True Love at Silver Creek Ranch (9 page)

“I
am
his boss,” Brooke pointed out, “and so are my brothers and my dad—poor Adam has lots of bosses.”

As they reached the door, Monica called, “Oh, wait, Brooke, there's something I forgot to tell you.” Then she noticeably paused.

Brooke tossed the keys back to Adam. “I'll be right there.”

When he'd gone outside, Brooke turned back to her in curiosity. “What didn't you want to say in front of Adam?”

Emily laughed as she cleared the table. “You know her too well.”

“Well,” Monica said, “I wasn't certain you wanted your ‘employee' ”—she air-quoted the word—“here for this discussion. I thought I sensed enough sparks that I wondered if you'd changed your mind about dating right now.”

“No sparks, no flame,” Brooke said firmly. “I work with him, that's all. You're welcome to ask him out yourself.”

“Oh, no, I don't relive the past, trust me.”

“Whatever you'd like,” Brooke said, her hand on the doorknob.

“I still think you should change your mind about dating. My brother knows this great guy—”

“Monica, you are a wonderful friend, but now's not the right time. Dating might be fun, but it could lead to a relationship, and that's just too much for me right now with my mom home from the hospital, the holidays, then calving season. Let's talk again in . . . March. Thanks for the donut, Em.”

Monica lowered her eyebrows with speculation, but she didn't call Brooke back as she left the bakery.

As she walked across the snowy sidewalk, she winced inside. Were her thoughts about Adam that transparent? How embarrassing! She didn't even want to admit to herself—let alone her best friends—that she couldn't stop thinking about the man.

When she climbed up into the cab, she was relieved when Adam didn't ask what Monica had wanted.

But as they drove down Main Street, he said, “My grandma says I'm supposed to ask you about Leather and Lace.”

She gave a little cough. “Pardon me?”

“The store?” Once again, he had the faintest hint of amusement in his eyes. “She said it's a lingerie store trying to open here. And there's some backlash against it.”

She frowned. “Really? I hadn't heard that.”

He told her about Sylvester Galimi's visit to the Widows' Boardinghouse.

“Wow, a threat,” Brooke mused, as she turned onto First and headed toward the bridge. “Not a physical threat. That wouldn't be Sylvester's style.”

He gave that faint smile that she found so captivating, the one that seemed boyish and controlled and secretive all at the same time.

“He knew he couldn't push my grandma too far—or any of the widows.”

“We all know how they respond to threats,” she mused.

“That's what I'm afraid of. I thought I'd let you know in case your grandma displays unusual . . . symptoms.”

“Hmm.” She gripped the steering wheel, trying to consider what that might be.

“The widows probably don't know what the store's really about,” he said.

“Are you kidding? They know
exactly
what it's about. I was there when they went through every screen of the catalogue online. I covered my eyes when both our grandmas exclaimed with delight over a bustier. I could swear I saw Mrs. Ludlow put a teddy in her cart, but I didn't look too closely.”

“Really?” he countered, obviously surprised. “A teddy? Why did you have to give me an image of what nice little old ladies might wear under their clothes?”

Brooke grinned.

“And how bad is it, that Galimi should be so upset?”

“There's a little . . . leather involved,” she said, suddenly feeling hot and uncomfortable. She didn't want to talk about this stuff with a man she had no business kissing, but it seemed . . . exciting. She told herself to cut it out. “Some of the stuff might not be appropriate for window display, but Em has been to their San Francisco store, and she assures me their windows are tasteful and beautiful.”

“So you're for it.”

He was eyeing her too closely, and she was feeling way too cocky. “Of course. Every cowgirl needs pretty underwear to feel like a woman under her muddy clothes.”

In a low voice, he said, “You felt like a woman yesterday.”

She swallowed hard, swamped by memories of the passionate kiss they'd exchanged in another truck cab. “Hey, that's crossing a line.”

He straightened. “You're right. Sorry.”

“Look, we don't have a relationship beyond work. Let's just pretend we're in high school again. You certainly didn't want anything to do with me then, so let's recapture those feelings.”

“What are you talking about? The only thing I remember us clashing over was your insistence that I needed help with my homework. I was pretty offended.”

“Offended? Why? Because I thought you were smart and you could do more and I wanted to help?”

“Whoa, wait a minute. You may have thought you were being helpful, but I smelled pity, and I didn't appreciate it. I'm getting enough of that from our grandmas, who must have schemed to get me this job.”

“Pity?” she echoed, surprised. “I never pitied you, not even in high school. I saw potential, and thought you needed help finding it. You didn't take help from me, so obviously you found it from someone else. Whoever it was, I'm glad. You've made your grandma so proud. She hardly pities you—unless it was because you were sweetly hanging around the boardinghouse to be with her, and she figured you must be going crazy. That's not pity. She was helping you.”

He didn't speak for a moment. “ ‘Sweetly'?” he said, his voice once again laced with faint amusement.

She concentrated on driving across the snowy road winding its way between pastures toward the ranch. “Look, my family isn't pitying you either.”

He ignored her insistence. “Your problem is that you're bossy and think you know everything, including how other people feel. That hasn't changed.”

She pulled into the yard in front of the ranch house, the sun long gone, the last grayness of twilight still hovering about. She threw the pickup into park and turned to face him across the console between the two seats. “But I
am
your boss, and I
do
know everything.”

Or so she kept telling herself because she wanted to fling herself across the console and kiss him. He infuriated her, he aroused her. All these emotions roiled around inside her until she could barely remember her promises to herself.

He put a hand on the console, leaning toward her, a light in his eyes that practically burned her, it was so smoldering.

And then she caught sight of movement on the front porch and realized someone was there. Good God, she'd almost been seen kissing him!

Chapter Eight

A
dam's usual caution was deserting him where Brooke was concerned. Sparring with her was turning him on, overwhelming his normal good sense. It reminded him a bit of the battlefield, where you had to rely on your intuition but take risks. He leaned toward her, knew she wanted him to—then she gaped as she stared past him out the windshield.

“Someone's there,” she hissed.

He saw the panic in her face and knew she worried about being seen doing something inappropriate with him, as if she feared being thought unworthy at her job. It softened something inside of him.

Both of them opened their doors and jumped to the ground. A shot of pain went up his thigh, and he silently cursed himself for forgetting to take it easy.

“Hi, Brooke, Adam!” Mrs. Thalberg called.

He gave a short wave.

“Hey, Mom,” Brooke said too loudly. “Just got back from picking up the supplies.”

“Good, good. I'm feeling well enough that I cooked supper tonight. Adam, care to join us?”

“Thank you, ma'am, sounds good.”

“Is a half hour okay?”

“No problem, Mom,” Brooke said. “We'll just finish up and be inside by then.”

They put a few bags on the porch, then drove around the barn to the single-wide trailer that was used for storage. Adam didn't speak, and neither did Brooke, but he couldn't quite read the tension shimmering between them.

At the trailer, she unlocked the door, and he came up the wooden stairs behind her.

She turned around and gave a start. Then she sighed and said tiredly, “Did you have to agree to stay to supper? We're not doing so well here, you and I.”

As he approached, she backed through the doorway. It was slightly warmer inside, but not much, so he shut the door behind him. He heard her fumbling for the light switch beside the door and caught her hand before she succeeded. Neither of them were wearing gloves, and the shock of skin-on-skin contact was electrifying. Just from touching her hand? he asked himself in disbelief.

“Your mom wants to cook for me from her wheelchair. I should say no?”

“I get it, I know, I'm just . . . upset. Let me turn on the light.”

“There's a window right here,” he said, his voice growing husky. “She almost saw us kissing in the pickup. Do you want her to see this?”

He turned her around and pushed her up against the door, wishing there were far less bulky clothes between them.

“Adam—” She whispered his name, then broke off.

The last light of day came through the window only faintly, but he could see her wide eyes staring up at him, imagined their hazel swirl of color that kept him so off balance. He didn't give her a chance to stop him, just leaned in and covered her mouth with his. Everything inside him knew it was wrong, knew he would be embarrassed if Mr. Thalberg discovered what he was doing.

And it didn't matter, none of it.

All he wanted was to taste her, to lick her lips, to meet her tongue with his own. She tasted of the sweetest sugar with a touch of chocolate.

She moaned and clutched him hard against her. He buried his face against her hair, tempted to pull it down around him, but stopped himself. He nuzzled the sweet-smelling spot behind her neck, licked his way in a path down her neck. She tilted back her head, letting him do what he wanted. There was that citrus scent of summer nights at the equator. He inhaled deeply, letting the smell fill him.

He moved his hands up between their bodies until he reached the zipper of her coat. The sound of it slowly coming down was loud except for their frantic breathing. The coat parted, and he was able to slide his hands around her warm waist, feel the supple movement of her back as she arched with a gasp. He kissed every part of her face as he grabbed handfuls of her shirt in back, lifting up until he could slide his hands beneath to the hot, smooth skin.

They shared a groan and another kiss, and then she was fumbling at the snaps of his jacket, and he was so impatient he could have ripped the thing off himself. But he felt her hands up under his flannel shirt and t-shirt, caressing, skimming. Her fingers were slightly cold, sending a chill of excitement through him.

Against his mouth, she whispered, “We shouldn't be doing this.”

“No.” But he kept kissing her, over and over. He let one hand slide over the curve of her hip, palming her backside to hold her to him. He slid his other hand slowly up her front, tracing the line of buttons, taking his time in anticipation. He let the back of his knuckles brush over her breast and was rewarded with her groan.

“Adam.”

His name on her lips was a breath of sound, of need, and he cupped her breast, pressed his hips against hers as he explored the thin bra that revealed the hard point of her nipple. He imagined the pretty underwear she'd mentioned, and he started to unbutton her shirt so he could see.

“Whoa,” she said, suddenly putting her hands flat against his chest. “My mom is waiting for us.”

He kissed her cheek, her brow, and murmured, “Is that the only reason you're stopping us?”

Her hesitation was the only answer he needed, and he kissed her again, deeply, before stepping back.

“Adam . . .” she began, even as she tried to zip up her coat.

Her fingers were trembling so much that he brushed them aside and zipped her up himself. Then he cupped her face in his hands and gently kissed her again.

“Oh, Adam,” she breathed, sounding forlorn.

“I know. This is wrong, but I couldn't stop myself.”

She flipped on the light and opened the door again. “You said it right the first time. This is wrong. It's only happening because we each haven't had anybody in a long time.”

“I haven't said that. I have a different woman every week.” He teased her and didn't know where that came from.

She stared into his eyes without any humor at all. “I don't think so. In fact, I don't think you've kissed a woman in a long time. And I'm convenient.”

“You're not convenient,” he said, following her down the steps to the back of the pickup. “Hell, this lust I feel goes against everything I think is right.”

“I'm hardly flattered,” she said, hefting a sack of mineral pellets over her shoulder and going back up the stairs.

He grabbed two of them and followed her. “Don't be like that. I can't do this because I work for your family, and I want them to trust me.”

“Our reasons aren't too different.” She dropped the sack onto the floor and watched as he piled both of his on top. “You work for me. This has to stop. And it doesn't mean anything, Adam, you know that.”

They finished unloading the truck in silence, then went up to the house. Brooke shivered as the light snow touched her hat, then the back of her neck, but she wasn't cold. Oh, no, she was hot and achy and aroused and frustrated. What had gotten into Adam, kissing her like that? Pushing her up against the door, his big body holding her there, his mouth hot on her neck, his hand on her—

She pressed her lips tight together, or she would have embarrassed herself with a groan.

Once they'd pulled off their coats and boots in the mudroom, Adam excused himself to wash up, and Brooke went into the kitchen.

It looked so normal, the big windows full of light, Sandy behind the counter enjoying the food prep. Brooke had heard often enough from her mom that feeding your family was an act of love. Brooke couldn't be surprised that it was one of the first chores her mom wanted to reclaim, but still, it gave her a lump in the throat just seeing the radiance of her smile.

“Before you say anything, I didn't go crazy,” Sandy assured her. “It's a simple meat loaf, nothing fancy. You can help me make a salad.”

Her dad and Josh came in just as Adam returned, and the three men grabbed beers and started to discuss football. Brooke was a fan of the Broncos, so she chimed in occasionally as she chopped and started to relax.

Adam volunteered to help prepare the salad, and Sandy shooed him away. “We're almost done,” she insisted.

Brooke was relieved. She was afraid she'd start blushing too much if she stood next to Adam. As it was, Josh gave her a curious glance at one point, and she gave him a curious glance back. When they all sat down to dinner in the kitchen, she hesitated, trying to decide if it was better to sit next to Adam or across from him.

Damn it all, he was affecting too much of her life, and she didn't like it. She took the nearest seat, and it happened to be next to Adam. Maybe that would be better than looking into his face, remembering how frantically she'd kissed him.

As they were eating, Sandy looked to Brooke. “Nate tells me they haven't set a wedding date because of Stephanie. How's Emily doing with it?”

“Okay,” Brooke said. She noticed Adam glance at her curiously and thought it only polite to say, “A couple months ago, Emily discovered that Joe Sweet is her biological dad.”

His eyebrows rose. “I remember the Sweet brothers. We went to school with them.”

They'd been on the football team with him, she remembered. The Sweet brothers had worshipped at the altar of football and weren't too pleased that a “criminal”—their word—might harm their chance on the road to a state championship. But Adam's hard work had won them over.

“Joe had a teenage fling with Em's mom,” Brooke continued, “but she left town without telling him she was pregnant. Joe was happy to meet Em, and so were the boys. But Steph . . .” Her voice trailed off.

Josh gave a sigh. “She's sixteen, but it doesn't sound like she's acting her age. Or maybe she
is
acting her age.”

“Em thought things were okay.” Brooke poured ketchup on her meat loaf. “But even though Steph is in the wedding, talking about it seems . . . stressful for her, so Em doesn't want to have that ruining their day. So she's waiting. I thought I'd talk to Steph.”

Her dad frowned from his place at the head of the table. “You think that's a good idea? Might make it worse to interfere with the natural way of things.”

“She's taking a barrel-racing lesson with me soon. And heck, we're both bridesmaids. I could bring up the wedding and see what happens.”

“That sounds reasonable,” Sandy said. “You'll handle her as delicately as you need to.”

Brooke smiled at her mom, feeling a rush of happiness at the support. “Thanks.”

They ate in silence for another couple minutes, except for an offer of another beer from Doug, and Josh wanting the ketchup.

Sandy turned to Adam. “So, have you reconsidered living in the bunkhouse?”

Brooke almost choked on her meat loaf, and took a big gulp of milk before embarrassing herself. They'd offered Adam the bunkhouse?

And she was about to protest when some sort of sanity resurfaced, and she realized how she would sound. After all, if she didn't have any feelings for Adam, why should she care where he lived? They'd offered her the bunkhouse months ago, when Josh had first broached the idea of taking over part of the barn loft for himself, but she'd turned them down.

She glanced to the side and saw Adam's profile. He didn't look at her, but his hesitation spoke volumes. What excuse would he give for why he couldn't accept—

“Thank you, ma'am,” he said. “I think this time I'll take you up on the offer.”

Brooke forced a smile and continued eating, even as her dad clapped his hands together and grinned.

“I knew winter travel would prove to you how much easier it would be to live here,” Doug said. “I told Sandy, ‘Just give the boy time.' ”

“Your grandmother won't mind, Adam?” Brooke asked, projecting deep concern. She had to try
something
to change his mind.

Adam glanced at her and shook his head. “I think I'm crowding her, and she's feeling like she has to entertain me. If she volunteers to read my cards one more time . . .” He gave an exaggerated shudder, making everyone laugh.

“Now, Adam,” Sandy said, “she's pretty talented. She saw a lot of interesting things when she read my cards—not that I'm sharing. People swear by her!”

But Brooke could only think about Adam in the bunkhouse. It was a done deal, she saw with resignation. She was already working with him all day long, side by side. What did it matter where he slept?

But he would be
here,
where she could literally see him out the window—oh God, she really could see the bunkhouse right from her window.

“It's good that you have a place to live,” she said. “The town has been thinking about that for returning veterans.”

She could tell he stiffened at her words even though it was subtle.

“Oh, I forgot about that!” her mother said brightly. “There's a new committee that's been renovating houses for veterans. In fact, I think your grandmother—both your grandmothers,” she said, looking from Brooke to Adam, smiling, “have been involved in securing grants. Adam, I'm surprised Renee didn't mention it to you.”

Brooke wasn't surprised at all. Surely his own grandma knew how little he wanted to talk about his life in the Marines.

“No, ma'am,” Adam said, his voice neutral. “But it's good to help people who need it.”

But he didn't need anyone's help, she guessed.

Later, Adam insisted on clearing the table before he left, enduring teasing from Josh. When Adam was gone, and Brooke felt like she could breathe again, she joined her mother in the dining room to work on the decorations for the Thanksgiving table, little candy and cookie turkeys made with a flat chocolate cookie, a chocolate kiss, and mini M&Ms for the feathers. It was amazing how they actually stood up like little birds. Surely she wouldn't enjoy this as much as she did if she really was restless, looking for something else in life. With the snow falling outside, and gossip she and her mom exchanged, she felt a peaceful sense of the approaching holiday.