Cowboy Country: The Creed Legacy / Blame It on the Cowboy. Delores Fossen

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СКАЧАТЬ and if she wasn’t very, very careful, all her drummed-up resolution to take the high road would go right down the old drain.

      “Thank you,” she called back stiffly.

      She waited until she heard Brody walk away, then waited a few moments longer, for good measure. Once she was sure the proverbial coast was clear, she unlocked the door, bent to grab up the untidy stack of feminine garments from the floor and locked herself in again.

      Sitting down on the edge of the humungous bathtub because, all of a sudden, her knees had gone squishy, holding the borrowed blue jeans and white cotton shirt on her lap, she considered hiding out in that bathroom until Tricia and Conner got home.

      That would be silly, though.

      And boring. Who knew how long they’d be gone?

      So, with another sigh, Carolyn put on the jeans and the shirt, sans underwear because her own bra and panties were still wet and no self-respecting woman borrows or lends lingerie, fluffed out her hair with her fingers one more time and marched out into the corridor.

      She found Brody in the kitchen, fiddling with the coffee machine. He’d showered, too, and changed into jeans and a blue chambray shirt, Western-cut with snaps. His boots were old and scuffed, which completed the singularly appealing look.

      With a frown, he glanced in her direction. “Do you know how to work this thingamajig?” he asked. “I cannot for the life of me figure out why people can’t be satisfied with an ordinary coffeepot.”

      The question relaxed Carolyn slightly, neutralized some of the charge in the atmosphere. Tricia loved gadgets, and Carolyn had been with her when she bought the machine. They’d given it a trial run at the shop, studying the instruction book and finally mastering the thing.

      It was, in a world thick with enigmas, a problem she could solve.

      “Like this,” Carolyn said, popping a pod into the top, setting a clean cup under the spigot and pushing the buttons. It was only after the java began to brew that she realized closing the gap between herself and Brody might not have been the smartest thing she’d ever done.

      Brody didn’t move. Why should he? He’d been there first.

      Carolyn didn’t move, either. It wasn’t pride, or stubbornness, that made her stay put. It was some strange, thrumming kind of centrifugal force.

      Brody cleared his throat, an affable sound, but raw at the edges. “Just so there are no misunderstandings,” he said, finally, and Carolyn had to strain to hear him over the beat of her heart, “I can’t remember when I’ve ever wanted a woman the way I want you. Fact is, if my conscience would allow it, I’d do my cowboy-best to seduce you, right here and right now.”

      Carolyn gave a twittery little laugh. “You have a conscience?”

      Lame.

      The single shot of fresh coffee had long since finished processing itself, but neither of them paid any attention to it.

      Brody’s mouth kicked up at the corner, but the expression in his eyes was soft. “Believe it or not,” he replied, “I do indeed have a conscience. And it’s telling me not to screw up.” A pause, another quirk of his mouth. “So to speak.”

      Color flooded Carolyn’s face, and heat suffused her traitorous body. “Gee, thanks,” she said, somehow keeping her tone level, despite what felt like a million tiny universes colliding within her.

      His grin went full-throttle then.

      It wasn’t the least bit fair.

      “A while back,” Brody went on, mercifully lowering the wattage on his grin, “I asked you for a second chance. I meant it, Carolyn. Even if this doesn’t go anywhere—whatever it is that’s happening between you and me—I think we should explore it.”

      Carolyn couldn’t speak. Couldn’t even swallow past the lump in her throat. So she just looked up into Brody Creed’s damnably handsome, deceptively earnest face, powerless against him. Hoping and praying he hadn’t already guessed that.

      Fat chance.

      He curved his right index finger under her chin, lifted ever so gently, so their gazes locked with an almost audible click, like the tumblers in a lock.

      “Carolyn?”

      “I’m listening,” she whispered. And she was. With her whole being, body, mind and spirit.

      Again, the wicked grin flashed. He nodded once. “So do you have an opinion?” he teased. “And, if so, how about letting me in on it?”

      “There is—” Carolyn had to stop, clear the frog from her throat, before she could go on. “There is apparently something...well...going on, here. And I think, most definitely—maybe—we ought to find out what it is. Sometime.”

      Mischief danced, cornflower-blue, in Brody’s eyes. He arched one eyebrow and waited, calm as a seasoned fisherman with a trout on the hook.

      “But not immediately, mind you,” Carolyn clarified. “I mean, the sensible thing to do would be to forget the whole stupid idea and pretend we never had this conversation. But—”

      “But...?” Brody prompted, his voice husky.

      He was still standing too close.

      “But I’m not feeling very sensible at the moment,” Carolyn admitted, on a rush of breath.

      “Me, either,” Brody said, and the twinkle was back in his eyes. “But one of us has to be strong, here. Somebody has to be responsible. So I’m telling you flat out, Carolyn Simmons—no matter how badly you may want me, I’m not available.”

      Carolyn smiled wryly, calm on the outside, every nerve jangling on the inside. “Thanks for straightening me out on that score,” she said, pleasantly surprised that she was able to strike a breezy note. “What happens now?”

      “We do the thing up right,” Brody said, sounding confident. “Starting with a few ground rules.”

      “Ground rules?”

      “Yeah,” Brody told her. “No sex, for the time being, anyhow. And both of us can see other people if that’s what we want to do.”

      Carolyn hoped the pang that last stipulation gave her didn’t show on her face. She was sort of seeing Bill Venable, and sort of not seeing him, but she already knew he’d never be more than a friend to her, nor she to him.

      Bill loved Angela.

      And she, God help her, was still hung up on Brody.

      “What?” Brody asked, when she didn’t say anything.

      “If you want to go out with Joleen Williams,” Carolyn said loftily, “that’s certainly your prerogative.”

      The twinkle in Brody’s eyes turned to temper. “Did I, at any point in time, say I wanted to date Joleen?”

      “You didn’t have to,” Carolyn said. She folded her arms. “It’s quite obvious.”

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