And that was always where he woke up, his mind filled with regrets and recriminations and a desperate plea to God to turn back time so he could save them all. But the true nightmare was what he discovered later, that they’d dropped a 500-pound bomb rather than a 250, altering his calculations, and men had died.
He was breathing hard in the dark, and Ranger whined softly in confusion. Adam closed his eyes and put his hand on the dog’s silky head.
He had to let them go, he told himself in sorrow, his friends, the men he’d watched war movies with before being deployed, drinking beer until they’d yelled Semper Fi like idiots. They were dead, and he was not. They’d want him to go on living his life, to forgive himself. But no one had ever told him it would be so hard without them.
Ranger gave a sad whine and leaned against his thigh in a companionship as old as time.
Chapter Eleven
The next morning, Brooke met up with Adam near the truck shed. The air was slightly warmer, the sky clear blue, and they stared at each other for the first time since they’d made love. Brooke thought she’d feel nervous or even guilty, but it wasn’t that at all—she felt . . . excited and aroused at the thought of having a secret lover. They both slowly smiled but knew they were too out in the open to acknowledge any other emotion. She could still feel his hands on her, his mouth—
She was thankful her dad and brothers weren’t around because surely her cheeks were blazing red, she felt so overheated.
“You should have come to see me last night,” he said in a low voice.
Brooke hadn’t thought her blush could spread, but it did. “I went dancing with the girls and got home too late.”
“There’s never a ‘too late’ for us.”
“You’d think differently in the middle of a hardworking morning.”
“If you say so—boss.”
The gleam in his eyes gave her wicked thoughts. She shook them clear and held out the weekly newspaper. “Did you see the Valentine Gazette?”
“Nope. Something I should know about?”
“Your grandma’s on the front page, along with mine.”
Frowning, he unfolded the paper so quickly that she had to grin. They looked at the picture of the three widows smiling sweetly into the camera.
“They appear so innocent,” Brooke said, shaking her head.
The article was entitled “Valentine Valley Preservation Fund Committee Backs Controversial New Business.”
She waited while he scanned the article. The reporter explained what Leather and Lace was, and how the owner would be coming to the next town-council meeting to explore getting a permit for the store. The article quoted Sylvester Galimi and his opposition on “moral grounds,” then the rest was devoted to the widows’ knowledgeable discussion about the freedom to do business, the antiwomen bias of some people in the town, and the variety of lovely clothing items tourists as well as townspeople could buy from the new store.
“Antiwomen bias?” Adam repeated.
Brooke shrugged. “Could be. It’s women who own and frequent the store, after all.”
“Says who? I might be a customer.”
“And I thought my underwear was pretty enough,” she whispered, looking over her shoulder. No one was around.
“I like to give presents to the women in my life. Grandma Palmer—”
Laughing, she hit him in the arm. “Let’s not go there. I just wanted you to know in case there’s some kind of backlash against your grandma in town. Not that you go into town . . .”
“Sure I do. I went to the grocery store, didn’t I? I’ve even played pool at Tony’s Tavern.”
“Not since you’ve been living in the bunkhouse.”
“Keeping an eye on me, Brooke?”
“How can I not? I can see your cabin right out my window.”
“How convenient. Maybe I’ll buy some binoculars.”
“Hey, enough of that. In the retriever, soldier.”
He gave her a slow inspection, his eyes sexy and knowing. “Yes, boss.”
They worked as a unit in the stackyard until the hay bales were balanced two high in a long row on the bed of the truck, then they started down the road toward the first pasture to feed. Adam opened a thermos, and the smell of steaming coffee permeated the cab. He offered her a sip, then took one himself.
“You know how I mentioned my conversation with Steph Sweet?” Brooke asked. “She talked to me about this group of bad kids who are causing trouble—nothing too terrible, some graffiti, hanging out too late at night, that kind of stuff. Although one kid’s brother just got out of jail doing a year for arson.”