Читать книгу Cody - Kimberly Raye, Kimberly Raye - Страница 6

Texas, 1865

THE ONLY THING ON CODY Braddock’s mind as he pushed his horse the last mile toward the Circle B was sliding his cock into a warm, willing woman.

It had been months since he’d touched soft, fragrant skin. Smelled the sweet scent of desire. Heard the deep, throaty moans of pure, exquisite pleasure.

He wanted it. He needed it. Which meant his already overdue homecoming would have to wait that much longer.

“I’ll ride in later,” he called out to his older brothers, Brent and Travis, who trotted up front. Colton, the oldest, led the group several yards up ahead. He was anxious.

Cody couldn’t blame him. If he’d had a woman half as sweet as Rose waiting for him, he’d have been anxious to get home, too. But one woman wasn’t his style.

Cody was the youngest. The wildest. And the reason the Braddock Brothers had ridden off four years ago to make a name for themselves as the most indestructible raiding group the Union army had ever had the misfortune to see.

Actually, his three brothers had ridden after him to talk some sense and haul him back by his bootstraps. They’d made a pact as kids to look out for each other. To stick together. They’d had to. Their father had abandoned them when Cody had been a little over five. Lyle Braddock had left his home, his wife and his four boys to ride off in hot pursuit of some saloon whore.

They hadn’t seen him since. Rumor had it Lyle had died in a bar fight, but no one really knew for sure. Nor did they care. They’d been too busy taking care of each other to worry over a man who’d never been much of a father.

When Cody had up and left to join the Confederate cause, his brothers had ridden along to keep an eye on him. They’d seized supplies and helped Confederate troops and given Quantrill and his boys a run for their money when it came to notoriety.

But the war was over now. The South had lost.

Time to go home.

A wave of restlessness swept through him and his chest tightened. He jerked his reins and steered his horse east. He left his brothers behind and headed toward the Red Rooster, the one and only saloon in the territory.

A brunette. That’s what he wanted first. Then a redhead. A blonde after that. Hell, maybe he’d splurge and go for all three at once. He had a lot of time to kill now that the Braddock Brothers were officially disbanded.

He picked up his pace, desperate to burn off the sudden rush of anxiety and defeat that clung to him.

He’d done his best, but it hadn’t been good enough. He hadn’t been good enough. Not during the war, and sure as hell not before.

“You’re not a kid, Cody. Time to get the ants out of your britches and man up.”

His oldest brother’s voice followed him, pushing him harder and faster. He was tired of thinking. About the war. About going home. About being at home.

He’d never been good in any one spot for too long.

Like father, like son.

The notion drove him harder, faster, because as much as he’d promised his brothers he’d give ranching a nice, solid try again, the thought of being stuck in any one place made him feel like he was choking. He needed a few hours first. Time to burn up the energy bubbling inside him. The restlessness. Then he could do it.

He would.

He owed them. They’d saved his ass too many times to count over the past few years and so he intended to bury his damned wanderlust and pull his weight at the Circle B once and for all.

His father might not have been able to do it, but Cody damn well could—

His brain scrambled to a stop as his nostrils flared with the pungent scent of smoke. Whipping his head around, he spotted the black billows that rose in the far distance.

What the…?

A sense of foreboding slithered around his spine. Goosebumps chased up and down his arms and his gut hollowed out. He almost pitched backward as he hauled the horse around.

Seconds later, he was riding hellbent for leather toward his family’s spread. Toward his mother. His sister-in-law. His nephew.

They’d been the ones left at home when the brothers had ridden off four years ago. Just the three of them, a ranch foreman and a half dozen hands. Little match for an attack. Indian or otherwise.

The smoke grew thicker, clawing at his nose and clogging up his lungs. He covered his mouth and pushed harder until he finally broke through the trees and found himself smack dab in the middle of hell.

Flames licked at the main house where he’d grown up. Fire consumed the three surrounding barns. Frightened horses stomped around, dodging the smoke and the flames as they fought for a way out of the chaos. Shouts carried from the barn and fear spiraled through him. Cody jumped off his horse, determined to find his brothers and figure out what the hell was going on.

Something bad.

Something really bad.

He started forward, but a faint whimper stalled him in his tracks.

He whirled toward the house and blinked against the burning smoke and heat. Sparks flew and the right corner of the house caved in. He hauled his collar up and over his mouth and pushed through the fog. His eyes burned and watered as he drank in his surroundings. The sound slid into his ears again and drew him toward the left and the familiar pink dress visible just beneath the porch steps.

He was on the woman in a heartbeat, pulling her away from the fast crumbling house.

Sis Braddock’s eyes were closed, her face covered with soot. Blood pumped from the deep gash across the side of her neck and soaked her dress. So much blood.

“Ma,” Cody breathed and the woman’s eyelids flickered open.

“I—I tried to stop him,” she gurgled. Her fingers tightened on the iron brand clutched in her grip. Blood caked the familiar B and sucker-punched Cody right in his gut. “But…h-he started…fire.” A line of red spurted from the corner of her mouth and pain twisted her features. “I—I couldn’t…get to…them.”

“Where’s Rose and Michael?”

But he already knew. Deep in his gut, he knew even before she croaked out the one word.

“Dead.” She shuddered. Her chest jerked as she tried to breathe. The blood gushed faster. “You came back,” she managed, the words soft and gurgled. “I knew you would. I knew…”

Because she’d believed in him when no one else had. When he’d been five years old and old Mister Arnold had accused him of stealing a pig. When he’d been twelve and Pastor Willard had blamed him for the missing hymnals.

She’d been wrong on both counts, just as she’d been wrong about his father. She’d always believed Lyle would change his mind and come back. That he would straighten up and come home.

“My boy…” Her body shuddered. The brand slipped from her hands and clattered to the ground.

“I’m here, Ma. I’m here.” He shook her, but it was too late. Her body was limp. Lifeless. “No!”

Anger and denial whirled around Cody, twining around him and squeezing tight until he couldn’t breathe. He grabbed the brand and staggered to his feet.

“I tried to stop him.”

Her desperate words echoed in his head, driving him around, toward the barn and the chaos and him.

It hadn’t been Indians. He would have heard the war cries and seen the evidence. This was different.

Evil.

Fire crackled. Wood crumbled. Sparks spewed. Cody didn’t care. He headed straight for hell, determined to take whoever was responsible with him.

He made it three steps before the back of his skull exploded with pain and his knees buckled.

He hit the dirt facedown, the brand clutched in his hand. A man’s voice slid into his ears.

“You shouldn’t have come back. You don’t belong here anymore.”

But he did.

This was his home.

His family.

His.

And he wasn’t letting go of it without a fight.

He clutched the brand tighter and then everything went black.