True Love at Silver Creek Ranch (4 page)

Sandy blinked open her brown eyes on a yawn, then smiled. “Brooke! I'm so glad you came.”

She gave her mom a kiss on the cheek and sat on the edge of the bed. After squeezing Sandy's hand, Emily pulled up a chair.

Brooke realized her mom was blinking back tears. “Hey, I'm okay,” she quickly reassured her, then leaned down to give her a gentle hug. “Dad must have told you I didn't even get a scratch.”

“Oh, don't mind me,” Sandy said when she sat back, waving her hand and blinking furiously before scrutinizing her. “I don't think your bravery at the burning barn even singed a lock of hair.”

Brooke blushed. “I wasn't brave. I was scared to death. But all I could think of were those poor horses.”

“And you saved them all?”

Brooke nodded and gave her a brief description of the fire.

Emily chimed in, “Don't forget the help of Adam Desantis.”

Sandy's eyes went wide, then she studied her daughter. “I heard a stranger helped you, but not his name. I remember Adam.” Her expression grew sympathetic. “He's visiting Renee?”

Brooke nodded, then decided not to ask her mom about Mrs. Palmer's health, remembering how the old woman had used her cane only after Adam entered the room, and how Grandma Thalberg had brushed off her concerns. Brooke would keep an eye on the widows.

“Have the doctors said how much longer you'll be in here?” she asked, almost wincing at how false and bright her voice sounded. She was trying to convince herself that her mother would be fine.

“A day or two. I admit I'm feeling anxious to be gone. I don't like being away from the ranch. Your father depends on me.”

“Of course he does—he's a man,” Brooke teased.

Her mother's smile was halfhearted, and Brooke's uneasiness increased.

“You know I'll make sure everything goes okay back home,” she said earnestly.

“I know you will, sweetie.”

Brooke told herself the doubt in her mom's voice was about her concern for the ranch and her frustration about not being there. Then why did Brooke suspect it was something else?

Chapter Three

O
n the way back to Valentine, Brooke's throat was so tight she couldn't talk about her mother. She was glad when Emily received a text from Monica asking them to meet her for dinner at the Halftime Sports Bar. When they reached town, they drove down Main Street, lined with clapboard storefronts, all brightly colored, one to three floors in height. Interspersed were the occasional stone buildings like the Royal Opera or the Hotel Colorado, each of which took up most of a block. The Halftime was nestled between the deli and the Open Book. Neon beer signs winked in the two windows that bracketed the front door, and inside, sports memorabilia covered darkly paneled walls. Flat screen TVs gave perfect viewing to every table in the place. The bar was overflowing with the after-work crowd, most of whom raised a hand or called a greeting when Brooke and Emily entered.

“Brooke!” Monica called from a table near the back.

They bypassed the hostess, and Brooke grinned at her best friend since childhood. Monica Shaw was a slim, black woman with curls that just brushed her shoulders. She had the high cheekbones and exotic eyes of a model, if not the towering height. In truth, she was a small-town girl, now the owner of Monica's Flowers and Gifts. She'd never wanted to move to the big city, like her twin sister, a reporter for CNN. That had caused some family problems, but they'd had a good talk and cry, and now Monica was excited about her spring trip to visit Melissa. Her store was right next to Sugar and Spice, so it was Monica who'd first befriended Emily and helped convince her to stay in town. Nate owed Monica for his good fortune—as Monica was always quick to remind him.

“I heard the news!” Monica said, shoving her plate of nachos into the center of the table.

“News?” Brooke's thoughts immediately went to the recent arrival of Adam. She dipped a nacho and groaned with happiness as she devoured it. She'd forgotten to eat lunch in the middle of that crazy day.

“The barn fire?” Monica answered, her face full of disbelief. She glanced at Emily. “Are you sure she didn't get hit on the head?”

Emily only shrugged as she concentrated on the nachos.

“Sorry,” Brooke said sheepishly. “I've explained it so many times today, I thought I'd already told you!” She had herself better under control now, and wouldn't worry her friends by falling apart. She could treat this lightly, as if she risked her life every day. Well, okay, sometimes she did, where the occasional runaway bull was concerned.

After they ordered beer and salad and chicken wings, she gave a brief account to Monica—and then to several of the guys from the bar, who went back and told their friends.

“Surely everyone knows by now,” Brooke said with a groan. “But I can't blame them. Every rancher worries all the time during the dry season that a windstorm will send a fire our way. Thank God it's almost winter, or this could have been worse.”

Their waitress, Linda, a mom with school-age kids who often biked with Nate and his friends, looked Brooke over as she set a bottle of beer before each of them. “I won't make you repeat the story, as I'm sure the guys'll be talking about it at the bar. But I'm glad you're okay.”

Brooke smiled. “Thanks, Linda. Believe me, I'm glad, too.”

“She had help,” Emily said. “Do you remember Adam Desantis?” she asked both Linda and Monica.

Linda blinked in surprise. “He was a few years behind me at school, but yeah, who could forget?”

Emily grinned. “Now that I've met him, I can see why he's so memorable.”

Monica turned on Brooke with speculation. “He's back from the Marines?”

“Visiting his grandma like a good boy,” Brooke said.

As she walked away, Linda called over her shoulder, “ ‘A good boy' isn't how I remember him.”

The three women laughed. Brooke watched as Linda started a conversation at one end of the bar, then each head turned, relaying the news of Adam's return like falling dominoes.

“I remember him, too,” Monica said, leaning back in her chair with a little sigh.

“Of course she does,” Brooke said conspiratorially to Emily, even as she snatched the last nacho. “She dated him.”

Emily gasped and leaned toward Monica. “Really?”

Monica waved her hand delicately. “It only lasted a few weeks. He was a football player, and I was a cheerleader. It's amazing how those stereotypes just keep happening, generation after generation.” When their laughter faded, she asked, “So has he changed?”

“Wait, wait, I need to know more about the actual dating,” Emily said.

“He was a good kisser,” Monica admitted, “but I wasn't interested in going farther, not right away. So we broke up.”

“Told you he was a jerk,” Brooke said. “Poor Monica would call me for sympathy. We shared a lot of ice cream those few weeks.”

“He could be funny, too,” Monica pointed out.

“You're defending a guy who broke up with you because you wouldn't put out?” Brooke still felt defensive on her behalf.

“Oh, please, he was a hormonal kid. So has he changed?” Monica repeated patiently.

Brooke hesitated, trying to ignore how very curious Adam made her. “He seems kind of a quiet guy now. I never thought I'd say that about him.”

“He might have seen some bad things,” Emily said.

They all sobered. Brooke couldn't help thinking how very young he'd been to go off to war. Just eighteen. She could only imagine how Mrs. Palmer must have felt, and he her only grandchild. Many men never came back. She'd known one of those, someone who'd gone to Colorado State with Nate. Though she'd only met him once or twice, it had been a blow to know he'd died such a terrible death. And the poor man's family . . . She'd been so glad to hear that Valentine Valley had begun a program to help returning veterans. She didn't know much about it, but she'd mention it to Mrs. Palmer when she got the chance. Of course, the widows probably knew all about it.

Thank God Mrs. Palmer hadn't lost Adam. He was the only blood family she had left. Her older brother was dead, and she'd only had one daughter. But she liked to say that the widows were the sisters she'd never had. Brooke's gaze traveled from Monica to Emily, and she realized she knew exactly what Mrs. Palmer meant. She didn't know how she'd function without her girlfriends.

“At least Adam's back, and he's safe,” Monica said, breaking their somber moment of reflection.

Brooke smiled at Linda, who set down individual salads for each woman, and a huge plate of wings in the center of the table.

“I'll be back with another round of drinks,” Linda called.

Monica wiggled her eyebrows at Brooke. “I'm sure Adam grew up to be fine-lookin'.”

Brooke and Emily glanced at each other, then broke into grins.

“Okay, yes, he's fine-looking,” Brooke said, lifting both hands in a placating manner.

“More than fine-looking,” Emily breathed, leaning over the table and lowering her voice. “Downright sexy.”

Brooke cleared her throat pointedly, even as she felt overly warm at the thought.

“Well, of course, not as sexy as Nate,” Emily smoothly added.

Brooke winced. “I don't want to hear that about my brother. Speaking of the two of you”—she rounded on her future sister-in-law—“do we have a wedding date?”

Emily actually blushed. “No,” she whispered.

Monica and Brooke groaned.

Brooke took the first bite of her salad, chewed, and swallowed. “I thought you and Nate were in discussion about that.”

“If Nate had his way, the date would be next week,” Emily said glumly, using her fork to toy with a piece of lettuce.

“Well, we know that's not going to happen.” Monica reached to touch Emily's hand. “I know you both want a pretty wedding you'll remember forever, but you could be planning it now. What's going on, Em?”

“It's Stephanie,” Emily said with a heavy sigh.

“Your sister?” Brooke asked, uncomprehending.

“My half sister.” Emily's voice took on a touch of bitterness. “Or so she keeps reminding me.”

When Emily had come to town earlier that year, she'd discovered that the father she'd thought of as her own, the one who'd died when she was seven, had in fact been her stepfather, and that her biological dad was right in town, oblivious that he had another daughter. Brooke and Monica had both encouraged Emily to face the truth, and through some investigating, Emily had discovered that her father was Joe Sweet, part of the family who owned the elegant Sweetheart Inn, as well as an extensive ranch. Though shocked, Joe had been delighted to add another daughter to the brood that already included three sons in their twenties and a sixteen-year-old daughter, Stephanie. Brooke knew that the young men were fine with Emily, and understood their dad's teenage love affair. Steph hadn't taken it well upon discovering that she wasn't Daddy's only little girl, and that Daddy hadn't been perfect. To Joe's frustration, she hadn't blamed
him
—she'd focused her anger on Emily.

“Wait, wait,” Brooke said. “You asked her to be a bridesmaid. I saw her face—she was thrilled!”

“I thought so, too.” Emily's voice trembled. “I thought it was something we could share while getting to know each other. But it's not working out that way. Suddenly, my wedding and I are the focus of every Sunday-dinner discussion.”

Monica winced. “That might be a problem.”

“I play it down, or steer the conversation away,” Emily insisted, shredding her napkin on the table.

“She's gotta grow up sometime,” Brooke said. “You can't keep delaying your wedding. Everyone wants to see me in a fancy dress! Because, of course, I clean up well,” she added, hoping to lift her friend's spirits.

Emily smiled sadly. “You sound like your brother—although not about the dress.” Her smile strengthened. “But we only just became engaged last month. I think we have time. And now that the . . . newness of my arrival is wearing off, perhaps Steph can begin to move past it.”

“Or perhaps she'll think she's gotten her way,” Brooke pointed out, feeling affronted on Emily's behalf.

“Ooh, now who's the pessimist here?” Monica picked up her first chicken wing. “I think Emily's right. There's time. It's not like they have to be celibate until the wedding night.”

Brooke practically snorted into her beer, sending the other two into fits of laughter.

“Couldn't you have waited until I swallowed?” she demanded, wiping at her lips with the back of her hand.

Emily finally stopped giggling enough to say, “Look, my youngest brother Daniel is closest to her, but he's away at college. When he comes back for Thanksgiving, we're going to put our heads together and come up with a plan.”

“Works for me,” Monica said, starting on the next chicken wing.

“And I was thinking about finding another way to get involved in Steph's life,” Emily said hesitantly. “She's a member of the teen group that meets at the community center. Maybe they need volunteers . . .”

“No,” Brooke said with compassion. “You don't want Steph to think you're pushing into her life without her permission. I think she'll see right through that.”

Emily's shoulders slumped. “Really? But I've got to find
some
way to get her talking to me.”

“You will,” Monica insisted. “Give it more time.”

They ate their way through most of the chicken wings, then sat back with satisfaction.

“I have interesting news,” Brooke said.

“
More
interesting news?” Monica fanned herself. “How will I bear the excitement?”

Brooke grinned, then glanced at Emily. “Remember Leather and Lace?”

“Of course, the naughty lingerie store that was interested in buying my building. I felt like I let them down when I decided to open Sugar and Spice.”

“You didn't let them down too much. They haven't given up on making Valentine Valley the home of their third store. They're looking into purchasing another building, and will be visiting soon. The owner's written to the preservation-fund committee about a grant to renovate a run-down building on Grace Street, behind Hal's Hardware.”

“That's right across the street from Wild Thing,” Monica said with a grin. “It'll fit right in with the nightclub crowd.”

“Hey, I've seen their store in San Francisco,” Emily said. “It's a classy, upscale place.”

“Nothing naughty?” Brooke asked, feigning disappointment.

Emily smiled. “Well, I didn't say that.”

Monica turned her suspicious gaze on Brooke. “And since when do you need naughty lingerie? Is there something you're not telling us?”

Brooke had a momentary flash of Adam and how she'd felt when they'd been standing close. “Nothing going on here,” she insisted.

“Girlfriend, join the club,” Monica said. “Maybe the Valentine mojo only works for
some
people.”

They clinked the last two chicken wings together as Emily smiled and shrugged.

B
efore the explosion, Adam had dreaded the idea of leaving the Marines for a civilian existence. He thought life would be vanilla without all the constant alertness and threat of danger.

But he'd changed his mind, having had enough of danger and the consequences of one wrong move. But that didn't mean he wanted vanilla, either. For the first time, he understood what that truly meant. Oh, he got in long runs every day like a good Marine, even through the snow. But he had absolutely nothing else to do. He was starting to go stir-crazy, and the memories of his dead friends were getting too close to the surface. Since his discharge, he'd been able to battle those memories into the furthest corners of his mind through physically demanding work. It had been good to think of nothing but the job, then be so exhausted that he could sometimes keep even the nightmares away.