True Love at Silver Creek Ranch (15 page)

“I'm not leaving,” Whitney said to no one in particular. “I've been insulted, and I want this man—”

“The name's Sylvester Galimi!” he said clearly, hands on his hips.

“—to hear me out.”

Nothing good was going to come of this, Brooke knew. But Whitney didn't know her—why would she listen? Mrs. Palmer was with Adam at the rack by the front door, busily trying to find her coat.

Voices were rising again, with people on each side beginning to argue with their relatives or neighbors. Carrying the portfolio case, Brooke reached Whitney's side at the same time Josh did.

“Whitney, you don't know me,” Brooke began, “but Mrs. Palmer's like my own grandma, and I've known Adam forever. Why don't you follow them before this gets worse?”

A look of frustration and worry wrinkled her forehead. “But I can't let this man—”

“Ma'am,” Josh said, his deep voice smooth and full of the West. “I'll escort you. You can't accomplish anything with these hotheads all riled up.”

Looking up at him, Whitney's eyes widened, and she seemed to forget what she was going to say, except for a weak, “But my coat . . .”

Brooke grabbed it from the booth they'd just left and followed Josh and Whitney, as a path cleared for them to the door.

Whitney tried to turn back. “My sketches—”

Brooke handed the case over, and Whitney's expression melted from anger to sadness as her gaze swept the room. Then Josh tugged, and she allowed him to lead her through the door.

Out on the street, Brooke zipped up her coat and saw everyone else doing the same, their breaths puffs of mist. The last Peeping Toms called their good wishes to Mrs. Palmer even as they hurried down the street, shoulders up around their ears from the cold.

Chris Sweet was still there, and as Mrs. Palmer was slowly buttoning her coat, he called, “Adam?”

Adam turned around, his forehead lowered in confusion. Then his expression cleared, and he stuck out a hand. “Chris, good to see you.”

“So what are you up to?” Chris asked.

The two men exchanged a brief summary of their current workdays, and when Chris heard that Adam was working as a ranch hand, they started trading cowboy stories. Brooke saw her brother Josh tip his hat to Whitney and walk away down the street, whistling.

Whitney looked forlorn, staring into the brightly lit diner window like a kid who didn't get any Christmas presents.

Mrs. Palmer patted the woman's arm. “Don't worry, dear. We aren't defeated yet.”

“I didn't know there was going to be a battle,” Whitney said sadly. Then she took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. “But I won't be defeated, not by such ignorant people. Somehow, I'll find a way to show the town what I'm about, and what I'd like to do to help the women of Valentine feel their prettiest.”

“Good for you, dear,” Mrs. Palmer said approvingly. “Now let us take you where you're stayin'.”

“I'm at one of the Four Sisters B&Bs. I can walk—it's not far.”

“But it's cold,” Adam said. He raised a hand to Chris, who was already heading toward the street. “We'll drive you.” He tipped his hat to Brooke, Monica, and Emily. “Good evening, ladies. Brooke, you need a ride home?”

“I have my Jeep, thanks.”

“Grandma, my truck's right in front. Whitney, let me put your portfolio in back.”

Brooke couldn't help watching, a smile on her face, as Adam herded the two women away like a cow dog.

“I gotta tell you,” Monica said, pulling up her hood, “that man sure is different.”

Brooke hugged herself and started to walk. “I guess. Have you guys eaten dinner?”

“Nope,” Monica said, “but Just Desserts across the street is looking mighty good.”

Emily groaned. “Much as that looks good, I think I need some real food first.”

“Wait, let's go the other way,” Brooke said. “Mexican?”

“You're on,” Monica said. “What about that scene of melodrama?”

“I felt so bad for Whitney,” Emily said. “She seems very nice. We never spoke when she was looking into purchasing my building, but I wish I'd had the chance to introduce myself.”

“I think you'll get your chance,” Brooke said, linking arms with both her friends for warmth. “With the widows at her side, I won't be surprised if she goes on the offensive.”

Chapter Thirteen

O
nce they'd dropped off Whitney at her B&B, Adam drove his grandma slowly through the town streets. Snow had begun to fall softly, muffling the occasional car and emphasizing the beauty of the Christmas decorations. Now that Thanksgiving was over, people seemed to have spent the weekend decorating Main Street when they weren't shopping, stringing lights from tree to tree like in the movie
It's a Wonderful Life.
Each old-fashioned lamppost had a large outline of a poinsettia jutting out toward the street, all lined with red lights for the petals and green for the leaves.

When Grandma didn't say anything, he eyed her with concern. “Are you feeling okay? Was this too much excitement for you?”

“I'm fine, Adam,” she said briskly. “I am simply so furious with Sylvester Galimi.” She hesitated. “And with myself. I never thought things would . . . blow up like that. I was so convinced we'd tweak his nose a bit maybe, but . . . oh dear. I've made things so much worse for Whitney.”

“Sylvester already planned to do that, Grandma. Tonight, he just got a head start.”

“But . . . he was so ugly about it. I never imagined he could insult a young lady like that, when he knew nothin' about her.”

“Maybe he's got some reason he's so upset about lingerie, like he caught his dad wearing it.”

Grandma gasped, then they both laughed. He was glad to ease her unhappiness, even if only for a while.

As they approached the end of town just before the bridge over Silver Creek, Grandma suddenly pointed. “There's one of the houses being renovated for veterans. Oh my, the new sidin' looks lovely.”

“I'm surprised you never brought this subject up,” Adam said. “I heard about it from Mrs. Thalberg. It makes me suspicious that you're up to something.” More than one thing, truth be told, but he was a patient guy. He hadn't missed how she'd forgotten to use her cane a few times at the diner. He loved her crazy ideas—he loved her. He realized he wasn't going to leave her again.

“Your suspicions are plain wrong, Adam Desantis. You don't want to discuss your military life with me, and I thought mentionin' the veterans' housin' plans might upset you.”

“I'm not a fragile doll, Grandma,” he said. “If your committee has an interesting project, you can tell me.”

Even if he didn't do anything about it.

W
hen there was a soft knock at the cabin door late that night, Ranger put his head up, ears alert. Adam could have vaulted the couch to get to the door.

Brooke stood on the porch, smiling. Innocently, she said, “I'm just dropping something off . . .”

He pulled her inside, closed the door, and put her up against it so he could give her a proper kiss. Her lips were chilly, her coat bulky between them, but she still felt incredibly good, especially when she sank her hands into his hair and held him to her.

Behind him, Ranger gave a woof.

When they came up for air, she looked around Adam. “So you've got other company.”

“Ranger decided I shouldn't be alone at night since you've deserted me.”

“It's been two days,” she said, laughing as she put her hands on his chest and pushed.

“Two long days where I get to see you and not touch.” He backed up a step as she took off her coat and hung it on one of the hooks beside the door.

Her smile faded as she regarded him. “Is our undercover secret not working for you?”

“I didn't say that. I'm just all hot and bothered from those sketches, and I almost threw snowballs at your window.”

Brooke moved toward the fire, petting Ranger, then holding out her hands to the warmth. “I don't know why you're hot and bothered—they're not pornography.” She sent him a smile.

“I don't need pornography. You'd turn me on wearing cowboy boots and hat and nothing else.”

She held out a hand to him and he joined her in front of the fire. He shooed Ranger away and sat down on the rug, back against the couch, and pulled Brooke down to sit between his legs. She leaned against him with a sigh of contentment.

“I did feel bad for Whitney,” she said quietly. “That was an ugly thing Sylvester said.”

“He was just spouting for an audience. He's got to recruit for the town-council meeting after all.”

“How did she act afterward?”

He pulled the band off the end of her braid, then ran his fingers down through her dark brown hair until the wavy curls spread freely down her back. “You saw her. She's not giving up. And it was only a couple blocks to her B&B. She didn't say much in the car.”

“Your grandma must have been steamed.”

“Partly. And then she blamed herself. She never meant any of that to happen.”

“I'm sure you reassured her,” Brooke said, tipping her head back and snuggling beneath his chin. “I saw you and Chris talking. You know he'd be happy to reintroduce you to people.”

“We'll see. I also heard about another teammate today. We used to call him Deer.”

She laughed. “I haven't thought of that nickname for Howie Junior in I don't know how long.”

“If I remember correctly, he dated you in high school.” He nipped the side of her neck with his mouth.

“Oh, yes, you should be jealous. I'm always attracted to men who tell everyone our private business.”

“So he ran at the mouth about as fast as he ran with a football?”

“Maybe faster. Guess that's why I like you.”

She twisted her head as if to glance at him, but he could only see her profile.

“You seem pretty good with secrets,” she continued.

He wasn't stupid—she was talking about more than their sex life. But he wasn't going to burden her with his problems. “Deer never said much to me about you. What did he have to say to other guys? If he got to first base or not?”

“That about covers it. We didn't last long, so that was all the baseball we played. But he's a nice guy, even if he's no longer able to run quite so fast.”

“Hmmm, first base,” he said, nuzzling behind her ear. “I got there the moment you walked in the door.” Then he slid his hands up and over her breasts, cupping their fullness. “Second base.”

She gave a soft gasp that was nearly his undoing, arching her head back to his shoulder. He kissed his way from her earlobe down to the collar of her shirt, while he gently rubbed her nipples through her clothes.

“A thin bra,” he said.

“Not quite as impressive as the ones in the sketches.”

“Let me be the judge of that.” He slid one hand down and cupped the warmth between her thighs. “Third base.”

“Oh, please,” she said breathlessly. “You call that third base?”

“Is that a challenge?” In an instant, he had her on her back on the rug, her hair spread all around, her face glowing with the firelight and her good, sweet nature.

Sweet? Brooke? He would never have thought that before. She was clearly addling his brain. But then he was taking off her clothes, and his brain shut down altogether. Her Western shirt unsnapped in front, and so did her polka-dotted bra. He spent endless minutes worshipping her breasts, kissing and licking, aroused by every helpless gasp and moan she emitted. She couldn't lie still, pulling at his clothes until at last he yanked off his t-shirt. But he wasn't in a hurry, not this time. He wanted to explore.

Unbuckling her jeans, he tugged them very slowly down her hips, revealing her sexy curves and the indentation of her belly button. Her long thighs were next, and at last he had her completely naked but for her thong, so lacy and delicate he wanted to stare at it a while longer.

And then he started at her feet and kissed his way up along her smooth, feminine muscles. He parted her thighs and mouthed her through the silk, and she cried out. Just a few strokes of his tongue, and he made her come, shuddering.

“Inside me,” she whispered, tugging at his belt buckle.

He stood up, said, “Be right back,” and went for a condom. When he returned, she was completely naked, reaching for him. Then he covered her body with his own, there in front of the heat of the fire, and entered her so slowly it drove them both crazy. He took his time, luxuriating in long kisses, rounding his back to lick her breasts, bringing her ever higher, until, when his thrusts increased, and she came again, he let go of his restraint and joined her.

When he could function, he eased to the side, propping his head on one hand and caressing whatever he wanted with the other.

At last she murmured, “I guess I should go. We're taking the sleigh out to cut down a Christmas tree. Family tradition.” And then she winced, as if she regretted her words, and rushed on. “Nate suggested we take photos and use it for publicity for the sleigh rides.”

“You don't have to explain,” he insisted. “I spent my life hearing about other people's families. I'm used to it. And don't even think about inviting me. It would make certain people suspicious.”

“You could get your own tree, you know.”

“I'll think about it.”

When he closed the door behind her after a long kiss good-bye, the place seemed lonely without her. He didn't think a Christmas tree would help.

T
he following Tuesday afternoon, Brooke stood inside the barn, waiting for Steph to arrive for her lesson. The wind blew like breath across ice, and snow, although light, was falling at an angle. She was tempted to call the girl and cancel, but then she could see the pickup and horse trailer come slowly down the winding road toward the ranch.

By the time Steph had her mount ready, the snow had only increased.

“Brooke, can we please ride?” Steph pleaded. “I thought about it all day.”

“Was your holiday that stressful?” Brooke teased.

When Steph only smiled halfheartedly, Brooke hesitated to press her.

“Okay, let's give it a try. We haven't had that much snow accumulation today.”

They began to ride toward the corral near the burned barn. They were both wearing caps and scarfs to bundle up their heads, and Brooke felt relatively warm. She glanced at Steph, whose face was lifted as if to take in the serenity of the Elk Mountains. Their bodies moved gently with the gait of the horses.

“So what happened at Thanksgiving?” Brooke asked, then added, “If you don't mind the question.” She knew Emily and Nate had been there for lunch before joining the Thalbergs for dinner. She felt a little ache for her friend, who so desperately wanted her happily-ever-after.

Steph shrugged. “It was okay. I know you're asking about Emily, and she was fine.”

“Please tell me she told you about bridesmaid gown colors, because curiosity is driving me crazy! You may not know it to look at me, but I love pretty dresses.”

That got a smile out of the girl. “Naw, we didn't really talk about the wedding, and that was part of the problem.”

Brooke waited, when she wanted to say with exasperation,
Isn't that what you wanted?

“I felt like . . . it was my fault people don't discuss it, and I don't want to be the cause of all that tension. My mom said I wasn't, but she's my mom.”

Faith Sweet was smart about people and surely knew what her daughter needed to hear. Maybe Steph needed to figure things out on her own.

“Then if your mom said that, why don't you just trust her and not worry about it? I saw Emily and Nate for dinner, and they were just fine.”

“Good,” Steph said absently. She slid her gloved hands along the reins over and over, never tugging, but like a nervous habit.

“So tell me about the Chess Club,” Brooke said. “Any new members?”

Steph glanced at her, and a slow grin made her shake her head. “You just want to know if I asked Tyler Brissette to join.”

“Guess I'm not very subtle.”

The girl gave an exaggerated sigh. “All right, yes, I told him about the club. At first he was all, ‘That's for nerds,' but I told him it wasn't like we really played chess or anything.”

“Hey, I like chess,” Brooke protested. “Not that I play regularly, but I have. My nerdy habit is reading.”

Steph rolled her eyes, but admitted, “Yeah, I read Harry Potter when I was a kid. And I like
The Hunger Games.
”

“I've read both those series. They're very good.”

“Anyway, I didn't think Tyler would come. And I'd asked him the day before Thanksgiving, and who knew if he'd even remember. Then yesterday, after school, he and a couple guys came to the community center. I was shocked!”

Steph's blue eyes shone, and Brooke found herself wondering if this was more than an attempt to help a troubled classmate.

“Well, how did they do?” Brooke demanded.

“Some of his friends called it the Chest Club, like they thought they were so funny. Anyway, we didn't have a big trip or anything planned, but we all hung out and played pool and Ping-Pong and Wii. He just watched for a while, but he's pretty good at pool. I didn't really talk to him much or anything,” she added quickly. “But he was cool about the whole thing.”

“Much as pool and Wii sound fun in the winter, do you have any outdoor events planned?” Although right now, when the wind picked up, she was wishing she had worn her coveralls. She wasn't so sure
anyone
should be outside, including the horses, whose ears twitched with each gust.

“We try to go snowboarding together at least once during the season.”

“And is everyone able to afford that?”

Steph frowned. “I never thought about it before. But Tyler and his friends . . . I'm not so sure.” She glanced at Brooke as if embarrassed. “I don't want to make anyone feel bad.”

“Then can I make a suggestion? What about if you come here to ride? I can give lessons to those who don't know how, and we can do a trail ride or even a sleigh ride.”