True Love at Silver Creek Ranch(44)
“Leftovers, huh?” he said. He loaded up a plate with turkey, mashed potatoes and gravy, stuffing, corn, and peas. After heating it in the microwave, he plopped a healthy scoop of cranberry sauce on the side. “Can’t eat any of it without cranberry sauce,” he said, his tone very serious.
“Oh, I agree.”
She wasn’t going to sit and watch him eat; it just seemed too . . . intimate. She put away the towels and condiments, noticing the bare refrigerator—except for a six-pack of beer, of course, and a carton of orange juice. Oh, he had food stacked on the counter—beef jerky, packaged cakes, and donuts.
“I just moved in,” he called from the table. “That’s what I could get at the gas station. I’m going to the grocery store tomorrow. I just didn’t want to deal with the holiday crowd yesterday.”
She wasn’t certain she believed him. “They even sell fruit at gas stations, you know.”
“Not all of them. I love those little packaged donuts. Hard to get overseas. And thanks for the towels. Grandma Palmer left me a bag of them, and I forgot to bring them. So I just grabbed one from the barn.”
She shuddered. “That’s disgusting!”
“They’d been washed,” he protested mildly.
With nothing left to put away, Brooke sat down opposite him at the table. “I admit I was surprised when your grandma didn’t drag you to our house tonight.”
“She tried. I finally told her to go work her wiles on the other vets in town. She keeps talking about those houses they’re renovating. She knows I’m not interested.”
“She just wants you to stay,” Brooke said quietly. She knew that the old woman was using every trick in the book to make that happen.
He glanced at her briefly before closing his eyes in bliss over a bite of stuffing. Eventually, he said, “I’m here now, and that’s what matters.” His look sobered. “I’ve been keeping an eye on her. I actually talked to old Doc Ericson, who told me she’s fit as a fiddle.”
That lessened the guilt Brooke was feeling about hiding her suspicions. At least Adam knew his grandma was healthy.
“Now, did she make Doc tell me that?” he continued. “Who knows? But I’m here and willing to help. All I can do is trust that she’ll come to me when she needs me.” He swallowed a bit of stuffing with his eyes closed. “So how did your mother handle the hectic holiday?”
“We didn’t let her do too much, and after all these years, she knows not to push herself. But . . . I found myself watching her a lot, you know? Trying to enjoy each moment.” She looked away, her face hot. “God, that sounds morbid.”
“It sounds smart,” he said.
When he put his hand on hers, she pulled away and gave him a polite smile.
“Let’s find the pumpkin pie,” she said. “I need seconds.”
She brought out the pie, and his eyes went wide.
“It’s a whole pie,” he said almost reverently.
“Blame my mother. She insisted we make far too many. I snuck this one.”
“I love pumpkin pie for breakfast. To hell with donuts.”
She couldn’t help laughing as she cut two slices and plated them. Holding up a can of whipped cream, she gestured with her hand for his approval.
“What more do you want of me?” he demanded. “I’m already salivating.”
After squirting way too much whipped cream on her slice, she carried the can and her pie over to the worn couch in front of the fire and sank into it. Adam followed and sat beside her.
“Are you keeping this to yourself?” he asked, grabbing the can to use it.
“No, I share. I just might need more.”
They ate the first few bites in reverent silence.
“Maybe you won’t visit me anymore,” Adam said at last, setting down his plate, “but I feel you deserve the truth.”
She eyed him. “What truth?”
“I had many fantasies when I was overseas about the things I could do to a woman with whipped cream.”
She swallowed heavily and just stared at him. “I can’t believe you’re telling me this. What balls. I might never come back.”
And then they both dove for the can. She got her hands on it first, laughing in triumph, but with impressive strength, he flung her back on the couch and straddled her to get the can back. He loomed over her, and she was breathless from laughing and trying to hold his arms away from her.
He squirted a dot on each cheek, then examined her face as if he were a painter. “Very nice.”
She groaned, and when she tried to wipe off the cream, he dropped the can and gripped her arms at the wrists, slowly raising them over her head.