Brodie: Texas Rascals Book 8 Read online

  The plot had worked wonderfully. The stalled vehicle had gotten her in the door; now it was up to her to turn up the heat under the sizzle that Lady Luck had created between the two.

  Coming home to Willow Creek, seeing the ranch again after fifteen years, solidified her resolve. She had to get her home back. And if that meant she would have to marry Brodie Trueblood to accomplish her goals, then that’s what she would do.

  Deannie could think of far worse fates than being married to that gorgeous hunk of man.

  HAD Deannie lied about her association with Kenny?

  Brodie rolled over in bed, cupped the back of his head in his palms, and stared at the ceiling. How had she known where the broom closet was? Had she and Kenny been using the farmhouse as their trysting place whenever he was away?

  Cringing at the thought of his brother and Deannie having an illicit affair in one of these bedrooms, Brodie bit down on his bottom lip to stifle a groan. He hated to believe it, but the truth was he’d found her in a bar playing poker with Kenny. That didn’t speak well of her character.

  Judge not, least ye be judged.

  His mother’s favorite biblical quote floated through his head. How many times had she recited that phrase when he’d railed against his father’s reprehensible behavior? Even on her deathbed, the woman had never uttered a condemning word. Brodie was not so forgiving. From his viewpoint, his father was a scoundrel.

  But what about Deannie?

  Was it pure coincidence she’d made a wrong turn and her car had stalled on the road to Willow Creek? Or had she been hoping to rendezvous with Kenny? Had his brother kissed those full sweet lips right here in this house? Had his hands caressed Deannie’s skin, kneaded her breasts? Oh, God! Why did the thought burn his gut, tighten his chest?

  Because he didn’t want to see Kenny treating Emma the way his father had treated his mother. That was why. He felt no jealousy. None. How could he be jealous when he didn’t even know the woman?

  Yet, there was something about Deannie. The calm serenity in those pale-blue eyes, the sheen of her auburn hair, the regal way she carried herself, captured his imagination the way no woman had in a long time.

  When they had been in the kitchen together, eating sandwiches, he’d had the most overpowering urge to lean over and kiss her. Merely brushing her fingertips had caused him o drop that plate.

  Could it be he was just eager for a relationship, and Deannie was in the right place at the right time?

  Sighing, Brodie flopped over onto his side.

  No. It was more than that. He felt an odd emotion he couldn’t explain. Something he’d never really experienced before. Something that told him she might be the one he’d been waiting for.

  Proceed with caution, Trueblood. No point jumping the gun.

  Especially when his heart was on the line. The last thing he needed was to get mixed up with a female version of his father.

  5

  The aroma of strong coffee tugged open Deannie’s eyelids at six a.m. Habit urged her to roll over and go back to sleep, but one name popped into her mind, settling the issue.

  Brodie.

  Flinging the covers aside, Deannie sat up. She had to make the most of the morning. As soon as Brodie’s ranch hand inspected her car and discovered nothing wrong with it, she would have no excuse for lingering at Willow Creek. Time was of the essence.

  Never an early riser, she yawned, stretched, and rubbed her eyes. “Come on, Deannie, get it in gear,” she mumbled.

  Changing into jeans and a red cotton blouse, she took a deep breath to fortify herself before putting on sneakers and heading downstairs. She had no idea what her next move would be, but she was good at adapting and thinking on the fly.

  Childish voices drifted from the kitchen.

  “When’s Mama comin’ home, Unc’ Brodie?”

  “This afternoon.” Brodie’s voice sent shivers skipping down Deannie’s spine. The man had the sexiest voice on the planet.

  “Thank heavens,” a woman muttered.

  “With our new baby brother?” the child chirped.

  “Uh-huh.”

  Deannie peeked around the corner into the kitchen. A tall, middle-aged woman stood at the sink scrubbing dishes, her steel-gray curls shaking with movement, her mouth pressed into a hard, uncompromising line.

  Brodie sat at the table, two children in his lap. Tucked in the crook of his left arm was a blond girl of about three. The boy, slightly older and the spitting image of Kenny, nestled on his right.

  “Who’s her?” The little boy pointed a finger at Deannie.

  “Probably the one who messed up my kitchen last night.” The woman at the sink turned to glare at Deannie. No doubt this was the infamous Matilda.

  “Good morning,” Brodie greeted her, a smile on his face. “Come have breakfast with us.”

  Deannie returned his smile and wriggled her fingers.

  “Yeah, come on in.” Matilda heaved a sigh. “Doesn’t matter that I just got through feeding the ranch hands.”

  “Matilda, Miss McCellan is our guest. I trust you’ll remember that,” Brodie admonished the surly housekeeper.

  “Don’t go to any trouble. Cereal is fine with me,” Deannie said.

  “Good,” Matilda huffed. “Cornflakes are in the pantry.”

  Feeling like a pariah, Deannie inched past Matilda, took cornflakes from the pantry, a bowl from the cupboard, and milk from the refrigerator, then settled in across the table from Brodie and the kids.

  “You pretty,” the girl announced. “Whatcha name?”

  “I’m Deannie, and you’re beautiful.”

  The little girl beamed. “I knowed.”

  Deannie grinned at the girl.

  “I wike you red hair.”

  “I like your golden hair.”

  The child giggled. They had a mutual admiration society going on here.

  “This is Angel,” Brodie said, affectionately tweaking the child’s ear. “And this one here is Richard, but we all call him Buster.”

  “Hi,” Deannie said. She hadn’t been around children much and wasn’t sure how to deal with them, but she had a feeling if she could charm the little tikes, she might melt Uncle Brodie’s heart.

  And melting Brodie Trueblood’s heart was number one on her to-do list.

  “Sleep well?” Brodie asked, handing Angel a piece of diamond shaped toast.

  “Not long enough.” Deannie suppressed a yawn. “I’m afraid I’m not much of an early bird.”

  “You wazy bones!” Angel pointed a finger at her and laughed.

  “Yes, that’s me. Lazy bones.”

  “Maybe try not spending so much time in bars,” Brodie said.

  Was he teasing or warning her? Deannie wasn’t sure. She studied his face. “You’re right, a girl can pick up some very bad habits in those places.”

  “How bad?” he asked, eyes twinkling.

  Okay, very definitely teasing. Their gazes welded.

  Brodie didn’t blink.

  Deannie gulped.

  “This job you’re applying for in New Mexico, is it in a bar?” he asked.

  Deannie had almost forgotten about the white lie she’d told him the night before about a job in New Mexico. She pretended to look ashamed, still teasing. “Guilty as charged.”

  Brodie nodded. “I’ll tow your car into the yard. Whenever Rory can spare a few minutes from his regular chores this morning, he’ll take a look at it.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I suppose you’d like to be on your way as soon as possible.”

  Was that a hint? Did he want her gone? Well, too bad, she wasn’t giving up that easily. “No hurry,” she said lightly. “I wouldn’t want to cause an inconvenience.”

  “Hop up, kids, I’ve got work to do.” Brodie eased Angel and Buster from his lap. Getting to his feet, he took his straw cowboy hat from a peg on the wall and settled it onto his head.

  He cut a dashing figure. The epitome of a West Texas cowboy, in his f
aded jeans and well-worn work boots. He looked like he belonged at Willow Creek.

  That idea startled Deannie.

  Truthfully, she’d never thought beyond getting even with Rafe Trueblood, but she had to consider that Brodie might love this ranch as much as she did. She studied his muscled forearms peeking from beneath rolled-up shirtsleeves. His top two shirt buttons lay undone, and she could see tufts of sexy black hair.

  He’d started out the door just as the landline phone rang. In the Trans-Pecos, cell phones were unreliable, and everyone kept a landline.

  Matilda answered, then called to him. “It’s for you.”

  Treading back across the room, he favored Deannie with another whiff of his deliciously masculine scent. This morning he smelled of soap and bacon, toothpaste and coffee.

  Deannie took a bite of cornflakes and tried not to notice.

  “Hello?” he spoke into the cordless receiver.

  She didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but she was sitting right at Brodie’s elbow. Short of clamping her hands over her ears, she had to listen to his side of the conversation.

  “Emma. How are you and the baby this morning?”

  “It’s Mama!” Buster exclaimed, jumping up and down. “I wanna talk.”

  “Me too, me too,” Angel squealed.

  “Emma, why are you crying?” A concerned expression folded Brodie’s mouth into a straight line. “Calm down, I can’t understand you.”

  “Mama,” Buster whined, reaching for the phone.

  Deannie placed an index finger to her lip. “Shh,” she whispered to Buster. “Let Uncle Brodie talk to your mama.”

  Buster stared at her. “No!” he announced, wrapping his arms around his uncle’s leg and burying his face against his hip.

  Nice try, Brodie mouthed at Deannie.

  She had a sudden urge to slink off into the corner for stirring up more problems by trying to help.

  “Is Kenny there?” Brodie asked his sister-in-law. Apparently, Emma answered in the negative because Brodie turned his head and swore softly under his breath. “What’s that? An infection? I’m sorry, Emma. How much longer will you be in the hospital?”

  “Oh, no,” Matilda erupted, throwing her hands into the air. “I’m not taking care of these brats any longer. It’s not my job.”

  “Is the baby okay?” he asked Emma and made slicing motions at Matilda, indicating she needed to hush. “Good. Don’t worry about Buster and Angel. I’ll hold down the fort.”

  “I mean it.” Matilda threw down the kitchen towel she was using to wipe down the counter. “I didn’t sign on for this.”

  Glaring at Matilda, Brodie bent down and scooped a sobbing Buster into his arms as he held the phone tucked between his shoulder and his ear.

  Matilda clanged a pan against the sink for emphasis.

  Tears drizzled down Angel’s cheeks. “Mommy, Mommy. Where’s my mommy?”

  Poor Brodie. He had an irresponsible brother on the loose, a hysterical sister-in-law on the phone, two crying kids clinging to him, and a witchy housekeeper dishing out grief. For the first time in her life, Deannie felt sorry for a Trueblood.

  “Those kids need a good hard spanking,” Matilda groused. “That’ll straighten ’em right up.”

  “Here, Buster, talk to your mama.” Face flushed, Brodie handed the phone to his nephew and set him on the bar stool.

  Whirling on his heels, he stalked across the kitchen to confront Matilda. “You’re fired,” he said.

  Matilda crossed her arms over her chest. “Fine with me. You’ve been impossible to please ever since your sister-in-law and those kids moved in here.”

  “Out!” he thundered, pointing a finger at the door. “You’ve got four hours to collect your things and be gone.”

  With a toss of her head, Matilda sailed out of the room.

  Slumping down in the chair beside Deannie, Brodie lowered his head and plowed fingers through his hair. “What am I going to do now?” he muttered. “I’ve got a ranch to run. I don’t have time to watch two preschoolers.”

  Fate had dropped a plum into her lap. Last night’s emergency plan with the stalled car had only been a temporary solution. This current situation, however, offered her a prime opportunity to be close to Brodie for another day or two. Long enough to fuel his interest in her.

  Deannie cleared her throat.

  Brodie raised his eyes.

  Steepling her fingers, Deannie took a deep breath and a calculated risk. “I’ll be happy to watch the kids and keep house for you until your-sister-in-law is out of the hospital.”

  NO. Definitely not. Bad idea. A disaster waiting to happen.

  Brodie knew he could not stay under the same roof with this bewitching woman for the next two or three days completely unchaperoned except for children. Plus, he knew absolutely nothing about Deannie save for the fact she turned him on, and for all he knew, she could be his brother’s mistress.

  He stared at Deannie.

  Was that why she wanted the job? To get closer to Kenny? Did she think by playing nursemaid to his kids, she would worm her way into his brother’s heart, and he would divorce his wife? If that was her plan, she was way off beam. Kenny rarely put in an appearance at Willow Creek. In fact, he hadn’t been around since Rafe’s funeral, when Emma and the kids had moved in.

  Deannie’s eyes, the pale blue of the morning sky, widened, and he felt like a jerk for being so suspicious.

  “Just an offer,” she said lightly.

  “I…er…well,” Brodie stammered, unsure of how to refuse her. He wanted to say yes, but what did he really know about Deannie?

  “I want down,” Buster hollered from the bar stool. “Mama hung up.”

  Brodie got to his feet, grateful for the distraction, and put Buster on the floor. Settling the telephone receiver back in its cradle, he glanced over and saw Angel standing in a chair, her fingers in the butter dish.

  “Oh, no.” He groaned as she stuck a handful of butter into her mouth. “Angel, stop that.”

  “I wike butter.” His niece gave him a greasy yellow smile.

  Brodie swung his gaze to Deannie. She sat with her hands folded demurely in her lap, a serene expression on her face. Ha! These two hellions would erase that smile from her lips in nothing flat.

  “You’re hired.” Brodie reached for Angel. “Could you start right away?”

  OKAY, so she wasn’t all that domestic. That didn’t mean she was helpless. Did it? Deannie glanced at the two wide-eyed children staring at her. What now? No wonder Brodie had looked relieved when he’d headed out the back door.

  Oh well, nothing to do but roll up her sleeves and plunge right in.

  If she wanted to convince Brodie she was the marrying kind, she would have to prove she could manage a house and kids.

  “What do you guys usually do after breakfast?” she asked.

  “Video games!” Buster giggled.

  “P’ay in mud!” Angel squealed.

  Three and five years old and already con artists. No denying these two were Truebloods.

  “You ever play hide-and-seek?”

  “Yeah!” Buster wriggled his little hips with excitement.

  “No.” Angel shook her head.

  “Yes, you have, ’member?” Buster scoffed.

  “Nuh-uh.”

  He shoved his sister. Angel slugged him with a tiny fist.

  “Now, now. No hitting.” Deannie stepped between them. “If you don’t play nice, it’s naptime for both of you.”

  “You can’t make us.” Buster defiantly folded his chubby arms across his chest, lowered his chin, and glared at her.

  “Yeah. You not our mama.” Angel backed her brother.

  “Your Uncle Brodie left me in charge. So whatever I say goes. If you’re nice to me, I’ll be nice to you. If not…”

  “What?” Buster challenged.

  Yeah, Deannie, what?

  “Wet’s p’ay hide-and-seek,” Angel wheedled, pushing blond curls from her face. “Kay,
Buster?”

  Buster relaxed his stance and dropped his arms. “Okay.”

  “Let’s go upstairs to play,” Deannie urged. She was dying to get a peek in Brodie’s room. The bedroom that had once belonged to her parents.

  Once they were upstairs, Deannie said, “This chair in the hall is base. I’ll sit here, close my eyes, and count to one hundred while you guys go hide. You’ve got to stay hidden until I come looking for you. Then you try to get back to base before I tag you. Understand?”

  Angel nodded.

  “Yeah, yeah, I know how to play.” Buster looked bored.

  “All set?” Deannie eased herself down in the chair and put her hands over her eyes. “One, two, three, four…”

  Giggles and the sound of running feet.

  The minute they dispersed, Deannie got to her feet and headed for Brodie’s bedroom. “Ten, eleven, hide real good…” she sang out, her heart suddenly racing as her hand closed over the doorknob.

  “Twelve, thirteen…” She pushed into the bedroom.

  Brodie kept the place exceptionally tidy. No clothes on the floor, no overflowing wastebaskets, no dirty dishes. A bookcase housed a variety of fiction and nonfiction titles. Cowboy paintings decorated one wall. A small writing desk sat in one corner with a laptop computer perched on top.

  She hadn’t really expected to see anything remaining that had once belonged to her parents, but the sight of the huge, four-poster oak bed was Deannie’s undoing.

  Her breath caught in her lungs.

  A flash of memory shot through her mind. Suddenly she was Buster’s age, padding into the room in her pajamas. Mama and Daddy were snuggling together beneath the down quilt. They spotted her and threw back the covers, inviting her to join them. Joy had surged through her as she leaped into the family bed and felt her parents’ love surround her.

  Deannie gulped. Her face flushed alternately hot, then cold. Tears stung her eyelids. Oh, what she had lost! Her mother. Her father. Her home.

  And it was Rafe’s fault. If he had been there at that very moment, Deannie would have launched herself at him, attacking him with her bare fists.