True Love at Silver Creek Ranch(55)

“Someone’s got to,” Emily said with conviction. “If the widows are up to something . . .”

Chris backed away, raising his gloved hands palm out. “Then you’re braver than I am. But I might hang out and see the fireworks.”

Brooke opened the door and began to push her way past the broad shoulders of several ranchers in stained Carhartt jackets. There was some grumbling, but when they saw who she was, they let her pass through.

“Nate with you?” Francis Osborne asked. His mustache, twirled at the ends, couldn’t hide his thinly pressed lips.

“Nope.”

“A shame, he could have stopped this. It’s—it’s unseemly.”

She sighed and came to a halt as she looked into the diner, all sleek chrome and red-upholstered booths. A display case near the hostess station showed off mouthwatering cakes, pies, and cheesecakes—many from Sugar and Spice—but Brooke ignored their allure. Handfuls of women walked between booths, talking and chattering in voices that kept increasing in volume as they strove to be heard over each other. Mrs. Palmer stood in the middle, both hands resting loosely on her cane, watching it all with motherly pride.

The center of attention was clothing sketches done in watercolor affixed to cardboard backing, propped up at the back of many of the tables and booths. No, not regular clothing—lingerie. Occasionally, Mrs. Palmer pointed at a sketch with her cane, then glanced guiltily behind her, as if she didn’t want someone in particular to observe her perfect balance.

And then Brooke saw Adam, seated in a booth and eating as if he didn’t really care what was going on around him. Brooke skirted the crowd of excited women of all ages, noticing that some of the older men were frowning and grumbling to each other. Waitresses in khakis, white buttoned-down shirts, and fifties soda-jerk hats were threading through people as best they could, clearing their way with heavily laden trays.

Brooke nodded to each call of her name and slid into the booth opposite Adam. “What the heck is going on? I get a call from Monica, and it sounds like the town is up in arms!”

He glanced at her mildly and finished swallowing. “This apple pie is incredible.”

“It’s mine,” Emily said, grinning as she took the seat at Adam’s side, and he gave her room.

“It can’t top the brownies, but it’s close.”

Brooke interrupted, “We’re not here to discuss the food!”

“Sorry.” He wiped his mouth with a napkin from the silver dispenser near the wall. “I’m not sure how this all took on a life of its own. One minute Whitney was showing us the portfolio of her designs for next year—”

“Whitney?” Monica said, pushing Brooke farther into the booth with her hips.

“Whitney Winslow, the owner of Leather and Lace.” Adam ducked his head side to side, trying to see through the crowd of women, then pointed. “That’s her, next to my grandma.”

Brooke put an arm across the back of the booth as she swiveled to look behind her. Whitney was thin and elegant, looking the picture of a boutique owner from San Francisco. She was talking animatedly to Julie Jacoby, the redheaded summer hostess from the Halftime Sports Bar, who must be home from college on Thanksgiving break. They seemed to be discussing one of the sketches of a long-legged woman in a black bustier, wearing black boots up above her knees.

“How did all these sketches come out?” Brooke asked, starting to feel uneasy. Men and women sat in booths or gathered in twos and threes, some looking affronted or worried. She recognized most of them, even the ones she didn’t see regularly enough to know their names. A few were obviously tourists, some so in love they couldn’t stop holding hands even though they sat side by side. Valentine Valley tended to do that to people for some inexplicable reason.

But she wasn’t going to let it do that to her, not right now. And then Adam’s boot touched hers, and lingered. She didn’t meet his eyes. He was her secret, and she wasn’t going to share him. It was more exciting than she could have imagined.

Adam slouched back in the booth. “Grandma had me take her to the building Whitney is thinking of buying. We broke the news to her about the resistance among some of the townspeople, so Grandma invited her to dinner.”

“Here?” Brooke asked, baffled.

“I made it a point to say it might not be wise. We haven’t seen Galimi yet, so I’m hoping that means he’s gone home for the day. Whitney had promised to show her next year’s sketches, and before I knew it, Grandma was passing them around. It’s getting kind of loud, isn’t it?”