The Creed Legacy (10 page)

At Brody’s entrance, he looked up and grinned. Set the rubber mallet and the awl aside and dusted off his hands on the sides of his jeans, a gesture of habit more than necessity.

“Carolyn still feeling peaky?” Davis asked, evidently to get the conversational ball rolling.

“She’ll be all right,” Brody replied, looking around and recalling when he and Conner were kids, always getting underfoot in their uncle’s first shop, a much smaller room than this one, connected to the barn at the other place. Back then, they’d believed nothing and no one could hurt them if Davis was around. They’d grown up feeling safe, and that had fostered self-confidence.

Or arrogance, depending on how you looked at it.

Davis tilted his head to one side, studied his nephew in silence for a few moments, then went back to his worktable, picked up a chamois and began polishing the piece he’d been tooling before.

“How’s that fancy house of yours coming along?” Davis asked, at some length. He wasn’t a man for chatter.

Brody spotted the little dogs under one of the tables, snuggled up in a bed made to look like a plush pink slipper, and smiled. Dragged back a wooden chair and sat astraddle of it, resting his forearms across the back.

“Slowly,” he replied, eliciting a bass note of a chuckle from Davis.

“Pretty big place for one cowboy and his dog,” Davis commented. Barney had wandered in behind Brody by then, and lay down at his feet.

“Don’t start,” Brody warned, leaning to ruffle the dog’s floppy ears so the critter would know he was welcome.

“Don’t start what?” Davis asked, though he knew damn well what.

Brody merely sighed.

Davis chuckled, shook his head. “My wife did stir something up at supper tonight, didn’t she?” he said, polishing away at that hunk of leather.

“You might say that,” Brody said dryly.

Davis paused in his work, gave Brody a mirthful assessment before going on. “Conner and Tricia turned out to be a good match,” he observed. “Kim put her foot in it, sure enough, but she just wants you to be as happy as your brother is, that’s all.”

“I know,” Brody answered, on a long sigh. Then, presently, he added, “Here’s the thing, Davis. Something happened between Carolyn and me, a long time ago, and she’d sooner throw in with a polecat than with me. We’re never going to get together, she and I, no matter how much you and Kim want that.”

“Is that right?” Davis asked, with his customary note of charitable skepticism. He’d finished with the polishing, and now he was wiping his hands off on a shop towel.

“Take it from me,” Brody said. “If it came down to me or a polecat, the polecat would win, hands down. Carolyn wants no part of me, and I can’t really say I blame her for it.”

Davis laughed. “Is it just me, or was there something mournful in your tone of voice just now, boy?” Smidgeon and Little Bit tumbled out of their slipper-bed and rushed him, scrabbling at Davis’s pant legs so he’d bend down and pick them up.

Which he did.

“Mournful?” Brody scoffed, a beat or two too late. “Not me.”

“You’re taken with Carolyn,” Davis said quietly, standing there with a froufrou dog in the crook of each elbow. “Nothing wrong with that. She’s a beauty, and a hand with a horse, too.”

Brody chuckled ruefully. Saying somebody was “a hand with a horse” was high praise, coming from a Creed—better than a good credit score or a character reference from a VIP. “Well,” he said, “I kind of messed things up with her.”

Davis put the little dogs down gently, and they scampered off, probably in search of Kim. Then the roughand-tough cowboy pulled up a chair for himself and sat down, regarding Brody solemnly, but with a crook at the corner of his mouth.

“I’ve messed up with Kim more times than I care to recall,” Davis said, once he was settled. “And here we are, married thirty-five years as of next October.”

A companionable silence fell; they both sat listening to the fire in the stove for a while, thinking their own thoughts.

Brody’s throat tightened a little. “Did you and Kim ever regret not having kids of your own?” he asked, the words coming out rusty. “We
had
kids,” Davis pointed out, with a smile. “You and Conner and Steven.”

“Of your own,” Brody persisted. Davis’s marriage to Steven’s mother hadn’t lasted.

Davis thought a moment, and there was a twinkle in his eyes when he replied. “We’d have liked to have had a girl,” he allowed. “But now that Melissa and Tricia have married into the family, why, Kim and I feel like we’ve got everything anybody could rightfully ask for.”

Brody stayed silent.

Davis reached out, laid a hand on his nephew’s shoulder, squeezed. “I know I’ve said it before,” he told Brody, “but it’s better than good to have you back home where you belong, boy. We all missed you something fierce.”

With that, the conversation appeared to be over.

Davis stood up and went to the stove to bank the fire.

Brody told Barney they’d better get on the road, stepped into the corridor outside the shop, then remembered what he’d come for and stuck his head back in.

“’Night, Davis,” he said.

His uncle nodded, smiled. “’Night,” he replied. “You drive carefully now, because we can’t spare you.”

Brody nodded back.

He didn’t run into Kim on his way out.

Twenty minutes later, he pulled up at River’s Bend, near the unfinished barn, and parked the truck. He and Barney went inside to make sure Moonshine was settled for the night—he was—and headed for the cabin.

Brody flipped on the lights and went straight to his computer to log on.

While he was doing that, Barney drank loudly from his water bowl on the floor and then curled up on his dog-bed to catch up on his sleep.

Once he got online, Brody skipped his email—he often went days without checking it—and called up his favorite search engine instead.

Hunt-and-peck style, he typed
Friendly Faces
.

Something like ten thousand links came up.

He narrowed the search to dating services, blushing a little even though nobody was ever, by God, going to find out he’d stooped to such a lame-assed thing.

There it was, the website Carolyn evidently hoped would land her a husband.

Brody’s back teeth ground slightly; he released his jawbones by deliberate effort.

Finding her took some doing, but eventually, Brody came across Carolyn’s profile. She was calling herself Carol, he soon discovered.

For some reason, that made him feel a little better.

He decided to send her a message.

To do that, he had to sign up for the free trial membership, which was very much against his better judgment.

Having no stock alias to fall back on, as Carolyn evidently did, he used his own name. Since he didn’t keep pictures of himself on hand, he uploaded a snapshot of Moonshine instead.

That made him grin. According to Kim, no selfrespecting woman would take up with a cowboy unless she’d seen his horse.

He completed the few remaining cybersteps, and the way was finally clear: he could send Carolyn a message.

Right off, Brody hit a wall. Now that he’d gone to all that trouble, he couldn’t think of a darn thing to say.

Feeling mildly beleaguered, he sighed, sat back in his chair, frowning at the screen as if something might materialize there if he concentrated hard enough.

Well, slick,
he taunted himself silently,
where’s all that smooth talk and country charm you’ve always relied on?

Brody sighed again. Rubbed his chin pensively.

This was ridiculous.

A simple howdy ought to do, even if there
was
some bad blood between him and Carolyn.

Only
howdy
wasn’t going to pack it.

“For a good time, call Brody” sprang to mind next, and was mercifully discarded.

He decided on Hope you feel better, and he was tapping that in when the instant message popped up.

Hello, stranger, Joleen wrote. What luck to catch you online—is there a blue moon or something? Anyway, I wanted to give you a heads-up—I’ll be back in Lonesome Bend in a few days.

Brody went still. And cold.

Joleen had hit the road weeks ago, swearing she’d stay away for good this time.

“Shit,” he muttered. Timing, like luck, was never so bad that it couldn’t get worse.

Hello? Joleen cyber-nudged.

Hi, he responded.

Joleen was faster on the draw, when it came to keyboards. I was hoping I could stay at your place. Mom and Dad have room, but they’re not too pleased with me these days.

Brody let out a ragged breath. Sorry, he wrote back, using only the tip of his right index finger. Quarters are too tight for a visitor.

Still mad over that little spat we had? Joleen inquired, adding a row of face icons with tears gushing from their eyes.

It isn’t that, Brody replied laboriously.

Joleen’s reply came like greased lightning. Are you dumping me, Brody Creed?

Brody sighed again, dug out his cell phone and speeddialed Joleen’s number.

“Hello?” Joleen purred, like she couldn’t imagine who’d be calling little old her.

“I just think it’s time we called it quits,” Brody said, seeing no reason to bother with a preamble. “The sleepingtogether thing, I mean.”

“So you
are
dumping me!” Joleen chimed. To her credit, she sounded cheerful, rather than hurt. One thing about Joleen—she was a good sport.

“Okay,” Brody said. “Have it your way.”

“If I had things my way,” Joleen immediately retorted, “we’d be married by now. With a bunch of kids.”

Brody closed his eyes. He could envision the kids all too clearly, but they were all dead ringers for Carolyn, not Joleen.

“We had a deal,” he reminded Joleen gruffly. “We agreed from the first that we wouldn’t get serious.”

Joleen laughed, but the sound had a bitter edge to it. “So it’s finally happened,” she said, after a lengthy silence. “Some filly has you roped in, thrown down and hog-tied.”

“Nice image,” Brody said, without inflection. “And for your information—not that I owe you an explanation, because I sure as hell don’t—
nothing
has happened.”

“Right,” Joleen scoffed. “Well, I’m coming back anyway. If you get lonely, I’ll be at my folks’ house, trying to convince them that I’m a good girl after all.”

“Good luck with that one,” Brody said, sensing a letup in the tension, however slight. He’d never loved Joleen, and they’d had some wild fights in their time, but he liked her. Wanted her to be happy.

“You and me,” Joleen mused, surprising him with the depth of the insight that came next, “we pretty much just use each other to keep everybody else at a safe distance, don’t we?”

“Yeah,” Brody agreed presently. “I think that’s what we’ve been doing, all right.”

“Huh,” Joleen said decisively, as though she’d come to some conclusion.

“And it’s time we both moved on,” Brody added.
You go your way, and I’ll go mine.

“Just tell me who she is,” Joleen urged.

“There isn’t a specific
she,
Joleen.”

“The hell there isn’t, Brody Creed. I
know
you, remember? You’ve been on this path for a while now, coming back to Lonesome Bend, making up with Conner and Kim and Davis, building a house—” She made a moist sound then and, for one terrible moment, Brody feared Joleen was either already crying or about to. “Silly me,” she finally went on. “I thought all that talk about not getting too serious was just that—talk. We go way back, Brody.”

Brody shut his eyes for a moment, remembering things he’d been doing his best to forget right along. Joleen had been Conner’s girlfriend, back in the day, and with plenty of help from him—Brody—she’d driven a wedge between the brothers that might have kept them estranged for a lifetime, instead of a decade.

And a decade, to Brody’s mind, was plenty too long to be on the outs with Conner.

“I’m sorry if you misunderstood,” Brody said quietly, when the air stopped sizzling with Joleen’s ire. “But I never gave you any reason to think whatever it was we had together was going anywhere, Joleen, and I’m not responsible for what goes on in your imagination.”

She sighed, calming down a little. “Is this the part where you say we’ll always be friends?” she asked, at long last.

“That’s up to you, Joleen,” Brody said, wishing he could ask her not to come back, at least not right away, because things were complicated enough already. Trouble was, Lonesome Bend was as much her home as his, and she had every right to spend time there. “We can be friends, or we can steer clear of each other for a while and let the dust settle a little.”

“I could make trouble for you, you know,” Joleen reminded him mildly.

Was she serious or not? He couldn’t tell.

“You could,” he allowed.

“You might as well tell me who she is, Brody,” Joleen went on reasonably, ignoring what he’d said. “I can find out with a phone call or two, anyway.”

“Up to you,” Brody reiterated. “Goodbye, Joleen.”

She paused, absorbing the finality of his words. Gave another sniffle…and hung up on him.

Brody closed his phone and stood there looking at it for a few moments, frowning.

Barney, snugged down over by the stove, raised his head off his muzzle and regarded his master with something resembling pity.

He was probably imagining that part, Brody decided.

“Women,” he told the dog, before turning back to the computer and the message he’d been trying to write to Carolyn. “There’s no making sense of them, no matter how you try. They say one thing when they mean another. They cry when they’re sad, and when they’re happy, too, so you never know where you stand.”

Barney gave a little whimper and settled back into his snooze.

Grimly, Brody glared at the message box on the screen in front of him. Hope you’re feeling better was as far as he’d gotten, as far as he was likely to
get,
if inspiration didn’t strike soon.