Brodie Page 15

  A collective gasp went up from the crowd. Brodie frowned, absorbing the implication of the woman’s words.

  Cooter Gates rose to his feet, his eyes staring unseeingly. “Little Deannie’s come home?” he whispered. “I thought her voice sounded familiar, but I figured my old ears were playing tricks on me!”

  “You bet!” Matilda gleefully shook the paper under Brodie’s nose. “This is a copy of her birth certificate and driver’s license. Her real name is Deanna Rene Hollis, and she’s marrying you simply to get her hands on this ranch.”

  “You’re wrong,” Brodie said, his voice cracking like a whip. “Deannie just stood me up at the altar, so obviously that’s not true.” He opened his arms wide and made shooing motions. “Show’s over, folks. Everyone can go home.”

  With that, he turned on his heels and stalked out of the house still wearing his tuxedo, his mind struggling to process Matilda’s jarring revelation.

  Deannie was the daughter of Gil Hollis, previous owner of Willow Creek Ranch? The man his father had swindled?

  Brodie’s ego deflated like a tire going flat. He’d allowed himself to fall in love, only to discover Deannie was living a lie.

  She’d come back to Willow Creek to reclaim her heritage. That was the truth of it. She didn’t love him. She never had. It had all been a charade—her kisses, her hugs, her sweet declarations of love, a well-orchestrated act and nothing more.

  Wincing, Brodie rubbed his throbbing temple. Suddenly everything made perfect sense. Deannie had been at the Lonesome Dove gambling with Kenny hoping to win back the ranch the same way her daddy had lost it. Apparently, in the course of the poker game, she’d discovered Brodie had inherited Willow Creek, not his older brother.

  A dizzy sensation rocked his head. Brodie could see Deannie deciding to come after him. Finding out he wasn’t a gambling man had probably put a kink in her plans. But Deannie was cunning. She was resourceful. She zeroed in on his weakness. She’d taken advantage of his need for love, his desire for a family, and she’d schemed her way into his heart.

  She must have faked car problems to weasel her way onto Willow Creek. Then Lady Luck had been in her corner when he’d fired Matilda. He’d been so easy to manipulate. Putty in the hands of a true professional.

  He swallowed against the memory. He’d played right into her wily plot, practically begging her to help him with the kids until Emma came home from the hospital. And she’d wasted no time making herself indispensable.

  Deannie was some kind of actress, he had to give her credit. When she had kissed him, he’d felt sparks beyond imagination which now made his blood run cold. The woman was more heartless and underhanded than Rafe had ever been.

  Wadding his hands into fists, Brodie rode the wave of betrayal washing through him. Like a helpless buoy on storm-crazed seas, his emotions lashed at him, hard and relentless.

  Dunce. Dupe. Sucker.

  In his desperate search for love, he’d brought this sorrow upon his own head. He should have checked Deannie’s background before hiring her as his housekeeper. He should have asked questions when Rory had discovered nothing amiss with her car. He should have listened to that niggling voice in the back of his mind that urged him not to get involved with her.

  Instead, he’d been a fool for love.

  Just like his mother, letting his heart rule his head. Caring about someone who did not love him in return.

  Guests filtered from the house behind him, talking in hushed tones, but Brodie’s personal pain was so great he didn’t even notice as they climbed into their vehicles and drove away.

  Clutching the corral fence in both hands, he stared across the pasture at the craggy landscape that meant so much to him. The sun was slipping low beyond the horizon, orange and purple fingers of light reaching for one last grasp before nightfall.

  He studied the tall yellow grass, the short mesquite trees, the mass of cacti. It wasn’t the prettiest place in the world, but it was the only real home he’d ever known. It was also the land that Deannie had wanted back so badly that she’d been willing to marry a man she did not love to get it.

  But she hadn’t gone through with the marriage. At the last minute, Deannie had run away.

  Why?

  Could it be that she loved him and therefore couldn’t say “I do” under false pretenses? A glimmer of hope flared in his chest, but Brodie didn’t dare fan that faint ember.

  “Brodie!”

  Kenny’s shout brought his head up. Brodie turned to see his brother striding toward him.

  “Ranger’s back.”

  Brodie’s eyes met Kenny’s. “And Deannie?”

  His brother shook his head. “No sign of her, but Ranger was dragging the saddle behind him.”

  Anxiety coiled through Brodie’s gut. “You think she fell off?”

  Kenny shrugged. “Is she a good rider?”

  “I don’t know,” Brodie replied. There were so many things he didn’t know about her. He’d assumed his love for her was enough, that it could conquer anything. He’d been so wrong.

  “You going to look for her?”

  Brodie nodded grimly. He had no choice. It didn’t matter whether she loved him. He loved her, cared about her, wanted nothing bad to happen to her. He couldn’t leave her out there alone in the dark not knowing if she was hurt or scared or lonely.

  His gut torqued at the thought she could be injured. When he got down to it, her safety meant much more than anything.

  “Will you put Ranger up for me, Kenny? I’ll take the truck and drive the land.”

  “Okay.” His brother stepped closer. “For what it’s worth, I hope you and Deannie work things out. If anybody was made for each other, you two are.”

  Shrugging off his brother’s comment, Brodie headed for the pickup with Just Married in shoe polish on the windows. He climbed inside the cab and roared from the driveway, tin cans clanking noisily from the bumper.

  The sound mocked him, reminding him of what he’d lost this day. With the heel of one palm, Brodie pushed his hair off his forehead and stared grimly through the shoe-polished windshield. He flicked on the headlights, his gaze glued to the swath that sliced through the darkness.

  Please let her be all right, he prayed. What would he do if he found her? Brodie clenched his jaw as a worse thought occurred to him. What if he didn’t find her? She’d be gone, and he’d never know for sure the reason she’d jumped from the second-story window and left him standing at the altar like a fool.

  He trod on the accelerator and followed the fence row, his stomach bumping and grinding along with the truck.

  Without even thinking, he turned the truck in the cabin’s direction. Conflicting thoughts ping-ponged in his head, volleying back and forth as he mentally reviewed everything that had happened.

  Deannie loves me; she loves me not. His mind vacillated between those two painful alternatives.

  Ten minutes later, the pickup crested the rise, and Brodie stared down into the valley where the log cabin crouched beside the creek bed, flanked on either side by an abundance of willow trees.

  A lone light shone from the small house, and his heart took wings.

  Deannie. It had to be her.

  He stopped the truck and killed the engine. He didn’t want to pull into the driveway and spook her into running. He had to see her, had to speak to her, had to wring an explanation from her.

  Shutting the pickup’s door quietly, he walked the few yards to the house, his pulse pounding louder, more insistently with each step.

  He hesitated on the front porch, his gaze riveted by what he saw through the window.

  Deannie sat on the sofa, an old photograph album in her lap. She still wore her western-cut wedding gown. The one they’d special-ordered.

  A lump blocked his throat as he watched her press a tissue to her eyes. She was crying. Over losing Willow Creek? Or could she possibly be crying for him? He didn’t want to raise his expectations. Brodie knew he was begging for more hear
tbreak, but he couldn’t seem to quell the hope bubbling in his chest. He had to know for sure.

  Galvanized, he placed his hand on the knob and wrenched open the door.

  Deannie gasped and leaped to her feet, the photo album smacking against the hardwood floor. It fluttered open to a page from the past. Gil Hollis was in the photograph, along with a smiling woman and a small girl on a pony. That red-haired, freckle-faced child had to be Deannie.

  She must have unearthed the album from the junk piles stacked high in the bedroom. In that instant Brodie understood her. She’d dreamed her whole life of recapturing what she’d lost fifteen years ago. Years lost to her forever. Years destroyed by his father. Years filled with pain and misery and loneliness. Rafe had been to blame for Deannie’s sorrow, and no matter how he might wish it, there was no way Brodie could repair the damage.

  Raising a trembling hand, Deannie stared at him. “Brodie,” she croaked, a myriad of fearful sensations slapping her hard and fast. “Wh-what are you doing here?”

  16

  “I might ask you the same question.” His black eyes narrowed to dark accusing slits, his brows knotted over the bridge of his nose.

  Deannie’s heart fluttered as helpless as a trapped butterfly beating its wings against a jelly jar.

  How handsome he was!

  Dressed in his tuxedo, his hair combed off his forehead, his hips cocked forward in that don’t-mess-with-me pose, he was the most magnificent man she’d ever seen, and Deannie had been inches from becoming his wife.

  “Are you all right?” he murmured.

  She nodded, unable to speak for the emotions sticking to the roof of her mouth like peanut butter.

  “You didn’t twist your ankle or sprain your arm?”

  She shook her head.

  “You took quite a jump from that second-story window.”

  “I landed on my feet,” she said at last, still captured by his gaze and feeling claustrophobic.

  “Why did you leave me, Deannie?” he asked quietly. “Why did you make me stand up there all alone, waiting and waiting for you?”

  “I never meant to hurt you,” she whimpered.

  “Don’t lie to me.” He walked across the floor until they stood face to face, and Deannie could feel his hot, angry breath on her cheek. “I know who you are, Deanna Renee Hollis.”

  A gasp echoed in the room. Strange, she didn’t think the noise came from her lips, but it must have.

  “H-h-how long have you known?” she stuttered.

  “Matilda Jennings just informed me.”

  Her knees wobbled, and Deannie feared they’d buckle beneath her if she remained standing. “I need to sit down.”

  “I’m sure you do.” His tone held no emotion at all.

  Placing her hand on the back of the sofa, she eased herself down and took a deep breath. When she’d fled the ranch house, she’d assumed she would never have to face Brodie again.

  Now he was here, glaring at her as if she was his worst enemy, and Deannie realized just how badly she’d treated him. She deserved every ounce of his scorn.

  “You planned to marry me to get your hands on Willow Creek.” He paced the floorboards before her, the ancient wood groaning and creaking beneath his weight.

  She couldn’t deny it. “Yes. But that was before I knew you.”

  Brodie gritted his teeth. “You should have told me the truth. It wouldn’t have changed the way I felt about you.”

  “Wouldn’t it? Would you have given me the job as your housekeeper if you’d known I was Gil Hollis’s daughter?”

  “Maybe. We’ll never know, will we?”

  “I can’t undo what I did, Brodie. I wish I could. I made a mistake. A big mistake. I realized that when I found this letter.” She handed him Rafe’s letter and the cashier’s check for twenty-five thousand dollars.

  Brodie read it, then looked up at her with sorrow in his eyes. “I’m not my father, Deannie, and you should know that by now. I’m sorry for what Rafe did to you. It hurts me in innumerable ways, but I can’t undo the past either.”

  “I know that,” she said miserably. “That’s why I couldn’t go through with the wedding. I couldn’t make you pay for your father’s sins.”

  Brodie’s jaw clenched.

  He had every right to hate her. She’d done nothing but lie to him from the start. How she wanted to reach out to him, to touch that dear face, to fall on her knees and beg his forgiveness. But could he forgive her?

  Brodie shook his head. “It took so much for me to trust you. I was so afraid to love, so terrified I’d end up like my mother, caring about someone who couldn’t love me back.” His laugh was an ugly cackle without a trace of mirth. “Despite my best intentions, despite the care I took, I fell right into the same trap.”

  “It wasn’t like that.”

  “No?”

  Miserably, she shook her head.

  “What was it like?”

  “From the moment I saw you, I knew I was in trouble.”

  “There’s one thing I need to know,” he said.

  “Yes?” She clasped her hands together in her lap.

  “I want the truth.” He swung his hard gaze, knife-blade sharp, at her.

  Silently, she nodded.

  “Do you love me?”

  “I love you. With all my heart and soul. That’s why I ran from the wedding. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t marry you under false pretenses.”

  “Lord, Deannie, how I’d like to believe you.” He looked at her, and his eyes were red-rimmed and close to tears.

  “I’m so sorry, Brodie. There’s nothing I can do to change what I’ve done, but I’m begging you to give me a second chance. Please? Could we try again? And this time there’ll be no more secrets keeping us from truly getting to know each other.”

  Brodie’s gaze swept her trembling body. He couldn’t deny the yearning inside him. He wanted her, no matter her faults. She’d laid everything on the line, confessed her failings. Now it was his turn, for he wasn’t without culpability.

  All this time, he’d been afraid to give himself completely to her. He’d held his emotions in reserve, ready to pull them back if she showed signs of not living up to his ideal. He’d uselessly been trying to protect himself. If he loved, then he loved.

  And he loved Deannie with a timeless yearning.

  Urged on by the feelings sweeping through his body, Brodie trod heavily across the floor toward her. Without another word, he gathered her into his arms and planted his fiery brand upon her trembling mouth.

  Lord, had anyone ever tasted so sweet? All his suffering disappeared in her embrace. Her arms went around his neck. Her grateful fingers entangled in his hair. Her quiet noises of pleasure stoked his emotions to a fever pitch.

  “Look me in the eyes, Deanna Rene Hollis,” Brodie said, breaking his lips from hers and cupping her petite chin in his palm.

  She gulped but held his gaze.

  “Do you want to come home to Willow Creek for good?”

  “Not if it means hurting you. I’d rather leave forever than have you doubt my love.”

  “Shh.” He placed one finger over her lips. “Answer my question. Do you want to assume your rightful place as mistress of Willow Creek? Do you want to be my wife and live on this land for the rest of your life? Do you want to have our children here and watch them grow? Do you want to mend the hurt our fathers caused so long ago?”

  “Oh, Brodie.” Deannie sighed. “I’ve dreamed of this moment for fifteen years. Coming home. Finding a man to love. A man as good and kind and strong as you. At last that moment has arrived, and all my suffering has ended. You are all I’ve ever wanted. I do, I do, I do.”

  Epilogue

  One year later…

  It was the Fourth of July again, and Willow Creek was a hotbed of activity.

  Brodie manned the smoker, tongs in hand, chuckling at the sweet bedlam that had overtaken the ranch.

  Underneath the canopy, Emma and Kenny followed Phillip
who’d started toddling. Kenny was one year sober. He was working for Brodie as ranch foreman and doing a damn fine job. He and Emma had moved into the old log cabin, and they were adding an addition and expanding the place. With Deannie’s approval, they divided up the ranch and gave Kenny his half.

  In the pool Brodie had put in, Buster and Angel, wearing water wings, splashed around in the shallow end with the other little kids at the holiday bash. Their parents and the older children were playing Marco Polo in the deep end. Their friends had come along with the ranch hands, who had the day off, and their families. There was a ping-pong table set up and horseshoes. Music played from outdoor speakers. They set colorful umbrellas up poolside, offering respite from the sun. Food was everywhere. Trays of fresh fruits and veggies. Cakes. Cookies. Pies.

  Sipping a beer, Cooter Gates stood on the porch step close to where Brodie stood.

  “It’s been a long time since Willow Creek has been this happy.” The elderly man smiled. “I never thought I’d live to see this day.”

  “To be honest, neither did I.” Brodie took the brisket from the smoker and settled it onto a foil-lined tray.

  “Is it done?” Deannie, standing on tiptoes, came to peek over his shoulder. “The troops are grumbling for your brisket.”

  “Yep.” Brodie snagged his wife in the crook of his arm. They’d married on May twenty-six, a year to the day after they met. They’d spent the time since their almost-wedding to the real deal getting to know each other inside and out as they healed the pieces of their broken pasts together.

  He kissed her, and her cheeks pinked in that sexy blush of hers. Then he kissed her again because he simply couldn’t get enough. She still took his breath away, and his heart beat quicker every time he saw her. He would never have guessed it was possible to love someone this much.

  Emma came over with Phillip in her arms, a wide grin on her face. “Have you told him yet?”

  Deannie blushed again and shook her head.

  “Told me what?” Brodie asked, covering the brisket with foil to keep it warm.