True Love at Silver Creek Ranch (8 page)

“Brooke?” He gazed at her in surprise, noticing that the other two ladies' eyes sharpened with interest. He had a sudden flash of memory, Brooke's arms entwined about him, their hungry mouths joined.

“She knows all about the store,” Grandma was saying. “The owner first tried to buy Emily's buildin', but she decided to keep it and open the bakery. Speakin' of which, I brought some brownies home after I worked this mornin'.”

“You went out in this?” he asked. He couldn't help remembering the sixties convertible she used to drive, not caring what it did to her hair. He didn't often see her drive through the trailer park because his mother would have a fit, but Grandma always made sure to look for him when he wandered the town. She let him jump right over the door to get in, which made him feel like a TV star. She'd buy him a snack and listen to him rattle on. He'd once been able to tell her anything—but not anymore. He couldn't hurt her like that.

“I've lived here my whole life, Adam,” she said, smiling. “Rosemary drove the old station wagon, and we were very careful. But thanks for carin'. Now, are you sure you don't want to stay and have your cards read?” she asked hopefully.

“No, thanks, Grandma,” he said a bit too quickly.

They all chuckled as he left. He didn't bother to tell her he'd already eaten. She might assign him a new chore, and he wasn't feeling in the mood. But as he returned to his room off the kitchen after helping himself to another brownie, he thought again about Sylvester Galimi's threats and hoped the man's behavior didn't encourage the widows to do something crazy.

T
he next day, Saturday, dawned with a perfect sky as blue as a robin's egg, but there were no days off when hungry cattle had to be fed. Adam wasn't surprised when he spent the morning balancing on hay bales on the back of the retriever alongside Josh rather than Brooke. She obviously hadn't been anxious to see him after their kiss, and he felt a little relieved.

And disappointed, too.

Lunch was uneventful, and Brooke puttered around the kitchen helping her mom with spaghetti and meatballs rather than sit at the big table anywhere near Adam. At one point, Nate gave her a confused frown, but Adam dug into his meal and ignored whatever her reaction had been.

Once again, he rode fence for the afternoon, glad to feel the peacefulness of a solitary ride with an amiable horse, Dusty, beneath him. On each side of the valley, mountains towered above him, looking as old as God and just as peaceful. He needed the view after a tired morning spent trying to get over his lack of sleep. For the first time since he'd come back to Valentine, the old nightmares of the war had invaded his dreams. At one point, he thought he came awake with a shout and could only hope he hadn't disturbed Grandma Palmer, who needed her rest. But no one had come to see what was the matter, and he was able to sink back into a sleep, where the enemy continued to hunt him.

In broad daylight, the dreams seemed distant and unreal, almost like the fleeting glimpse he had of Lou Webster driving the old-fashioned sleigh. It was something from another time and place.

He inhaled the cold, crisp air, smiled as Dusty tried to pick his way delicately through snowdrifts. Even one of the barn dogs had followed them, trailing along behind and exploring. Adam wasn't sure why the brindle-colored mutt, Ranger, seemed so interested in him, but he was.

And then suddenly a loud bang echoed between the mountains, and the sound made him flinch like he was still in the Afghani mountains. It took all his willpower not to fling himself from the saddle for cover. He shielded his eyes against the sun, and in the distance, he saw someone riding an ATV across the pasture rather than the road. The rider seemed to head right toward several dozen head of cattle that were minding their own business, snuffling through the snow. Adam stiffened, knowing none of the Thalbergs would have done such a stupid thing. He urged his horse faster along the fence, looking for a gate inside.

The motor cut out suddenly with another bang, and Adam realized that the rider had run into a fence post, tilting the ATV to an awkward angle. He could hear the guy attempting to restart the engine, even as Adam found a gate, pulling it open and closed without needing to dismount. He urged his horse into a gallop across the pasture, and at last the guy looked up.

It was only a teenage boy, and his frightened expression made Adam remember every greenie out of boot camp getting shot at for the first time. The kid gaped at Adam before flinging himself off the ATV and starting to run. By this time, the cattle were lowing loudly, stamping their hooves, starting to move toward the kid, who wasn't going to escape in time. Ranger went running toward the cattle, barking, and Adam followed to distract the dangerous animals. By the time they got the herd turned in another direction, the kid had hopped the fence and was long gone, leaving his ATV behind.

But it wasn't his ATV. When Adam inspected it as he pulled it away from the fence post, he recognized it as one he'd seen in the Thalberg truck shed. The kid had either meant to steal it, or had been using it for a joyride. And from the direction the kid had been driving, he suspected the latter. After all, in such a small town, how could a kid hide an ATV?

Adam slammed his body into the fence post to straighten it as much as possible before it could be replaced. He remembered his brief look into the kid's scared face. And suddenly he was that age again, doing stupid things because no one noticed him unless he did. His parents didn't care what he did, and if Grandma Palmer tried to get involved, she was shut out of his life for months. The worst he'd felt as a kid had been after he'd got caught joyriding, knowing he'd disappointed her. He might have gone into juvie except for Coach McKee's standing up for him. He'd been given a second chance.

Adam couldn't turn the kid in. Hopefully, almost getting caught taught him a lesson. He got the ATV started, and Dusty, used to the loud engine, amiably allowed himself to be led off to the side, while Adam drove slowly. He returned the ATV, with the busy Thalbergs not even noticing.

Chapter Seven

B
rooke glanced at the list Nate had given her for supplies at the feed store. It was late afternoon, and the sun was already hovering just above the mountains, about to disappear for the day. She hadn't seen Adam yet, and running errands was giving her an excuse to get away before she did.

They were forgetting about the kiss—they'd agreed. It had been a momentary foolishness between two people who weren't dating anybody and just felt . . . an urge. Hell, he must have gotten his kicks with women once he got out of the Marines, and now being on his own back in Valentine was surely some kind of . . . celibacy he wasn't used to.

Josh was entering the office just as she was leaving. “I saw Adam by the truck shed,” he said. “Take him with you. He could use some more cold-weather clothes. Did you see those gloves he has?”

“He didn't get new ones yet?” She frowned. “I told him yesterday . . .” She trailed off, shaking her head.

Nate glanced at her. “You sound like his mother.”

She put her cowboy hat on her head and struck a pose. “I don't look like his mother.”

Nate chuckled.

And then she realized what she'd agreed to. More time with Adam when they weren't working. When she could look at him and think sexy thoughts she had no business thinking.

She found him in the barn, rather than the truck shed, where he was unsaddling Dusty. Ranger, his new shadow, sat nearby, watching him with quiet adoration.

“So I hear you didn't get new gloves,” she said.

Adam glanced up at her, giving Dusty a pat. The horse galloped back out to the corral to join his friends. Brooke regretted looking Adam in the eyes as she couldn't seem to break away. They studied each other for too long, until her skin was so hot it didn't feel like her own.

“It's a nice day today, so my old gloves are fine,” he said. “I didn't get around to shopping during the blizzard.”

“Then come on into town. I'm heading for the feed store. You need more gear, and you can help me carry stuff.”

He nodded. “Let me wash up.”

“Meet me at my dad's going-to-town pickup.”

One side of his mouth curled up. “ ‘Going-to-town pickup'?”

“It's just what it sounds like. The shiny new pickup doesn't get used for hauling manure like the others. He treats it with care. One of these days, I'm sure it'll be your job to wash it down.”

“I see. Amazing the jobs there are on a ranch.”

“You have no idea,” she said, giving him a cheerful smile. “If my mom's flowers need weeding, that could be your job, too.”

“Good thing it's winter.” He found his Stetson and set it on his head. “I'll be back.”

She couldn't help but watch him as he walked across the yard toward the office. His shoulders were broad beneath the heavy Carhartt jacket, but he'd removed his coveralls, so she could see his slim hips. He moved like a man confident in his body, a man who'd been well trained. She gave a little shiver.

She had the pickup warmed up in the yard by the time Adam returned. He got into the passenger seat uncomplaining, when she knew some men might not want a woman driving them around. He was pretty confident about himself, so that hadn't changed. She started down the winding dirt road, now covered in packed snow and gleaming with the occasional sheen of ice.

They were silent for the first couple minutes, but Brooke couldn't let tension build. They'd be together for days or weeks—who knew how long he was staying?

They passed the road leading down to the boardinghouse and her brother's cabin beyond. “So how's your grandma?” she asked, still curious about what the widow was up to.

“Except for being frailer than she used to be, she doesn't seem too sick, which I'm grateful for. She needs to eat more.”

“I noticed that the other night. Her appetite used to be legendary.” She wasn't about to tell Adam she had some suspicions. It was up to Mrs. Palmer.

He didn't make any effort to continue the conversation. She wasn't used to quiet men in her family, and certainly hadn't dated any. She drove across the bridge over Silver Creek, where the road became First Street. Past Main, she turned down Grace Street.

“I always like how the streets going this way were named after women,” she said, then could have groaned at the inane conversation. In for a penny . . . “Mabel, Bessie, Nellie. It reminds me of the town's past.”

“Uh-huh,” he said, eyeing her.

There was a sparkle of amusement in his eyes that she didn't appreciate.

“Brooke—”

“We're here,” she said, glad how close everything was in town. She practically jumped out of the pickup once she'd parked in the lot.

Adam glanced across the street at a large Queen Anne home, complete with a turret, that had been turned into a business. “The Mystic Connection. I've heard about it. So that's where Grandma got the crystals hanging in her windows.”

“The tourists love it. Your grandma's a regular customer.”

Adam gestured with his chin at the feed store. “Bet the ranchers love it, too.”

Her lips twitched, but she wasn't going to smile. “Oh, you bet.”

Inside, more than one old guy did a double take on seeing her with Adam, and soon two ranchers, Deke Hutcheson and Francis Osborne, friends of her dad and Nate, were giving Adam the third degree. She stayed out of it, her turn to be amused at his discomfort. He was at last free to find some new coveralls and gloves, and a pair of winter boots that fit him better.

She could tell Adam was glad to leave when they made their escape. It was as if he didn't like crowds anymore. He'd always been with a group when they were young, whether with the bad kids before he'd been caught joyriding, or the football team, once he'd found true purpose in competition. He'd seemed to avoid his own solitary thoughts, and now that's all he wanted. It was almost . . . sad. Surely there was a middle ground for him.

They both carried bags out to the truck, then she opened the back end and they helped the stock boy load the bed with stuffed sacks. She and Adam got back in the cab and looked at each other. They'd go back home and keep working side by side. And suddenly, she needed a break.

“I need a donut,” she said.

Main Street had yet to be crowded with the cars of people going to dinner, so she was able to find a parking spot near the Sugar and Spice.

“I know you don't want to see anybody,” she added, “so you can wait in the truck if you want. I won't be long, and I'll even bring you something.”

She left the engine on for warmth and jumped out, relieved when he didn't argue or follow her, just crossed his arms over his chest and looked out at the Hotel Colorado. He'd turned into such a quiet loner, not her type at all, she told herself. She wanted a man with plenty to say, so she didn't feel like the one monopolizing every conversation. Not that she wanted that kind of man right now, of course.

She opened the glass door, a little bell tinkled, and she was hit by a wall of warmth and the smell of cinnamon that made her drool. A glass display case ran the length of the room on the left, where a restaurant bar had once stood. To the right, little clusters of tables and chairs populated the coffee corner. Though there were already Christmas lights circling the front plate-glass windows where cakes were displayed, inside, the bakery was decorated for Thanksgiving, with overflowing cornucopias along the top of the display case and bound corn stalks and pumpkins in the corners. In the center of each table, little Pilgrims and Indians stood side by side.

Nate and Emily had fallen in love doing the renovations of this place, Brooke thought wistfully.

The bell brought Emily bustling in from the kitchen. She gave a wide grin and a wave, and Brooke chuckled at the flour-dusted apron she wore, with the logo,
ASK US WHY WE'RE SUGAR AND SPICE
. The first time she saw her grandma wearing it, she'd almost busted a gut laughing.

“Brooke!” Emily called in delight, drying her hands on a towel. She tossed it onto the back of a chair. “You need something in particular?”

She smiled, trying to settle her own tension. “I need a hit of sugar. A glazed donut should do the trick.”

Emily laughed and went behind the counter to fetch one, and when she returned, she set a mug of hot chocolate down in front of Brooke, too. “There you go. Chocolate and donuts—we all need it sometimes.”

Brooke sipped the drink slowly, then took a bite of the donut and closed her eyes. “Heaven.”

The bell over the door jingled, and Monica entered, shaking the snow off her coat and tossing it over a chair.

“I saw your dad's pickup,” Monica said. “Mrs. Wilcox has everything under control next door, so here I am.” She bumped shoulders good-naturedly with Brooke as she sat down. “Ooh, a donut looks good.”

Emily happily obliged.

“I noticed your truck running,” Monica said. “You in a hurry?”

Brooke shook her head. “Keeping it warm for Adam.”

Emily came back at that moment, and her gaze shot toward the door. “He's out there?”

“Yep,” Brooke said, then took another bite of the donut. “He's come back far more unsociable than he used to be.”

“Brooke!” Emily scolded, and marched to the door, flinging it open and gesturing for Adam to come in.

“What did I do?” Brooke asked Monica, feigning astonishment.

Adam ambled inside, the keys jingling in his hand as he took off his cowboy hat. He inhaled the delicious scents just as Brooke had done, then stood there, all decked out in cowboy-masculine in the middle of the feminine bakery.

“I was going to bring you a donut,” Brooke reminded him.

“I know.” He gave Emily a small smile. “But I really enjoy your brownies.”

She laughed aloud, held up a finger, and disappeared behind the counter.

“Adam Desantis,” Monica breathed quietly, then shook her head as if in disbelief as she eyed him up and down.

To Brooke's surprise, she felt a little uneasy as Monica ogled the all-grown-up man.

Adam glanced at their table, and then his smile grew wider. “Monica Shaw.”

“You look fine, Adam,” she said, standing up.

“You do, too.”

Brooke couldn't read his expression though he did look a bit surprised when Monica kissed him on the cheek. He sat down at their table, and when Emily returned with his brownie and more hot chocolate, Monica tsked.

“I can't believe you were going to sit out in that truck and not say hi.”

Brooke eyed him, curious at his response. She hadn't asked him to come in, of course, and she felt a bit guilty.

He swallowed a piece of brownie even as he shrugged. “It's strange to live here again after all this time. I visited my grandma a couple times, and flew her to visit me, but being here every day . . . not sure what to expect anymore.”

“You have friends, you know,” Monica said.

He arched a brow. “Really? I don't need to look in on some of those guys I used to know.”

“You changed for the better, why not them?”

“True.”

“So you're a better man?” Brooke found herself joining in the teasing. “Still sounds pretty arrogant. Remember when you thought you could win the senior class presidency without a campaign?”

He glanced at her, his chocolate brown eyes warm with amusement. “I overestimated my appeal. Though I've always hoped I've changed for the better, I had a far longer way to go. Not saying I'm all that great even now.”

“Humble,” Monica mused slyly. “That's different.”

He took another bite of his brownie. “I saw you come from next door, then I looked at the name. Congratulations on having your own business.”

Monica grinned. “Thanks. It was a dream come true. How about you? What are you up to, now that you're a free man?”

He explained about being a longshoreman in Louisiana.

“Why didn't you stay in the Marines?” Monica continued. “Your grandma bragged all over town about your quick promotions.”

He took a sip of hot chocolate so slowly that Brooke knew he was formulating a response. He hadn't really answered when she'd asked this same question a few days ago. And then it occurred to her that maybe he wasn't gallivanting about town because he didn't
want
to answer this. She couldn't imagine how a soldier began to talk about the horrible things he'd seen in war. And why should he tell them? They all might as well be strangers, for how little they'd kept up over ten years.

Softhearted Emily looked at him with so much compassion that Brooke almost nudged her under the table. A guy like Adam didn't want that from a woman—surely it felt too much like pity.

“It's hard to explain,” he said slowly, his voice deep and impassive. “I just didn't feel a part of the Corps anymore.”

Brooke looked at the last bit of her donut and found she couldn't eat it. She didn't want to think about the things he'd had to do, what he'd seen. And though he tried to keep every emotion from his voice, she thought he seemed . . . sad. Didn't Marines always consider themselves brothers for life?

Before anyone could make it worse, Brooke gave a determined smile. “So when did you become the silent type, keeping everything inside?”

The edge of his lip curled up in that little way that she found so attractive.

“I finally learned not to talk when I had nothing to say.”

“About time,” she answered.

He met her gaze in almost a challenging way as if they were taunting each other. She swallowed and lifted her chin a bit, accepting the challenge.

He got to his feet. “Time to go, boss.” He tossed some bills on the table, and kept them there even when Emily protested.

As Brooke rose, Monica smirked. “Boss. Now that's funny about our dear Brooke.”