True Love at Silver Creek Ranch(57)

“This is over,” Adam murmured, and pushed forward to his grandma’s side. He tossed some money on the counter. “For our bill, Harriet, darlin’,” he said to the older waitress in her fifties, whose buttons on her too-small blouse looked like they might pop at any second. “Time to leave before anything worse is said.”

Brooke noticed he emphasized a deep drawl he didn’t normally have, and Harriet’s eyes softened. More than one woman was giving him the once-over, and Brooke could hear, “That’s Adam Desantis,” from several booths and tables.

“I’m not leaving,” Whitney said to no one in particular. “I’ve been insulted, and I want this man—”

“The name’s Sylvester Galimi!” he said clearly, hands on his hips.

“—to hear me out.”

Nothing good was going to come of this, Brooke knew. But Whitney didn’t know her—why would she listen? Mrs. Palmer was with Adam at the rack by the front door, busily trying to find her coat.

Voices were rising again, with people on each side beginning to argue with their relatives or neighbors. Carrying the portfolio case, Brooke reached Whitney’s side at the same time Josh did.

“Whitney, you don’t know me,” Brooke began, “but Mrs. Palmer’s like my own grandma, and I’ve known Adam forever. Why don’t you follow them before this gets worse?”

A look of frustration and worry wrinkled her forehead. “But I can’t let this man—”

“Ma’am,” Josh said, his deep voice smooth and full of the West. “I’ll escort you. You can’t accomplish anything with these hotheads all riled up.”

Looking up at him, Whitney’s eyes widened, and she seemed to forget what she was going to say, except for a weak, “But my coat . . .”

Brooke grabbed it from the booth they’d just left and followed Josh and Whitney, as a path cleared for them to the door.

Whitney tried to turn back. “My sketches—”

Brooke handed the case over, and Whitney’s expression melted from anger to sadness as her gaze swept the room. Then Josh tugged, and she allowed him to lead her through the door.

Out on the street, Brooke zipped up her coat and saw everyone else doing the same, their breaths puffs of mist. The last Peeping Toms called their good wishes to Mrs. Palmer even as they hurried down the street, shoulders up around their ears from the cold.

Chris Sweet was still there, and as Mrs. Palmer was slowly buttoning her coat, he called, “Adam?”

Adam turned around, his forehead lowered in confusion. Then his expression cleared, and he stuck out a hand. “Chris, good to see you.”

“So what are you up to?” Chris asked.

The two men exchanged a brief summary of their current workdays, and when Chris heard that Adam was working as a ranch hand, they started trading cowboy stories. Brooke saw her brother Josh tip his hat to Whitney and walk away down the street, whistling.

Whitney looked forlorn, staring into the brightly lit diner window like a kid who didn’t get any Christmas presents.

Mrs. Palmer patted the woman’s arm. “Don’t worry, dear. We aren’t defeated yet.”

“I didn’t know there was going to be a battle,” Whitney said sadly. Then she took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. “But I won’t be defeated, not by such ignorant people. Somehow, I’ll find a way to show the town what I’m about, and what I’d like to do to help the women of Valentine feel their prettiest.”

“Good for you, dear,” Mrs. Palmer said approvingly. “Now let us take you where you’re stayin’.”

“I’m at one of the Four Sisters B&Bs. I can walk—it’s not far.”

“But it’s cold,” Adam said. He raised a hand to Chris, who was already heading toward the street. “We’ll drive you.” He tipped his hat to Brooke, Monica, and Emily. “Good evening, ladies. Brooke, you need a ride home?”

“I have my Jeep, thanks.”

“Grandma, my truck’s right in front. Whitney, let me put your portfolio in back.”

Brooke couldn’t help watching, a smile on her face, as Adam herded the two women away like a cow dog.

“I gotta tell you,” Monica said, pulling up her hood, “that man sure is different.”

Brooke hugged herself and started to walk. “I guess. Have you guys eaten dinner?”

“Nope,” Monica said, “but Just Desserts across the street is looking mighty good.”

Emily groaned. “Much as that looks good, I think I need some real food first.”

“Wait, let’s go the other way,” Brooke said. “Mexican?”