True Love at Silver Creek Ranch (3 page)

Emily glanced over her shoulder at Brooke, eyes wide with innocence. “Brooke said you were very brave, going into a burning building.”

Brooke forced herself not to roll her eyes.

“It must be all that Marine training,” Emily added, when he said nothing.

He gave her a small smile. Brooke tried not to study him, but it was difficult. He seemed so . . . different. She remembered a young man who would jump into every conversation to make himself a part of it. For a boy whose grades weren't all that great, he'd always raised his hand in class even if he didn't know the answer. He liked to be in the spotlight. He had opinions, and a belief in himself that was a bit overinflated . . . more than a bit. Now there was a calmness about him, a watchfulness, that hinted at deep thoughts he didn't mean to share. He glanced at her more than once, and she couldn't look away.

And there was his body, of course, the finely sculpted arms and chest of a soldier beneath the tight olive t-shirt, the narrow hips, the thighs that jeans had to stretch across. Brooke felt a little flushed at all the scrutiny she couldn't seem to stop.

“If only I'd read the cards this mornin',” Mrs. Palmer berated herself, “I would have known somethin' was goin' to happen.”

She was leaning on the cane now, when she hadn't seemed to need it a moment ago, and her voice had a faint quiver to it. Brooke tried to catch Grandma Thalberg's eye to give her a bemused look but couldn't.

“ ‘Read the cards'?” Adam echoed with confusion.

“Tarot cards,” Mrs. Palmer said, reaching out to Adam as if her walk across the kitchen had tired her.

Brooke frowned as she watched Adam lead his grandma back to the kitchen table. “What don't I know about Mrs. Palmer's health?” she whispered to her grandma.

Grandma Thalberg just waved a hand as she whispered back, “We're all getting old, dear. You can't expect our strength to stay the same. Renee's fine.”

Fine?
Well, she'd seemed fine at first, but she didn't now. Brooke felt a little pang of worry at the thought of Grandma Thalberg too old to weed the vegetable garden or serve dinner to all the neighbors who came to help at branding time. Adam must have felt the same, by the way he hurried back to Valentine from . . . where?

“Tarot cards,” Adam was saying, doubt laced through his deep voice as he sat down opposite his grandma.

His limp had disappeared, and Brooke was relieved he hadn't been seriously hurt.

“I didn't practice the art when you were small,” Mrs. Palmer told Adam. “I learned it much later. I like seein' the patterns that tie the present to the future. I can offer guidance and possibilities for someone who needs them—without soundin' like I'm buttin' in.”

“I must admit I was skeptical,” Mrs. Ludlow said, shaking her head, “especially when she convinced Mrs. Wilcox, who works part-time for Monica, that her headstrong daughter might be with child but everything would work out fine. And don't you know, the boy proposed the next day, right on the Rose Garden bridge.”

Adam continued to frown, and Brooke chuckled, though she could have told him not to try to see logic in what the widows did. Surely Mrs. Palmer had written to him of their continued exploits. They'd certainly done a few wild things when he was a boy. But he was already gone when they'd given cap guns to all the kids attending the grand opening of the toy store, only to set off the smoke detectors.

Adam began, “Grandma, you know—”

“Can you stay for dinner, girls?” Mrs. Ludlow smoothly interrupted. She gestured to Grandma Thalberg. “Rosemary is going to make her famous chicken salad. And we still have cookies from the Sugar and Spice left over from the school bake sale.”

Emily grinned, then her expression clouded as she looked at Mrs. Palmer. “I know you're on the schedule at the bakery tomorrow, Mrs. Palmer. I'd be happy to cover for you if you're not feeling well.”

“You work?” Adam said to his grandma in surprise. “You didn't mention that on the phone. You don't need to do that.”

“It's only been the last few months, and I enjoy it,” Mrs. Palmer insisted. “We all work part-time for Emily, along with several of our friends. That way none of us works too much. So don't worry about me, dear. If I'm feeling poorly, Connie and I will exchange shifts.”

Mrs. Ludlow nodded regally. “Of course we will.”

Adam didn't look convinced, and Brooke didn't want to hear the negotiation.

“We can't stay for dinner, Grandma, but thank you,” Brooke said. “We're on our way to see my mom.”

“I'm sure she needs to see for herself that you're okay,” Grandma Thalberg said. “You go on, and we'll expect you both another time.”

“Of course,” Brooke said, reaching for her coat. “Thanks.”

“Can I speak with you for a moment?” Adam interrupted.

Emily bit her lip and let her big blue eyes go all innocent. It was a handy talent, Brooke thought with fond exasperation.

“I'll wait here with the ladies,” Emily said. “You two go ahead and talk in the parlor.”

If Adam thought “parlor” an old-fashioned word for the living room, he didn't say so. Brooke led him through the formal dining room—too close to the kitchen—feeling all prickly with the knowledge that he was looking at her. She didn't know what the heck her problem was. She stopped in the parlor, where the widows' crafts decorated everything, from crocheted afghans on the back of the couch to needlepoint pictures of ranch landscapes on the wall. Turning to face Adam, she saw him looking around with bemusement.

“I keep thinking this place is old,” he said, “but then I look beneath the Little-House-on-the-Prairie décor and see all the remodeling.”

“
Little House on the Prairie
?” she echoed, amused. “That was barely in repeats when we were kids.”

“Grandma insisted I watch with her,” he said without embarrassment.

Brooke had to admire his attitude. She saw his gaze focus on an antique tin candle mold.

“She absorbed more of it than I thought,” he said. “She wanted mementoes of the show, and I told her about eBay, but didn't think she could manage a computer since she never wrote me an e-mail.”

Brooke gestured behind her to the old dinosaur of a computer, with its big cube monitor. “They have that, so you never know. As for the house, my brother Nate is responsible for the other improvements. He remodeled the place before they moved in, gutted the kitchen, put in all new windows, anything you can think of.”

“Surprised he has the time.”

She shrugged. “He made the time. We all love our grandmas.”

“Now do you see what I meant about mine?”

She sobered. “I do. She does seem . . . off. I asked my grandma, who only answered that everyone gets older.”

“Not an answer,” he practically growled.

Brooke could sense his frustration, but he didn't pace, didn't betray it with movement. He was always so still. It was not a normal characteristic of the men she knew, and she found it oddly attractive.

“I'm not going anywhere until she's doing better,” he continued. “I'll talk to her doctor, whatever it takes.”

Brooke felt both interest and uneasiness at the thought of his staying. She wasn't sure she liked the way he made her feel, a jumpiness she hadn't experienced with the few guys she'd dated over the years. Heck, she was usually as easygoing as her brothers.

Or maybe she was honestly attracted to the man Adam Desantis had become.

“You're staying here at the boardinghouse?” she asked although she knew the answer.

“Yeah.” A frown deepened the lines of his brow as he gave another glance around, then sighed.

Brooke smiled. “The décor not masculine enough for you?”

His gaze came back to her and didn't let her go. “Something like that. And what's this about tarot cards?”

Brooke put up both hands. “
That,
you're going to have to discuss with her. Now I've really got to go, Adam. See you later.”

She turned back toward the kitchen, wondering if he was checking her out from behind. But she didn't glance at him again, and by the time she'd donned her boots and coat, and reached her car, she was feeling almost disappointed not to know.

“Now
that
was interesting,” Emily said with amusement as she buckled her seat belt.

Though Brooke suspected she was referring to Adam, she gave a whistle as she backed out of the driveway. “Poor Mrs. Palmer. I had no idea.”

Emily's smile faded a bit. “She started using the cane just this week. I tried to make her sit and frost cupcakes, but she says she likes being out with customers. The other two widows are taking it in stride. Hopefully that means it's nothing too serious.”

“Adam thinks it is. That's why he dragged me into the parlor.”

“That's why?” Emily batted her lashes at her. “I don't know if you're right about that. Seems to me Adam just wanted to be alone with you.”

Brooke felt a touch of guilty pleasure mixed in with her suspicion. But she kept her eyes on the dirt road as it became asphalt right before entering Valentine Valley. “I've never been the type he was interested in.”

“As your dad said, war can change a man. Maybe he's figured out that Valentine is where he belongs, and he's ready to find a wife and make babies.”

Brooke coughed as if she were choking. “Where the hell did
that
come from?”

“Should I take the wheel so you don't kill us?” Emily laughed merrily until she wiped tears from her eyes. “The expression on your face . . .”

“Look, I'm glad if Adam straightened himself out. According to Mrs. Palmer, he did well in the Marines. But I don't think people's personalities change all that much. He was full of himself in high school until he was caught joyriding in a stolen car.”

Emily winced. “Well, we all make mistakes . . .”

“The judge was good to him, a first offender and underage, so they assigned him to the supervision of the football coach. And yes, by focusing on football, he found something he was good at. But he was still so arrogant. He had no use for me, and I had no use for him.”
But I could think of a few uses for him now . . .

“I understand,” Emily said solemnly, even though her eyes twinkled. “Maybe he's not thinking that now.”

“Let's not go crazy,” Brooke said, but she felt a little thrill of pleasure.
Stop it,
she told herself.

They reached the light where Main Street ended at Highway 82, and she turned onto the highway toward Aspen. They drove the twenty minutes in silence. Snow blew across the road occasionally, but it was clear for the most part. As they reached the exclusive town, she loved seeing the mountains crowded with skiers and snowboarders, stretching up toward the blue sky. On the left were tiers of mansions built into the foothills and sprawled across the valley, their windows reflecting the sun.

At the hospital, Brooke led the way into her mom's room, then held a finger to her lips for Emily's benefit. Sandy's eyes were closed, a book across her lap. The room was a flower garden, vases brimming with roses, daisies, and multihued carnations, all nestled in Baby's Breath or greenery. Brooke recognized Monica Shaw's handiwork in more than one display. “Get Well” cards lined the windowsill.

Brooke hesitated a moment, telling herself her mom looked no different, that she was petite and always appeared small in a hospital bed. She had Nate's deep black hair, helped a bit with coloring now, and it framed her face in an attractive way. Even in the hospital, Sandy made sure she looked pleasant, her face accented with makeup, her nightgowns pretty and feminine. She liked to wander the halls in her wheelchair, visiting cancer patients or sick kids. More than once, Brooke had accompanied her on these visits, and was always so in awe at her ability to brighten someone's day. But then, her mom had always done that for Brooke, meeting her bus after school with a homemade snack, playing games or doing crafts on a rainy Saturday, listening to Brooke's dating woes—heck, she even did that now. Her throat closed up a bit at the thought that someday her mom wouldn't bounce back so easily.

Emily put a hand on her shoulder, her face sympathetic. Brooke reminded herself of her good fortune; Emily had lost her stepdad when she was young, and her mom—whom she hadn't been close to—died a few years ago. Sandy had practically adopted Emily since the engagement. Sandy approved of everything Emily had done to change her life for the better—

Then why was Brooke so afraid to make changes in her own life? Her brother Josh was renovating the loft of the barn into his own apartment, above his workshop, where his late hours tooling leather wouldn't bother the family. He was making a change. And then there was Emily, who'd transformed herself and discovered the truth of her family history. Brooke hadn't been able to stop thinking about that accomplishment. Her mind had worried at it, unable to see what was bothering her. But confronting the barn fire seemed to clarify all her emotions, the restlessness she'd been feeling since Emily's arrival. Brooke needed a change in her life, something different, but she was afraid that admitting it to her family—to her mom—would make them think she didn't love them or didn't want the same ranching life they had. And she did want those things! But she wanted . . . something else, too. If only she knew what it was.

Time, she told herself. She'd give herself the time to figure out what had changed for her, what she needed to make her happy. And it wasn't about needing any kind of a relationship with a man. Dating wouldn't solve her problems and would only complicate things, so she wasn't going there.

Brooke chased her confused thoughts away and approached the hospital bed.