True Love at Silver Creek Ranch (7 page)

“It's pretty successful,” Josh said, after taking a swig of milk. “Nate's good with the advertising.”

“The sleigh is actually a big draw,” Nate added. “Josh did the leather tooling on the bench.”

“It's beautiful,” Brooke agreed. “And I take my turn driving occasionally when Lou can't. It's very relaxing, and I'm always surprised by the people I meet.”

“She tries to pretend she's all into the solitary ranch life,” Nate said in a teasing voice. “But sometimes I wonder.”

Brooke laughed along with her family, but inside she felt a little jolt of surprise. What did he suspect?

Adam glanced at each of them dubiously. “Do you three get along this well all the time?”

“It gets a little sickenin',” Lou said, cutting himself a slice of cake from the pan.

“Oh, they've had their fights,” Sandy added, leaning back in her wheelchair from her half-eaten plate.

Brooke frowned at how much of her mom's food had gone untouched. Her appetite didn't seem quite the same yet. She told herself her mom had just gotten home from the hospital, that the meds affected her appetite, so it was only natural . . .

And then she heard a guffaw, and realized all the men were laughing hard. She'd missed the punch line. Even Adam's eyes seemed bright with amusement although he hadn't given in to open laughter.

“What did I miss?” she asked, smiling.

Josh leaned forward to see around Adam. “Don't you remember how mad you were that Nate graduated from a pony to a horse?”

She rolled her eyes. “Not that story again. Let's not forget that I was, what, six?”

“Eight,” Doug said, sitting down at the other end of the table. “We caught you on Nate's horse about a mile from the house, clingin' to its mane, 'cause the saddle'd already fallen off.”

“I wasn't clinging,” she said patiently, then looked at Adam with a twinkle in her eye. “I was riding bareback, and my brothers still can't acknowledge my talent.”

There was a collective groan from those same brothers, and though she grinned at them, she reached past Adam and smacked Josh on the shoulder. That pressed her up against Adam's arm, and she quickly pulled back, feeling suddenly flustered.

“Can you just let this stuff go?” she asked. “Now pass me the cake.”

T
hat evening, Adam fell sound asleep at the dinner table and awoke with a crick in his neck as his grandma was clearing the dishes.

He surged to his feet, feeling a dull ache settle in his lower back. “Let me help, Grandma.”

She tsked. “I told you you wouldn't need to run for exercise.”

“And I didn't listen to your warning. But it's a habit that's hard to break.”

The other widows must have gone while he'd drifted off, and it was just the two of them at the kitchen sink. He wanted to lead her to a chair but already knew how badly that worked. She'd rather stand and tremble occasionally than admit to any weakness.

“So Brooke worked you hard,” Grandma Palmer said, smiling.

“The ranch chores worked me hard,” he amended. “They took it easy on me in the afternoon. I rode fence for several hours, looking for damage. A bull tried to escape, and I had to chase it back into the pasture.”

“What happened?” she asked, staring up at him.

“I radioed Brooke, who brought the barbed wire for repairs. That was a challenge, considering the wind picked up.”

“She wasn't with you?”

“She had me ride one way along the fence, and she went the other.”

“She couldn't be avoiding
you,
” Grandma teased.

Adam shrugged as he continued to wash and dry the dishes. There were moments during the day when they'd looked into each other's eyes, and it was as if things had shifted between them. She'd turned away faster than he did, so he was never sure. She was determined to be impartially in charge, and she
was
in charge. He wasn't about to forget that. She ordered him around a lot—which was what he expected of the girl he remembered—yet she still did her own half of the work with equal parts stubbornness and independence. She was obviously used to working alongside her brothers. Some of their quiet ways must have rubbed off on her, for she seemed to have lost the nervous need to chatter, which was a relief.

She was good at what she did, had all the knowledge and the skill to teach him anything he needed to know. Yet every time he glimpsed that strange softening in her eyes, he saw a mix of fierce cowgirl and vulnerable woman that was more appealing than he'd ever imagined.

But it was an appeal he had to resist. It was strange to have lunch with the Thalbergs and be so very conscious of not looking at their daughter more than he had to. And then she'd plopped herself down beside him, their shoulders occasionally brushing. He caught a tropical scent, like a Caribbean night, and wondered if it was perfume or shampoo. Just watching her peel off her winter clothes in the mudroom until she was down to tight jeans and an even tighter long-sleeve t-shirt was incredibly sexy. And then he'd noticed her earrings again, smaller for the workday, when he'd never cared about a woman's jewelry before. Was it because she was forbidden to him that he had to notice so much?

“Was it good to be back on a horse again?” Grandma asked.

Adam shook away thoughts of Brooke. “It's been a long time.”

“You were good with your father's horse,” she said quietly.

He nodded. “I know he sold it while I was gone. He had to, I'm sure,” he added dryly.

She said nothing, and a look of such sadness crossed her face. She didn't often let him see those emotions.

“He'd lost his job,” she began.

“Wait,” he interrupted. “Grandma, I really don't want to talk about him. They're in my past.”

“But don't you think—”

“No. I've spent ten years not thinking about them. And it was good.”

She nodded and let it go. They worked silently, easy companions in the kitchen, and he tried not to imagine how it must feel to know the only daughter you raised had failed as a mother herself. He usually thought Grandma was too sensible to blame herself, but as she grew older, maybe it was more difficult. He had to make sure she knew how much he loved her, how much she'd been a mother to him more than his own. He told himself this wasn't because time was winding down for them—he couldn't face that, not after everything that had happened this year. He didn't want to be haunted by another ghost. Grandma would get better.

He played cards with the widows, amazed at how they had perfected the art of cheating on each other. Then he went to bed early, so Brooke wouldn't start work without him.

Chapter Six

B
ut it wasn't Brooke he worked with, it was Josh's turn to train the greenhorn. Once again, they fed cattle, and Adam felt a bit more in control. He never saw Brooke at all.

He did get a chance to spend time with Lou Webster that afternoon, familiarizing himself with the sleigh-ride business. Tourists parked in the main yard, by a sign marked
SLEIGH RIDES
. When they rang the bell, Lou came from the barn or truck shed, wherever he was working. After money was exchanged, the horses hitched, and the sleigh driven around, the guests were offered warm blankets. Adam climbed up and took the ride, memorizing the trails Lou followed, watching him handle the reins that guided the pair of horses, all while the old man instructed him in the art. When they left the open pasture and headed into a stand of trees beside the creek, he could hear snow plop from the branches, along with the cheerful jingle of the sleigh bells. Lou always had a story about the town when he was asked a question, and when the half-hour ride was over, their guests seemed genuinely pleased. After they'd gone, Lou spent another hour teaching him to handle the horses. By then, a young couple with a toddler arrived, and Adam did the driving, while Lou gave his advice.

On his third day at the ranch, he was with Brooke again in the retriever. This time a blizzard raged all around them, but hungry cattle still had to eat. Loading hay bales when you could barely see was a chore in and of itself. They perched on top of the bales on the bed of the truck, where the wind whipped by. This time Adam didn't fall, like he had the first day. He'd faced winter in the mountains of Afghanistan, and the heat of deserts—the weather was nothing new to him. But Brooke faced it every winter, year in and year out. He was too aware of her at his side as he mimicked her movements.

By the time they were finished at the second pasture, he couldn't feel the tips of his fingers anymore even though they were buried in gloves. Once they were both back in the cab, shivering as the heat began to seep up their legs, he tried to pull his gloves off, but his hands didn't want to work properly.

Brooke removed her hat, and he could see frost along her hairline where the hat hadn't reached.

She frowned at his hands. “Those are
your
gloves, not ours, aren't they? I was worried they weren't going to hold up to the job.”

She scooted closer to him, tugged hard at his gloves until they came off, then clasped his hands together and put her own around them. The wind howled at the closed, frosted windows, the cattle bawled as they called each other to breakfast. But all those sounds faded as Adam found himself caught up in Brooke's warm touch.

She glanced up at him, and he didn't look away. Her dark lashes were damp from melting snow, her cheeks as pink as her lips from the cold. Her hazel eyes changed with her mood, and now they were almost green with an intensity that wrapped itself around him and wouldn't let go. His heart lurched. He didn't know if it was because he had forbidden himself from getting involved with her—or simply because it had been so long since he'd gone to bed with a woman.

And before he knew it, his mouth was on hers. He didn't know who'd leaned forward first—and he didn't care. All his rational thought was swept away by lust. He tasted shared hunger, felt her mouth open to his. He met her tongue with his own, swirled around it, explored her mouth. He heard a groan of need and realized it was his.

Brooke was flooded by desire, hot and heavy in her veins. She wanted to fling herself against Adam and feel his body pressed to hers. She could imagine falling back on the bench, with him over her, all that masculinity overpowering with a delicious thrill.

She wanted to do all this on the front bench of retriever.

What was she doing?

She pushed against his chest, and they broke the kiss. They stared at each other, and his shock seemed as complete as hers.

“What was that?” she demanded in a hoarse whisper, then cleared her throat. “Why did you kiss me?”

“You kissed me,” he whispered back.

He was looking at her mouth with hunger, and that felt so wonderful she almost fell into his arms again.

Wait, wait, she didn't want this to happen.

He seemed to come to his senses at the same time, and they both straightened back against their respective doors. How had rubbing his cold hands turned into such a hot kiss?

“I didn't intend to do that,” he said at last.

“Me neither. And I won't be doing it again.”

“No.”

He spoke so quickly she winced. “Thanks,” she said dryly.

He rubbed a hand down his face. “You know that's not how I meant it. This is a bad idea. We work together.”

“I know. Forget it happened.”

“I will.”

They didn't look at each other the whole way back. Brooke's face felt hot with embarrassment—but the memories wouldn't stop. She could still taste him, still smell the soap of his morning shower. And he'd moaned, as if kissing her had been his wildest fantasy.

She realized that Adam had returned to Valentine, all silent and wounded and nothing like the brash, overconfident kid he'd once been. She'd noticed everything about him, from his uncomplaining hard work to the way he'd dismounted from his horse stiffly. She remembered the slight limp he'd had after helping rescue the horses. She wanted to know why—she wanted to know everything about him.

She'd been told lust could hit you right between the eyes, but hadn't believed it—Monica would say the magic of Valentine Valley finally had her in its grip. Not that she intended to find out what her friend would
really
say. She wasn't going to tell anyone about this madness. Surely she was reacting to the fact that she hadn't dated anyone recently, and Adam was close at hand, all masculine and soldierly.

When they were done feeding cattle and had returned to the ranch, Brooke was relieved when her father sent Adam home early because of the storm. She waved a good-bye without meeting his eyes, then went in to take a hot shower. She was going to curl up under a blanket in front of the fire and read a good book.

And not think about Adam.

But it was hard to relax when everyone else was trapped in the house, too. Even Nate didn't return to his cabin that evening. She wistfully wondered what it would be like to live alone—then grew angry with herself, especially when she was able to help her mom with dinner. They spent the hour laughing over the latest ranching story and planning the holiday crafts they'd make together. Brooke didn't need to be reminded how lucky she was.

W
hen Adam arrived back at the boardinghouse, he saw several cars parked out front, snow piling up on them in accumulating layers, depending on when they'd arrived. He let himself in the back door. Not wanting to disturb whatever committee meeting the widows were holding, he made himself a couple sandwiches and ate them at the kitchen table, munching on celery sticks at the same time. Someone had left a platter of brownies on the table, and he helped himself. If these were from the Sugar and Spice Bakery—and the widows were known to bring home goodies—then he knew why the place already had such a great reputation in just a couple months.

When no one came into the kitchen, curiosity finally got the better of him, and he opened the swinging door into the dining room. Now he could hear the murmur of voices, but he walked softly, peering into the front parlor without speaking. He saw two middle-aged women sitting opposite one another, magazines in their laps. But they weren't reading; they were discussing someone's new baby. Beyond them, he could see that the French door to the library was closed. Through the glass he noticed a man's back.

And then the man stood up, and Adam heard raised voices. The two women stopped talking and glanced uneasily at the library door. Frowning, Adam stepped into the parlor, but before he could go farther, Grandma Palmer opened the door and marched out, her cane thumping on the polished wood floor, showing more vigor than Adam had yet seen.

“Follow me, Sylvester,” she called to the man behind her.

“Now, Renee,” he began in a booming, lecturing tone, then came up short, frowning when he saw Adam.

The man was somewhere in his sixties, with curly gray hair and glasses perched on a sizable nose. Though he was overweight, he dressed well in a suit and trench coat, which seemed out of place in Valentine Valley.

The two middle-aged ladies also looked up at Adam, but with interest and anticipation.

“Is something wrong, Grandma?” Adam asked in a calm voice.

She beamed at him. “Adam, you're home early! How was your day, you dear boy?”

He gestured absently toward the window. “Stormy. But I haven't met your friend.”

He looked pointedly at Sylvester, who lifted his chin defensively, then stuck out his hand. “Sylvester Galimi,” he said, “owner of the True Grits Diner.”

Adam shook his hand. “Adam Desantis.”

“Staff Sergeant Adam Desantis,” Grandma Palmer said with pride.

“Not anymore, Grandma,” he said without breaking eye contact. “Is there something I can help you with, Mr. Galimi?”

“Your grandmother and I have a disagreement.”

Adam's glance took in the other two women. “And you all came to discuss it together?”

“Oh, no, Cathy and Gloria are here to have their cards read. I told you about my little once-a-week business.” She grinned at the two women. “Adam, Cathy Fletcher is the church secretary at St. John's and she used to be best friends with Emily's late mom. Gloria Valik is Monica's aunt and Nate's secretary. Have you two met yet?”

Adam nodded politely at the women, who looked him over without bothering to hide their interest.

“No, we haven't met,” Gloria said. She had a darker complexion than her niece and the same wide, cheerful smile. “I work about nine to three, and this hardworking cowboy is there before me and long after. Guess I'll have to skip bringing my own lunch and eat with you, Adam, so we can get to know each other.”

He nodded again, but his focus was still on Sylvester, who must have checked his watch twice while Gloria was speaking.

“Mr. Galimi, what's your disagreement with my grandmother?” Adam asked. “Did the cards say something you didn't want to hear?”

Smiling, both Cathy and Gloria turned to Sylvester with interest.

The man cleared his throat. “I did not come for this mystical nonsense.”

Gloria gave him a sniff of disdain.

“Now, Sylvester,” Grandma Palmer said, “there's no call to go offendin' me or my friends. Adam, Sylvester here is upset that the preservation-fund committee is supportin' a new, woman-owned business that's thinkin' of openin' a store in town. We've offered them a grant if they renovate a buildin' that's seen some hard times.”

Adam narrowed his eyes. “And why would this upset you, Mr. Galimi, enough that you'd raise your voice to my grandmother?”

Grandma Palmer waved both hands in front of her, then caught her cane before it could fall. “That's just his way. You pay him no mind, Adam.”

“There's just no call for that . . . sort of business,” Sylvester blustered. “I wanted her to know that I'm not the only businessman who will stand against the committee at the next town-council meeting.”

Though he didn't want to get involved, Adam couldn't help asking, “What sort of business?”

“Smut!” Sylvester erupted with indignation. “That's the sort of business your grandma is condoning!”

Grandma Palmer's once-booming laugh was now a weak chuckle. “Oh, Sylvester, have you even bothered to look at Leather and Lace's website? They sell pretty lingerie, and a town called Valentine Valley surely needs honeymoon clothes.”

Leather and Lace?
Adam thought, suddenly finding himself wanting to grin. But those muscles were still stiff with disuse. “That's an interesting name for a store.”

“Interesting?” Sylvester barked. “Guess you haven't looked at the website either.”

“My daughter has visited their store in San Francisco,” Cathy Fletcher chimed in. “She brought me a lovely nightgown.”

“There's more than nightgowns,” Sylvester insisted, fists on his hips. “There are things our children shouldn't see when they walk past a storefront. You do realize what ‘leather' means in the title!”

“I'm sure they won't put anythin' objectionable in the window, Sylvester,” Grandma Palmer said patiently.

“You bet they won't because I'm going to make sure the town council knows that citizens object to this sort of business. They won't get a permit, I can guarantee you that.”

He reached for his hat on the coffee table and put it on with emphasis. Adam thought the old-fashioned brimmed hat would go sailing away the moment the man stepped out the door. Sylvester closed it hard behind him, and when he was gone, the three women chuckled.

“That Sylvester,” Gloria said, shaking her head. “I think it all goes back to Walmart. He's worried what they'll think of a ‘smut' store in Valentine. He's always writing the company, trying to lure them to open a store here. He thinks it'll bring more customers to his diner, but he doesn't seem to care that it'll take customers away from places like Hal's Hardware or the Back in Time Portrait Studio. When I need something at Walmart, I have no problem driving to Glenwood Springs.”

Cathy nodded.

Grandma Palmer's smile faded a bit. “But he does have a voice, and the mayor listens to him.”

“That's because she's his sister.” Cathy turned to Adam and spoke in a confidential tone. “But the mayor is more reasonable than her brother.”

Grandma clapped her hands together. “I'm sorry for the interruption, girls.” She turned to Adam. “You go on and eat lunch, my dear boy. The ladies and I still have some ‘mystical nonsense' to attend to. If you have any more questions about Leather and Lace, you can always ask Brooke.”