True Love at Silver Creek Ranch(78)

She sat down to cheering applause from half the room and boos from the other. People took their turns speaking about morality, and harming children, and anything they could think of. The elder Mrs. Thalberg talked about a woman’s need to feel pretty for her man, and Adam noticed with interest that Brooke was blushing. Eventually, the mayor declared that the council would have to discuss this in executive session, promising a response at their next meeting, just before Christmas.

While the opposition went to the True Grits Diner to hash over everything, Emily opened up her bakery for Leather and Lace’s supporters. A couple dozen people milled around, elbows brushing, and the widows helped her serve customers. Adam pretended he wasn’t watching his grandma, but more than once, out of the corner of his eye, he saw her put the cane aside because it kept catching on Mrs. Ludlow’s walker.

He tried to blend into the background, recognizing more than one face. He wanted Leather and Lace to be the focus, not him, but one by one, people came to greet him at his grandma’s table and shake his hand, thanking him for his service to their country.

“I heard what you did,” said Gloria, Nate’s secretary. “You’re a true American hero.”

Much as he was resolved to accept his past and forgive himself, his heart was beating too fast, and he actually felt clammy.

“Adam?” Grandma Palmer touched his hand, her expression concerned.

Brooke was at their table, too, along with Coach McKee, and they were all looking at him.

“I might have told some people how proud I was that you saved all those men,” Coach said. “I didn’t think it would upset you.”

Brooke said nothing, and Adam felt her watching him closely.

“I’m not upset,” he assured the man. “I just . . . any one of those men would have done the same for me.”

“Then if you’re okay,” Coach continued. “I need you two to leave Renee and me alone. We have some things to discuss for the preservation committee, and since you two aren’t on it—scram.”

Brooke had a hard time taking her eyes off Adam as they left the two old people in peace. He moved toward the back of the bakery, pretending to look at a cheesecake display in the glass cooler, but she knew he wasn’t seeing it. He’d been wonderfully supportive of his grandma all evening even though he didn’t seem at ease in big crowds. She imagined even if he knew the truth about his grandma’s “condition,” he wouldn’t be all that upset. Sometimes it was hard to remember he was once that cocky boy from high school. When they were alone, he had humor and charm; more and more, he was his talkative self. But tonight, she was seeing a very different side of him.

Coach McKee had called him a hero—had told other people the same. And Adam’s face had drained of color. What was that about? Coach had said Adam had saved men—that, she could believe. He was brave, and he cared about other people. In the Marines, surely his fellow soldiers were like brothers to him. But whenever she asked Adam for details, he would deflect and avoid, just as he’d been doing every time the subject of his military service came up. People were looking at him with speculation, since his back was to the room. And suddenly, she had to get him out of there.

“Hey, Adam, Emily needs us to get a heavy tray in back. Give me a hand.”

He moved so swiftly to the swinging door, she felt the breeze of his passing. She followed him into the kitchen.

He looked around the deserted room. “Where’s the tray?”

“I lied. Let’s go outside.”

Soon they stood out in the alley, beneath the light above the back door, hearing their own breathing and the distant sound of Christmas music coming from somewhere.

The question just spilled out of her. “So why don’t you like being called a hero?”

“Because I’m not,” he said tiredly.

“Maybe it would help to talk.”

He stared down at her, then he reached up and very gently touched her cheek. She leaned her face into his palm and was surprised to feel the sting of tears.

“Oh, Adam,” she whispered. “I wish . . . I wish things had been different for you.”

Her heart broke with a sort of guilt at all the gifts she’d been given in her life: a good family, a career, friends. “Tell me what secret you carry inside you.”

He hesitated, and she thought he’d refuse once again.

“I’m part of the reason a dozen good men are dead,” he said at last, his voice filled with quiet sadness.

She put her gloved hands on his waist, wishing she could see more than the shadows on his face beneath his Stetson. “Tell me. Please, tell me. I want to know everything.”