a word, and even she had to smile at the thought of a male version of Mrs. Palmer. She had a thick Western drawl, a big, blond wig, a penchant for clothing with outrageous prints and colors, and a nose for everyone else’s business. The latter she had in common with her widowed friends.
Then they all sobered as they turned back to the smoldering ruin.
Brooke sighed. “Hal said he doesn’t think the fire was deliberately set.”
“According to his preliminary report,” her father corrected. “There’s been some vandalism in town recently.”
“Graffiti on the town gazebo hardly equates to starting fires,” Brooke said, knowing she sounded like she was defending whichever teenagers were involved.
“And let’s not forget that we did have a case of arson last year,” Nate pointed out.
Brooke met Emily’s curious eyes. “He’s right. Cody Brissette was eighteen when he started a fire at the park along Silver Creek, and ended up burning down a pavilion. He claimed it was an accident, that they’d only been trying to get warm, but it didn’t matter. A kayaker was injured when he tried to retrieve his equipment from the blaze. The kid’s still in jail.”
Emily winced.
“He’s a man, not a kid,” Josh said mildly. “He had to accept the consequences.”
“So he couldn’t have started this fire,” Brooke said. “This is an old barn. Maybe the wiring went bad.”
“If only we’d been here,” Nate said with a sigh, turning back to the pile of blackened, steaming timber.
“And what would you have done?” Brooke asked patiently. “I was riding fence, and by the time I saw it, it was too late.”
“I know,” Nate said.
He always thought he was Superman, so she didn’t take it personally. She’d ridden beside her brothers from the time she was ten years old, doing everything that needed to be done on a ranch, from guiding cattle to pasture to changing tires. She’d long since proven herself a man’s equal.
Doug draped an arm around her shoulders and squeezed. “I’m just glad you’re okay,” he whispered gruffly.
She leaned her head against his shoulder, and they all went back to silently studying the wreckage.
“What did you tell Mom?” Brooke asked her dad, suddenly worried about how this trauma could affect her mom’s recovery.
“About the fire?” He hesitated. “I tried to minimize your involvement, but I’m afraid she figured me out. I think she’s okay, but—”
“I’ll go visit her, put her at ease.”
“A good idea,” Doug said with relief.
Nate glanced at Josh. “I never did like to use this barn much once we built the new one—too far away from the main house.”
Josh rubbed his chin. “Mighty cold walk in the winter.”
Brooke rolled her eyes, knowing there’d be a lot of discussions later. She glanced at Emily. “You want to come to the hospital?”
Emily grinned. “Can we stop at the Widows’ Boardinghouse? Your grandma will be worried, too.”
When Emily had first come to town last spring, she’d had no place to go, and Nate had taken her there, where the widows had made a fuss over her and insisted she stay until her building was habitable. The building had been vandalized by the last tenants, and Emily—with Nate’s help—had made the repairs herself. Instead of selling and going back to San Francisco, she’d stayed to open her own bakery, a dream she hadn’t known she had.
Brooke thought Emily’s idea to visit the widows a good one, and she tried to tell herself it wasn’t because Adam Desantis was staying there.
The two women went back to the main house, so Brooke could shower, then drove Brooke’s Jeep to the boardinghouse on the edge of the property overlooking Silver Creek. The house was a white, three-story Victorian, with pretty gingerbread trim and wraparound porches where you could always find a perfect view of the mountains. A sign out front said WIDOWS’ BOARDINGHOUSE as if they took in guests. Not paying guests, but they certainly sheltered the occasional lost person who needed a home. As if Emily was thinking the same thing, the two women shared a grin.
“I still miss it here,” Emily said, as they drove around behind and parked near the back porch.
“Really?” Brooke asked in disbelief. “You have your own apartment, no one to report your every movement to.”
Emily smiled. “I felt cared for.”
Together, they crossed the porch and entered the kitchen. Brooke never failed to smile when she saw all the cow decorations, from the horns on the wall where she now hung her coat, to the cow and bull salt and