True Love at Silver Creek Ranch

Chapter Seven

Brooke 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.”

“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!