Roaring Fork Valley from Glenwood Springs to Aspen. He saw the occasional rider, too, but because of the distance, it was hard to know whether it was Brooke or not.
He found himself thinking about her too much, which surprised him. Since leaving the Marines, he hadnât given much thought to women at all. Certainly heâd met them on the Gulf, where heâd been a longshoreman unloading cargo south of New Orleans. But it was as if he didnât know what to do with one anymore. That had panicked him a couple months ago, so he had a one-night stand. All the parts worked, and he made sure she had a good time; he was just uninterested in more, so he didnât try to date. He knew, during those months, it wouldnât have been fair to burden a woman with his problems. His life had been work, TV, and the occasional evening out drinking with the men from the shipyard. And books, of course. He enjoyed a good mystery. Grandma offered to take him to the Open Book when he was ready.
Instead of beer-drinking buddies with sports conversation to help him forget, he had tea-drinking ladies and their committee discussions about preserving the town. He wasnât very interestedâValentine had never really felt like home. Grandma would have loved to discuss that, too, but he shut down any conversation about his parents. Theyâd been self-centered and negligent; they werenât worth thinking about.
But in idle moments, his thoughts returned to Brooke. She hadnât been on his radar in high school, and, truth be told, he hadnât thought about her in years. But ever since sheâd raced with him into a burning building to save her horses, sheâd lingered in his mind. Maybe his mind was trying to tell him he needed a woman, because hell, heâd gotten a hard-on the moment sheâd put her hands on his face to clean his cut. Sheâd been leaning over him, and although she was dressed as a cowgirl, heâd been able to see the edge of her lacy blue bra, and he hadnât stopped looking. So if thoughts of her plagued him, it was only what he deserved.
But he really needed something more to do. And when his grandma spread out her tarot cards in front of him late that afternoon, he decided it was time to head into town. He could have walked itâValentine was only about eight blocks wide and long. But he felt a little more invisible in his pickup.
The preservation-fund committee must have been doing good work because everything looked so polished and clean. Though there was a little more than a week until Thanksgiving, Christmas decorations lined Main Streetâbanners hung from the light poles, red and green ribbons tied everywhere. Businesses had already turned on the twinkling lights in their windows as dusk approached, fake candles in the apartment windows above. Each evergreen had been transformed into a Christmas tree, with gleaming decorations peeking from beneath a dusting of snow. Adam knew it must help their tourism business. The area was packed with skiers looking for sightseeing and shopping opportunities when they werenât on the slopes, and Valentine Valley was only a half hourâs drive from Aspen. But this wasnât the part of town heâd come from.
He kept driving past the âhistoric downtown,â past the old homes and the bed-and-breakfasts until he reached the trailer park on the outskirts of town, near the highway. Rusted single-wides were mixed in with newer models, and some had Christmas lights, too, but it all felt . . . forced, as if they were pretending everything was fine this holiday. And maybe for them it was.
He reached the spot where his parentsâ trailer had been, and there was nothing there, as if it were haunted. He imagined that beneath the layer of snow, the earth was still scorched. A gang of kids threw a football around nearby, slipping in the snow, laughing. Adam smiled because that used to be him. Other kids in Valentine
He found himself thinking about her too much, which surprised him. Since leaving the Marines, he hadnât given much thought to women at all. Certainly heâd met them on the Gulf, where heâd been a longshoreman unloading cargo south of New Orleans. But it was as if he didnât know what to do with one anymore. That had panicked him a couple months ago, so he had a one-night stand. All the parts worked, and he made sure she had a good time; he was just uninterested in more, so he didnât try to date. He knew, during those months, it wouldnât have been fair to burden a woman with his problems. His life had been work, TV, and the occasional evening out drinking with the men from the shipyard. And books, of course. He enjoyed a good mystery. Grandma offered to take him to the Open Book when he was ready.
Instead of beer-drinking buddies with sports conversation to help him forget, he had tea-drinking ladies and their committee discussions about preserving the town. He wasnât very interestedâValentine had never really felt like home. Grandma would have loved to discuss that, too, but he shut down any conversation about his parents. Theyâd been self-centered and negligent; they werenât worth thinking about.
But in idle moments, his thoughts returned to Brooke. She hadnât been on his radar in high school, and, truth be told, he hadnât thought about her in years. But ever since sheâd raced with him into a burning building to save her horses, sheâd lingered in his mind. Maybe his mind was trying to tell him he needed a woman, because hell, heâd gotten a hard-on the moment sheâd put her hands on his face to clean his cut. Sheâd been leaning over him, and although she was dressed as a cowgirl, heâd been able to see the edge of her lacy blue bra, and he hadnât stopped looking. So if thoughts of her plagued him, it was only what he deserved.
But he really needed something more to do. And when his grandma spread out her tarot cards in front of him late that afternoon, he decided it was time to head into town. He could have walked itâValentine was only about eight blocks wide and long. But he felt a little more invisible in his pickup.
The preservation-fund committee must have been doing good work because everything looked so polished and clean. Though there was a little more than a week until Thanksgiving, Christmas decorations lined Main Streetâbanners hung from the light poles, red and green ribbons tied everywhere. Businesses had already turned on the twinkling lights in their windows as dusk approached, fake candles in the apartment windows above. Each evergreen had been transformed into a Christmas tree, with gleaming decorations peeking from beneath a dusting of snow. Adam knew it must help their tourism business. The area was packed with skiers looking for sightseeing and shopping opportunities when they werenât on the slopes, and Valentine Valley was only a half hourâs drive from Aspen. But this wasnât the part of town heâd come from.
He kept driving past the âhistoric downtown,â past the old homes and the bed-and-breakfasts until he reached the trailer park on the outskirts of town, near the highway. Rusted single-wides were mixed in with newer models, and some had Christmas lights, too, but it all felt . . . forced, as if they were pretending everything was fine this holiday. And maybe for them it was.
He reached the spot where his parentsâ trailer had been, and there was nothing there, as if it were haunted. He imagined that beneath the layer of snow, the earth was still scorched. A gang of kids threw a football around nearby, slipping in the snow, laughing. Adam smiled because that used to be him. Other kids in Valentine
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