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~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ True Love at Silver Creek Ranch by Emma Cane ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Welcome to Valentine Valley, where tongues are wagging now that the town bad boy is back--and rumor has it the lean, mean ex-Marine is about to lose his heart! But like it or not, in a town like Valentine, love happens ... Adam Desantis is back--bruised, battle-weary and sexier than ever! Not that Brooke Thalberg is in the market. The beautiful cowgirl of Silver Creek Ranch needs a cowboy for hire, not a boyfriend--though the gaggle of grandmas at the Widows' Boardinghouse thinks otherwise. But from the moment she finds herself in Adam's arms, she's shocked to discover she may just want more. Adam knows it's crazy to tangle with Brooke, especially with the memories that still haunt him, and the warm welcome her family has given him. But he finds himself in a fix, because tender-loving Brooke is so much more woman than he ever imagined. Can a soldier battling demons give her the love she clearly deserves? Just about everybody in Valentine thinks so! ~~~~~ Reviews: "Sweet, passionate, and engaging...a compelling romance...a cast of characters you care about and a community that draws you in." Kirkus Reviews "Another heartwarming tale from Emma Cane." Joyfully Reviewed "This touching family- and community-centered romance addresses some serious issues and is a lovely, uplifting addition to Cane’s ongoing series." Library Journal "...a heart-warming Christmas tale...Emma Cane crafts stories that will stay the distance, books you will want to return to again and again." FreshFiction.com "There's just something about Valentine Valley--a charming read that's perfect to ring in the New Year." RT Book Reviews Magazine "I absolutely loved this town." Love Romances and More "TRUE LOVE AT SILVER CREEK RANCH will tug on your heartstrings...a tender--yet sexy--romance." Romance Reviews Today "I couldn't put the book down." Once Upon a Romance "a nostalgic and very emotional tale" FreshFiction.com "The characters are engaging, often in unexpected naughty ways that are laugh-out-loud funny." Romance Junkies ~~~~~ Excerpt: (The
following is the property of the author and Avon Books, and cannot be copied or
reprinted without permission.) (Story Setup: Brooke
Thalberg of the Silver Creek Ranch discovered that an old family barn was
burning. She saved her horses with the help of a stranger.) “Come on,” Brooke said wearily, refusing to
glance one last time at her family’s barn, although she could hear the crackle
and roar of the fire. “The bunkhouse is close. We’ll wash up there and see to
your face.” And she could look into his eyes and see if
he was the sort who set fires for fun. He didn’t seem it, for he didn’t look
back at the fire either, only trudged behind her. The bunkhouse was an old log cabin, another
of the original buildings from the nineteenth century silver boom days, when
cattle from the Silver Creek Ranch had fed thousands of miners coming down from
their claims to spend their riches in Valentine Valley. Brooke’s father had updated
the interior of the cabin to house the occasional temporary workers they needed
during branding or haying season. There were a couple sets of bunk beds along
the walls, an old couch before the stone hearth, a battered table and chairs,
kitchen cabinets and basic appliances at the far end of the open room, and two
doors that led into a single bedroom and bathroom. The walls were filled with unframed photos of
the various hands they’d employed to work the ranch over the years. Some of
those photos, tacked up haphazardly and curling at the edges, were old black
and whites going as far back as photography did. Brooke shivered with a chill even as she
removed her coat. The heat was only high enough to keep the pipes from
freezing, and she went to raise the thermostat. When she turned around, the
stranger had removed his hat and was shrugging out of his Carhartt jacket,
revealing matted down hair and a soot-stained face. He was wearing a
long-sleeve red flannel shirt and jeans over cowboy boots. To keep from staring at him, she pointed to
the second door. “Go on and wash up in the bathroom. I’ll find a first-aid
kit.” He silently nodded and moved past her,
limping slightly, shutting the door behind him. He might be hurt worse than he
was saying, she thought with a wince. As she opened cabinet doors, she realized
the kit was probably in the bathroom. Sighing even as she rolled up her
sleeves, she let the water run in the kitchen sink until it was hot, then
soaped up her black hands and started on her face. If her hair hadn’t been in a
long braid down her back, she’d dunk her whole head under. She’d have to wait
for a shower. Grabbing paper towels, she patted her skin dry. A few minutes later, the stranger came out of
the bathroom, his hair sticking up in short, damp curls, the first-aid kit in
his hand. His face was clean now, and she could see that the two-inch cut was
still bleeding. “You probably need stitches,” she said, even
as the first inkling of recognition began to tease her. “You don’t want a
scar.” He met her gaze and held it, and she saw the
faintest spark of amusement, as if he knew something she didn’t. “Don’t worry about it, Brooke.” She hadn’t told him her name. “So I do know
you.” “It’s been a long time,” he said, eyeing her
as openly as she was doing to him. He was taller than her, well-muscled beneath
the flannel shirt that he’d pushed up to his elbows. And then his name suddenly echoed like a shot
in her mind. “Adam Desantis,” she breathed. “It’s been over ten years since you
went off to the Marines.” He gave a short nod. No wonder he looked in such great physical
shape. Feeling awkward, she forced her gaze back to his face. He’d been
good-looking in high school—and knew it—but now his face was rugged and
masculine, a man grown. She got flashes of memory then—Adam as the
cool wide receiver all the high school girls wanted, with his posse of arrogant
sidekicks. He’d been able to rule the school, doing whatever he wanted—because
his parents hadn’t cared, she reminded herself. And then she had another memory
of the sixth grade science fair, where all the parents had helped their kids
with experiments, except for his. His display had been crude and unfinished,
and his mother had drunkenly told him so in front of every kid within hearing
range. Whenever Brooke thought badly of his antics in high school, that
was the memory that crept back up, making her feel ill with pity and sorrow. “Your grandma talks about you all the time,”
she finally said. Mrs. Palmer spoke of him with glowing pride as he rose
through the ranks to Staff Sergeant, a rarity at his age. “Hope she doesn’t bore everybody,” he
answered, showing sincerity rather than just tossing off something he didn’t
mean. “I hear she lives with your grandma. The Widows’ Boardinghouse?” “The name was their idea. They’re kind of
famous now, but those are stories for another day. Come here and let me look at
your cheek.” He moved toward her slowly, as if she were a horse needing to be
calmed, which amused her. “I can take care of it,” he said. “Sit down.” “I said—” “Sit down!” She pulled out a kitchen chair
and pointed. “I can’t reach your face. I’m tall, but not that tall.” “Yes, ma’am,” he answered gruffly. She pressed her lips together to keep from
smiling. He eased into the chair just a touch slowly,
but somehow she knew he didn’t want any more questions about his health. Adam
Desantis, she told herself again, shaking her head. He wasn’t a stranger—and he
wouldn’t have started the fire, regardless of the trouble he’d once gotten
into. She told herself to relax, but her body still tensed with an awareness
that surprised her. She was just curious about him, that was all. She cleared
her throat and tried to speak lightly. “I imagine you’re used to taking
orders.” “Not for the last six months. I left after my
enlistment was up.” Tearing open an antiseptic towelette, she
leaned toward him, feeling almost nervous. Nervous? she thought in
surprise. She worked what most would call a man’s job, and dealt with men all
day. What was her problem? She got a whiff of smoke from his clothes, but his
face was scrubbed clean of it. She tilted his head, her fingers touching his
whisker-rough square chin marked with a deep cleft in the center. His eyes
studied her, and she was so close she could see golden flecks deep inside the
brown. She stared into them, and he stared back, and in that moment, she felt a
rush of heat and embarrassment all rolled together. Hoping he hadn’t noticed,
she began to dab at his wound, feeling him tense with the sting of antiseptic. Damn it all, what was wrong with her? She
hadn’t been attracted to him in high school—he’d been an idiot, as far as she
was concerned. She’d been focused on her family ranch and barrel-racing, not
the kind of girl who would lavish all her attention on a boy, as he seemed to
require. Brooke always felt that she had her own life to live, and didn’t need
a boyfriend as some kind of status symbol. But ten years later, Adam returned as an
ex-Marine who saved her horses, a man with a square-cut face, faint lines fanning
out from his eyes as if he’d squinted under desert suns, and she was turning
into a schoolgirl all over again. Adam stared into Brooke Thalberg’s face as
she bent over him, not bothering to hide his powerful curiosity. He remembered
her, of course—who wouldn’t? She was as tall as many guys, and probably as
strong, too, from all the hard work on her family ranch. A brave woman, he admitted, remembering her
fearlessness running into the fire, her concern for the horses more than
herself. Now her hazel eyes stared at his face intently, their mix of browns
and greens vivid and changeable. She turned away to search the med kit and his
gaze lingered on her slim back covered in a checked western shirt that was
tucked into her belt. Her long braid tumbled down her back, almost to the sway
of her jean-clad hips. It’s not like he hadn’t seen a woman before. And this
woman had been a pest through his childhood, too smart for her own good—seeing
into his troubled life the things he’d tried to keep hidden—too confident in
her own talent. She had a family who believed in her, and that gave a kid a
special kind of confidence. He hadn’t had that sort of family, so he recognized
it when he saw it. He wondered if she’d changed at all—he
certainly had. After discovering his own confidence, he’d built a place and a
name for himself in the Marines. His overconfidence had destroyed that, leaving
him in a fog of uncertainty that had been hovering around him for half a year
now. Kind of like being in a barn fire, he
guessed, feeling your way around, wondering if you were ever going to get out
again. He still didn’t know. After using butterfly bandages to keep the
wound closed, Brooke taped a small square of gauze to his face then
straightened, hands on her hips, to judge her handiwork. “You might need
stitches if you want to avoid a scar.” He shrugged. “Got enough of those. One more
won’t hurt.” He rose slowly to his feet, feeling the stiffness
in his leg that never quite went away. The docs had got most of the shrapnel
out, but not quite all of it. The exertion of the fire had irritated the old
wound, but that would ease with time. He was used to it by now, and the
reminder that he was alive was more than he deserved, when there were so many
men beneath the ground. After closing the kit, Brooke turned back to
face him, tilting her head to look up. They stared at each other a moment, too
close, almost too intimate alone here. Drops of water still sparkled in her
dark lashes, and her skin was fresh-scrubbed and free of makeup. She looked
prettier than he remembered, a woman instead of the skinny girl. Adam was surprised at the sensations her
nearness inspired in him, this awareness of her as a woman, when back in high
school she’d barely registered as that to him. He’d dated cheerleaders and
party girls, not cowgirls. Now she held herself so tall and easily, with a
confidence born of hard work and years of testing her body to the limits. She cleared her throat, and her gaze dropped
from his eyes to his mouth, then his shirtfront. “You have a limp,” she said.
“Did one of the horses kick you?” “Had the limp on and off for awhile. Nothing
new.” She nodded, then stepped past him to return
the med kit to the bathroom. When she came back out, she was wearing a fixed,
polite smile, which, to his surprise, amused him. Not much amused him anymore. “I’m glad you’re not hurt bad,” she said.
“You did me—us—a big favor and I can’t thank you enough for helping rescue the
horses. How’d you see the fire?” “I was at the boardinghouse and saw the smoke
out the window.” If the trees hadn’t been winter-bare, he might not have seen
it at all, which made him think uneasily of Brooke, battling the fire alone.
“Where are your brothers? They might have come in handy if I hadn’t seen the
fire. I assume they still work on the ranch?” She nodded. “They’re at the hospital with my
dad, visiting my mom. Did you remember she has MS?” He shook his head. “I never knew.” “She never talked about it much, so I’m not
surprised. Most of the time, she only needs a cane, but she’s battling a
flare-up that’s weakened her legs. The guys took their turn at the hospital
today, while I rode fence. Guess I found more than I bargained for.” She eyed
him with speculation. “So you’re back to visit your grandma.” She put her hands in her back pockets and
rocked once on her heels, as if she didn’t know what to do with herself. That
stretched her shirt across her breasts, and he had to force himself to keep his
gaze on her face. “Grandma’s letters were off,” he admitted.
“She seemed almost scattered.” Brooke focused on him with a frown.
“Scattered? Your grandma?” “My instincts were right. I got here and she
was a lot more frail, and she’s using a cane now.” “A cane? That’s new. And I see her often, so
maybe I just didn’t notice she’d slowly been…” She trailed off. “Declining?” He almost grumbled the words.
Grandma Palmer was in her seventies, but some part of him thought she never
changed. She was still the one woman who could briefly get him away from his
parents to sleep on sheets that didn’t smell of smoke, to eat meals that didn’t
come from a drive-thru. He was never hungry at Grandma Palmer’s, whether for
food or for love. There weren’t holidays or birthdays unless Grandma had them.
All he’d been to his teenage parents was an unwanted kid, the result of a
broken condom, and they blamed him for making so little of their lives. He saw
that now, but at the time? He’d been relieved to enlist in the Marines and
start his life over. Now he and Grandma Palmer only had each
other. His parents had died after falling asleep in bed with cigarettes a few
years back, and he hadn’t experienced anywhere near the grief he now felt in
worrying about her. He might have only seen her once or twice a year, but he’d
written faithfully, and so had she. The packages she’d sent had been filled
with his favorite books and food, enough to share with his buddies. He felt a
spasm of pain at the memories. Some of those buddies were dead now. Good
memories mingled with the bad, and he could still see Paul Ivanick cheerfully
holding back Adam’s care package until he promised to share Grandma Palmer’s
cookies. Paul was dead now. When Adam was discharged, it took everything
in him not to run to his grandma like a little boy. But no one could make
things right, not for him, or for the men who died. The men, his Marine
brothers, who were dead because of him. He didn’t want to imagine what his
grandma would think about him if she knew the truth. “Those old women still seem strong,” Brooke
insisted. “Mrs. Ludlow may use a walker, and your grandma now a cane, but they
have enough…well, gumption, to use their word, for ten women.” He shrugged. “All I know is what I see.” And then they stood there, two strangers who
grew up in the same small town, but never really knew each other. “So what have you been up to?” Brooke asked,
rocking on her heels again. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Nothing
much.” In a small town like Valentine Valley,
everyone thought they deserved to know their neighbor’s business. Brooke
wouldn’t think any different—hell, he remembered how she used to butt into his
in high school, when they weren’t even friends. She’d been curious about his
studies, a do-gooder who thought she could change the world. She hadn’t seen the world and its cruelties,
hadn’t left the safety of this town, or her family, as far as he knew. He’d
seen the world—too much of it. There was nothing he could tell her—nothing he
wanted to remember. “Oo-kay then,” she said, drawing out the
word. He wondered if she felt as aware of the
simmering tension between them, and as uneasy as he did. He wouldn’t let
himself feel like this, uncertain whether he even deserved a normal life. “What am I thinking?” she suddenly burst out,
digging her hand into her pocket and coming out with a cell phone. “I haven’t
even called my dad.” She turned her back and stared out the
window, where the firemen were hosing down the smoldering ruins of her family
barn. For just a moment, Adam remembered coming to the Silver Creek Ranch as a
kid when his dad would do the occasional odd jobs for the Thalbergs. He’d seen
the close, teasing relationships between Brooke and her brothers, the way their
parents guided and nurtured them with love. Their life had seemed so different,
so foreign to him. And now Brooke would never be able to understand the life he’d been leading. So he turned and walked quietly out the door. Order from Barnes and Noble |
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