idea,” she said, giving him a cheerful smile. “If my mom’s flowers need weeding, that could be your job, too.”
“Good thing it’s winter.” He found his Stetson and set it on his head. “I’ll be back.”
She couldn’t help but watch him as he walked across the yard toward the office. His shoulders were broad beneath the heavy Carhartt jacket, but he’d removed his coveralls, so she could see his slim hips. He moved like a man confident in his body, a man who’d been well trained. She gave a little shiver.
She had the pickup warmed up in the yard by the time Adam returned. He got into the passenger seat uncomplaining, when she knew some men might not want a woman driving them around. He was pretty confident about himself, so that hadn’t changed. She started down the winding dirt road, now covered in packed snow and gleaming with the occasional sheen of ice.
They were silent for the first couple minutes, but Brooke couldn’t let tension build. They’d be together for days or weeks—who knew how long he was staying?
They passed the road leading down to the boardinghouse and her brother’s cabin beyond. “So how’s your grandma?” she asked, still curious about what the widow was up to.
“Except for being frailer than she used to be, she doesn’t seem too sick, which I’m grateful for. She needs to eat more.”
“I noticed that the other night. Her appetite used to be legendary.” She wasn’t about to tell Adam she had some suspicions. It was up to Mrs. Palmer.
He didn’t make any effort to continue the conversation. She wasn’t used to quiet men in her family, and certainly hadn’t dated any. She drove across the bridge over Silver Creek, where the road became First Street. Past Main, she turned down Grace Street.
“I always like how the streets going this way were named after women,” she said, then could have groaned at the inane conversation. In for a penny . . . “Mabel, Bessie, Nellie. It reminds me of the town’s past.”
“Uh-huh,” he said, eyeing her.
There was a sparkle of amusement in his eyes that she didn’t appreciate.
“Brooke—”
“We’re here,” she said, glad how close everything was in town. She practically jumped out of the pickup once she’d parked in the lot.
Adam glanced across the street at a large Queen Anne home, complete with a turret, that had been turned into a business. “The Mystic Connection. I’ve heard about it. So that’s where Grandma got the crystals hanging in her windows.”
“The tourists love it. Your grandma’s a regular customer.”
Adam gestured with his chin at the feed store. “Bet the ranchers love it, too.”
Her lips twitched, but she wasn’t going to smile. “Oh, you bet.”
Inside, more than one old guy did a double take on seeing her with Adam, and soon two ranchers, Deke Hutcheson and Francis Osborne, friends of her dad and Nate, were giving Adam the third degree. She stayed out of it, her turn to be amused at his discomfort. He was at last free to find some new coveralls and gloves, and a pair of winter boots that fit him better.
She could tell Adam was glad to leave when they made their escape. It was as if he didn’t like crowds anymore. He’d always been with a group when they were young, whether with the bad kids before he’d been caught joyriding, or the football team, once he’d found true purpose in competition. He’d seemed to avoid his own solitary thoughts, and now that’s all he wanted. It was almost . . . sad. Surely there was a middle ground for him.
They both carried bags out to the truck, then she opened the back end and they helped the stock boy load the bed with stuffed sacks. She and Adam got back in the cab and looked at each other. They’d go back home and keep working side by side. And suddenly, she needed a break.
“I need a donut,” she said.
Main Street had yet to be crowded with the cars of people going to dinner, so she was able to find a parking spot near the Sugar and Spice.
“I know you don’t want to see anybody,” she added, “so you can wait in the truck if you want. I won’t be long, and I’ll even bring you something.”
She left the engine on for warmth and jumped out, relieved when he didn’t argue or follow her, just crossed his arms over his chest and looked out at the Hotel Colorado. He’d turned