True Love at Silver Creek Ranch(20)

Adam nodded. “She’s always been good with people. Seems like a sedate hobby for elderly ladies.”

Brooke’s mouth dropped open. “Sedate? I can’t believe you’re applying that adjective to our grandmas. Maybe Mrs. Ludlow, but that’s about it.”

“What don’t I know?”

“Surely you remember when they chained themselves to the old house that had been a mining-town brothel?”

She saw the memory dawn in his eyes.

He shook his head. “How could I have forgotten?”

“Maybe you’ve been a bit busy these last few years,” she said, her voice softening with compassion.

He ignored that. “Women’s history,” he said, snapping his fingers. “Now I remember. The story of Chinese immigrant prostitutes. They’re not still doing that stuff.”

Smiling, she tilted her head as she turned to walk away. “You go on thinking that, soldier.”

He caught her arm, and she stopped in surprise, feeling the strength of him. Their eyes met, held, and he let her go.

“You can’t leave me hanging,” he insisted, then added, “About the widows.”

Brooke glanced around the living room. Nate and Josh were talking to their dad, beers in their hands. Sandy had joined the widows near the appetizers and was accepting a glass of wine from her mother-in-law. No one seemed to be paying any attention to them even though Adam had touched her. It was just on her arm, but she felt it reverberate right up her spine. It had been a while since she’d felt that with a man. The shared awareness made it feel like they were alone in the room.

“Tell me more about the widows’ antics.”

She sighed as if she were put out, but it was no hardship to keep talking to him. “You do know she dresses up like a pioneer woman on the Fourth of July.”

His eyes lightened, even if he didn’t grin. It made Brooke feel good to elicit some kind of amusement from him. She had a sense he didn’t see life’s humor much anymore.

“There’s an old silver mine in the mountains up above us,” she continued, “and they got it into their heads that we needed a mining museum, like they have in Leadville or Creede. On the first warm spring day, they held a picnic up there, with lemonade stands and cookies and stuff for sale, all to lure investors. Did I mention the first warm day of spring? Seems the snakes that now live in the mine decided to come out after the winter. In a group.”

Adam chuckled. “No one was bitten, I hope.”

“Nope, lots of running around, and the state eventually declared it environmentally protected. Shall I tell you about the séance to drive away the ghosts in one of the B&Bs?”

He held up both hands. “Nope, spare me. The tarot cards are wacky enough. She keeps trying to give me a reading. To show me how it’s done, she read them about you.”

Brooke blinked up at him in surprise. “Me? Do I want to know my future?”

He paused, and their eyes met and held, until she forced a laugh.

He cleared his throat. “Nothing bad. You’re strong and independent. To me, that means you like to get your own way.”

“ ’Cause it’s the right way,” she answered sweetly.

Oh now she was flirting—in front of her whole family. That didn’t feel right. They’d start asking questions she couldn’t answer because even she didn’t know what was going on.

“So you like strong women now, but maybe not in high school. You did break up with Monica Shaw all those years ago.”

Brooke could almost see the wheels of memory turning in his head—how many women’s faces did he have to go through to find the right one?

“Monica Shaw,” he echoed, nodding. “She still live here in town?”

“I just had dinner with her a couple nights ago. She remembers you.”

“I bet. I was pretty preoccupied with . . . football back then.”

Now it was her turn to chuckle. “You tell yourself that, soldier.”

“You gonna keep calling me that?”

Though he spoke good-naturedly, something about the question intrigued Brooke. “I might. You have a problem with it?”

He paused, then shook his head.

She excused herself to return to the kitchen, where the prime rib awaited slicing on the stove. Again, she wondered if he was watching her, thinking about her, because she certainly couldn’t forget about him.

Grandma Thalberg joined her and worked on the mashed potatoes. “Adam seems like a nice young man.”

“Yep,” Brooke said, concentrating on the task at hand—and hoping to dissuade her grandma.

“You two had a lot to talk about.”

“We were talking about our grandmothers’ exploits, nothing more. We’re polite, Grandma, but we might as well be strangers.”