He started to fix his grandma a small plate of appetizers when she took it out of his hands.
“Go talk to the young people, Adam,” she said, shaking her head. “Rosemary and I will keep each other company.”
He fixed a plate for himself and went to the bookshelves, turning his head to scan them. He couldn’t miss how the younger Mrs. Thalberg nudged Brooke toward him. He felt an anticipation he hadn’t felt in a long time. Her legs looked long and lean, and her breasts bounced gently as she moved toward him.
“Glad you could come,” she said, handing him a cold bottle of beer.
He accepted it, surprised to feel the touch of her fingers. “Thanks for the invitation.”
Brooke kept to herself that she hadn’t even known about it until an hour ago. Her mom had acted all excited, like it was a big surprise, and maybe it had been. Grandma Thalberg and Mrs. Palmer must have cooked something up together, she thought, trying to hide a smile. That’s what grandmas did when their offspring were unattached.
“How’s your mom?” Adam asked.
Brooke glanced at her, able to tell that she was tired already. “It was hard to keep her out of the kitchen today even though the celebration was for her. She needs a lot more rest.”
“When was she diagnosed?”
“She’s known since Nate was a toddler. Her first husband left her when he found out.”
Adam frowned, his eyes taking on the coldness of winter. “Scum.”
“Yeah. I can’t even imagine dealing with that kind of betrayal. But it had a good outcome. She met my dad, and they fell in love. Dad adopted Nate, and they had me, then Josh. I can’t complain about that.”
“I guess you can’t,” he said, his expression pleasant but not quite smiling. “Will she be in a wheelchair for long?”
“The symptoms come and go. She usually uses a cane, and I’m hoping she can get back to that again.” Her voice trailed off, and she couldn’t help glancing at her mom again. Taking a deep breath, she changed the subject. “I hear you got out of the boardinghouse at last.”
When he focused on her, dark brown eyes intent, she felt again that rush of nervous anticipation. He was wearing jeans and a forest green crewneck sweater that looked really good on him. He’d left the wound on his cheek bare, its long, thin scab healing well.
He smiled faintly. “I’d forgotten how fast news travels around here.”
She shrugged. “People talk about newcomers. It’s even more interesting when someone they know comes home after a long time. So many people leave for the bigger towns and cities.”
“If so, you’d never know it. Valentine looks good, spruced up.”
“A lot of that has to do with our grandmothers. They like to preserve historic buildings and keep out bad businesses—and by that I mean chain stores, nothing else.”
He arched a brow.
“They’re worried about some big department store coming in and forcing La Belle Femme or the Mystic Connection to close.”
“I’m not sure I know what those stores are.”
“A clothing store and a new age store. Your grandma is a major customer of the latter. Haven’t you seen her room yet?”
“I replaced a cracked windowpane. She has so many crystals hanging in the sun, it’s only a matter of time before another breeze blows them around.”
“She’s very motivated to keep those little businesses open—for the tourists, of course,” she added innocently. “Surely you’ve seen the widows working over their papers.”
“Heard them late into the night, too. The Valentine Valley Preservation Fund committee,” he said, as if reciting something he’d had to memorize.
Brooke grinned, and his smile widened. She realized she hadn’t seen that on his face, and that was probably a good thing, considering how flushed it made her. “There are other committee members, of course, but the widows do most of the work. My grandma handles the paperwork, the behind-the-scenes stuff about the grants themselves. Mrs. Ludlow is the legal eagle, sitting in on town-council meetings, press conferences, the investors’ corporate board meetings.”
“If you’re wondering, Mrs. Ludlow is visiting her grandchildren tonight.” He took a sip of his beer.
“I was wondering, thanks.”
Adam glanced at Mrs. Palmer, who was chatting with Grandma Thalberg. “And my grandma? What’s her role on the committee?”
Brooke eyed the old woman, hiding her interest in what Mrs. Palmer was up to regarding her grandson. “She’s the public face, helping at grand openings, the one who deals with the businesses applying for grants. That’s usually fun, but when she has to deliver bad news . . . well, she knows how to handle that, too.”