A Town Called Valentine

chapter Ten



St. John’s Church was built of stone, with a tall spire that topped town hall. Though it looked majestic and conservative, Emily had to laugh, because right across the street was the Mystic Connection, the new age store the old men had been grumbling about. She wondered what the priest thought of the Wiccan priestesses who might frequent the shop.

The rectory and the church office were next door to St. John’s, and when Emily entered, the woman at the front desk rose with a smile.

“You must be Emily Murphy,” the woman said, coming around the desk and holding out her hand. “I’m Cathy Fletcher. Mrs. Palmer gave me a call.”

She should never trust the widows with an actual secret, Emily thought with resignation. She shook hands with Cathy, a plump woman with a matching skirt-and-sweater outfit. Short, curly brown hair framed her face, and she wore stylish glasses. No longer a rebel teenager, Emily thought with amusement.

Cathy gestured to a chair and sat down beside her. The rectory looked to be a converted Victorian home, complete with a two-story foyer that was outfitted for the receptionist.

“Mrs. Palmer tells me you’re Delilah’s daughter,” Cathy said.

“Had she already changed her name in high school?” Emily asked ruefully.

Cathy laughed. “She loved that name, but no, it wasn’t official. Mrs. Palmer told me about the change, and that you came to town to sell the old store because your mom died last year in a car accident. I was so sorry to hear that.”

“Thank you.”

“It feels like a part of my childhood is gone.” Cathy sighed.

“Did you keep in touch with my mother?”

Cathy took a deep breath and straightened her skirt over her knees. “Not for long although I sometimes like to think that if we had e-mail back then, we would have remained friends. Letters can be hard to write. Plus, I went to work right away as a secretary—I took business classes in high school—and your mom . . .” Her voice trailed away.

“Yes?” Emily didn’t know how to ask about the pregnancy without adding more gossip to Valentine’s rumor mill.

“Your mom felt . . . oppressed by small-town values and nosiness. I might have flirted with the idea of being a wild child, but when it came down to it, I just didn’t want to leave.”

“Did she ask you to go with her?”

Cathy frowned. “No, and perhaps that’s part of the reason we drifted apart.”

“But you said you didn’t want to leave.”

“I guess it would have been nice to know she wanted me to. And then she got pregnant and married so fast, and that new life really changed her.”

Emily withheld a sigh of frustration. It sounded like Cathy didn’t know that Delilah had gotten pregnant before leaving Valentine. “So she told you about me?”

“Oh, yes.” Cathy smiled. “She said she was grateful your father loved her enough to marry her even though they hadn’t planned on you so quickly.”

“Did she sound happy?” Emily asked wistfully. She shouldn’t ask—she knew how her mother felt. Her mother had confided her ambivalence about being a mother on the eve of Emily’s wedding.

“Happy? Don’t take this the wrong way, honey, but when you’re eighteen and pregnant, I can’t imagine you can be happy right away. She was scared for her future, but your dad supported her. The last letter I got from her was when your dad died. She didn’t want me to worry, said she was using the insurance money to begin her own business to support both of you. Imagine—a new age store. I thought it so appropriate. Sadly, she never answered my next letter. By then I was married and pregnant, and we both just got so busy with our lives.” She sighed, a small smile lingering on her mouth. “But look at you. Obviously, Delilah succeeded in raising a wonderful daughter.”

“That’s nice of you to say.” Emily leaned forward. “So tell me about you and my mom. I’d love to hear a couple stories. Were there other good friends I can talk to?”

“Good friends from high school? No. Delilah and I . . . well, we were different, but then you’ve seen the pictures.”

Cathy laughed, as if she’d long ago made peace with her past. Emily envied her.

“Delilah and I had each other, and that was fine for us.”

“She mentioned the 4-H club.”

“Oh, she did a few things with them for the fun of it, but always claimed no one else really understood the two of us. But then again, I’m kind of embarrassed just remembering how we used to behave.”

Cathy launched into several stories about how they rebelled against the music of the early eighties and wore bell-bottoms to the prom. It really did seem like Delilah and Cathy against the world. The two didn’t even date all that much, at least according to Cathy. By the time Emily left, she tried to tell herself that perhaps she wasn’t meant to know the complete truth. But now that she’d given in to her curiosity, she couldn’t just abandon the search.

Emily awoke in the morning and lay still, listening. She was alone in an apartment she owned, a rare, heady feeling. Valentine Valley might have been a small town, but she could still hear noises outside her window at dawn—cars heading off to work, the faintest sounds of voices as several people walked past. She wasn’t the only one who was an early riser.

But there wasn’t a single honking horn, just the distant, muted sounds of a new day. She could get used to this.

After her run, she went to take a shower, only to realize she hadn’t remembered a shower curtain. Laughing at herself, she took a quick bath, feeling awkward because it had been years since her last. The towels were soft, and had hand-sewn embroidery along one end. Those women were so thoughtful!

She spent part of the morning purchasing several sheets of drywall and all the accessories she’d need—including a shower curtain. She held back on the tools because of Nate’s offer. Was she simply supposed to call him up and remind him? But she didn’t have to. As if she’d summoned him, he marched into the restaurant, bearing a toolbox and other supplies, a man who worked with his hands and knew how to get things done. A little shiver of delight worked its way up her spine. How was she going to get any work done when she wanted to gape at him?

She put her hands on her hips and demanded in disbelief, “How did you know I might need you?”

He grinned. “Hal called me. I picked up your drywall, too.”

“He said he would deliver the panels.” She felt annoyed, as if Hal thought she couldn’t take care of things herself. “You didn’t need to—”

“It wasn’t out of my way.” After donning work gloves, he walked back toward the entrance, saying over his shoulder, “Surely you didn’t want to inconvenience Hal?”

“Inconvenience?” she muttered. “I spent my money there.”

When Nate returned, hefting the first panel of drywall, she pointed to where she wanted it, then stood back and admired the view without guilt. She’d never really thought about how enjoyable it was to watch a man work with his hands. Her ex-husband had always hired men to do any repairs or renovations.

As Nate made a few more trips to his pickup, she consulted her notebook lists, so she wouldn’t delay him. He put down the last panel and straightened, and she found herself studying the width of his back too much. She was only human. As long as she looked but didn’t touch . . .

When he met her eyes, she had a friendly smile waiting. “Thanks so much, Nate. I made a list of the tools I need, so if we could separate them out, you can be on your way.”

“On my way? You’re kidding, right? I’m hardly going to let you borrow my tools without making sure you can handle them properly.”

“But I’ve watched a ton of videos online. I’m perfectly prepared.”

He chuckled. “Sounds like you’re ready to bake a cake.”

“There can be a lot of preparation to bake a cake!”

“Look, Emily, I’m here to show you what to do. Neighbors help neighbors in Valentine Valley. It’ll go a lot easier if you just accept my help.”

Something uneasy seemed to flash across his face before he glanced away.

“Did you buy yourself some work gloves?” he asked.

She hesitated, wanting to protest some more, strangely excited and nervous that they would be spending time together. But if he kept assuming he knew what was best for her, she was going to have to set him straight. She’d already spent ten years letting a man sway her decisions. She was in control of herself now, knew what was important in her life. Having let herself go head over heels for Greg, she would never make that mistake again.

But she couldn’t deny that watching him was a pleasurable sensation all on its own. When he squatted to show her how to pry away the baseboard from the damaged wall, she bit her lip and concentrated on his words, on his gloved hands, so she wouldn’t have to look at the way his jeans tightened over his broad thighs.

Horseman’s thighs.

Oh, God, she’d been reading too many historical romances, she thought, holding back a laugh.

But like a good historical-romance heroine, she had goals for her future to focus on. She took the pry bar, awkwardly inserted it, pulled the wood away from the wall, then moved to the next section. Later, she rose to move a panel of new drywall away from where she’d be working next.

“Hold on there,” Nate said, coming up behind her. “You’re too skinny for that kind of work.”

She drew in a breath when he put a finger in the belt loop at the back of her jeans and tugged.

“I think you need to eat better,” he continued.

She hadn’t been eating as much, trying to conserve her money. Did it show? That was it—she was going to have to get a job.

“Oh please,” she said loftily. “The way everyone in Valentine keeps trying to feed me, I won’t be fitting into these jeans soon.”

He was still standing too close, looking down at her, his face almost puzzled. What was he thinking? She hadn’t said anything outlandish or daring. His eyes continued to study her face, narrowing, and she felt the very air between them begin to shimmer with a growing tension that had nothing to do with renovations and everything to do with seduction. A distant part of her ordered her to be strong, but she felt herself sway toward him, and he lifted a gloved hand as if he might touch her face.

And then he stepped back. “Okay, it’s my turn to feed you.” He pulled off his gloves and tossed them onto the bar.

She was blinking and dazed and barely able to speak. “W-what are you talking about?”

He tugged off her gloves, and with unerring aim, threw them beside his own. “We’re going out for lunch.”

“I made a sandwich.” But it was obvious he suddenly wanted to get away from her, and she was thankful that at least one of them hadn’t been mentally incapacitated.

“We’re working up a bigger appetite than that. The Halftime Sports Bar has a BLT so huge you can barely bite into it.”

“And is that supposed to sound appetizing?” Even though it did. “Look, Nate, it’s a nice gesture, but I have so much to do. You go on.”

“Now that you’re living on your own, my grandmother can’t watch over what you eat.”

“So she put you in charge? Did she call you the moment I left?”

When he hesitated, her mouth dropped open. “She did! Good Lord, those widows called Cathy Fletcher before I could get to her, too. Your grandmother is a wonderful woman, but she’s nosy—gee, I wonder where her grandson gets it from.”

“Cathy Fletcher?” He frowned. “Hey, wait—nosy? I didn’t call Grandma; she called me. And what about Cathy?”

She’d hoped his defensiveness would make him forget her slip, but no such luck. She lifted her nose in the air. “I’m interested in St. John’s. My grandparents were Catholic, so surely they were parishioners there.”

He studied her face as if he didn’t know whether to believe her. “Whatever. We’re going to the Halftime. It’s just down the street. My treat.”

She glared at him, feeling indignant. “You’ve done too much, Nate.”

He tipped her chin up until she looked him in the eyes. “It’s a BLT, Em,” he said softly. “If you want, you can pay.”

He shortened her name just like his sister did, and it almost hurt her inside that he could treat her so familiarly, and she could feel so desperately in need of that. Somebody treated her kindly, and she fell apart. Words tumbled out of her that she hadn’t planned. “Then perhaps—perhaps you can give me your ideas on where I can find a part-time job around here.”

He frowned, but said, “No problem.”

But maybe it was a problem. She didn’t want help, then she asked for it. He must think she was crazy. But he was standing too close, looking at her mouth. It was her turn to be the sensible one, so she quickly stepped away. “A BLT, huh? What if I’m a vegetarian?”

“You ordered a burger at Tony’s Tavern.”

The flush of heat she felt just looking into his eyes only intensified. “Oh, right, I keep forgetting about that.”

“I don’t,” he said shortly, and went by her to wash his hands at the sink behind the bar.

What was that supposed to mean? she wondered with exasperation. Well, she was just going to ignore it, as she was trying desperately to ignore the awareness that crackled between them whenever they got too close.