his feelings by not telling him.
“I can’t tell you how grateful I am for your support, Mrs. Palmer,” Whitney said. “We should have no problems.”
Grandma glanced at Adam as her smile dimmed a bit. “Well . . . that might not be true, my dear Whitney. There are some people in town who’ve heard you’re inquirin’ about a permit, and they’re not too happy.”
Whitney turned a baffled expression on Adam, then back to his grandma. “But . . . I have two other stores, and I’ve never had a problem.”
“I heard about the one in San Francisco,” Grandma said. “Where’s the other?”
“Las Vegas.”
“Ah well, there you have it.” Grandma shook her head. “They’re big cities, and Valentine Valley is a small town with some small minds who can easily influence the rest of ’em.”
Whitney’s expression turned pensive, and she rubbed her upper arms as if comforting herself.
“But don’t worry, dear,” Grandma said in a cheerful voice. “You’re not alone, as you can tell from that newspaper article.”
Whitney frowned. “Article?”
Grandma opened her purse and pulled out the folded Valentine Gazette. “So be at ease, knowin’ you have help. We’ll be there to back you at the town-council meetin’.”
Whitney sighed. “I didn’t know I needed help.”
Grandma gave Adam a look, and he tensed with expectation.
“Now that we’ve put your mind at ease,” she said, “why not a tour of Valentine Valley? Adam here, would be free to—”
He held up a hand and interrupted. “Sorry, Grandma, but I haven’t lived here for ten years.”
“Yes, yes,” Grandma said, nodding. “And you do work long hours at the ranch.” She smiled up at Whitney. “I’ll give you the tour myself one of these days.”
And Whitney would get to hear every detail of Valentine’s history—just what she needed, Adam thought, hiding a smile.
“We’re going to the True Grits for dinner,” Grandma was saying. “Care to join us, Whitney?”
Dammit, she was arranging his dates now.
Whitney brightened. “I would love to! And I’ll bring along my portfolio with sketches for next year’s line. I’d like to hear your opinion.”
Adam could have groaned. Not more lingerie talk with his grandma!
Chapter Twelve
Brooke was just setting the kitchen table for dinner when her cell phone rang and she saw Monica’s ID. “Hey, Monica.”
“Are you busy?” Monica asked.
“I’m fine, thanks,” she teased, “and nope, not too busy.”
“I think you better come to the True Grits.”
Brooke frowned, holding a cup motionless above the table. “Why?”
“It’s so crowded no one can get in, and people are saying Mrs. Palmer’s in there with the owner of Leather and Lace. More than one whisper has gone around that Adam’s in town at last—and he’s in there with them.”
Brooke remembered hearing about Mrs. Palmer’s last battle with Sylvester Galimi at the boardinghouse—and she’d gone to the man’s diner? “Are you there now?”
“Nope, I’m at my store. If I couldn’t get in, I’m not standing out on the street. It’s freezing! Park near me, and we’ll run down together.”
“I’ll be right there.”
When she pulled into a parking space near the flower shop, Monica came rushing out the door, parka already zipped, fur hood falling to her eyebrows.
“I’ve got Karista to cover for me,” Monica said, referring to her teenage part-timer. “Wait!”
She ran next door to Sugar and Spice and leaned her head inside. Emily came out a moment later, wearing a long wool coat and tucking a scarf around her neck.
“Who’s covering for you?” Brooke asked, as they walked across Third and headed past Espresso Yourself, which was ominously empty.
“Mrs. Ludlow.”
“So she’s not in there raising hell with the other widows?” Monica demanded.
“She’s just fine hearing all about it later. Brooke, she said your grandma is home doing paperwork, so it’s only Mrs. Palmer in the eye of the storm.”
As they passed Hal’s Hardware, Hal was standing outside, the red tip of his cigarette reflected in his glasses, eyeing the crowd the next block over in front of the diner. When he saw them, he quickly put out the cigarette. Nice, a fireman who smokes, Brooke thought with amusement.
“Do you know what’s going on?” Hal asked, as they hurried past him.
“Nope,” Brooke said over her shoulder. “Except I hear one of the widows is involved.”
“Aah.” Hal nodded as if that explained everything.
By the time they reached the next block, Brooke was relieved to see it wasn’t a huge crowd gathered outside the True Grits but only a few people looking in the plate-glass windows, which were outlined in red and green Christmas lights. Glad she was tall, Brooke