by Lori Wilde
“I think I got them all,” she crowed, triumphant at last.
Hallelujah!
“Here, let me check.” Tentatively, Brodie reached a hand around behind him and gingerly fingered his rear end. The area was raw, tender, but he felt no more prickles.
Deannie had rocked back on her heels and was observing him, while still holding his underwear aloft for his explorations.
His finger struck something. “There’s one.”
“Hang on, I’ll get it.”
A twinge, then it was gone.
“Check again,” she said.
“You got them all.”
“Now for the antibiotic ointment,” she said.
“I’ll do it,” Brodie said, hastily taking the ointment from her. He applied it quickly and then pushed himself to a sitting position.
Deannie moved to sit beside him. “Still sore.”
“It’s fine.” Knowing his face was as crimson as his underwear, Brodie avoided meeting her eyes. “Thanks. I know it wasn’t pleasant for you, either.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” she drawled, the sound of her voice sending a shudder through his groin. “I’ve certainly had worse chores.”
Holy smokes! He was getting in even deeper.
“Don’t be embarrassed, Brodie. It could happen to anyone.”
“Well,” he drawled, “this wasn’t the way I imagined you’d get to see my backside.”
“No?”
He sneaked a fast peek at her and saw a teasing smile curl her lips. One cocky eyebrow perched on her forehead, and her eyes danced with mirth.
“No.” He laughed, helpless to resist her.
“How did you imagine it?”
“Um…er…you know,” he stammered and ducked his head. “I better get dressed.” He reached across the floor for his jeans.
“Wait a minute; there might be some thistles in your jeans,” she cautioned. “Let me check them for you.”
He handed her his pants and settled back down on the couch. He wanted to pace the floor, to thread his fingers through his hair, to dash from the room, anything to ease the riot in his brain.
But he couldn’t. He had no pants.
Deannie held his jeans under the lamp, squinting and running her fingers lightly across the seat, intently searching for cactus thorns.
Watching, Brodie gulped.
Her mouth twisted into a studious expression, her curly red hair trailing down her shoulders, her slender fingers moving gracefully.
Brodie remembered his mother sitting in her favorite chair at night, doing the mending. They didn’t have money for new clothes; their outfits were hand-me-downs from neighbors or stuff Mama picked up at Goodwill or the Salvation Army. Consequently, most of the garments required repair—hems taken up, buttons sewn on, rips patched.
An overwhelming tenderness swept over Brodie as he watched Deannie. Before he could stop himself, before he could think twice, Brodie leaned over and kissed her.
Lightly, gently, sweetly on the cheek.
Deannie looked up, surprise widening her eyes.
Whisked away on the moment, Brodie put his arm around her and drew her closer. Sitting there in his underwear, he felt vulnerable yet strangely free as if his inhibitions had disappeared along with the cactus quills.
Deannie smelled so fine, felt so good in his embrace, he had to taste her. Dipping his head, he angled for her lips.
That mouth, soft and inviting, lured him forward.
Her teeth parted slightly, and she closed her eyes.
With a hungry growl, he claimed her mouth. Closing his eyes against the onslaught of sensations zipping through his system, Brodie clung to her, drinking her delicious nectar.
No woman had ever made him feel so vibrant, so masculine, so alive. For twenty-nine years, he’d been trapped inside a cage of his own making, and Deannie had just produced a key and swung open the doors of his prison.
He kissed her again and again.
She was so responsive! A little moan escaped her lips, and she wriggled closer, her thigh rubbing against his bare leg.
“Oh.” She sighed long and deep and dreamy. “Brodie.”
He cupped her cheeks in his palms, and she opened her mouth wider, letting him come as far in as he wanted. Her moistness fed him. Stoked his excitement. It was as if he’d spent his whole life eating peanut butter and stale crackers when he could have been dining on lobster, steak, and caviar.
His whole life narrowed to the focus of that sweet mouth. On her. This woman who strolled into his life and changed everything overnight.
Deannie pressed both palms against his chest and pushed gently. “Why?”
Brodie drew back. “Why what?”
“Why did you kiss me?”
“I like you, Deannie. I like you a lot.”
Tears misted her eyes, and she lowered her head. Was she going to cry? Why? He hadn’t meant to upset her.
“Deannie?” He reached out, cupped her chin in his hand, and eased her face upward until she looked him in the eyes. “Are you angry with me?”
She shook her head, and her eyes looked impossibly sad. Why? “No.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Her body stiffened.
“Talk to me…please.”
“You’re so nice,” she whispered. “Too nice.”
“That’s a problem?”
She shook her head again. “You don’t understand.”
“Tell me.”
“I’m not…” She inhaled deeply. “It can’t…”
“Were you in an abusive relationship before?” The thought someone had mistreated her jammed his gut with anger, and he knotted his fists.
“No.”
“Come on,” he coaxed, reaching up to wipe away the tear that slid down her cheek. “Tell me.”
“There’s nothing to tell.” She dropped her hands into her lap and stared down at them.
He didn’t want to badger her, but he could tell something heavy weighed on her mind. He rubbed a knuckle along her cheek, and a shiver ran through him. Her skin was so soft. “Deannie? What is it?”
“Don’t lead me on, Brodie,” she said.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re running hot and cold. One minute you want to keep your distance. The next you’re—” She swept a hand at him sitting there in his underwear.
He stared at her.
She had a point. Deannie blinked at him. He could see the pulse pounding at the vein in the hollow of her throat.
He’d been waffling, sending mixed messages. Last night he’d issued his hands-off policy; today he’d sneaked a kiss. He blamed it on the cactus thorns. Not owning your part in this, huh, Trueblood? Man up. You escalated things.
“You’re right,” he said. “I apologize. I was way out of line.”
“Not way out of line.” She offered a small smile. “But…”
“But?”
“It’s not that I don’t like kissing you. I do. Very much. That’s the problem. When you kiss me… I want more.” She paused, then lowered her voice so he could barely hear her. “So very much more.”
A car horn tooted outside the cabin. They both jumped. Brodie vaulted off the couch, yanked on his jeans, and hurried to the window. It was his brother’s pickup truck, Angel and Buster in the back seat.
“Who is it?” she asked.
“Kenny and the kids.”
“Oh heavens,” she said, hopping up and brushing back hair that had fallen across her face. “We’re nowhere near ready.”
No, no, they were not.
She was talking about the cabin, but it applied just as well to their runaway chemistry. And she was dead right too.
Here was the kicker though. While they might not be ready for what was unfolding between them, it seemed to happen anyway.
Vehicle doors slammed. Children’s voices filled the air.
She turned away, opened the door, and welcomed his family inside.
; 12
The next day, Buster, Angel, Deannie, and Brodie brought Emma and the new baby home from the hospital. Ensconced in the cabin with a sober companion Brodie hired for him on his road to sobriety, Kenny stayed behind. He’d attend AA meetings twice a day in Rascal with the sober companion and spend his time putting a new roof on the cabin.
Deannie and Brodie hadn’t spoken since his brother and the children had interrupted them the morning before. In fact, they’d been avoiding each other. Brodie had taken his dinner in Rascal instead of dining with her and the kids and the ranch hands.
What happened between them in the cabin shook her to the core.
Why did she go soft and melting inside every time she glimpsed him riding across the field? Why did her heart jackhammer when she heard his voice? Why did the guilt she fought so hard to suppress come swinging back with a vengeance, her conscience nagging her day and night to reconsider her plan to marry Brodie?
Now, Deannie waited in the back seat of Emma’s SUV. Buster and Angel were in third row seating behind her. An empty third car seat, where the new baby would ride, was strapped into the seat across from Deannie. Brodie had gone inside to check Emma out of the hospital and left the engine running so they’d have air conditioning. The children chattered excitedly and bounced up and down in their car seats.
“I get to hold him first,” Buster announced. “’Cause I’m the big brother.”
“Nuh-uh.” Angel thrust her bottom lip out in a pout. “I getta ho’d him first.”
“Deannie,” Buster said. “Tell her she’s too little to hold the baby.”
“Am not!” Angel got out of her car seat and dove at her brother with her fists flailing.
“Shh, shh,” Deannie whispered. “Do you want your mother to find you fighting?”
“No, ma’am,” Buster said solemnly.
“No, ’am,” Angel echoed.
“Let’s play a game,” she said. “Have you ever played I Spy?”
“Uh-huh.” Angel bobbed her head.
“I spy with my li’l eye.” Buster pointed. “Tilda.”
Deannie glanced at the hospital entrance, and there stalking the sidewalk, was Brodie’s former housekeeper, Matilda Jennings.
The minute the gray-haired woman spotted the SUV she marched over.
“Me no wike her,” Angel whimpered.
Me either, Deannie thought.
Matilda, her sourpuss face drawn into a hard frown, rapped on the window.
Reluctantly, Deannie put the window down.
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Miss Priss.”
Forcing a smile, Deannie said, “Good morning.”
“You’re not fooling me. I know you’re up to no good.” Matilda shook a finger under Deannie’s nose. “And I’m gonna keep after you until I figure out what game you’re playing. Brodie might be a trusting fool, but I ain’t.”
“Excuse me,” Deannie said, her stomach roiling. “The cool air is getting out.” She leaned over to put the window back up.
“Not so fast.” Matilda slapped her palm over the rim of the window glass. “I’m not done with you yet.”
“What is it?” Deannie dropped her smile. The woman knew nothing, otherwise she would already have gone to Brodie with her suspicions.
Matilda’s eyes gleamed. “I want in on the action.”
“There is no action.”
“Don’t yank my chain. You’re angling to get that man to marry you so you can run herd over Willow Creek. If I was twenty years younger, I’d pull the same stunt myself.”
Fear jelled Deannie’s veins, but she wasn’t about to let the woman see her sweat. “I do not understand what you’re talking about.”
“Lie through your teeth all you want, girlie. I learned the real scoop from some of those fellas you played poker with at the Lonesome Dove. Just remember, I’m on to you, and I intend on either getting my job back or making a pile of money off you.”
“Are you threatening me, Mrs. Jennings?” Deannie put the smile back on, this time injecting it with steel. She put on a brave front, but her insides were liquid terror. “Last time I checked, blackmail was against the law.”
“So is defrauding people.”
“I have defrauded no one. If you’ll please take your hand off the door, I’d like to put up the window.”
“You haven’t seen the last of me,” Matilda warned. “I’ll be in touch.” With that, the iron-jawed woman strutted away leaving Deannie quaking all over.
What if Matilda made good on her threats and dug around until she found out she was really Deanna Hollis? Although Deannie had been very careful. She purposely stayed off all social media, striving to keep her digital footprint as small as possible.
“Look,” Buster said. “There’s Mama.”
“Where?” Angel pressed her face against the window that Deannie had just raised.
Sucking in air Deannie stared at Brodie as he came down the walkway, carrying a bundle wrapped in a blue blanket. A smiling dark-haired woman seated in a wheelchair at his side, wheeled along by a hospital attendant.
When they reached the SUV parked in the passenger loading zone, Brodie opened the front passenger side door, and the attendant helped Emma inside.
Then he came around to strap the newborn into the car seat beside Deannie.
For once, Angel and Buster were silent. Their eyes loomed wide in their faces, and their mouths hung open as they leaned over the seat to see the newest Trueblood.
Deannie, still shaken from her encounter with Matilda, kept her hands in her lap and her body perfectly still. Everything had changed. Before Matilda’s threat, Deannie expected plenty of time to woo Brodie. But now she could no longer afford the luxury of time.
“This is my br…bro…brother?” Buster stammered.
“Yes, honey,” Emma turned to smile at her oldest child and glimpsed Deannie. She winked. “Hi, I’m Emma, and I’m assuming you are Deannie. Brodie’s told me so much about you. He says you’re amazing with the kids.”
It was impossible not to return Emma’s engaging grin. Despite the anxiety crawling through her stomach, Deannie smiled back. “Your kids are the amazing ones, and they keep me on my toes.”
“Oh.” Emma chuckled. “I see you know my children.”
“Kisses, Mommy, kisses.” Angel broke free from her car seat and surged to where her mother sat, climbing over Deannie and the new baby to get there, puckering her lips for maternal kisses.
“Me too, me too.” Buster came out of his car seat too and joined his sister, the kids’ chubby little legs brushing against Deannie as they leaned in for their mother’s attention.
“Okay, okay, back to your seats,” Deannie said, “so we can get your mommy home. Then you can have all the hugs and kisses you want.”
She got the kids buckled into their seats, and Brodie got behind the wheel.
Emma smiled at Deannie in the rearview mirror and mouthed, Thank you.
Leaving Deannie feeling a half dozen conflicting things all at once.
HELPLESSLY, Deannie stared at Brodie as he helped Emma from the SUV once they were back at Willow Creek Ranch. She’d just gotten Angel and Buster out and turned back to see who would take the new baby.
She took in the firm, clean lines of his broad shoulders and his straight posture. He tugged his Stetson lower over his forehead and turned to get the baby. Cradling the infant against the crook of his elbow as if holding a newborn was the most natural thing in the world, he passed his nephew to his mother.
“Does anyone want to see the baby?” Emma asked.
“Oh, yes, Mommy, pwease.” Angel clapped her hands, and Emma unwrapped the wriggly little package in her arms.
Buster closed one eye and assessed his baby brother. “He’s tiny, Mama. You sure we shouldn’t throw him back and wait ’til he’s bigger?”
Brodie chuckled. “That works on fish, buddy, not babies.”
“Why don’t we go inside?” Deannie suggested, seeing how pale an
d worn Emma looked.
“Good idea.” Emma smiled at her again.
“Me got the prettiest baby in the who’e wor’d,” Angel cooed, slipping her hand into Deannie’s and skipping along beside her as they headed inside the house.
“Yes, you do,” Deannie agreed. Darn. There it was again. That deep pang of something important missing from her life.
Once in the house, Emma went into the living room and sat down, resting the baby on her thighs while Buster and Angel plopped on either side of their mother, both talking at once. Emma peeled off the baby’s socks and counted his toes, a happy Madonna smile on her lips.
Buster said, “This little piggy went to market.”
“Roast beef!” Angel giggled.
“Is there anything I can get for you?” Deannie asked. “Something to drink? Are you hungry?”
“No, thank you,” Emma smiled. “I’m fine for now.”
“The new baby is very handsome.”
“Would you like to hold him while I cuddle these two?” Emma asked.
Deannie laid a hand on her chest. “Me?”
“Sure.” Emma extended the baby toward her.
“B-but I’ve never held a baby before,” Deannie stammered.
“Nothing to it. Just support his head like this. See?”
“What if I drop him?” she whispered, drawing closer.
“You won’t.”
Tentatively, Deannie reached out and took the newborn from his mother’s arms. He opened his eyes and peered at her, fuzzy and unfocused.
Awed, Deannie stared at his tiny hands. His face was slightly red and his features scrunchy, but Phillip Brodie Trueblood was the most adorable thing she’d ever seen.
“It’s amazing,” she said, not knowing what else to say.
“I know.” A satisfied smile warmed Emma’s brown eyes. “Just wait until you have your own.”
Deannie shook her head. “I’m not sure I’ll ever have children.”
Emma’s mouth formed a stunned circle. “Why not?”
“The world’s a pretty rough place, why bring a child into it?”
“Because babies are our hope for the future,” Emma murmured.
“It’s too bad,” Deannie said, “that his father isn’t here to enjoy the moment.” Her statement obliterated the joy from Emma’s face, and she wished she could have bitten off her tongue. That was a mean thing to say. Why had she said it?