The Creed Legacy

by Linda Lael Miller

  Carolyn nodded. “You’re lucky—that you had Davis and Kim, I mean.”

  “Yep,” Brody agreed. His arms were around her, but loosely, strong but making no demands. “Lucky on all counts, when it comes to kinfolks.” He hooked a finger under her chin, lifted, and pulled back just far enough to look directly into her eyes. “And when it comes to you, Carolyn.” She blinked.

  “I love you,” he said. Just like that.

  Talk about things that were too good to be true. “You do?”

  He chuckled, and then flashed that dangerous grin at her. The one that made her wish her clothes would fall right off. “I just said I did, didn’t I?” he teased. There was heat gathering in his eyes now. “But I don’t mind repeating myself. I love you, Carolyn.”

  “Really?”

  “Carolyn.” Brody tried to sound stern, but the tenderness in his eyes spoiled the effect.

  She blushed, confused and joyful and ridiculously shy. “I love you, too,” she blurted out.

  “Good,” Brody said, his mouth close to hers now. “That’s good.”

  “What happens next?” she murmured, as things shifted inside her, finding their level. Her pelvic bones seemed to be melting, along with her knees.

  Brody arched an eyebrow. “We go to bed?” He was already slipping a warm hand underneath her T-shirt.

  Carolyn gasped. “That’s…a given—” she managed to say. “I mean after—next week, next month, next year—” He’d unfastened the front catch on her bra, and one of her breasts spilled, warm and ready, into his palm. His thumb chafed her nipple. “Oh, God—” she whimpered. He pushed up her T-shirt and then his mouth closed over her. “Brody—”

  He enjoyed her freely, for what seemed like a deliciously long time, before lifting his head to meet her eyes and offer a belated reply to a question she’d almost forgotten she’d asked.

  “I say we let next week, next month and next year take care of themselves and concentrate on what’s happening right now,” he said. And then he pushed back his chair and stood, lifting Carolyn in his arms. “Which bedroom is yours?”

  Brody had barely begun to make love to her and already she was limp, completely at his mercy.

  She told him where her room was.

  And he carried her there, and their clothes fell off, and Carolyn’s first orgasm came quickly, fiercely, rocking her very core, wringing a shout of glorious surrender from her.

  “Brody!”

  HE HAD HORSES TO FEED, Brody thought, lying there in the twilight, still partially entangled with a sumptuously naked—and soundly sleeping—Carolyn. Not just Davis and Kim’s horses, either, but Moonshine, too, over at River’s Bend.

  And Barney was down at Conner and Tricia’s, awaiting his return.

  Brody touched the tip of Carolyn’s nose, then her lips.

  She stirred, opened her eyes. Blinked, as though surprised to see him.

  He grinned. “Gotta go,” he said.

  Carolyn, still half-asleep, looked immediately alarmed.

  “To feed the horses,” Brody clarified, placing a nibbling kiss on her mouth, “and collect my dog.”

  She swallowed. “Then what?”

  “Then I’ll come back here, if that’s all right with you.”

  Her smile was sudden, a bright flash in the semidarkness of the room. “I have a better idea,” she announced. “I’ll come with you.”

  Simple as it was, Carolyn’s statement struck at something deep inside Brody. His voice came out husky when he said, “Sounds good.”

  They shared a shower—somehow managing not to wind up making love again, although the temptation was strong—then got themselves dressed and, after Carolyn had given the cat a fish dinner from a can, headed for the barn.

  Together, they made short work of the chores. They rode to River’s Bend in Brody’s truck, fed Moonshine, fetched Barney’s bag of kibble from the lodge and went on to the main ranch house.

  Carolyn, evidently suffering a sudden bout of shyness, waited in the truck while Brody went inside, politely refused Tricia’s invitation to have supper with her and Conner and reclaimed Barney.

  It occurred to Brody as they bumped over the road leading back to Kim and Davis’s place that Barney and Winston the cat might not make for the best combination, what with their fundamental differences.

  “Winston adores Valentino,” Carolyn assured Brody, once he’d expressed his concern. “He’ll get along fine with Barney, too.”

  She was right, as it turned out.

  Barney and Winston met up for the first time in the middle of Kim’s kitchen, eyeing each other like a pair of gunfighters at high noon.

  The cat fluffed out his tail, and Barney sniffed curiously at Winston’s nose, and the two of them turned away from each other and casually went their separate ways.

  “See?” Carolyn said, taking one of Kim’s famous casseroles from the freezer side of the refrigerator. “It’s a nonevent.”

  Brody grinned, looking at the casserole dish in her hands. “You cook?” he teased.

  She laughed. “No,” she said. “But I do reheat.”

  With that, Carolyn turned her back to him, setting the casserole on the counter and removing the foil covering.

  Brody stepped up behind her, slipped his arms around her, and kissed the nape of her neck, delighting in the little shiver of response she gave.

  “Speaking of reheating things,” he muttered.

  “Later,” she said. “Supper first. We need our strength.”

  Brody tasted her earlobe. “Umm,” he said.

  Laughing again, she wiggled free, switched on the oven and set the temperature. “Later,” she repeated.

  Later took its sweet time arriving, but eventually, when they’d eaten and loaded the dishwasher, then rigged up a couple of blanket-beds for Winston and Barney, they took a second shower.

  This time around, there was no resisting temp tation.

  There was also no condom.

  Hours later, both exhausted, Brody and Carolyn finally slept.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  BRODY’S CELL PHONE was ringing.

  Carolyn’s heart scrambled into her throat, and as deeply as she’d been sleeping only moments before, she was wide-awake in an instant, if still a little disoriented. Straining for the switch on the bedside lamp while Brody, muttering, groped for his discarded clothes, rummaged audibly and finally got hold of the phone.

  “Brody,” he answered, his voice raspy with sleep and worry.

  Carolyn found the switch, and light spilled into the room. Although she’d slept through that other phone call, on that other night years ago, the similarities were still eerie. She could almost believe she’d somehow blundered into a time warp, and here was Lisa calling to say she was pregnant, and the whole heartbreaking scenario was starting up all over again.

  “Conner,” Brody said, his gaze locked with Carolyn’s. “Stay calm. You have got to stay calm—we’ll be right there, and we’ll do whatever needs doing, I promise you. In the meantime, hang up and call 911—now.”

  Carolyn clambered into her clothes, her eyes hot but dry, her throat thick with fear. Call 911—now. It was 2:00 a.m.

  Dear God.

  “Tricia?” she whispered, as Brody clicked the phone shut and got back into the jeans and work shirt he’d been wearing earlier, when they did chores.

  Brody nodded. “She’s having pains—bad ones, evidently—and Conner’s in a panic.”

  “What if he’s too panicked to call 911?” Carolyn lamented, as she and Brody headed for the bedroom doorway at the same time.

  “Conner,” Brody said, striding through the darkened house, almost running, “is Conner. He’s solid, through and through.”

  By the time they crossed the kitchen, Brody had his truck keys out. Winston and Barney were both up on all four feet, rising off their improvised beds, watching them.

  “You’ll have to stay here this time,” Brody said to the dog, for all the world as though he
expected the creature to understand. “Look after Diablo-cat for me.”

  Barney lay back down again, with a sigh, and Winston followed suit.

  Moments later, Carolyn and Brody were in the pickup, barreling down the moon-washed driveway, headlights slashing the darkness.

  Several minutes before they pulled up in front of the main ranch house, they heard the ambulance siren and saw its red light swirling in the gloom as it raced around the far bend and along the county road.

  Brody was the first one inside the house, shouting his brother’s name.

  Conner appeared from the hallway leading to the bedrooms, carrying Tricia, wrapped in a quilt, her face pale as death. The quilt was soaked in blood.

  Please, Carolyn prayed silently. Just…please.

  “They’re coming, Conner,” Brody told his brother. “The EMTs are coming—probably turning in down at the gate right now.”

  Carolyn had never been in such a situation before, would have had no idea what she’d do if confronted with an emergency. Now, she knew—she automatically went straight up to Conner and touched Tricia’s wan face.

  “Tricia?” she said, firmly, but with a quaver. “Tri cia?”

  Tricia’s head lolled against Conner’s shoulder, but she opened her eyes to look at Carolyn. “Don’t worry,” she said, incredibly, and with great effort. “I’m okay, and so is Blue—This is just—I don’t know what this is, but… don’t worry…”

  Don’t worry.

  Carolyn lifted her gaze to Conner’s face. She’d never seen such fear, such anguish—or such inborn strength. Conner Creed was terrified, but no force on earth could have brought him down as long as Tricia and his unborn baby needed him.

  Valentino began to bark hysterically as the ambulance siren grew deafening, and red light flashed against the kitchen windows like fire.

  “Shh,” Carolyn said, feeling sorry for him. Valentino was Tricia’s dog, and his devotion to her was complete. The animal, like Conner, was quite literally beside himself.

  Things happened fast over the next few minutes—Tricia was loaded onto a gurney and whisked into the back of the ambulance, an EMT taking her vital signs and starting an IV while Conner crouched on the opposite side of the stretcher, clutching her hand, murmuring to her.

  Brody, standing nearby, beside Carolyn, was a living reflection of his brother’s pain. The emergency lights washed over him, in their garish rhythm. Carolyn knew he felt much of what Conner was going through, because of that weird twin-connection, but he was no more likely to buckle under than his brother was.

  Around Lonesome Bend, it was an accepted fact that the Creeds were tough, but, slipping her arm around Brody’s waist, Carolyn wondered if anybody had any idea just how tough.

  As the ambulance raced off down the driveway and practically took the turn onto the county road on two wheels, siren screaming now, Carolyn and Brody dashed back to his truck and followed.

  Brody’s face was grim as he drove, and Carolyn knew he wasn’t just sharing Conner’s agony now, he was reliving his own. Taking the full weight of the deaths of his wife and child, as surely as if the tragedy had just happened.

  It came home to Carolyn then, with cruel clarity, that the accident wasn’t just a memory, it was literally a part of him, something he’d have to confront over and over during the course of his lifetime.

  The thought was worse than sobering. Something shriveled and shrank inside Carolyn, some hope she’d dared to cherish—again—but she drew a deep breath and refused to give in. If Brody and Conner could hold it together, she would, too, for their sakes, for Tricia’s and the baby’s, and even for her own.

  Courage, like so many other things, was not something one did or didn’t have; it was a decision, a choice.

  Brody handed her his cell phone. “Davis and Kim will want to know what’s going on,” he said. “They’re on speed dial—zero-eight.”

  Trembling, Carolyn took the phone, opened it, studied the unfamiliar keyboard briefly and put the call through.

  Davis answered after two rings, his voice gruff with sleep and the almost universal alarm of receiving a phone call at that hour. “Brody?” he said. “That you?”

  Carolyn found her voice, identified herself and explained what little they knew of what was happening.

  “We’ll be there as soon as we can,” Davis replied, and then she heard him say, “Kim, wake up, it’s Tricia— something’s wrong…”

  Kim must have grabbed the phone from her husband’s hand, because hers was the next voice Carolyn heard. “Carolyn? Which hospital are they taking Tricia to? Mercy General?”

  Carolyn relayed the question to Brody, who nodded and said, “Probably. Tell them we’ll be in touch again as soon as we know anything more.” He paused, his profile backlit by the lights of a passing car as they careened along behind the ambulance. “And tell them to be careful driving back, because we can’t afford to lose them.”

  Carolyn repeated Brody’s words to Kim, and the call ended.

  The drive to Mercy General, a small but up-to-date facility that served not only Lonesome Bend, but also four or five small towns around it, was a half an hour.

  It was the longest thirty minutes of Carolyn’s life so far.

  When the ambulance pulled into the bay outside the emergency room, Carolyn called Davis again, and verified that Tricia had indeed been taken to that particular hospital.

  She and Brody ran inside, after parking the truck, but Tricia had been swept away immediately, and Conner, of course, had gone with her.

  In a way, it had been easier when they’d had to hurry.

  Now, they were just pacing, back and forth, back and forth, high on adrenaline with no way to work it off.

  Except for the people at the reception desk, Carolyn and Brody had the lobby to themselves.

  Up until Tricia’s arrival, evidently, it had been a slow night.

  Brody went to the desk every few minutes, asking for news, and each time, the nurses on duty just shook their heads and said they didn’t know anything yet.

  Brody would pace again, and then return, only to be told the same thing.

  Carolyn’s heart went out to him, but there was no settling him down. He waved away the cup of vendingmachine coffee she got for him, and words didn’t help, either. What could she say, anyway—everything will be all right?

  But maybe it wouldn’t.

  Maybe nothing would be all right, ever again.

  Whoa, cowgirl, Carolyn told herself silently. No news is good news.

  A few minutes later, unable to bear his agitation on top of her own, Carolyn simply walked over to Brody and put her arms around him. He stiffened and then relaxed against her, his face buried in her hair.

  “I’m here,” was all she had to offer. “I’m right here.”

  But maybe—just maybe—it was enough, because Brody’s breathing deepened and slowed, and she felt his heartbeat against her cheek, gradually losing speed.

  He propped his chin on top of her head, and a great, tremulous sigh went through him.

  He never cried, not on the outside, at least.

  Carolyn, in the privacy of her own heart, cried enough for both of them.

  It was nearly 5:00 a.m. when Conner reappeared, looking ghastly pale, shadows etched deep under his eyes—and smiling fit to light up the whole place and the surrounding night, too.

  He came straight to Brody, and the two men, virtual mirror images of each other, stood face-to-face. For Carolyn, it was like looking at a pair of exquisite coins, both inscribed with the head of the same noble emperor.

  “We got her here in time,” Conner said, his voice a broken croak, cracked through with a joy so deep it must have been rooted in his very soul. “Tricia will be fine, and so will our son.”

  “Your son?” Brody echoed, finally catching up.

  “Davis Blue,” Conner confirmed proudly. “Six pounds, seven ounces of squalling Creed.”

  The transformation in Brody’s face was
a sight Carolyn would never forget. He was positively illuminated. “Davis Blue Creed,” he repeated, in a tone of wonder.

  “You don’t mind, do you?” Conner asked his brother. “That we used up Dad’s name, I mean, right along with Davis’s? We mean to call him Blue, but if that bothers you, Brody, there’s still time to make a change—”

  “Davis Blue Creed,” Brody said again, savoring the name. “It’s perfect, Conner. Perfect.”

  “Can we see the baby?” Carolyn asked, her voice small. “And Tricia?” All of the sudden, she was feeling like an intruder, a bystander who didn’t actually belong, and she wished she hadn’t spoken so impulsively.

  She felt like a third wheel—until Brody put his arm around her and drew her against her side.

  “Later on,” Conner told her quietly, smiling as he registered the couple’s body language. “Tricia’s sleeping now, and Blue will be in an incubator for a day or two, according to the doctors. Why don’t you two go back to the ranch and try to get some sleep?” A wry look moved in Conner’s happy, exhausted face. “You could feed the horses in the morning, too, come to think of it.”

  Brody chuckled, a raw sound, wholly good to hear, and slapped his brother lightly on the back. “Don’t worry about the horses,” he said. “I’ll take care of them, Conner, and Davis’s, too.”

  “And I’ll help,” Carolyn said.

  Conner gave her an awkward hug. “Thanks,” he said.

  The hug he gave Brody was even more awkward, but it was genuine, too.

  During the drive back toward Lonesome Bend, Carolyn and Brody were both too emotionally wrung out to talk much, but words weren’t really necessary anyway.

  Tricia would recover.

  Blue would thrive, eventually.

  At the moment, nothing else seemed to matter.

  A WEEK LATER, Conner brought his glowing wife and his brand-new baby son home to the ranch, where they were greeted with a brief and very low-key family celebration.

  There were balloons, a big cake and piles of baby pres ents, tied up with ribbons the color of Blue’s name.