True Love at Silver Creek Ranch

Chapter Seventeen

At six that evening, Adam showed up at the kitchen door to wait for Brooke. He was driving her and Grandma Palmer to the town-council meeting early to save seats. The rest of the family and the other widows would be following. Sylvester Galimi had added an item to the agenda, a discussion of “new and inappropriate businesses,” and townspeople on both sides were gathering.

Once they were in the pickup, Brooke dropped her head back and heaved a sigh.

“Did the kid give you too much trouble?” Adam asked with sympathy. “You know I’ll be glad to help.”

She reached across the seat and clasped his hand. “I know, thanks. Tyler has sixty hours of community service, two hours a day, six days a week. That’s five weeks. I thought it seemed short—until today. I’m so sorry I forgot to warn you. I meant to the other night, but . . . things got out of hand.”

Their eyes briefly met and held as they remembered intimate kisses, shuddering breaths, long, slow caresses. Adam gripped the steering wheel and forced himself to look at the road.

“I don’t blame you,” he said in a husky voice. “I wasn’t thinking too clear either. And besides, I’m the hired hand, right? Who you hire is your business.”

“Well, you have to work with him, too.”

“Brooke, the whole reason we’re a secret is because I’m your employee. Don’t get me wrong—you can always talk to me. But I get where your allegiance lies. It’s with your family.”

She glanced away, her frown signaling her troubled thoughts. “Thanks for understanding,” she murmured.

If honest words about their respective stations was a reality kick in the pants to her, it was best this way. Hearing that the Thalbergs had donated a house to veterans was just the reminder he needed of his place on the ranch. He might want more from her, a way into her life that was out in the open, with her family’s blessing, but he had to accept that he couldn’t force it to happen. But he sure could persuade . . .

“So how’d you get involved in community service?” he asked.

“Steph begged for my help.”

He shot her a frown. “Steph? What does she have to do with—” And then it all came together and he gave a low whistle. “Tyler. Of course. I saw him at the Chess Club meeting, but his back was to me as he talked to her.” Adam wasn’t even sure what he would have done had he recognized Tyler that night as the ATV joyrider. Maybe he could have given him a warning; maybe the kid wouldn’t have dared try that stunt at Sweet’s.

But “maybes” were pretty useless now.

“The boy’s had a tough time,” Brooke continued, as they turned down the road that ran along Silver Creek to the Widows’ Boardinghouse. “His dad ran out on them, his mom is working two jobs to afford their apartment, and his brother just got out of jail. I thought . . . well, you had Coach McKee’s help. Maybe we can be the ones to give this kid a chance.”

“He has to want the help, Brooke,” he reminded her. “I talked to him before you got there. He’s got a pretty big chip on his shoulder. And I never saw a kid move slower than when he was following us around on the tour.”

She grinned. “I know. It was pretty funny. That heavy-duty coat I found him was too big, and he wasn’t happy. He’s never been around horses, so I was grateful to have you as my demonstrator while I talked about caring for horse and tack.”

After he pulled around in back of the boardinghouse to park, he watched her practically bounce out of the cab, saw her excitement at this new challenge, and was impressed. Steph had put her in a tough spot with a personal plea. There weren’t many who’d take it as well as Brooke.

Brooke’s grandma was driving Mrs. Ludlow into town, and they followed Adam’s truck to the town hall. Evergreens wound with Christmas lights grew three stories high on either side of the building. Town hall itself was a tall stone building with a clock tower, wreaths in each window, and spotlights brightening it for the season. Though you couldn’t see it at night, he knew the Elk Mountains were the backdrop for town hall, and tourists always took lots of pictures.

He dropped off the women because there were dozens of cars lining every nearby street, and ended up parking at St. John’s, three blocks away. Hearing a raised chorus of voices inside town hall, he had no problem finding the assembly room where the town council met. A Christmas tree presided in one corner, and fake boughs of greenery hung from the main table. Adam paused in the doorway when he saw his grandma walking briskly down the aisle, no limp in sight, back straight. She used her cane to point at people, asking whose side they were on and what she could do to convince the other side to change their minds. When she saw him, she leaned on her cane so fast it sent a ripple of chuckles through the audience. Adam pretended not to notice.

There were only a few seats left near the back out of about a hundred, and Brooke was gesturing to him from a few rows closer than that. She had coats thrown across a half dozen seats.

“It was all I could get,” she muttered, shaking her head. “Sylvester has taken up more than half the room.”

Adam glanced at the old man, dressed in a charcoal suit and bright red tie. “I didn’t know there was a dress code.”

“That Sylvester,” Grandma Palmer said, tsking as she approached.

She did a slow slide into her seat, as if it were painful to bend over. It was hard for him to keep a straight face.

“Such a vain man,” Grandma continued. “Ignore him.”

“Is Whitney here?” he asked.

“First row. I can’t imagine what time the poor girl arrived. I made sure she knows we’re here for her.”

By the time the rest of the widows and Thalberg family took their places, the room was packed. The widows sat beside each other closest to the aisle, Adam sat beside his grandma, and Brooke was on his other side, near the rest of her family. Though Monica, Emily, and Nate arrived on time, they couldn’t get through the crowd and had to stand near the door. The opposition was already displaying signs: “No Pornography!” “Protect Our Children!”

The town-council members filed in, five men and three women, and took their places at a long table in front. The mayor occupied the center, and that’s when Adam remembered that she was Sylvester’s sister. The expressions of each politician registered shock and speculation at the turnout, which Adam imagined might usually be a dozen people in this sleepy little town. After the call to order and the roll call, the restless spectators sat through the “student of the month” presentation, where the pimple-faced girl looked horrified to have to stand up before so many people; an update from the Economic Development Group; and a discussion of a restaurant’s liquor-license renewal.

“I can’t eat there without havin’ my Manhattan,” Grandma Palmer said loudly. “Give them their renewal and let’s move on!”

The rumbling of discontented voices drowned out the laughter and got a little louder with each successive discussion, until at last Sylvester was called to speak on the item he’d added to the agenda.

“Ladies and gentlemen, Mayor Galimi,” he intoned. “We have strict rules against pornography, and I am here to see that they’re upheld.”

The Honorable Mayor Galimi, a woman in her sixties with short hair she left its natural silver-white, peered over her glasses at her brother, looking like everyone’s idea of a strict, spinster teacher. “Sylvester, what are you talking about?”

Adam and Brooke exchanged a surprised glance. He hadn’t discussed it with his sister yet? Was that good or bad?

“A business called”—he hesitated, as if regretting having to speak the name—“Leather and Lace is trying to worm its way into our innocent, unaware community of Valentine Valley.”

Whitney stood up on the opposite side of the room from Sylvester. She looked slender, unthreatening, but when she spoke, Adam thought her voice calm and rational.

“May I speak, Your Honor?”

“And you are?” Mayor Galimi asked.

“Whitney Winslow, owner of the Leather and Lace stores in San Francisco and Las Vegas. I am looking into purchasing a building off Main Street to open another branch of my store. I sell lingerie, ma’am, and I have a portfolio here with some of my work. Believe me, it is not pornography. Women can wear any type of undergarments they like. The whole point”—she gave Sylvester a frown—“is that they’re worn under clothes.”

Muted chuckles spread through their half of the room.

“Maybe we should have planned a fashion show,” Mrs. Thalberg grumbled. “Or we could have worn our undergarments outside our clothing!”

Grandma Palmer slapped her knee. “Why didn’t we think of that sooner?”

Before Adam could protest, Brooke leaned across the front of him, bracing herself with a hand on his thigh, to whisper at the widows. “Because it would be inappropriate and possibly damaging to Whitney’s cause. Now shh!”

Adam smiled at her, covering her hand with his until she quickly pulled hers away, wearing a blush. All this secrecy was such interesting foreplay.

“But such risqué lingerie will have to be displayed in the store, Your Honor,” Sylvester was quick to point out, “without the benefit of being covered by clothing. I have been talking with my fellow townspeople, and most of us are appalled that—”

His sister interrupted him. “I’m not sure you even have half this room, Sylvester, so let’s not make broad statements.”

Adam and Brooke shared a relieved look. Sounded like the mayor could be impartial.

“You’re welcome to see my catalogue online, Your Honor,” Whitney pointed out. “I admit, some items are only for sale online because they would not be appropriate for a small-town store. My window displays will be tasteful, nothing that you wouldn’t see in any department store.”

“If it’s for sale, it will find its way into her store,” Sylvester insisted. “I have a petition signed by hundreds of people—”

“We do, too, Mayor Galimi,” Grandma Palmer said, rising to her feet to be seen behind the half dozen rows in front of her. “Not everyone agrees with Sylvester.”

As the petitions were passed forward, people started arguing with each other across the aisles. Mrs. Ludlow used her walker to block the way of someone collecting petitions for their opponents until Doug Thalberg pulled it back.

Grandma Palmer calmly waited her turn to continue. Adam realized she was dressed almost understated for her, in bright red that made her stand out but not in her usual wacky way.

“Mayor Galimi,” Grandma Palmer said at last, “Miss Winslow approached the Valentine Valley Preservation Committee about grants to help her restore the old funeral home on Grace and Fourth. We’ve found nothin’ objectionable, nothin’ pornographic. I don’t see how Sylvester can try to tell women what they can wear under their clothes!”

Over half the room roared with laughter, overwhelming the glowers of the rest.

Another woman stood up, and everyone else settled down when the mayor pounded her gavel.

“You have something to say, Debbie?”

The plump woman wore a sweatshirt with the logo of her B&B, an etching of an elegant woman with an Edwardian large-brimmed hat tilted over her face. “I’m the owner of The Adelaide, where Miss Winslow is staying. I’m planning to host a lingerie event so everyone can see how tasteful each garment is. If you remember, Mayor Galimi, many people resisted bed-and-breakfasts thirty years ago, claiming they’d bring tourists to ruin our wholesome family town. Well, tourists have saved us, and upscale lingerie in a town called Valentine can only help.”

She sat down to cheering applause from half the room and boos from the other. People took their turns speaking about morality, and harming children, and anything they could think of. The elder Mrs. Thalberg talked about a woman’s need to feel pretty for her man, and Adam noticed with interest that Brooke was blushing. Eventually, the mayor declared that the council would have to discuss this in executive session, promising a response at their next meeting, just before Christmas.

While the opposition went to the True Grits Diner to hash over everything, Emily opened up her bakery for Leather and Lace’s supporters. A couple dozen people milled around, elbows brushing, and the widows helped her serve customers. Adam pretended he wasn’t watching his grandma, but more than once, out of the corner of his eye, he saw her put the cane aside because it kept catching on Mrs. Ludlow’s walker.

He tried to blend into the background, recognizing more than one face. He wanted Leather and Lace to be the focus, not him, but one by one, people came to greet him at his grandma’s table and shake his hand, thanking him for his service to their country.

“I heard what you did,” said Gloria, Nate’s secretary. “You’re a true American hero.”

Much as he was resolved to accept his past and forgive himself, his heart was beating too fast, and he actually felt clammy.

“Adam?” Grandma Palmer touched his hand, her expression concerned.

Brooke was at their table, too, along with Coach McKee, and they were all looking at him.

“I might have told some people how proud I was that you saved all those men,” Coach said. “I didn’t think it would upset you.”

Brooke said nothing, and Adam felt her watching him closely.

“I’m not upset,” he assured the man. “I just . . . any one of those men would have done the same for me.”

“Then if you’re okay,” Coach continued. “I need you two to leave Renee and me alone. We have some things to discuss for the preservation committee, and since you two aren’t on it—scram.”

Brooke had a hard time taking her eyes off Adam as they left the two old people in peace. He moved toward the back of the bakery, pretending to look at a cheesecake display in the glass cooler, but she knew he wasn’t seeing it. He’d been wonderfully supportive of his grandma all evening even though he didn’t seem at ease in big crowds. She imagined even if he knew the truth about his grandma’s “condition,” he wouldn’t be all that upset. Sometimes it was hard to remember he was once that cocky boy from high school. When they were alone, he had humor and charm; more and more, he was his talkative self. But tonight, she was seeing a very different side of him.

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.