True Love at Silver Creek Ranch

Chapter Two

Brooke stood beside the ruins of the old barn, arms crossed, her chin tucked down inside the wool lining of her coat. The firemen were gone, and she was alone, staring at the remains, which hissed and steamed, even as ice flowed down cooling wood beams like frozen waterfalls. A few blackened timbers rose out of the debris, fingers pointing up at the blue sky. Incongruous against one another, really, she thought, feeling almost distant with disbelief.

And then the parade of pickups came barreling down the road on the other side of the pasture. Black Angus cattle raised their heads to look, then dropped them again, searching for grass tufts free of snow. Their grunts and lowing were the sound track of Brooke’s life, always playing in the background. She could see Josh and her dad in one truck, Nate and his fiancée, Emily Murphy, in the other. Brooke smiled, relieved that Emily had come along, too. Something about her just . . . settled Nate. Nate had always been a genial workaholic, driven about the ranch, especially the business end of it, a man who helped everyone even when they thought they didn’t need it. That tendency had kept him away from long-term commitments until he met Emily. “Helping” her had become loving her, and though both Nate and Emily had resisted, they’d each decided that love was worth taking a risk.

Brooke envied them. Valentine Valley had worked its magic, bringing the two of them together although they’d fought it worse than a calf at branding time. Despite living in Valentine her whole life, there’d been no romantic magic for Brooke, not yet anyway.

Nate and Emily jumped out of their pickup first, followed by Scout, Nate’s herding dog with black-and-white patches across his coat. When they saw the barn, they reached for each other’s hand, their faces full of dismay. Scout gave a little whine and gingerly went forward to investigate the scent.

Nate was tall, with their mom’s black hair and his biological dad’s green eyes. Doug Thalberg had adopted him when he was only five years old after falling in love with his divorced mom, Sandy. Emily was much shorter than Nate, strawberry blond hair back in the ponytail she favored when she worked at Sugar and Spice, the bakery she owned.

Emily didn’t spend much time staring at the ruins—she ran to Brooke and hugged her, then pulled back and gripped Brooke’s upper arms. “Are you okay?” she asked, her gaze roaming her face as if searching for signs of injury. “Your clothes are covered in soot.”

Brooke looked down at herself. “I’m okay.” She wasn’t sure if the sudden realization that she could have died was making her weepy, but she gazed on Emily like the sister she’d never had, so grateful to have her in her life, to have her care.

Then her dad gave her a bear hug that almost crushed her rib cage.

“Oh, Brooke,” he whispered, the sound rough.

For the first time, she felt a sting of tears. But she was okay, she reminded herself, and so were the horses . . . because Adam had helped her. “I’m fine, Dad. I’m so sorry about the barn.”

He broke the hug and cleared his throat, not bothering to hide the dampness in his eyes as he scanned her face. “The barn? What do I care about the barn as long as you’re all right?”

Beneath his Stetson, Doug Thalberg’s hair was the same plain brown as hers and Josh’s, but his was graying, along with the full mustache above his lip. His eyes, usually twinkling as if he knew life’s hidden amusements, now studied her soberly. “I called Hal after talkin’ to you. He says you ran into the barn yourself and saved the horses. That was too dangerous, Cookie.”

Brooke felt a flush of warmth at her dad’s use of his childhood nickname for her. “Any of you’d a done the same thing,” she countered.

“Always said you were brave,” Josh said, his grin lopsided.

As usual, he was unshaven and sleepy-eyed, as if he’d just rolled out of bed. For some reason that escaped Brooke, women seemed to like that look.

She shrugged, suddenly feeling a bit too warm at the praise, although the winter wind continued to tug at her braid, and a few strands of hair danced in front of her eyes. To her surprise, Josh threw his arms around her for a quick squeeze, then passed her off to Nate, who almost lifted her off the ground.

“Okay, okay, I’m fine,” she said, hearing the quiver in her voice and hoping no one else noticed.

Keeping an arm around her, Nate looked back at the ruins, as if by staring he could make things better. “We hear you had help. A stranger driving by?”

“Not a stranger. Adam Desantis.”

Nate’s eyes widened. Brooke expected Nate to start in on Adam’s past and felt strangely defensive on Adam’s behalf. Nate had never approved of Adam’s antics or arrogance. But to her surprise, Nate tugged on her braid, gave a relieved grin, then let her go.

“I’ll have to thank him personally for keeping my little sister safe.”

She blinked at him, even as she rolled her eyes. “Maybe I kept him safe.” But she couldn’t help glancing at Emily with amazed respect, knowing the other woman was responsible for the gentling of Brooke’s big brother.

“I didn’t know Adam was in town,” Doug said. “But his arrival was certainly lucky for us.”

“He saw the smoke from the boardinghouse when he was visiting his grandma.” She still felt a little surprised at the memory of getting off the phone with her dad, only to find that Adam had gone. She had seen his old battered pickup truck driving off toward the boardinghouse and felt both regret and interest.

“Whose grandson is he?” Emily asked with interest.

“Mrs. Palmer,” Brooke said.

“Ah.” Emily nodded. “Does Adam resemble her?”

Josh chuckled before Brooke could say a word, and even she had to smile at the thought of a male version of Mrs. Palmer. She had a thick Western drawl, a big, blond wig, a penchant for clothing with outrageous prints and colors, and a nose for everyone else’s business. The latter she had in common with her widowed friends.

Then they all sobered as they turned back to the smoldering ruin.

Brooke sighed. “Hal said he doesn’t think the fire was deliberately set.”

“According to his preliminary report,” her father corrected. “There’s been some vandalism in town recently.”

“Graffiti on the town gazebo hardly equates to starting fires,” Brooke said, knowing she sounded like she was defending whichever teenagers were involved.

“And let’s not forget that we did have a case of arson last year,” Nate pointed out.

Brooke met Emily’s curious eyes. “He’s right. Cody Brissette was eighteen when he started a fire at the park along Silver Creek, and ended up burning down a pavilion. He claimed it was an accident, that they’d only been trying to get warm, but it didn’t matter. A kayaker was injured when he tried to retrieve his equipment from the blaze. The kid’s still in jail.”

Emily winced.

“He’s a man, not a kid,” Josh said mildly. “He had to accept the consequences.”

“So he couldn’t have started this fire,” Brooke said. “This is an old barn. Maybe the wiring went bad.”

“If only we’d been here,” Nate said with a sigh, turning back to the pile of blackened, steaming timber.

“And what would you have done?” Brooke asked patiently. “I was riding fence, and by the time I saw it, it was too late.”

“I know,” Nate said.

He always thought he was Superman, so she didn’t take it personally. She’d ridden beside her brothers from the time she was ten years old, doing everything that needed to be done on a ranch, from guiding cattle to pasture to changing tires. She’d long since proven herself a man’s equal.

Doug draped an arm around her shoulders and squeezed. “I’m just glad you’re okay,” he whispered gruffly.

She leaned her head against his shoulder, and they all went back to silently studying the wreckage.

“What did you tell Mom?” Brooke asked her dad, suddenly worried about how this trauma could affect her mom’s recovery.

“About the fire?” He hesitated. “I tried to minimize your involvement, but I’m afraid she figured me out. I think she’s okay, but—”

“I’ll go visit her, put her at ease.”

“A good idea,” Doug said with relief.

Nate glanced at Josh. “I never did like to use this barn much once we built the new one—too far away from the main house.”

Josh rubbed his chin. “Mighty cold walk in the winter.”

Brooke rolled her eyes, knowing there’d be a lot of discussions later. She glanced at Emily. “You want to come to the hospital?”

Emily grinned. “Can we stop at the Widows’ Boardinghouse? Your grandma will be worried, too.”

When Emily had first come to town last spring, she’d had no place to go, and Nate had taken her there, where the widows had made a fuss over her and insisted she stay until her building was habitable. The building had been vandalized by the last tenants, and Emily—with Nate’s help—had made the repairs herself. Instead of selling and going back to San Francisco, she’d stayed to open her own bakery, a dream she hadn’t known she had.

Brooke thought Emily’s idea to visit the widows a good one, and she tried to tell herself it wasn’t because Adam Desantis was staying there.

The two women went back to the main house, so Brooke could shower, then drove Brooke’s Jeep to the boardinghouse on the edge of the property overlooking Silver Creek. The house was a white, three-story Victorian, with pretty gingerbread trim and wraparound porches where you could always find a perfect view of the mountains. A sign out front said WIDOWS’ BOARDINGHOUSE as if they took in guests. Not paying guests, but they certainly sheltered the occasional lost person who needed a home. As if Emily was thinking the same thing, the two women shared a grin.

“I still miss it here,” Emily said, as they drove around behind and parked near the back porch.

“Really?” Brooke asked in disbelief. “You have your own apartment, no one to report your every movement to.”

Emily smiled. “I felt cared for.”

Together, they crossed the porch and entered the kitchen. Brooke never failed to smile when she saw all the cow decorations, from the horns on the wall where she now hung her coat, to the cow and bull salt and pepper shakers, to the pastoral scenes of grazing cows during all four seasons that lined the walls.

The three widows were gathered in the breakfast nook, papers spread across the table, but they all looked up with various exclamations of surprise and relief when they saw their visitors. Adam wasn’t among them, and Brooke felt a little disappointed, although she told herself it was natural to be curious about him.

The widows tried to unobtrusively gather together their papers, as if they had something to hide. Brooke exchanged a glance with Emily, who pressed her lips together to conceal a knowing smile. Brooke wondered what new project the widows were working on for the Valentine Valley Preservation Fund. They were the most active ladies on the committee, from handling the grant applications to dealing with possible investors. But they always kept their projects private until they were ready to reveal them. And then sometimes all hell broke loose.

Grandma Thalberg rushed forward first, her hair unnaturally red and curly above a face skillfully highlighted with makeup. She wore crisp jeans and a turtleneck, with a corduroy vest for added warmth. Her eyes filled with tears. “Brooke!” she cried, throwing her arms around her granddaughter. “Oh, you brave, brave girl!”

Hugging her back, Brooke found herself sniffing at the powerful emotions that surged between them. Her grandma spent more time at the ranch than not, the home she’d once ruled over with Grandpa Thalberg. Brooke remembered countless hours on her knees weeding the garden at her side, hearing the stories of the ranch from the silver-boom days, tales that had been passed down through the generations.

Brooke looked over her shoulder at the other two ladies. Mrs. Ludlow resembled someone’s perfect vision of a grandma, with her cloud of white hair, pressed slacks and blouse, and her smooth use of a walker. Then Brooke saw Mrs. Palmer, and she remembered Adam’s concern. Mrs. Palmer’s blond wig was still perched atop her head like a crown. Her face was devoid of her usual makeup, making the lines of age starkly visible, though she was wearing a bright red-and-green polka-dotted dress as a token of the approaching holiday season. She had a cane over her arm, but at least she didn’t use it as she rose smoothly from her chair.

“Oh, Brooke, I was so worried about you!” Grandma Thalberg said, managing to give Emily a quick hug before continuing her scrutiny of Brooke.

“When Adam saw smoke,” Mrs. Palmer said excitedly, “he just ran off before I could ask anythin’.”

She didn’t sound any different, Brooke thought with relief, and her stride was brisk as she approached.

“Everyone is okay.” Brooke towered over the three old women and Emily, and felt like a mother duck trying to reassure her ducklings.

“I could hardly stop to explain.”

Brooke heard the deep male voice, and her breath gave a little hitch of surprise. Adam was standing in the doorway that led to the first-floor bedroom suite the widows used for guests. He was wearing only a t-shirt and jeans over boots, and his short, sandy hair was damp and wavy. The bandage was a white patch on his tanned cheek. His shoulders seemed to touch both edges of the doorframe, then he leaned against one side and crossed his arms. His somber eyes regarded the newcomers, and she felt flustered. That, she thought, was an alien word to her—“intrigued” was far better.

Emily gave the sweetest smile and walked toward him, hand outstretched. “Adam, I’m Emily Murphy, Nate’s fiancée.”

“Adam Desantis. A pleasure to meet you, ma’am,” he said, as they shook hands.

Then his gaze slid past her to Brooke, unreadable, but enough to make her nervous. And she was never nervous.

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.

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?