of a “girl” in high school.
“You always had ranch chores or barrel racing after school,” he said. “Must have been easier for you to keep it up.”
She was surprised he remembered that about her.
“I played basketball, too, in the winter.” Now she was babbling. She should leave. But she felt . . . beautiful, the way he was looking at her. The moon was rising, and they were alone in the crisp, cold stillness, the light of the porch a beacon behind her.
“Another reason to keep your hair up,” he murmured.
Then he touched her hair with his bare hand, sliding it into the gentle waves and spreading them out across her shoulder. She hovered like a hummingbird, yearning. When he stepped back, the ache of regret surprised her.
She sighed. “Why did you accept my parents’ offer to live in the bunkhouse?”
“For exactly the reasons I said. It’s more convenient, and I like living on my own.”
“I’ve never done that,” she found herself admitting.
He gestured toward the house. “Why would you? Your family is here, and they’re great. Your job is here. It just makes sense.”
Then why was she thinking about it so much?
“I only started living on my own when I left the Marines six months ago, so we aren’t that different.” And then he grew serious. “I want you to know I didn’t agree to the bunkhouse to annoy you. I gave it a lot of thought.”
“I know.” She gave him a tentative smile.
He nodded. “Have fun at the movies.”
“I will.”
And she did, even enjoying a late supper with the girls. By the time she got home, everyone was in bed, and she slipped into her own soon enough. Though she told herself not to, she turned her head and stared out the window. The moon hung bright in the sky, and she knew if she were outside, the stars would look like iridescent sand sprinkled across the blackness. And there across a small pasture was the log cabin where Adam lay. Snow blanketed the roof, and smoke puffed from the chimney. He’d started a fire, and the windows flickered with it. She imagined how cozy it must be.
She kept picturing herself lying in front of that fire with Adam. No matter how many times she told herself to cut it out, her crush on him just wasn’t going away.
Chapter Nine
Adam looked out his window up at the main house, and knew when Brooke was home by the lights going on in her window. Though she passed in front of it several times, the curtains were gauzy, and he couldn’t see much.
He stood there for a while, holding his beer, enjoying the silence. Not that the boardinghouse had been rowdy, but there was something peaceful about the ranch. He was hoping it inspired dreamless sleep, but if not, at least he wouldn’t disturb anyone if he had a nightmare. They’d been fading gradually over the six months since his discharge, but sometimes, in the half sleep just before wakefulness, he still felt like he was back there, on patrol, in danger, calling in the air strike that had been the biggest mistake of his life. He shook the memories away quickly.
To his surprise, Grandma Palmer hadn’t even been upset about his moving out. And then he’d seen the glance that passed between her and Mrs. Thalberg. Those two widows were going to find something to meddle in.
Brooke’s light went out, and the ranch house settled into darkness. And then he saw the other light he’d missed, the one in the barn. It was almost midnight—was a horse ill?
Shrugging into his coat and hat, he walked through the yard, his boots crunching on the frozen ground. He went into the dark barn with the horses crowded into each stall, but no one was working. Most of the small herd roamed on the horse pasture and never came inside. He heard several dogs whine a greeting, but none barked, now that they knew him. Ranger came bounding toward him, tongue hanging out of a dog-smiling mouth, and Adam rubbed between his ears. A door at the far end was open—one that was usually closed. He realized he’d never gone in there.
“Hello?” he called before approaching the doorway.
“Adam?”
It was Josh’s voice, so he went inside and was surprised to find him at a workbench, a mallet and some kind of tiny chisel in his hand. He was bent over a shaped piece of dyed leather. Adam’s gaze swept the rest of the