The Creed Legacy (27 page)

“That
would
be charity,” Carolyn protested.

“No,” Tricia replied pointedly, but with a hopeful little smile, “it would be good business sense. Part of the compensation package for running the shop while I concentrate on giving this baby the best possible start in life. Think of it as just another house-sitting job, if it makes you feel better.”

Carolyn’s eyes widened, even as her throat constricted. “You don’t have to do this, Tricia,” she almost whispered. “Really. I’ll be fine. I can make my own way—”

“Stop being so stubborn and so proud and listen to me,” Tricia said. “Right now, I want to be at home. I want to be Conner’s wife and this child’s mother, full-time. But I’m still
me,
Carolyn. I still love arts and crafts, and I want to promote them—the world needs beautiful things that don’t come in blister packs.
Please,
say you’ll stay. Say you’ll keep Creed and Simmons going.” She stopped long enough to draw breath. “Don’t you want to see what our little company could become? I know I do.”

Carolyn blinked. She’d had a few thoughts along those lines herself—fanciful ones, about expanding the selection of merchandise, building a stronger presence on the internet, maybe even trying mail order—but she’d never taken them very seriously.

But she could start small, virtually on a shoestring. Carry greeting cards and regional cookbooks and the like. And what about scrapbooking supplies and whimsical rubber stamps?

It was even possible that Primrose, along with other talented locals, might be willing to teach art classes, share their knowledge and skill.

All these thoughts were still tumbling into Carolyn’s mind when Tricia’s face, plump with pregnancy, lit up with excitement. She took both Carolyn’s hands in hers and squeezed. “You’re seeing it, aren’t you?” she guessed, with amazing accuracy. “You’re seeing all the wonderful possibilities, just like I do.”

Carolyn’s eyes burned then, and pride dictated that she had to turn away, sniffle. “Suppose it’s all a big mistake?” she murmured.

There was nothing wrong with Tricia’s hearing. “Everything worth doing involves risk, Carolyn,” she said.

Everything worth doing involves risk.

“I’ll think about it,” Carolyn said, very carefully, and then, after squaring her shoulders and straightening her spine, she headed for the small office where the shop’s computer lived.

She logged on, ignoring another onslaught of enthusiasm from the Friendly Faces website, and clicked over to the auction page, where she’d put the gypsy skirt up for sale.

What she saw there nearly took her breath away.

The bidding was over the four-figure mark already and, judging by the number of people competing for the item, it was bound to go higher still.

That was when Carolyn began to imagine what it would mean, having help around the shop, so she could spend more time on creative work, like designing and sewing
other
one-of-a-kind wonders.

Maybe, she mused, her heart beating a little faster, Tricia was right.

Maybe it was time to stop being so careful and take a chance on something.

And some
one
.

T
HE EXPRESS PACKAGE
was waiting on Brody’s doorstep when he and Barney got back to the lodge at River’s Bend, around five o’clock that afternoon, and he picked it up, smiled at the return address and bounced it once in his hand before tossing it onto the counter.

The DVDs he’d cadged from his film-distributor friend had arrived, with time to spare. When Saturday night rolled around, and it was finally time for his drivein movie date with Carolyn, he’d be ready.

He shoved a hand through his hair, got out some clean clothes and made for the bathroom, where he took a very quick, very hot shower, shaving and washing the dust and sweat out of his hair while he was under the spray.

Once he was dressed again, Brody fed Barney, made sure his water bowl was full and fresh and walked to the door. Barney, exhausted from playing ranch-dog with Valentino all day, out at the other place, went straight to his bed and collapsed onto it with a contented sigh.

Brody locked up, glanced over at the new house to note any visible progress and climbed into his pickup. He was due at Carolyn’s place at six, and it was almost that now, but she was probably still in the process of winding down from the day anyhow, so a few more minutes probably wouldn’t matter.

He pulled into the lot at the supermarket, hurried inside, bought two dozen bright pink roses and a box of condoms and hurried out again.

Fortune,
he reminded himself, with a grin,
favors not only the bold, but also the well-prepared.

When he pulled up in front of the McCall house, Tricia was just coming down the porch steps. They met in the middle of the walk, and she took pointed notice of the roses—thank God, the box of condoms was in a paper bag, under his elbow—raised one eyebrow, and smiled even more brightly.

“Fancy meeting
you
here, Brody Creed,” she said.

Brody laughed. “Fancy that,” he replied.

He turned around, walked Tricia to the Pathfinder and waited while she climbed inside. He hoped she wasn’t planning on stopping off at the supermarket before she went home, because somebody was sure to tell her about the purchases he’d made there a few minutes before. If word got back to Conner, there would be no end to the ribbing he’d have to endure.

“Drive safely,” he told Tricia.

She smiled. “You, too,” she answered.

And then she started up the rig and drove away.

Brody watched her out of sight, then took his roses and his box of condoms and headed for Natty McCall’s front door.

It opened before he could shuffle the flowers and the paper bag around enough to knock.

Carolyn stood just inside, her eyes luminous, her cheeks flushed. She was wearing jeans, as usual, along with an oversize white shirt with the top three buttons undone.

She was so beautiful that Brody very nearly lost his nerve.

Sure, he hoped they’d finish what they’d started that morning, at Hidden Lake, but before the evening was over, he’d
also
have to explain why he’d gone off and left her nearly eight years before. That was going to be hard, because talking about Lisa and Justin twice in one day was bound to hurt twice as much as doing it once.

And that was a lot.

“Come in,” Carolyn said quietly, her eyes dropping to the roses and then rising to his face again. The flush in her cheeks deepened.

The entryway was quiet and cool, and there was a faint, flowery scent in the air, though Brody couldn’t tell if it was coming from her or from all the candles and bath salts and stuff she and Tricia sold in the shop.

He handed her the roses but held on to the bag with the condoms inside.

“Thank you,” she said, her tone revealing exactly zip about what was going on in her mind. She turned and led the way toward the staircase, and Brody followed.

He half expected that schizoid cat to pounce on him the moment they reached Carolyn’s kitchen, but it didn’t happen. The feline was on the windowsill, busily snarfing up sardines from a saucer, and he didn’t spare Brody so much as a glance.

“Have a seat,” Carolyn offered, laying the bundled roses down on the counter. She rummaged through cupboards until she found a plain glass vase and got a pair of shears from a drawer.

“I’d rather stand awhile, I think,” Brody heard himself say. At least, he
thought
he’d been the one to say it. He hadn’t recognized the voice.

Carolyn glanced back at him, but she didn’t reply. Her actions over the next few moments were ordinary enough, he supposed—she filled the vase with water, removed the roses from their cellophane cones, trimmed their stems with the scissors and arranged a fetching bouquet.

And watching her left Brody spellbound.

Even speechless.

When she turned around to face him, he was right there in front of her—he honestly didn’t remember the strides that had brought him from one place to another— and he
had
to kiss her.

It was as vital as his next heartbeat, his next breath.

She stiffened briefly, and he felt a tremor go through her, but then she slipped her arms around his neck and kissed him right back.

The floor seemed to pitch under Brody’s feet, as if he were out log-rolling on the river or something, and he deepened the kiss, leaning into Carolyn, feeling that free-fall kind of exaltation when she opened for him, responded to his embrace.

“Inevitable,” he rasped, when their mouths finally parted.

“Yes,” Carolyn agreed.

He scooped her off her feet and kissed her again, this time softly.

It wasn’t a big apartment, so he hazarded a guess as to which door led to the bedroom and got it right.

Unfortunately, he’d left the condoms in the kitchen, still in their discrete little brown bag.

Brody swore under his breath, set Carolyn on her feet and fumbled for the buttons on her shirt.

Only her hands were there ahead of his, unfastening the buttons first.

He watched, stricken with need, as she shrugged out of the shirt, revealing her perfect, lace-covered breasts, her flat, silken stomach, the rounding of her hips. When Brody reached out to unfasten her bra, he felt like a slowmotion figure in a movie, or a deep-sea diver without a tank and a mask.

And then Carolyn’s breasts spilled into his hands, the nipples already hard. Ready for him.

She sighed and tilted her head back in surrender as he caressed her, roused her, told her, in all truth, that she was beautiful.

S
TANDING THERE
in her quiet bedroom, Carolyn gave herself up to the commands of her body, gave herself up to Brody.

It had been so long, and she needed him so much.

Tears of amazement burned her eyes when he bent his head to take one of her nipples into his mouth, his strong hands splayed across her lower back, his touch a tacit promise that he wouldn’t let her fall.

Staggering sensation rocked her as Brody attended to her breasts, nibbled at her earlobes, traced the length of her neck with his mouth, all the while unfastening her jeans, but, like before, this was something way beyond physical response.

Everything about Brody, from the scent of his hair and skin to the touch of his hands to the warm moistness of his mouth on her, seemingly everywhere, stirred emotions in her that had no names.

He laid her down on the bed sideways, tugged off her boots and, over the tingling flesh of her legs, brought her jeans and underpants down and discarded them. She was completely, wonderfully naked, while Brody, she thought dimly, was still partially clothed.

She groped for his shoulders, his bare chest, heard the jingle of his belt buckle.

“Hold that pose,” he murmured, with a hoarse chuckle just beneath the surface of his voice. “I’ll be right back.”

Carolyn, already dazed, could only moan in reply.

It was a despairing sound, full of yearning.

Brody wasn’t gone long, but Carolyn felt his absence as a shadowy chill, his return as the lovely, bonesaturating warmth of a tropical sun.

When he knelt next to the bed and eased her thighs apart, she uttered a sob, not of sorrow, but of wanting and of welcome.

When he took hold of her, she gasped his name, plunging both hands into his hair and gripping his scalp, pressing him closer and closer still.

His chuckle vibrated through her and that—only that—caused her to climax so fiercely that she arched her back high off the mattress and gave a long, throaty cry of pure lusty release.

Brody caressed her hips with his hands as she descended slowly, so slowly, from the heights, but he was still using his mouth on her in an easy, insistent way that immediately sent her rocketing past the last seizures of satisfaction into an even more ferocious state of arousal.

“Brody,” she whimpered, when she found the breath to speak at all, “oh, Brody—don’t make me wait—take me,
please.
…”

She felt him shake his head, felt the silk of his hair brushing the tender insides of her thighs. Felt her need to have him inside her ratchet up to an almost unbearable peak.

And still he drew on her, now nibbling, now flickering her with the tip of his tongue, now sucking without mercy.

She exploded, with a low shout of ecstasy, her body straining like a bowstring drawn tight as volt upon volt of pleasure seared through her.

Brody didn’t let her go until she’d given the last, shuddering gasp of surrender. He murmured to her, soothed her as all her muscles melted like wax under her still-pulsing flesh.

He shifted her to the center of the bed, kneeling astraddle of her thighs, and she knew he was putting on a condom.

“Decision time, pretty woman,” he said gruffly. “Yes or no?”

“Yes,” Carolyn managed to respond. “Oh, Brody—
Yes—
”

He entered her with a long, slow stroke and, that easily, set her ablaze all over again.

They moved in rhythm from the first, pacing themselves, their joining as graceful as a waltz.

Carolyn felt every nuance of pleasure, not only in her body, but also in her heart and her mind and her spirit as well. She experienced Brody’s lovemaking with her entire self, and deemed it sacred.

When she knew Brody was getting close to the pinnacle, she ran her hands over his shoulders and his back and his firm buttocks, whispering to him, comforting him and, at the same time, inciting him to let go.

And when he finally did give in, Carolyn herself was drawn back into the maelstrom of release, as powerless against the seemingly ceaseless, racking joy as a robin caught up in a hurricane.

The sunlight at the window turned pink and then pale lavender as they lay there afterward, both exhausted, waiting, arms and legs entwined, for their breath to return and their hearts to stop pounding.