A Town Called Valentine

chapter Fourteen



Early the next morning, Emily removed the last of the damaged trim and baseboards, then showered and dressed for her first day’s training. She was at Monica’s Flowers and Gifts by ten for her first official tour and description of her duties—taking care of customers, placing orders, preparing simple flower arrangements, making bows, and, of course, dealing with the local craftspeople about their consignment items.

And through it all, Emily watched Monica at work, the way she knew so many of her customers and their tastes, or if they were tourists, the way she sensed how they wanted to be approached and made them feel at ease. Young lovers out for a stroll popped in for an impromptu rose. Expensively dressed older couples from Aspen, looking to spend a simple day together, toured all the little Main Street shops, intrigued by the crafts on display.

While Monica dealt with a bride’s mother about flower arrangements for a wedding shower, Emily washed the little china plates, with their tulip-and-daffodil pattern, on which Monica served the day’s pastry treat. The coffee cake was delicious, of course, but Emily frowned as she considered it, knowing that Monica ordered her desserts from the pastry chef at the Sweetheart Inn.

When the door jingled with the customer’s departure, Monica sat down on the little wrought-iron chair by the dessert table. “Whew! Mothers of the bride can be so picky.”

“Isn’t she your cousin?” Emily said, glancing toward the door.

“And that’s why I feel free to comment. It will be a lovely wedding if Angela calms down. Hard to believe my cousin has a daughter old enough to marry.” She shuddered.

Emily grinned, then gestured to the coffee cake. “Sweetheart Inn?”

“Yep, and delicious.”

“Of course. But can I make a suggestion? I love to bake. Why don’t you let me whip something up for you? Why should you pay those exorbitant prices from the inn?”

“I pay it because it’s the only game in town. But I must say, those tarts of yours were scrumptious.”

Emily grinned and sat down opposite Monica. “I’ve been working on my high-altitude baking since I arrived.”

“So now my customers will be test subjects?”

“Hell, no, you will. If you don’t like it, I take it back. I just . . . I just really miss cooking for people. Almost makes me want to move back to the boardinghouse. Those ladies were very appreciative.”

“Wow, okay, okay, we wouldn’t want you to give up your freedom just to keep baking. I’ll pay you, of course.”

Emily shrugged. “Just the ingredients. I’m not a professional although I did bake desserts for a friend’s catering business in San Francisco. Nothing full-time, just when she was swamped.” She cut a slice of cake. “But regardless, this shouldn’t go to waste.”

“Dessert before lunch—my idea of being a grown-up.”

While they dug into the cinnamony goodness, Emily studied her friend, who’d seemed . . . not quite herself this morning, shadows beneath her eyes, her smile a bit strained.

“Monica,” Emily said hesitantly, “is something wrong?”

Monica shot a surprised glance at her, then gave a distracted smile. She opened her mouth to answer, but then stopped at the sound of someone in the back room and put a finger to her lips.

Into the shop came a young black woman with close-cropped hair, dressed elegantly in pants and a silk blouse. Emily saw the resemblance at once, the cheekbones of a model, and caramel-colored skin.

Monica stood up. “Hey, Missy—Melissa, I’d like you to meet my friend, Emily.”

Emily stepped forward to shake hands with Monica’s sister, who didn’t flinch at her childhood nickname. “Nice to meet you, Melissa.”

The woman’s smile was friendly and engaging, but then as a reporter, she dealt with the public all the time.

“You’re the one doing all the renovations yourself, right? Monica bragged about you.”

“She shouldn’t have. I’m such a klutz that I have to learn everything I do each step of the way.”

“And who better to help than Nate?” Melissa grinned at her.

Monica winced her apology.

“He knows a lot about renovations,” Emily said neutrally. “He’s been kind enough to take time out of his busy schedule to help.”

“That’s our Nate,” Melissa said cheerfully. She glanced at her sister. “I’m heading over to Mom and Dad’s. See you there for dinner?”

“I’ll be there.”

“Bye, Emily,” Melissa said, sliding on expensive sunglasses as she went to the door. “Don’t work too hard.”

When she’d gone, Monica went to the glass door, and after watching her sister walk away, let out a heavy sigh. “She’s staying with me, which she usually never does. Mom is beside herself, considering she renovated Missy’s old room.”

“Well, Melissa probably didn’t realize it was for her. And you’re her twin—don’t you think she’d want to spend time with you?”

Monica frowned, and said in a softer voice, “It’s so . . . uncomfortable now. It makes me want to cry.”

Emily put an arm around her, which Monica accepted for a moment, before straightening and moving behind the counter. “She took over my second bedroom with enough luggage for a monthlong stay.”

“You know how the weather can change here. She probably wants to be ready for anything.” Emily hesitated. “How’s it going so far?”

Monica shrugged. “Okay. I tried to show her the things I’ve changed in the flower shop, but she only pretended interest. The fact that she looks down on what I do . . .” Her voice dropped to a whisper, “It really hurts, Emily.”

“Oh, Monica.” Emily felt helpless in the face of her friend’s pain. “I’m so sorry.”

Monica wiped away a tear and put on a fake smile. “I’ve got to go to the bank. Do you mind keeping an eye on the store on your first day? I’ll bring back lunch, too.”

“Uh . . . lunch hour? Isn’t that a busy time?”

“Sure it is, but you’ll do fine. The cash register walks you through any purchase, and you seemed to pick that up easily. If they want to place a large order, have them make an appointment with me. Here’s the calendar. Most people just want to pick out some flowers for whatever occasion is happening that day, and often, they know exactly what they want. If not, show them some flowers. Just check the price list to give them a ballpark figure. And play up the crafts and plants—they make great gifts! If you’re really stuck, remember, I’ll be back in half an hour. People will understand.”

Monica hurried out, as if she might break down in front of Emily and didn’t want to. It made her think again that she might have her own sister out there. She was almost glad when a customer walked in. While the older gentleman sampled a piece of coffee cake, she wrapped up a half dozen roses for him in a fancy white box. By the time she was done, a younger man in his twenties was hovering near the displays at the front of the store. He was tall and lean, in cowboy boots and jeans, a typical outfit in Valentine. He wore a leather vest over a t-shirt, and it seemed to go with the stubble on his face.

When she came up behind him, he swept off his cowboy hat and turned to face her. She could have stopped in her tracks at the tousled brown hair that framed storm cloud gray eyes. He was too handsome by far, straight nose, full mouth, even with a scar that curved on his chin.

“Afternoon, miss,” he said, nodding to her.

Colorado cowboys were so polite. “May I help you?” she asked.

He hesitated, his hands curling the edge of his hat.

“Flowers for a girlfriend?” she suggested.

He shook his head. “No girlfriend. Guess I was looking at all the crafts you have here.”

“Everyone in Valentine seems so talented. You’ll be able to find a gift for anyone.”

“It’s not so much a gift I’m looking for. Thought I’d ask about how to submit something to be sold in your store.”

“I see.” She gave him a frank smile. “I’m sorry, but it’s my first day, and I haven’t been taught about the consignment part of the business. Monica should be back in fifteen minutes or so. Would you like to wait for her?” When he hesitated, she realized she didn’t want to let him go so easily. “What do you make?”

“I tool leather—creating designs and patterns,” he added, when he saw her clueless look. “I’ve made frames, wallets, belts, and saddlebags, to name just a few.”

“Do saddlebags sort of look like purses?”

He smiled. “Sort of, but don’t tell a ranch hand that.”

“Leather purses tooled by a handsome cowboy? I think those would sell, too.”

“Depending on my talent,” he added dryly.

“Well, of course, but I didn’t think you’d be venturing into the flower shop if you didn’t think you had talent.”

His smile spread into a grin, and she found herself wondering how many hearts he’d broken.

“So do you want to wait for Monica?”

“Naw, I’ll catch up with her later. I want to see the look on her face when I bring a sample by.”

“So you know her?”

“ ’Course. She was just a couple years ahead of me in school.”

Emily found herself wondering if Monica could use her own cowboy distraction right around now. Nate was working wonders on Emily’s frame of mind. She had barely thought about her hunt for her father all morning as she looked forward to a drywall session with him.

“Then come on back when you’re ready,” Emily told the cowboy as he walked to the door. “Can I tell her who stopped by?”

“Now that would ruin the surprise.” Grinning, he slipped on his hat and tipped it toward her. “Afternoon, miss.”

Emily watched him walk down the street, shaking her head. You didn’t meet men like that in San Francisco—what a shame.

That evening, when darkness began to creep over them, Nate was answering e-mails in the ranch office. At last he sat back and let his mind wander tiredly—and it immediately went to Emily. He’d see her in the morning, and he was eager for it.

He could be careful. It wasn’t as if he was unaccustomed to dating and enjoying himself, ending it when the urge to smother the woman with his opinions and his help started to prove too attractive.

With Emily, his help was concrete—it was about her renovations, or her search for her dad. His opinion wasn’t important, so much as practical advice. Now if she started asking what major she should focus on in college, he was backing away like she was dynamite. He’d talked careers before, with terrible results, and not just with his college girlfriend.

He turned off the office lights and went out into the night, standing still for a moment as his eyes adjusted. He saw the lights on in the horse barn and knew it had to be his brother. Josh had converted an old tack room into a leatherworking shop and spent a lot of his spare time there. On his way through the barn, Nate petted the horses, who all dipped their heads out of their stalls to greet him with soft whinnies. Scout was a favorite with the horses and remained behind to greet his friends.

Nate followed a stream of light across the floor, then leaned his shoulder against the doorway to watch his brother. Josh was using shears to cut a piece of leather into a strange shape that Nate didn’t recognize. But he knew talent when he saw it, and his brother had that.

Josh suddenly glanced up, his face creasing into a curious smile.

Nate looked around the workshop at the goods in various stages of work, from pieces of unadorned leather to braided rope to the beginnings of a vine of flowers etched into a long piece of leather. “What will that be for?” Nate asked, gesturing to the last item.

“The frame of a mirror.”

Nate nodded, impressed. “I know I’ve told you before, but you’re really good.”

Josh glanced up. “Thanks.”

“So what’s the plan for all of this?” Nate asked.

“There has to be a plan?” Josh asked, studying him with amusement.

“My thought was, you’re so talented that it’s a shame you only create things for yourself or the family. Lots of other people would be interested, especially in a tourist town like Valentine has become.”

Josh cocked his head. “What if I’m not interested in becoming a businessman? I’m a cowboy, a full-time job.”

Nate didn’t like how he was suddenly feeling defensive. “You don’t have to become a businessman. You can hire people to do that work for you. But you have to come up with a business plan, a guide for what you expect to do with this.”

“That’s what you’d do, big brother,” Josh said quietly. “You like the business side of things.”

“Well . . . yeah. It’s part of having a business.”

“You’re making my leather tooling about more than it is. It’s what I do for enjoyment.”

Nate’s defensiveness morphed into irritation. “I don’t just work, you know. I can enjoy things, too.”

“Seems to me you’re turning even Emily Murphy into work—drywalling, I hear? Sexy.”

“How did you know—” Nate broke off.

Josh grinned in a knowing way, and that made Nate want to stick out his chest, and say, “Oh yeah?” like he was twelve.

But he wasn’t going to go bragging about what he and Emily had recently shared just to prove to his brother that he had all the different parts of his life under control.

Nate gritted his teeth. “I came to tell you that I’ll be gone part of tomorrow morning.”

“Drywalling.”

Nate groaned as he turned to leave.

“Hey, where you going?” Josh called, all innocence. “You can’t take a joke? Or I’m hitting too close to the truth?”

“I’m blowing off a morning’s work,” Nate called over his shoulder. “Guess after all the pestering you’ve been doing, that should make you happy. My irrigation ditches are all yours.”

Josh grumbled, and Nate felt a little bit better.

Emily was just finishing breakfast the next morning when her doorbell rang. Unlike her city apartment, there was no intercom for her to discover who was at the door. Wrapping her robe tighter about her waist, she ran down the stairs, opened the door into the hall, and stepped to the back door, thinking with exasperation that it was only seven thirty in the morning.

Through the door window, she saw Nate. “It’s drywall day,” he called, his voice muffled.

She smiled, feeling little prickles of pleasure warm her. Unlocking the door, she opened it, then blushed when Nate gave her a slow grin as he looked down her scantily clad body.

“Now that’s the way a man wants to be greeted.”

She hugged herself about the waist, wishing her robe reached at least to her knees. But why was she nervous? It wasn’t as if Nate was going to demand she undress for him.

Although that sounded exciting . . .

“I’m sorry I’m not ready,” she said. “I guess we never decided on a time.”

“I’m used to working by dawn—I thought I was giving you too much time.”

She cocked her head. “We’ll have to be more explicit with our schedule. You can wait in the restaurant while I shower—”

“Naw, that’s okay, I’ll come up.”

He came toward her, and she was forced to step back, or he’d have run right into her. He was carrying a bag and a paperboard container with two cups.

He paused, and his smile dimmed. “Running away from me already?” he asked quietly.

He seemed strangely solemn all of a sudden.

“Running away? I’m trying to stop myself from giving you a kiss. Thought I’d seem a little desperate since we haven’t even had a date yet—and drywalling doesn’t count.”

His white teeth flashed in a grin. “Just as long as you’re not getting skittish all of a sudden.” He leaned down, his mouth near hers, but not quite touching. “So can I kiss you?”

She answered by pressing her lips to his, letting her hand touch his chest, feeling all breathless and light-headed. They didn’t dive into the kiss with tongues and heat, but she felt like they did.

“Mmm,” he murmured, rubbing his cheek against hers, inhaling the scent of her hair. “What am I here for again?”

“Coffee?”

He chuckled and stepped away, looking cute and regretful. “Do you like coffee?” he called over his shoulder as he headed up the stairs.

“Sorry, no,” she said, closing both doors and following him up.

Nice view, she thought, watching his long legs.

“More for me, I guess.”

It was her turn to chuckle as she emerged into her apartment behind him. “No problem. I’m used to people assuming. Guess I’m a rarity.”

He walked down the hall past the bedrooms and the galley kitchen, into the living room that overlooked Main Street.

“Not as much damage up here,” he said.

“A bit,” she said, looking at the scraped wood floors and the dings in the walls. “But I’d rather take care of the big stuff downstairs first.”

“Go ahead and shower while I eat.”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry I didn’t know to hurry.”

She disappeared into her bathroom and set a land speed record for showers, firmly putting aside daydreams of his joining her. She was moving way too fast, if only in her own imagination. When she emerged from her bedroom, she found Nate looking out the front window as he munched a bagel but not standing too close.

“Afraid someone will see you up here?” she asked innocently.

He glanced at her. “Not at all.”

“So I’m not a secret?”

“That we’re dating? Why would I do that?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know you all that well, do I?”

But she knew enough to like him, to trust him with some of her deepest family secrets. And that was a little scary.

“That’s why we’re dating,” he said smugly. “To get to know each other.”

“Oohh, so that’s the reason.”

“That’s one of my reasons. What are yours?” he asked, his voice lowering to a deep rumble, leaning sideways into her until their arms brushed.

Oh, she liked the sound of his voice too much.

“Because you promised to teach me to drywall, and I felt like I owed you.”

“So you’re dating me out of pity and gratitude?” he demanded, tossing his bagel onto the bag and advancing on her.

She gave a little squeak as she escaped toward the back door, but he caught her around the waist. Nate was so tall and broad behind her, and she felt absolutely delicate.

Feminine, too—and desired. She felt his mouth behind her ear.

“Tell me the truth,” he whispered.

She shivered. “Oh, all right, you’re just so hot, cowboy. Now can we get to work?”

He let her go and patted her butt. “That’s more like it. Have a bagel. You need your strength.”

She munched on breakfast and followed him downstairs, listening to his detailed instructions about drywalling, trying not to let her eyes linger on his broad shoulders or flexing biceps. They worked side by side for an hour, while her mind followed tangents that turned darker and more troubling. He seemed so competent at everything, so well liked, so at ease with himself. He knew exactly what he wanted, whereas she was a nearly broke, divorced woman without a skill to her name. Sometimes he made her feel so unaccomplished though she knew he didn’t mean to. She told herself that at least he admired her determination to learn how to make the repairs herself.

He might want to date her to get to know her, but what would he find—a woman who was so messed up she didn’t know what to do next with her life, still grieving past sorrows? How was that any fun for anybody?

She told herself to get under control. He didn’t need to know all her fears and doubts; this was supposed to be fun. And she was allowed to have fun.

Sometimes she didn’t need reminding, especially when his gaze roamed slowly down her body, making her feel like she wanted to straighten up and tuck loose strands of hair behind her ears—or maybe slouch bonelessly onto the nearest horizontal surface and pull him to her.

Okay, okay, this was enough togetherness for one day. The long morning of listening to his instructions while trying to keep from kissing him had taken its toll.

“Nate, you’ve done enough for one day. Surely you’re needed on the ranch.”

She was achy in muscles she hadn’t used in a while, while he looked fresh and fit.

“I guess my brother’s been taught enough of a lesson,” he said.

“Excuse me?”

Nate grinned and shrugged. “He was ribbing me last night. He’s got this leather-tooling hobby he does for fun, and has this stupid idea I don’t do enough for fun. So since he thinks I work too hard, I gave him my morning chores. I’m sure he’s sorry he ever opened his mouth.”

A cowboy who did leather tooling? she thought with curiosity. Now that couldn’t just be a coincidence.

“So I’m your new project to prove to your brother you’re not all about work?” she asked lightly, watching him wash up in the sink behind the bar.

“You’re a lot of things,” he mused, walking toward her. “But proving something to my brother? Naw, I’m hardly thinking about him when I’m looking at you.”

He pulled her into his arms and she came up against his body, feeling his arms around her, the heat of him seeping pleasantly into her. “You must like your women all dirty and perspiring.”

“Hmm.”

He kissed her then, leisurely, masterfully, until her heart was trembling along with her knees, making her grip his t-shirt to keep from collapsing.

He gave her another quick kiss, then grinned with satisfaction. “When are you free to go hiking?”

“I’m working for Monica tomorrow afternoon, but the following day it’s just the morning. How about after lunch?”

“It’s a date. How did your first day at the flower shop go?”

A handsome cowboy told me about his art and made me curious. “It was great. I’m a natural with customers,” she boasted, arching an eyebrow playfully. “Monica said I could bake for her. I’ll be going to the grocery store later today.”

“Good for you.” He leaned down over her. “Now don’t I get another reward for all my hard work today?”

And then he kissed her, and every thought, every trouble or apprehension, fled her mind.

When they both came up for air, he leaned his forehead against hers. “I’m not certain I can wait two days to see you.”

That made her feel wonderful—and uneasy all at the same time.