A Town Called Valentine: A Valentine Valley Novel (26 page)

Nate was staring at her, his expression impassive as she foolishly babbled. Was she hurting him, or would he be relieved when she left? She didn’t want to hurt anyone—including herself.

“Nate, I’m really not too hungry, and I promised Monica I’d work today. Do you mind if we leave?”

Joe got to his feet, too. “Emily, it was nice to meet you.”

He put out a hand, and she slowly took it. He cupped hers in both of his and smiled at her. Her throat felt so tight she didn’t think she could swallow, but she managed a smile in return.

“We’ll talk again when you’re ready,” Joe said. “You let me know.”

She nodded and hurried away without a backward glance, hoping Nate was following.

Chapter Twenty-two

W
hen Emily arrived through the back door of the flower shop, Monica looked up from an arrangement she was designing.

“Well, well, well,” Monica said with interest. “I never saw your lights go on last night after your big dinner with Nate.”

Emily gave her a wry, tired grin. “He booked a room. That is such a beautiful place.”

Monica continued to study her. “Well?”

Emily sat down on a stool. “I guess you’re not talking about Nate.”

“Did you see Joe?”

“We talked.” Emily had to swallow again. There was a lump in her throat that wouldn’t seem to go away. She’d had it during the quiet ride back here, during the distracted kiss she gave Nate before leaving him. She sighed. “Joe says he was dating my mom, and that she lied to him about me. He says he’s my dad.”

Monica’s face briefly lit up, then she seemed to control her reaction. “So . . . how does that make you feel?”

Emily had to chuckle. “You sound like a psychiatrist.”

“Well, I’d have to be blind not to be able to tell you’re upset. Aren’t you glad to know the truth?”

“It won’t be official until the DNA test.” She sighed. “But he thinks I look like his mom.”

Monica squeezed her hand.

“I only saw her briefly at the front desk last night, so who knows. As for glad? Relieved, maybe. He seems like a nice enough guy, and Nate likes the family, so they have to be okay.”

“Nate would know.”

Emily frowned at her but didn’t want to get into it about Nate.

“So what are you going to do now that you know?”

“Do? I—I don’t know. I’m not going to fall apart if that’s what you mean. I’ve had a couple weeks to come to terms with the fact that my dad . . . my dad wasn’t who I thought he was. But he considered himself my dad, and that’s good enough for me.”

“Of course it is!”

“As for Joe, I have to be a pretty big complication in his life. His wife will probably be upset, and maybe his kids, too.”

“Upset? Over something that happened when he was a teenager? I think that’s a little harsh.”

“Having a kid you never knew about? Some people could be pretty upset. And he’s angry at my mom for lying to him.”

“And probably sad that he got to miss out on helping to raise you,” Monica added gently.

Emily fought against the tears that filled her eyes. She couldn’t think about that. “I don’t want them to consider me some kind of responsibility now. They don’t owe me anything.”

“Emily, listen to yourself! You’re talking like there’s a balance sheet, and things have to add up. Life isn’t that easy. How would you feel if you had a child you didn’t know about?”

Just the thought gave her a painful squeeze through her chest. “Oh, Monica, I just don’t know what I’m supposed to do now,” she whispered.

“I’ll give you the cliché answer: Take it one day at a time. There’s no right or wrong here. Just a group of people trying to get to know each other.”

“A group—do you know how many kids he already has?” Emily asked with exasperation.

“You make five.”

Emily hastily stood up. “I can’t think about that now. Let’s talk about something—anything—else. Is Melissa still here?”

Monica groaned. “It’s been
forever.
She keeps saying she’s got all this vacation time coming, and she’s still able to do some writing from here, and I know she’s begun seeing some old friends, but—damn, I want my apartment back.”

Emily smiled. “I admire your patience. Are things . . . better between you?”

“A bit. I’ve given up hope that it’ll ever be what it once was, but if we can make the holidays less tense, I’ll be content.”

Emily’s cell rang, and she glanced at it. “It’s Nate.”

“Gee, he only just dropped you off, right? Guess he can’t get enough of you.”

“Or he feels sorry for me.”

Monica rolled her eyes. “Take the call. I think I have a customer.”

Emily stared at the phone, then sent it to voice mail. She couldn’t talk about this anymore. Ever since she’d arrived in Valentine Valley, she felt like the butt of everyone’s pity. She could handle this on her own.

T
he next day, after a lunch shift at the flower shop, Emily was painting behind the restaurant bar when she heard a knock at her front door. She popped up and saw a man outside, his face shadowed by the building. Wiping her hands on a clean rag, she came around and realized that Joe Sweet had come to call. Her stomach did a little spasm. She’d done a good job putting him out of her mind. Perhaps it hadn’t been so easy for him to do the same.

She opened the door and smiled tentatively at him. “Hi, Joe.”

He circled his cowboy hat slowly in his hands, even as he nodded at her. He studied her too closely, too eagerly, and Emily felt her shoulders stiffen.

“Hi, Emily. Mind if I see your place?”

She stepped back, and, as he came inside, she found herself relieved that no one else was with him.
Relieved?
Shouldn’t she be curious? She had brothers and a sister! And a stepmother . . .

“This place looks a lot different than I remember it,” he said, looking around. “I didn’t eat at the last restaurant.”

When he seemed almost apologetic, she laughed. “When you have a place like the Sweetheart Inn, why would you eat anywhere else?”

“Oh, believe me, I eat at a lot of different places. I’m pretty involved in the restaurants around here.”

“Nate said you’re a proponent of organic farming?”

His eyes lit up, and he started talking about healthy eating and slow food, and what pesticides did to the environment. Emily let him ramble, interested in spite of herself and grateful he was filling what would probably be an awkward silence.

“I’ve been overseeing a garden I helped build at the high school. It’s never too soon to stress the importance of good food to teenagers.” He started circling his hat in his hands again.

“You seem like a busy man, yet you make time for kids. I like that.” She found herself wondering what her childhood would have been like with him in it. No, she wasn’t going there. The past couldn’t be changed.

“Do you have kids?” he asked.

She hesitated, not wanting to explain her baby’s death before she had ever taken a breath. “I’d like to someday, though. Sadly, I’ve already been divorced.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

She gave him a tour of the kitchen, then took him upstairs.

He grinned. “I like what you’ve done with the place. It seems homey.”

She’d really created that feeling all by herself, she thought with wonder, then heard herself saying—and meaning it, “It’s been good to be here.”

He looked out the front window. “You can’t see the park from here, but you know the pavilion?”

She nodded.

“The ladies of the preservation fund have been working with me on putting a farmer’s market there this summer. Nate’s been pretty involved with it.” He glanced at her with a hint of speculation.

“I don’t know how he has the time,” she said blandly.

“Time, money—he gives whatever he can. He’s active in the preservation fund.”

Is he? she thought, trying not to show her curiosity. It was none of her business. But at least he was using his money for good, helping make Valentine better for everyone. Because you couldn’t tell by his old pickup and basic denim wardrobe that he might be worth something more substantial.

“And then there’s the rodeo,” Joe continued.

She wasn’t making this easy for him, but she didn’t know how to do that. “It’ll be my first.”

“You’ll have a good time. All the women wear their finest Western gear, even if they’re not competing.”

“I hear I can enter the baking contest.”

“Well that’s good! Not sure you can beat my wife’s apple bread, but you can try.”

She laughed, finding herself slowly relaxing in his company. “Then I better not enter the bread competition. So what kind of Western gear should I wear on the big day?”

He looked down at her feet in flip-flops. “Do you have cowboy boots?”

“No,” she said regretfully.

“I could help you choose them. There’s a store in Aspen with a great selection.”

She studied his face, the way he tried not to appear too hopeful, and felt a sudden tenderness that made her blink against tears. “I’d like that.”

“Do you want to go right now? I have some time, if you do.”

She hesitated, feeling a bit silly and awkward, but touched, too. “Okay, let me wash up and change.”

He grinned, and she found herself grinning back. It was a start.

E
mily spent the next couple days working as hard as she could. Occasionally, she would glance into her closet at her new cowboy boots, which Joe had insisted on buying for her. They were tooled with daisies up the side, and she felt like a cowgirl in them—like a real resident of Valentine Valley. The time spent with him had been confusing and cautious, but there were moments where they forgot the new reality between them and just chatted. Yet every time he started talking about his family, she found herself steering the conversation away though she wasn’t sure why.

She had another revelation while spending time with Joe. She had at first been offended by his offer of the cowboy boots—though she hadn’t told him. Then it had dawned on her that she’d been so busy trying to be Miss Independence, that it had never occurred to her that that was how people, how
family,
showed they cared. It had happened so seldom in her life, she hadn’t been able to recognize it for what it was.

Maybe Nate didn’t recognize it either, she mused, wondering . . .

Valentine Valley filled up with rodeo crowds. Emily had never seen so many cowboy hats in her life. She and Nate shared an occasional meal, but the rodeo that weekend began to take up more and more of his time. It was a good thing. She had to keep reminding herself not to imagine things were too deeply felt, that there might be more to the softness in his eyes than friendship and enjoyment. They couldn’t have more than that even if she wanted it. Nate didn’t.

Her building was done at last—bare of furniture on the first floor but ready to be whatever the new owners wanted it to be. She called the real-estate agent, and he toured the place for the first time, whistling his admiration. After taking pictures, he promised to get back to her soon about whether the owner of Leather and Lace wanted to see it before making an offer. When he’d gone, she stood in the middle of the restaurant and felt . . . melancholy, wistful, as if this building had been another stage in her life that she was soon to leave behind.

Luckily, preparing for the rodeo baking competition kept her mind off anything too weighty. She settled on a chocolate mousse cake, and baked two, one for the judges, and one to be auctioned off later in the day for the Valentine Preservation Fund.

Just after dawn on the morning of the rodeo, the clouds broke, signaling a beautiful mountain day. Emily showed up with her entry and walked the ranch grounds, gawking at the colorful tents fluttering in the breeze, and the profusion of food vendors. She made plans to come back and sample the food, fried dough, sausage and peppers, and her favorite, cotton candy.

Crafters and leather artists displayed their wares. She noticed Josh wasn’t among them, but she was able to meet several of the women who sold their crafts on consignment at the flower shop, and blushed at their praise for her ability to hand-sell their goods. She’d helped these people earn a living with their talents, and it made her feel good.

Little boys and girls were dressed as cowboys, complete with chaps and spurs and little Stetsons. Emily later found out they were competing in a sheep-riding contest—who could stay on the longest, just like the big cowboys riding a bucking horse. Spurs jingled from cowboy boots as young men arrogantly strode through the grounds, ready to compete. More than one person called a hello, and she realized how many people she’d met in just a few short weeks.

And everywhere were the animals, of course. Many competitors brought their own horses for the barrel racing, calf roping, and team roping. Dogs roamed the grounds, occasionally wrestling for dominance, then barking in merry packs. In pens, the cattle lowed in deep baritone voices, as if warning all the competitors to expect a challenge.

At the baking-competition tent, she stayed to help Sandy Thalberg coordinate the entries. She got whistles from more than one cowboy, and she felt positively pretty in a sundress and cowboy boots—nothing like you’d see on the streets of San Francisco. She was dying to know what Nate thought but knew he must be crazy busy so didn’t seek him out. But every time she heard his deep voice over the loudspeakers that echoed through the valley, she felt a little thrill of excitement. And then his voice was gone, and Josh’s took his place. Emily exchanged a curious look with Sandy, who only shrugged her shoulders and went back to work.

A
half hour earlier, in the ranch office, Nate looked out the window at the lightening sky and scowled. He’d printed out several lists and talked to all the event coordinators. He still had some more announcements to make, but he was waiting for the last document to print, then he’d follow his prescribed list, making sure everything got done.