I was just mad at him.”

  “No need to apologize.” She smiled so brightly Brodie feared he’d melt under the intensity.

  “Not meaning to be rude, but why’s a lady like you hanging out with guys like my brother and his friends?”

  “Everybody has to let off some steam now and then. The fellas invited me to play cards with them, and I thought, what the heck?”

  “I see.” Except he didn’t see at all why a classy woman like her would want to mix with Kenny and his friends. He shifted his weight and settled his hat back on his head. “What seems to be wrong with your car, miss?”

  “Please…” she whispered in that sultry voice of hers. “…call me Deannie.”

  “Deannie.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know. I’m hopeless with anything mechanical. One minute I was driving along, the next thing I knew the car started to clatter and shake, and it simply stopped.”

  “Were you able to steer it?”

  “No. That’s why I’m parked so haphazardly.” She indicated the car with a wave.

  “Could be the drive shaft,” Brodie mused, stroking his jaw with a thumb and forefinger.

  “Is that bad?”

  “It’s not good.”

  Deannie sighed. “Oh, my. I hope it doesn’t cost a lot. I have little money.”

  “The fellas at the bar clean you out?”

  She ducked her head.

  “I don’t mean to tell you how to run your business, but gambling is a habit that only leads to trouble.”

  “I don’t indulge often.” She batted her eyelashes at him, and Brodie had the strangest feeling that Deannie McCellan was gambling right at that moment.

  “That comment was outta line; I don’t know you. But my daddy was a professional gambler, and my brother seems to have followed in his footsteps. I know firsthand how ruinous gambling can be.”

  “I appreciate your concern, but I can take care of myself.”

  Was she making fun of him? It was hard to read her expression in the dim moonlight, but her voice took on a teasing tone.

  “I could look at your car tonight, but truthfully, it would be better to wait until morning. One of my ranch hands is also a mechanic. He could probably fix it for the cost of parts.”

  “Do you really think so? That would be great.”

  “Is there someone I can call for you?” Brodie asked, disturbed by his attraction to this woman.

  “I know no one in this part of the country. I was on my way to a job interview in Santa Fe.”

  “I see.” So, she was unemployed?

  Watch out, Brodie, the voice in the back of his head warned. There’s something not quite right about this gorgeous filly. She’s not at all what she seems.

  “Yeah, I sound like a security risk. No job, no money, a faulty cell phone, and a broken-down car.” Deannie laughed.

  The rich, throaty sound affected Brodie viscerally, catching him low in the belly. “You can stay at my ranch. I’ve got an empty guest room, and you’re more than welcome. We’ll worry about the car first thing tomorrow morning.”

  “That’s so generous of you, but I can’t possibly put you out like that.” She pursed her full lips, and it bothered Brodie that he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off that sweet mouth. “What would your wife say about you bringing home a stranger?”

  “I’m not married.”

  “Handsome fellow like you? How come?”

  “Guess I’ve never found the right one.”

  “Hmm.” She tapped her chin with an index finger. “I suppose that’s an even stronger reason for me to decline your kind invitation. We wouldn’t want to set local tongues wagging, would we? You’ve got to live here.”

  “Don’t worry about that. The Truebloods keep the Presidio County gossips in business. We’re more reliable than Facebook.”

  Deannie smiled. “Well, if you’re sure.”

  “It’s no problem.”

  “Then I accept.”

  Her acceptance felt like a gift, and it shouldn’t have. Why had he asked her to stay? Was he insane? Tempting fate like this? She’d been hanging out in a bar with Kenny for heaven’s sake. Brodie couldn’t deny his attraction to her, but common sense cautioned him not to get tangled up with this woman.

  But what else could he do? He wasn’t about to leave her here all night. It was twenty miles back to Rascal, and he had to be up at five. She would stay one night. No big deal. Rory would fix her car tomorrow, and she would be on her way. End of story. He need never explore this unexpected fascination with Deannie McCellan.

  “Let me get my bag from the car,” she said.

  Brodie waited while she opened the trunk and retrieved a duffel bag and her purse.

  “All set.” She grinned, reappearing at his elbow, her intoxicating magnolia fragrance filling his nose and making him think of white lace wedding gowns and diamond engagement rings.

  Swallowing hard, Brodie escorted her to the passenger side of his pickup truck, pondering the sudden acceleration of his pulse.

  He unlocked the door and put out a hand to help her up. Being a gentleman, he hadn’t even thought about it, but the second his hand touched her skin, he felt an electrical spark that lit him up inside.

  Quickly, he stepped away. He wasn’t sure, but he thought he heard her catch her breath.

  Sliding behind the wheel, he put the truck in gear and headed for home. They drove in silence. Brodie cleared his throat, racking his brain for something to say.

  “So,” Deannie said, “did Kenny’s wife have her baby?”

  “Yes.” Brodie smiled. “Another boy. Phillip Brodie.”

  “She named him after you?”

  “It was nice of her.”

  “I’m sure you deserve the honor.”

  “I don’t know about that.”

  “I am. Any man that is gallant enough to rescue a bar dolly with a broken-down car in the middle of the night is a true gentleman.”

  “I’m sorry about that ‘bar dolly’ crack.” Grateful for the cover of darkness, Brodie felt his face flame.

  “Believe me, people have called me much worse,” Deannie assured him.

  “That would never happen around me.” The idea of someone verbally abusing her sent anger coursing through his whole system. Why did he feel so protective of her?

  “You’re a true gentleman.”

  Brodie squirmed in his seat. “Guess I’m sort of old-fashioned.”

  “I find it refreshing.”

  Up ahead, Brodie spotted the security lights of Willow Creek. He’d never been so glad to see the place in his entire life.

  “Here we are,” he said, turning into the long driveway.

  Deannie pressed her face against the window, and he could have sworn her breath quickened.

  “All this is yours?”

  “Yep. My father died two weeks ago and left the ranch to me. But I’ve been running it for years. If I hadn’t taken it over, the old man would have bankrupted the place away years ago.”

  “Not good with money, was he?”

  Brodie sighed. “Not good with much of anything.”

  “That must have been tough.”

  “Yeah, well, we all got troubles, right?” They bumped along the dirt road, ambling over the cattle guard and through the big gate.

  “You’re very lucky,” she said.

  Was that sarcasm in her voice? Was she jealous? She had no right to
be. He’d earned everything he’d achieved through hard, honest work.

  “Willow Creek is my life.”

  Deannie’s face turned away from him, but he noticed her shoulders stiffened.

  “Like I said,” she murmured, “you’re lucky.”

  “I love nothing the way I love this land,” he said.

  “I can understand that feeling,” she said, her words muffled.

  “Can you?” Brodie pulled up in front of the house and killed the engine. He looked over at her, but she didn’t answer him.

  Their eyes met, and an odd tension stretched between them. It felt too intimate. Brodie gulped, confused.

  “C’mon in,” he said, “I’ll show you to your room.”

  4

  Curiously, Deannie’s heart slowed until she feared it might stop beating altogether. After fifteen years, she’d finally come home.

  Following Brodie through the back door and into the kitchen, she fought the assault of memories tumbling through her mind. Her vision narrowed, and the past rushed at her hard.

  She remembered many times running in and out of that same door until her mama, pressing Daddy’s shirts at the ironing board, hollered at her to come inside or stay outside. They weren’t paying to cool the whole outdoors.

  And the kitchen!

  When Brodie flicked on the overhead light, Deannie sucked in her breath at the shock of seeing it again. The color of the walls was different and so were the furnishings, but it was the kitchen she’d known. She had sat in that spot by the bay window and eaten her breakfast, watching birds at the feeder in the mesquite tree.

  Her mother had washed Deannie’s hair in that sink, had baked cookies in that oven, had stocked canned goods in that pantry. Deannie even fancied she could smell Mama’s clean, wholesome scent, a combination of soap, peaches, and homemade bread.

  Blood drained from her face, and she suddenly felt freezing. She hugged herself. Perspiration dampened her forehead, and she feared she might faint.

  “Deannie?”

  Brodie’s voice came to her from a fog. She shook her head.

  His arm went around her waist, strong but gentle. “Are you all right?” His mouth was close to her ear. Too close. He sounded worried. “Here, sit down.”

  Obediently, she sank into the chair he pulled out for her.

  “Have you eaten today?”

  “Peanuts. At the bar,” she murmured, surprised at how weak her limbs felt.

  “And I suppose you were drinking, too.”

  Was that judgment she heard in his voice? “Just one beer.”

  “On an empty stomach.” He clicked his tongue and turned his back to rummage through the refrigerator. “Actually, I got so wrapped up in coaching Emma through her labor, I didn’t eat supper, either. Matilda will hit the roof, but we’re raiding the fridge.”

  “Matilda?”

  Brodie had said he wasn’t married, but what if he had a live-in girlfriend? An emotion, curiously like jealousy, stabbed through her. Surely, she wasn’t jealous. How could she be jealous? No, she was just worried about complications. Getting rid of a girlfriend would add to the complexity of her scheme.

  “Matilda Jennings is my housekeeper.”

  “And she gets mad when you raid your own refrigerator?”

  “Matilda’s not one for cleaning up other people’s messes.”

  “Then why do you keep her on as a housekeeper?”

  “Out here, housekeepers aren’t so easy to come by. With Emma and the kids, I need all the help I can get, but ever since they moved in, Matilda’s been testy.” He chuckled.

  “At least you have a sense of humor about it.”

  Brodie shrugged. “I can’t see any other way to approach the situation.”

  He hauled out a platter of roast beef, sliced purple onions, a jar of mayonnaise, lettuce, tomatoes, pickles, and olives. Retrieving a loaf of whole wheat from the breadbasket on the counter, he set the food on the table.

  Stomach growling, Deannie watched as he made sandwiches and poured two glasses of milk.

  “Try that,” he said, sliding a plate in front of her.

  Deannie sank her teeth into the sandwich. It tasted like heaven. Just the kind of hearty rustic sandwiches her mother used to make. “Oh my.”

  Brodie winked. “I think we have chocolate chip cookies for dessert.”

  “Are you trying to seduce me?” she joked. “Because chocolate chip cookies will do it.”

  “No roses and wine for you?”

  “I’ve got a sweet tooth.”

  “You don’t say.”

  “Yep. Crazy for red velvet cake and cherry pie too.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  Deannie met his gaze and stopped chewing. She was wearing his shirt, and it smelled of him, the soft material rubbing against her skin. It was as if he had enveloped her in a massive bear hug.

  Under the scrutiny of bright lights, the man was even more handsome than she’d imagined. He possessed a long, firm jawline and a straight nose. He doffed his cowboy hat and settled it into the chair beside him. A ridge ringed his dark hair where the hat left its imprint. He smiled at her, and his brown eyes crinkled at the corners.

  Something tugged deep within her, something dangerous and exciting.

  They both dropped their gazes at the same time.

  Get a grip.

  His handsomeness would make winning his affections less odious, but she must never forget he was a Trueblood. She’d come to Willow Creek with a mission—win back her family home. If she couldn’t gamble the place out from under Kenny, then she would seduce it out of Brodie.

  But she would have to be darned careful not to lose her heart in the bargain. He was too hot for her own good.

  “That was delicious,” she said, wiping her hands on a paper napkin. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” He ducked his head, looking shy, and gathered up the food. “About those cookies…”

  “I was worried you’d forgotten.”

  “Not a chance.”

  He opened the cookie jar on the counter and fished out two oversized chocolate chip cookies, then handed one to her along with another paper napkin for catching the crumbs and sat down beside her to enjoy his cookie.

  A piece of cobweb she hadn’t noticed before was stuck in his hair. He must have run into it in the dark with his cowboy hat and when he’d taken off his hat, the sticky web had attached to his lush locks. Deannie raised her hand, almost touching his head.

  He gave her the side-eye. “What is it?”

  “Cobweb in your hair.” She hadn’t intended on touching him, but his hair was so thick and silky and black as a raven’s wing. She brushed the web away with her fingertips.

  “Matilda thinks I should spray for pests.” He winked. “But I’m a live-and-let-live kind of guy. Plus, spiders are beneficial.”

  Deannie concentrated on her cookie. He’d done it again. Treating her as if he cared about her. The man was open, warm, and welcoming.

  He dusted his fingers and stood to collect their dirty dishes.

  “Let me help you with that.” Scraping back her chair, she got up too.

  “We can just dump the dirty plates in the sink.”

  “And risk making Matilda mad?”

  “It’s too late at night to be worrying about washing dishes,” Brodie took the plates from her hands.

  Their fingers brushed lightly.

  Brodie jumped back as if scalded, dropping a plate to the floor. It shattered, sending splinters flying across the hardwood floor, and he swore softly under his breath.

  “I’ll get the broom,” Deannie said, and without thinking, stepped into the anteroom and opened the broom closet. She turned around to find Brodie standing behind her.

  “How did you know where the broom closet was?”

  “Lucky guess.” Whew, boy, she would have to watch herself. She hadn’t thought twice, heading instinctively for the broom closet. Another stupid mistake like that o
ne and she would tip her hand for sure. “A lot of these old farmhouses have similar floor plans.”

  Brodie said nothing, but suddenly a suspicious gleam lit his eyes, and all his open warmth closed up like a clamshell. He pressed his lips firmly together. Taking the broom and dustpan from her, he silently swept up the glass.

  “I’ll show you to your room,” he said, dumping the glass in the trash can and returning the utensils to the broom closet.

  Deannie gathered up her duffel bag and purse and followed Brodie upstairs. The hallway was lit by a series of night-lights. The old floorboards creaked under their weight. It looked like home, and yet, it was not.

  The Truebloods had carved their mark in her family homestead. The wall color was different, as was the carpeting. And the house smelled of Brodie—masculine, outdoorsy—leather and hay and sunshine.

  What was he thinking? Deannie fretted, watching his shoulders sway. His mood had changed so quickly in the kitchen. Why?

  He led her past the master bedroom where her parents used to sleep. Her old room was next door. But Brodie didn’t stop there. He took her down the hall to the last bedroom on the right.

  “You’ll be comfortable here,” he said rather stiffly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to bed. I’ve got to be up in four hours.”

  “Yes. Thanks.”

  Turning, he sauntered back toward the master bedroom.

  Deannie opened the door and switched on the light. This had once been her mother’s quilting room. The sewing machine had stood near the window where a full-size oak bedroom suite now sat. Mom had spent many hours here making quilts. Stacks of material, boxes of thread, yards of lace and ribbon had decorated the shelf that now held books and various knickknacks.

  Fierce nostalgia swept through her. A vivid longing for what used to be. She owed it to herself, to her parents, to reclaim what was rightfully hers. Her memories were here, her history, her past.

  Her future.

  Changing from Brodie’s work shirt and her silky dress into a blue cotton nightgown, Deannie padded across the hall to the bathroom where she brushed her teeth and washed the makeup from her face. Once finished, she returned to her bedroom, shut the door, and slipped between the cool sheets.

  Her body was tired, but her mind raced, fully alert. Disabling her car on the roadside had been a stroke of genius. Thank heavens no one else had driven by before Brodie.