True Love at Silver Creek Ranch (20 page)

Coach McKee had called him a hero—had told other people the same. And Adam's face had drained of color. What was that about? Coach had said Adam had saved men—
that,
she could believe. He was brave, and he cared about other people. In the Marines, surely his fellow soldiers were like brothers to him. But whenever she asked Adam for details, he would deflect and avoid, just as he'd been doing every time the subject of his military service came up. People were looking at him with speculation, since his back was to the room. And suddenly, she had to get him out of there.

“Hey, Adam, Emily needs us to get a heavy tray in back. Give me a hand.”

He moved so swiftly to the swinging door, she felt the breeze of his passing. She followed him into the kitchen.

He looked around the deserted room. “Where's the tray?”

“I lied. Let's go outside.”

Soon they stood out in the alley, beneath the light above the back door, hearing their own breathing and the distant sound of Christmas music coming from somewhere.

The question just spilled out of her. “So why don't you like being called a hero?”

“Because I'm not,” he said tiredly.

“Maybe it would help to talk.”

He stared down at her, then he reached up and very gently touched her cheek. She leaned her face into his palm and was surprised to feel the sting of tears.

“Oh, Adam,” she whispered. “I wish . . . I wish things had been different for you.”

Her heart broke with a sort of guilt at all the gifts she'd been given in her life: a good family, a career, friends. “Tell me what secret you carry inside you.”

He hesitated, and she thought he'd refuse once again.

“I'm part of the reason a dozen good men are dead,” he said at last, his voice filled with quiet sadness.

She put her gloved hands on his waist, wishing she could see more than the shadows on his face beneath his Stetson. “Tell me. Please, tell me. I want to know everything.”

“Why?” he asked, smiling down at her sadly. “You shouldn't have to live with this.”

“I want to share everything with you.” The moment she spoke the words, she regretted them. It was too soon. Or was it? Her heart felt oversized in her chest, full of sorrow and hurt over what he'd borne, and yet still he'd become this wonderful man. She almost held her breath, wondering if he'd push her away now, if he'd think she was getting too close.

“It was a routine mission until we started being shelled,” he said in a hushed voice. “I called in the air strike on our position, knowing it was a Danger Close target. I might have saved some of the others after the bomb fell, but I'm no hero, Brooke.”

She leaned into him, focused on his pain. “I know there's more. Tell me. Tell me what happened. Keeping it inside can only tear you apart.”

He rested his hands on her shoulders and suddenly his breath seemed to catch, and a spasm of pain twisted his features. “They told me the wrong bomb size,” he whispered. “I calculated the coordinates for a 250-pound bomb, but they dropped a 500. The blast radius—” And then he broke off with a choked gasp.

She pressed her lips together to keep from crying out, knowing it wasn't what he needed. He wouldn't want to hear her protests that it was an accident, that he wasn't the one who made the mistake. He knew all that, but the grief and the guilt still made him bleed inside.

“If I wouldn't have called in a strike, more of my men would be alive,” he finished.

“You can't know that, Adam.” She kept her voice calm and gentle. She wanted to insist,
You were under attack! Without the bomb, something else bad would have happened, maybe even your own death!
She felt a swirl of nausea in her stomach at the thought.

His hands gripped her shoulders almost painfully, but she knew he didn't realize what he was doing.

“I don't like being called a hero,” he said, giving a sigh, even as his fingers relaxed. “And now you know why.”

“But Adam, did you ever think Coach already knows the facts and thinks you're a hero anyway? Can't you search for this kind of stuff online?”

Then he stared down at her, and the light above them caught his square jaw, the way his Adam's apple moved as he swallowed. “Maybe.”

And then he buried his face in her neck, and she clutched him, trying to share all her strength.

She kissed the side of his head, his neck, whatever she could reach.

“I don't want you to worry about me,” he said, his voice muffled. “I know I have to forgive myself, that I can't let guilt and regret rule me. I'm working on it.”

They held each other, and she thought of all the terrible things that had happened to him. He didn't have any kind of life in Valentine Valley—only dreadful memories of parents who treated him like unwanted garbage, and a grandma who couldn't save him. Had he been too young to understand why not? Had he lain awake wondering why no one wanted him?

She wanted to protest that he had
her,
but maybe he didn't want to hear that. Maybe he never wanted to hear that. She gave a little shiver, and he suddenly straightened from their embrace. She saw a flash of his tired smile in the darkness.

He had so much courage, she realized in wonder. He'd left their small town and braved war and danger, and now he was trying to summon up a new courage, to go on when it seemed the worst had happened. Somehow, she had to follow his example, to find whatever she needed in her life and make it happen.

“It's cold out here,” he said, rubbing his hands up and down her arms. “We should get you back inside.”

She nodded, preceding him into the little hall with its two doors.

“Where's that one go?” he asked.

“Emily's old apartment. It's pretty cute. Right in the heart of town.”

“You sound . . . wistful. Do you wish you lived in town?”

“Oh, no, of course not. I have my family.”

“That was a very quick denial.” One side of his mouth turned up. “We wouldn't have to sneak around anymore. There'd be no one to care that I spent the night in your bed.” Then he put his arms around her in that little hallway.

“Well, making you happy is all that matters,” she answered.

She got a chuckle out of him and was so relieved. For just a moment, she rested her head against his strong shoulder and closed her eyes.

“Someone could see us,” she murmured, not moving. He smelled good—she felt so good.

His hands moved up and down her back, and even through her jacket, she absorbed the strength of them, the steadiness. She remembered every moan those hands had elicited from her. He kissed the side of her head, and she snuggled beneath his chin. When he looked down at her, she couldn't resist, but kissed him slowly, gently, searching for something, but she didn't know what. His tongue parted her lips, and she let it happen, knew if anyone came looking for them, they'd see—

She tilted her head back. “Okay, okay, we can have kisses another time.”

“When we're alone and hidden,” he whispered, kissing her forehead, her nose, her chin.

“But that's how we want it.”

Why wasn't he agreeing? She was the one who risked the most—her family's respect, her ability to do her job. Yet she was teetering here, finding it so difficult not to touch him in public.

She stepped back, and his arms fell to his sides, and he looked almost resolute as he stared at the door to the Sugar and Spice kitchen. But he didn't hesitate to go back inside.

Chapter Eighteen

“L
unch at Monica's Flowers and Gifts,” Emily said with a sigh. “It's been a while.”

They sat behind the showroom counter, crowded together shoulder to shoulder. Monica needed to be available to her customers, and Brooke and Emily were used to the interruptions.

Brooke smiled at her friend—her future sister-in-law. “Well, we've been in the midst of the holidays for over a month, now, and it's almost Christmas. I'm amazed either one of you has time for me what with the tourists breaking down your doors.” She took a big bite of her chicken drumstick.

Emily exchanged a grin with Monica, and said, “It
has
been a good Christmas season. I've been open less than three months, and I already have more business than I can handle. I'll hire some more seasonal help, but in the meantime, I'll be looking for another full-time employee to go along with the part-time widows.”

“Good for you!” Monica cried. “I might have to hire another part-timer, too. Josh's work is so popular, I'm getting worried he won't be able to keep up.”

“I think he solved that,” Brooke said. “This morning he discussed hiring Adam to help him prepare the leather. There's a lot of work, but you don't have to be an artist to do some of it.”

The bell above the front door rang. “I'll be back.” Monica went to deal with a customer.

“That's nice of Adam to help Josh,” Emily said, between bites of salad, “considering you guys must be keeping him busy at the ranch. Do you enjoy working with him?”

“We get along okay,” Brooke said, opening a container of her mom's coleslaw.

“You two seemed pretty . . . friendly last night.”

“We're friends,” Brooke said, then filled her mouth with a forkful of coleslaw. When she still couldn't meet Emily's eyes, she knew her friend was watching her.

Monica came to sit back down, picked up her sandwich, then looked from Emily to Brooke with suspicion. “What did I miss?”

“She stopped looking at me after I asked about her and Adam,” Emily said slowly.

“There's more going on, isn't there?” Monica demanded.

Brooke swallowed. So now she was supposed to lie to her best friends? With a groan, she briefly covered her face. “I can't talk about it.”

“You're sleeping with him!” Monica hissed in a low voice.

Brooke winced.

Monica gasped. “You can't even deny it!”

“Okay, okay, keep your voices down,” she whispered, glancing over her shoulder at the empty showroom. Someone walked by the front windows and paused to look at the display before moving on.

“It's true?” Emily cried. “Nate never said anything—”

“He doesn't know! And you can't say a word, neither of you.”

“You're not dating him, but you're sleeping with him,” Monica said, sitting back in disbelief. “I don't know what to think of this modern, twenty-first-century woman.”

“We just couldn't keep our hands off each other—that's all it is,” Brooke admitted at last.

Monica closed her eyes. “Oh, God, that sounds so sexy.”

“Why haven't you said anything?” Emily asked in bewilderment. “Why the secret?”

“Because I'm his boss! Do you know how that would look to my family? The first guy we hire that's my age, and I jump him?”

“Did you?” Monica asked with a giggle.

“No!” She hesitated, then smiled. “Not exactly.”

“But Brooke,” Emily continued, “people have office romances all the time.”

“Their offices aren't their family business. How would sleeping with an employee look to my dad, my brothers? And besides . . . I've really enjoyed having this—relationship, or whatever you want to call it—all to myself, you know? It's like my private little thrill.”

“So you like being with him?” Monica asked softly.

“I do. Even when we're working together. He's funny, and we never run out of things to talk about.”

“Sounds like it's more than physical,” Monica pointed out.

“Because it is—it's friendship. And it feels good.”

“As long as you're happy,” Emily said, regarding her with worry.

Brooke grinned and touched both their arms. “I'm
happy
,” she insisted. “He makes me feel incredibly sexy and beautiful.”

When a customer entered and approached the counter, Monica got up to help. Soon she was opening coolers, displaying various bouquets that the rushed man could choose from. After ringing up the purchase, she sat back down and toyed with her celery sticks. “So I guess you didn't appreciate the date with LeVar?”

“It wasn't a date, and you know it,” Brooke said, wearing a mock frown. “You ambushed, then deserted me.”

“Well, I didn't know you already had a guy in your bed,” Monica pointed out.

“And then Adam showed up at the pool tournament,” Brooke confessed. “It was pretty awkward.”

“Sounds like it would have been fun to watch,” Monica told Emily. “Guess I left too early. Did they fight over you?”

Brooke just blinked at her, then they all burst into laughter.

Monica saw to a couple more customers, and when she returned, Brooke started packing up. “I can't stay much longer. Tyler will be coming after school.”

Emily sighed. “Okay, I'll admit it, I feel bad Steph didn't come to me for help with Tyler's community service.” She lifted a hand. “And yes, I know, he probably wouldn't have enjoyed working in a bakery.”

“No, he wouldn't have,” Brooke insisted gently. “She really wants to help this kid, and I can't help admiring her. I think she's gaining a lot of maturity from this, maybe seeing how good she's got it with a loving family.”

“True,” Emily admitted. “How's Tyler doing?”

“It's only been one day. I'm just teaching him about horses for now. But he's been sort of respectful, and that's a good thing. It probably helped that Adam worked with us, too.”

“Not one of your brothers?” Monica asked curiously.

“Nope. I admit, I was surprised. I didn't think Adam would want to be involved with a punk kid, but he's incredibly patient, yet firm.”

“He was a sergeant in the Marines,” Emily pointed out. “He's used to dealing with new recruits.”

Brooke had a fleeting thought about Adam's military past. After everything he'd told her, she thought he might have stayed as far away from Tyler as possible, but he hadn't. Surely that was a good sign. But she couldn't discuss his confidences, so it was time to change the subject. “Speaking of my brothers . . . Nate is insufferably happy.”

Emily grinned.

“He's left the ranch at almost a decent hour instead of lingering too long these last couple days. He's actually
delegating,
which is something that idiot brother of mine needed to do more of. You're good for him. How are you enjoying setting up house?”

Emily blushed. “It's wonderful being together. I keep hoping you two will find someone, fall in love, and be just as happy.” She hesitated. “Or maybe find someone who can make you happy in
every
way.”

“I don't know if I'm ready for that, Em,” Brooke said. “I don't know about her,” she added, pointing with her thumb at Monica.

“It's Christmas—I'm too busy,” Monica insisted. “I never put any more pressure on myself during the holidays than I have to. And then I'm taking an online class in January for the flower side of my business.”

“Wow, that's a lot of denial,” Emily said. “Maybe a nice guy will rent my apartment, and you'll hit it off.”

“So you're advertising it already?” Brooke asked.

Some of her disappointment must have leaked through because both women turned to stare at her.

“Why? Are you interested?” Emily leaned forward with eagerness.

Brooke sighed. “I . . . maybe. Interested, anyway. But it's just not easy to leave my mom. She's getting back on her feet, but . . . a relapse could happen anytime.”

“You work there all day, every day,” Monica pointed out. “You see her more than most of us ever see our moms.”

“And you'll only live a couple miles away,” Emily added. “Oh, say you'll rent it. I was really worried about a stranger being right above my bakery.”

“I don't know.” Brooke felt unable to explain away her unease. On the one hand, she longed to have a place of her own, where she could be independent. She was twenty-eight years old! But on the other hand, there was her family, and all their expectations.

“I'll tell you what,” Emily said. “I won't advertise it until the new year. That'll give you a few weeks to make a decision.”

Brooke smiled her relief. “Thanks.”

“She wants a love nest,” Monica said casually.

Both Brooke and Emily groaned.

The bell jingled again, and Brooke glanced over her shoulder—and did a double take. Whitney Winslow had stepped inside, looking over the flower arrangements and hometown crafts with interest.

Brooke stood up. “Hi, Whitney.”

She glanced behind the counter, then her face broke into a wide smile. “Hello, ladies! I saw the display but didn't connect your name, Monica.”

“Can't blame you,” Monica said, going past the counter into the showroom. “We only met a couple times.”

“I really like your merchandise.” Whitney strolled through the side of the showroom devoted to unusual gifts. “These are all locally made?”

“I sell them on consignment,” Monica said, following her. “The wedding quilts are a big seller, along with the knitted and crocheted layettes.”

“I'm interested in the leather,” Whitney mused.

Brooke gave a snort of laughter, then realized she might be offending the woman.

Whitney met her eyes and grinned. “Oh, sorry, guess that could be taken many ways. But the tooling on these purses is just so . . . exquisite. Who's the artist?”

Before anyone could answer, a young couple came through the door. Whitney went back to browsing, and Brooke and Emily exchanged a glance. The two customers were holding hands, barely able to keep their eyes off each other. They were newly engaged, they explained, and wanted to make an appointment to discuss flower arrangements for their wedding.

When at last they left, Whitney came back to the women and gave a happy sigh. “Romance! That's what Valentine Valley is all about, right? How can Mr. Galimi and his friends not see that my store could be a part of that?”

Brooke shrugged. “Maybe his wife makes him have sex with the lights off, and he's never seen her nightgowns.”

They all laughed.

Whitney's gaze strayed back to Josh's purses. “I have to know who the artist is. Maybe I can give him some sales, and he can help be a bridge between the townspeople and me.”

“He's my brother, Josh,” Brooke said.

“How perfect.” Whitney opened her purse and pulled out a gold business card case. “Can you give him my card? I'd love to talk to him.”

“Actually, you met him that night at the diner,” Brooke reminded her. “He helped me get you out of there.”

“Ooh.” Whitney's eyes widened. “I had wondered who he was. He seemed to disappear like Superman reverting to Clark Kent.”

“Superman?” Brooke echoed with a grimace. “Let's not say that to his face, okay?”

Whitney laughed. “Deal, as long as you give him my card.”

Brooke agreed, but after Whitney had left, she turned to her friends, and said, “Can you see my brother making naughty S&M leather? I don't think so.”

“Now who's the one judging?” Emily said, hands on her hips. “You don't have any idea what she might want from him.”

They all looked at each other—and grinned.

T
he following Monday, Brooke's dad was running an errand to a motor-supply store in Carbondale, so Brooke drove her mom to an appointment with Doc Ericson in Valentine. As they arrived back home, they could see Josh walking across the yard, Tyler trailing behind him at a sloooow pace. Brooke drove around to the ramp built to bypass the kitchen stairs, parking and helping her mom use her walker to get inside.

“You're not going to work with Tyler?” Sandy asked.

“Josh and Adam can deal with him today. I thought we were starting on the cookie dough we mean to freeze before Christmas.”

Sandy eyed her. “Hiding from the boy already?”

Brooke grinned. “Not at all. He's good at letting you know he's only here because he has to be, but he's more interested than he lets on. Smart, too. I just thought Josh should take a turn, so I could hear all about it.”

“So you think our stint as a community-service ranch is going well?”

“I do.” Brooke sat on a stool at the breakfast counter and considered her mother. “It just feels good to make a difference in someone's life, you know? I mean, look at Adam.” She hesitated, realizing it might be a bad idea to discuss him, but it was too late now. “He was in even more trouble than Tyler, but Coach McKee took a risk and ended up making a man out of him. Adam says Coach changed his life. I wish more kids could have that opportunity. Tyler's not bad, but his mom can't be around much, and it's too easy for him to hang with guys who are only interested in having a good time. Who knows if his brother is getting sucked back into the wrong crowd, too? That's got to be bad for Tyler to see.”

“That's two students you've taken on,” Sandy pointed out, seating herself with a sigh beside her daughter. “You just . . . glow when you talk about your work with them. What about taking on more students?”

Brooke chuckled, linking her arm with her mom's. “You think Dad would approve of turning our ranch into a probation-department resource?”

Sandy laughed, too. “No, we're too small an operation, spread too thin, to do much of that. You've taught Steph to barrel race because she asked, but what if you advertise yourself as a riding instructor? You've been teaching Tyler to ride already. You could take on other students.”