by Lori Wilde
Deannie blinked and stared at the angry woman. “The children and I were playing hide-and-seek.”
“Don’t think I can’t see what you’re up to,” Matilda challenged, setting down the suitcases and sinking her hands on her hips. “Brodie might be a fool, but I ain’t.”
Deannie bristled. “Don’t you dare call him a fool.”
“Why not? He’s acting like one.”
“Brodie fired you. I offered to watch the kids in exchange for having my car repaired. That’s all,” Deannie said, but deep inside her heart, Matilda’s words struck terror. Would she tell Brodie that she’d caught Deannie snooping in his bedroom to get her job back?
Matilda’s eyes narrowed. “I know your type. Always scheming. You got your ways. And don’t think I will not be keeping an eye on you, because I am. There’s something off about you.”
“I believe you were headed out the front door,” Deannie said.
“Aren’t we gonna play anymore?” Buster demanded.
“Yes, honey, we are.” Deannie turned her back on the woman, trying her best to ignore the frantic tripping of her pulse. She took Buster’s hand. “Come on, let’s go find your sister.”
Matilda snorted, picked up her suitcases, and headed for the door. Before she flounced out it, she called, “You ain’t seen the last of me, little Miss Gold Digger.”
6
“What’s wrong with the car?” Brodie asked Rory Beam, reining in his horse, Ranger, and sliding off the roan’s broad back. Tilting his cowboy hat back on his head, he mopped his brow with a bandana, then tied Ranger to the corral gate.
Rory shook his head. “It’s the darnedest thing, boss. Can’t find a thing amiss.”
“Nothing?”
“Starts fine. I took it up and down the road a few times, no problems.”
Brodie angled a look up at the ranch house perched on the hill and pursed his lips. He hated to jump to conclusions, but something about Deannie didn’t ring true. The fact Rory could find nothing wrong with her car deepened Brodie’s worry that the woman had finagled an overnight invitation to Willow Creek and had ensconced herself in the house until Emma’s return so she could be near Kenny.
But was that really fair? He was the one who’d fired Matilda.
Was he attributing Deannie with motives she didn’t possess? The part of him that was attracted to her wanted to trust her, but he’d been through too much in his life to not question her motives.
It was time he had a heart-to-heart with his brother and find out just what was going on between him and this woman.
“I’m headed into town,” Brodie told Rory.
“Okay.”
“Keep checking out her car. I’d hate to have the thing die on Deannie halfway between here and Santa Fe.”
“Will do.” Rory nodded and wiped his grease-stained hands on a red rag pulled from his pocket and went back to work.
Half an hour later, Brodie found Kenny at the Lonesome Dove pitching darts.
“Do you ever go home?” he asked his older brother.
“Now and then, when I need a fresh change of clothes.” Kenny landed a bull’s-eye.
“Did you hear about Emma’s complications?”
“Yeah. I dropped by the hospital an hour ago.”
“Well, bully for you. Have you given any thought to seeing your kids?”
Kenny looked chagrined. “I guess I need to do that.”
“Damned straight you do.”
“Okay, I’ll come by and pick them up this evening.”
“Is that the only reason you’d be coming to Willow Creek?” Brodie glanced sideways at his brother and realized he was hoping against hope Kenny would deny any involvement with Deannie. Would he believe him if he did?
“What are you talking about?” Kenny threw another dart.
“Your mistress.” Brodie pressed his lips tightly together, trying his best to ignore the knot growing in his gut.
“My what?”
“Don’t try to deny it.”
“Little brother, I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.”
“Deannie McCellan.”
“Who’s that?”
“The woman you played cards with last night.”
“Oh yeah, the redhead.”
“Yes. Her. You’re telling me you and she don’t have a thing going on?”
“Come on, little brother, I have my faults, but I’ve never cheated on Emma.”
“You think I’m going to buy that? You live just like Rafe. Gambling, drinking, hanging out with lowlifes. You expect me to believe you didn’t inherit his womanizing genes, too?”
“I don’t have to listen to your crap. You come struttin’ in here all high and mighty and expect me to explain myself to you. Just because you like taking the moral high ground doesn’t mean you’re always right. There’s nothing wrong with having a good time.”
Brodie clenched his fists and willed himself not to raise their age-old philosophical differences. “Kenny, tell me the truth. Are you or aren’t you having an affair with Deannie? Is that the real reason Emma left?”
“I ain’t denying I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my marriage, but I love my wife.”
“You sure have a funny way of showing it.”
“Well, dammit, Brodie, you see how she nags. Always trying to change me.”
“With good reason.”
Kenny shrugged. “Believe what you want, but I’m telling you I’ve never cheated on Emma.”
“Then what’s Deannie doing at Willow Creek?”
“Who knows? It’s got nothing to do with me. Maybe she decided you were the better catch.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Alarm skittered up and down his spine. “Do you think she’s after me?”
“How would I know?” Kenny glared. “You’re the one who popped up accusing me of things I’ve never done and with a woman I only met once. Why don’t you ask her what she’s doing at Willow Creek?”
Stunned, Brodie stared at his brother. Maybe Deannie’s story was true. Maybe her car really had broken down. Maybe she had been on her way to New Mexico for a job interview. Suddenly he felt stupid for doubting her, and curiously, his heart lightened.
All the way back to the ranch, Brodie pondered his blossoming feelings for Deannie. She created a burning excitement in him without even trying. From the moment he’d seen her in the bar, something inside him had clicked.
And this morning, fresh from her bed, sheet wrinkles still creased into her otherwise flawless skin, and offering to take care of the house and kids, she’d triggered a reaction in him.
Everything about her haunted him—her rich, sweet, intoxicating scent, that long red mane flowing about her slender shoulders, those deep eyes that seemed to stare straight into his soul. That tight little tushy, her soft round breasts, those heavenly legs. He couldn’t remember when a woman had interested him this much.
He parked the pickup in the driveway, got out, and went into the house.
Toys littered the kitchen floor. An open package of cookies rested on the cabinet. In the living room, the television droned.
“Deannie?” Brodie called, his gaze sweeping the chaos. “Buster? Angel?”
When he received no answer, Brodie walked up the stairs. Where were they?
“Deannie?” he repeated, pushing open the door to the guest bedroom.
Her duffel bag rested in the middle of the unmade bed, her socks rolled into a ball on the floor. The shirt he’d given her to wear the night before was folded neatly across the back of a chair.
Brodie moved on to the bedroom that Angel and Buster had been sharing since Emma had left Kenny. What he saw had him smiling.
Deannie was sitting in the rocking chair, Angel and Buster cradled in her lap. All three were sound asleep; a picture book lay open in Deannie’s lap.
A strange melty feeling settled in his chest as he watched them sleep, a foreign sensation he could find no name for.
Hunger.
Longing. The words popped into his head.
Naming the feeling didn’t ease his anxiety. In fact, it spurred the fear buried deep inside him. As much as he might yearn for a family, it terrified him that he could end up like his parents or Kenny and Emma’s tattered marriage. He knew nothing about how normal, healthy family dynamics worked. Nothing at all.
That’s why he’d thrown himself into making Willow Creek the best ranch it could be. But now that he’d achieved his goal, what came next? Who was it all for?
Recently, however, as his peers paired off and started getting married… His cousin, retired bull rider, Kael Carmody reuniting with his high school sweetheart, Daisy Hightower, and claiming the son he never knew he’d fathered. Watching his friend, software whiz kid turned rancher, Kurt McNally find his ideal mate in legal secretary, Bonnie Bradford, be so happy together. Serving best man to his neighbor, Detective Nick Nickerson as he married his coworker, Michele Prescott. It had unearthed a hole so deep inside Brodie he feared could never be filled.
Kael, Kurt, and Nick had changed after finding love. Growing calmer. More focused. Balanced. They knew when to work and when to play. Their priorities had shifted, and damn if Brodie didn’t want that too.
But maybe a family just wasn’t in the cards for him. If he was smart, he’d be happy with what he had. His life was good. He was grateful. It was greedy to yearn for more.
Brodie didn’t have the heart to wake her and tell her he expected her to cook dinner for six hungry ranch hands.
Instead, he tiptoed downstairs, took the last of the roast beef from the refrigerator, and made sandwiches. Whistling to himself, Brodie realized, even though he couldn’t rightly say why, that he felt more optimistic than he had in a very long time.
Like shooting fish in a barrel, Deannie thought the following day, slanting Brodie a glance.
He was looking at her as if she were a delicious confection, his eyes bright and shining, his expression one of moonstruck delight.
She’d changed into skimpy denim shorts and a white halter top, hoping for this exact effect. If she had known winning him over would be this easy, she would never have bothered learning to play poker.
They were standing in the front yard appraising her vehicle while Buster and Angel fed sugar cubes to Brodie’s horse, tied beside a weeping willow tree. The breeze rustled through the leaves, cooling Deannie’s sunbaked skin.
“Rory couldn’t find anything wrong with your car, but that doesn’t mean it won’t act up on you again,” Brodie said. “He said it needed lots of maintenance work. Oil change, fuel filter, spark plugs. When was the last time you had it serviced?”
Deannie shrugged. “I don’t remember.”
A soft smile curled his lips. “I know it might not be the sort of thing you think about, but vehicle maintenance is important.”
Normally, she would have bristled at such a remark, as if he assumed that she knew nothing about taking care of her car just because estrogen pumped through her veins, but under the circumstances, it was perfect. He was playing right into her hands, perceiving her as a helpless female.
And boy was she going to play the role to the hilt. Wooing Brodie Trueblood was like shooting plentiful fish in a tiny barrel. But then again, how many times had her father uttered that same clichéd phrase when betting on a “sure thing” only to have his misbegotten wager blow up in his face?
Take nothing for granted. Never let your guard down.
“But don’t worry, Rory will take care of your car while you’re staying with us,” Brodie said. “And I’ll pay for the supplies as part of pay for helping with the kids and the house.”
“Thank you,” she said.
“You’re welcome.” His smile broadened to encompass his eyes.
“And thanks again for checking out my car, and I’m sorry I conked out on you last night.” She reached out to touch his arm. Her fingers sizzled at the contact.
Brodie swallowed hard, and his Adam’s apple bobbed. “Hey, feeding the hands was no problem. We used up the rest of the roast beef for sandwiches. Besides, you’re doing me a big favor running after those two.” Brodie jerked a thumb at the children.
Deannie peered over her shoulder. Buster was swinging on the horse’s reins, and Angel was tugging at his bottom lip. Ranger tolerated their antics with long-suffering patience.
“Oh, heavens,” Deannie exclaimed and hustled across the short distance to apprehend the two little scamps before they could dish out any more misery to the poor horse.
“Buster, let go of the reins. Angel, get your finger out of Ranger’s mouth before he chomps it off.”
Startled, Angel jerked her finger back and started to cry. Deannie squatted on the ground beside her and scooped the child into her lap. “What’s wrong?”
“You ye’ded at me.” Angel’s bottom lip protruded.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell; I was just scared Ranger would bite you,” Deannie apologized.
“Yeah, stoopid, whatcha mean sticking your finger in the horse’s mouth?” her brother asked, placing his palms on his knees and wagging his head back and forth in front of Angel.
“I not stoopid,” Angel declared, tears drying into salty streaks on her round cheeks. She jumped to her feet and knotted her tiny hands into fists. “I just wanted to see if he ated the sugar.”
“Buster, it’s not nice to call your sister names,” Deannie said. “Tell her you’re sorry.”
Buster hung his head. “Sorry.”
Deannie looked over at Brodie. He had a hand clamped over his mouth, and his shoulders shook with mirth.
“You’re a big help.”
“Hey, they’re not my kids.” He pursed his lips, still struggling to contain his laughter.
Why did the vivid image of a miniature Brodie and a small red-haired girl that looked just like her leap to mind? If she married this man, having his babies was a distinct possibility.
And having his children meant sex.
Deannie’s heart thrilled at the idea of making love to Brodie. She envisioned his arms wrapped around her, those full lips giving her hot, wet kisses. She could almost taste him. Birth control would be in order. This sexy, virile man could get her pregnant simply by hanging his trousers next to hers.
Nervously, Deannie dropped her gaze; this was all too much to think about. Her plan had serious holes in it.
“Come on, Ranger, let’s get you out of harm’s way.” Brodie chuckled and rescued his horse from Buster.
“Thanks again for checking out my car.”
“It was all Rory.”
“Yes, but it was on your dime.”
His sharp eyes found her gaze, and she felt a sweet tickling low in her belly.
“Well, I best be getting back to work.” He pulled the brim of his hat down lower over his dark eyes. “We usually eat supper at six-thirty. Will that be a problem?”
Deannie shook her head. “No problem.”
No problem? Who was she kidding? She needed a crash course in cooking. The only thing she knew how to prepare was macaroni and cheese from a box.
Brodie swung astride his horse and gathered the reins in his hands. “See you then.” Lifting his hand to his temple, he gave her a salute and trotted off across the pasture.
Deannie watched him go. He cut an impressive figure riding tall in the saddle, his broad shoulders swaying in practiced rhythm with his horse.
Something caught in Deannie’s throat, an emotion she couldn’t name, and it fluttered there, unfettered by common sense.
Stop fantasizing about him, Deanna Hollis. There can’t be a true romance between you two. Remember, no matter how attractive he might be, the man was still Rafe Trueblood’s son and her sworn enemy.
“Mix one-half cup of milk with two cups of breadcrumbs,” Deannie read out loud from the recipe on the tablet screen in front of her. Biting her tongue in concentration, she followed the instructions.
Flour handprints graced the front of her apron. Her h
air, which she’d pulled back into a ponytail, had worked itself loose, and strands of hair now trailed into her face. Deannie puffed out her cheeks and blew upward, trying to lift the escaping tendril out of her eyes, without having to use her hands.
Buster and Angel were being exceptionally cooperative, ensconced at the kitchen table where she’d left them with molding clay and cookie cutters.
Deannie poured the milk and breadcrumbs into the meat loaf and squished the mess with her hands. A memory stole over her. Here, in this very kitchen, she remembered her mother kneading bread on this same counter. She could hear her mom’s melodious voice as she hummed “Down in the Valley.”
For a fleeting moment, she saw her mother standing there, a welcome smile on her familiar face. Deannie’s heart lurched. Her nose twitched. She knew it was all in her imagination, but a faint yeasty odor seemed to permeate the entire room.
“Oh, Mama,” Deannie whispered under her breath, her chest tightening.
Any doubts she might harbor concerning her deception disappeared in that instant. Willow Creek belonged to her. The memories, so fresh and vivid, reassured her that this was her home. Her mother had lived here. Had died right out there in the horse paddock, thrown from an unruly stallion.
Deannie gulped against the tide of emotions running through her. They had cheated her of her birthright. Her past stolen, desecrated by those thieving Truebloods.
Except Brodie. He’s different from Rafe and Kenny, the little voice in the back of her mind nudged.
She pushed that thought aside, clinging instead to her anger. Anger she’d cultivated for so many years. Anger intensified by her father’s recent suicide.
Deannie clenched her fists, and ground meat oozed between her fingers. Somebody had to pay for what she’d suffered. Too bad it had to be Brodie.
Squaring her shoulders, Deannie mentally renewed her resolve. She had to win Brodie’s heart, and she had to do it quickly.
“You not supposed to eat it.” Buster’s little voice snapped Deannie back to the moment. Uh-oh, this didn’t sound good. What were those two up to?