The Creed Legacy by Linda Lael Miller Page A

air she could handle.
    “You’re going to hate yourself in the morning,” he said easily, as they drove toward the gate and the road to town.
    He’d only been teasing, but Carolyn’s sigh was so deep that it gave him a pang, made him wish he’d kept his mouth shut.
    “It might not even take that long,” she said sadly. I’m—I’m not used to drinking and I—well, I’m just not used to it, that’s all.”
    Brody reached over, gave her hand a brief, light squeeze. “That’s pretty obvious,” he said gently.
    “I feel like such a fool,” Carolyn lamented, refusing to look at him.
    “Don’t,” Brody said.
    She looked down at her hand, where his had been rested for a second, and frowned, seemingly surprised to discover that he’d let go.
    “You probably think I’m pathetic,” she went on, staring straight through the windshield again.
    “Nothing of the sort,” Brody assured her gruffly.
    “Getting drunk. Signing up for a dating service—”
    Before he needed to come up with a response, she turned to look at him, straight on. And she was pea-green.
    “Stop!” she gasped. “I’m going to be—”
    Brody stopped, and she shoved open the door and stuck her head out.
    “Sick,” she finished.
    And then she was.

CHAPTER FIVE
     
    I F SHE’D DELIBERATELY set out to make a lasting impression on Brody Creed, Carolyn thought wretchedly, as she stared at her wan image in the mirror above her bathroom sink later that evening, she couldn’t have done a better job.
    First, being the proverbial bundle of nerves, she’d had too much wine at supper. Then, with ultimate glamour and grace, she’d thrown up, right in front of the man. Just stuck her head out of his truck door and hurled on the side of the road, like somebody being carted off to rehab after an intervention.
    “Very impressive,” she whispered to her sorrylooking one-dimensional self.
    With the spectacle playing out in her mind’s eye, Carolyn squeezed her eyes shut, mortified all over again. Brody had reacted with calm kindness, presenting her with a partial package of wet wipes and following up with two time-hardened sticks of cinnamon-flavored chewing gum.
    She’d been too embarrassed to look at him afterward, had hoped he would simply drop her off at home and be on his way again, with his dog, leaving her to wallow privately in her regrets.
    She couldn’t be that lucky.
    Instead of leaving her to her misery, he’d told Barney to stay put, insisted on helping Carolyn down from the truck and escorting her not only through the front gate and across the yard, but also up the outside staircase to her door.
    “I’ll be all right now,” she’d said, when they reached the landing, still unable to meet his eyes. “Really, I—”
    Brody had taken her chin in his hand; sick as she was, the combination of gentleness and strength in his touch had sent a charge through her. “I believe I’ll stay a while and make sure you’re all right,” Brody had replied matter-of-factly.
    Though she was painfully sober by then, Carolyn didn’t have the energy to fight any losing battles, so she merely unlocked the door and allowed him to follow her inside.
    Winston, perched on the windowsill, greeted him with raised hackles and a hiss.
    “Whatever, cat,” Brody had said, with desultory resignation. “I’m here, like it or not, so deal with it.”
    Carolyn had hurried into the bathroom to wash her face and brush her teeth, following up with a mouthwash swish and two aspirin from the bottle in the medicine cabinet. Then she’d slipped into her room and changed her T-shirt.
    And here she was back in the bathroom again, trying to work up the courage to go out there into the kitchen, thank Brody for bringing her home and politely send him packing.
    He was moving around out there, running water in the sink, carrying on a one-sided chat with Winston, his voice set too low for her to make out the words. The tone was chiding, but good-natured.
    Most likely,