A Town Called Valentine

chapter Eighteen



Nate felt as if his body were no longer under his control, so sated and exhausted were his muscles. And then he realized that Emily was sprawled on an uneven table beneath him.

He came up on his elbows and cupped her moist, flushed face. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

Her smile was sleepy and satisfied and indulgent. “I’m more than okay.”

She was so small, he lifted her right off the table, and she laced her ankles behind him and held on tight. It was only a few steps to the leather couch, and he was able to sink back, never leaving her body. Her short skirt pooled around her hips, an erotic sight.

“Jesus,” he whispered again, her breasts right before him like ripe peaches. He took them in his mouth, felt her body clutch him from deep inside. He was still hard, and moved in her slowly, even as she laughed, and then gasped again when his tongue flicked her nipple.

“So do you use that pool table a lot?” she asked, clutching his head to her.

“You’re the first.” She tasted sweet, and he could smell the scent of her skin, elusive and floral.

“So pool tables are our shared destiny.”

He chuckled and leaned back against the couch to look up at her. He couldn’t keep his hands off her breasts, and she watched him with a faint, amused expression, even as her eyes went dreamy.

At last, she slid to the side, and he excused himself to take care of the condom. When he returned, she was already in her bra, the skirt tugged back into place.

“Emily—”

“I should go,” she interrupted, her voice laced with reluctance. “I’m . . . I’ll feel too close to you if I spend the night. Neither of us wants that.”

He pulled on his jeans but didn’t protest. Yet he found himself wanting to touch her, to soothe her, but she pulled her shirt over her head, then straightened it over her breasts.

She gave him a reluctant glance. “You’ll think this strange, but you’re only the second man I’ve ever made—had sex with.”

“I’m not surprised, considering how young you were when you married.” Had she meant to say “made love”? That she’d changed her words made him feel confused even though she was calling sex what it was.

She smiled. “Trust you to understand how . . . strange this is for me.”

He watched as she looked around, and he found her purse and handed it to her. “Does this change things for you?”

“You mean can we still date?”

She came up on her tiptoes, and he leaned down. Their lips met softly, briefly, once, twice. He would have gone on kissing her, but she stepped away.

“Yes, Nate, I’m not done with you yet. I still have a couple months before classes start, and you’ve proved too much fun.”

He followed her to the door. “ ‘Too much fun’? I’m not sure how to take that.”

She looked over her shoulder, smiling, even as her gaze drifted down his chest. “That you’re irresistible, and I’m only human.”

“Then don’t resist me. Let’s get together again.”

“All right.” She opened the door, and Scout came bounding in, happily bouncing between them. “He’s all yours, Scout.”

“Wait, you don’t have a car,” he reminded her. He slid on his shirt and a pair of shoes, then followed her out to the truck, Scout trailing behind. He and his dog drove her home, and the silence was companionable and easy. He kept glancing at her as she leaned against the headrest, calm and faintly smiling.

When he would have escorted her inside, she touched his arm. “I’m okay. You can watch me open the door and guard against the Valentine criminal element.” Then she laughed. “Does the sheriff even have anything to do around here?”

“Cattle rustling.”

Her eyes sparkled as she left his truck. When she unlocked the door, she blew him a kiss and slipped inside.

Nate watched until he saw her bedroom light go on above the alley. He gripped the steering wheel tightly, disappointed she hadn’t invited him up. It was seldom he wished for an evening not to end, so he tried to laugh at himself. But it wasn’t easy. He was feeling the old pull too strongly, the one that always got him in trouble.

Emily looked out the window, moving the curtain only briefly, curious why Nate still hadn’t left. At last he put the truck in gear and slowly drove down the alley, and she pressed her face against the glass until his taillights disappeared.

This fling with Nate was supposed to be fun, to make her feel better, to start a new chapter in her life. And it had, to a degree. Every moment of the day had been enjoyable. They laughed at the same things, even liked the same foods—not that those were all you built a relationship on.

Yet . . . who was she kidding? Dating wasn’t a simple concept. Nate was using her for a good time, and she was using him . . . to forget. Always, lurking beneath her day was the reality that her future was murky, that she had yet to find a place for herself in it. Her past, everything she thought she wanted in life, was just as illusory. Every decision she’d made, every goal, had ended up wrong and full of heartbreak. Though it helped her to pass the time with Nate, in the end, she had to remember she was still alone. And she wanted it that way for now—she had to prove to herself that she didn’t need anyone else.

And she had a dad out there somewhere, a dad with blue eyes. He could be part of her future—if he wanted her.

In the morning, while Emily tried to carefully remove the paint that her tenants had splattered all across the lovely mahogany bar in her restaurant, she waited for Brooke’s response to her text.

Instead of a text, Brooke strode through the door at midmorning, wearing cowboy boots and jeans beneath a heavy rain slicker.

“It’s terrible out there,” she said, shaking off the rain as she stood just inside the door.

“Drape your coat over my only unbroken chair.”

Brooke grinned as she did so. “Thanks for getting me away from the ranch. Josh and Nate were working on mechanical stuff for the swathers.”

“You’ve lost me,” Emily said, pounding the tin lid back in place on the paint remover.

“Something about carburetors and oil changes. Swathers cut hay. It’s almost time, but this rain certainly doesn’t help.”

Brooke followed Emily into the kitchen while she washed up. “No more flooding the fields?”

“Hope not. And I can follow directions in the shop, but that’s about all. And they’re bickering about a meeting Nate’s supposed to attend although he says he can finish helping Josh first—and Josh thinks Nate should just leave. I think they were happy to see me go since they weren’t interested in my opinion.” Brooke smiled. “So what’s going on?”

“My biological father. I could use your help. I have three names now, and I’ve put off researching them long enough.”

“Researching? Can’t you just introduce yourself?”

Emily winced. “Hi, my name is Emily. Did you bang my mother thirty years ago? And are your eyes blue because she gushed about them in her diary?”

Brooke laughed. “Okay, I get your point. Nice clue, by the way. What’s your plan?”

“I just want to . . . see them first. Okay, see their eyes. I’ve already met Hal Abrams—”

“Mild-mannered Hal is a contender?” she asked, eyes wide.

“Yeah, but that only confirms my doubt. He seems like a nice guy.”

“And he’s been with the same woman since high school, and they have one son.”

“Well, he hung around my grandparents’ store, flirting with Delilah, so he might not be all that innocent.”

“Or those other guys were simply the friends he hung out with.”

“I know, I know. And eventually I’ll ask the questions I need to. But today . . . I just want to see them, see if I get some kind of sense or intuition.”

“And get close enough to see their eyes.”

Emily sighed. “That’ll be fun. And I’d feel stupid hanging out alone, waiting for a glimpse. That’s where you come in. You’re going to show me the sights.”

“Like the hardware store?” she asked doubtfully.

“No, we’ll start with the Royal Theater, then maybe the Sweetheart Inn.”

“So tell me names,” Brooke said, leaning forward with interest.

“Cathy Fletcher and Doug Thalberg suggested them. The first is Steve Keppel, building and grounds supervisor at the Royal Theater.”

Brooke frowned. “Keppel . . . He has twin daughters a couple years younger than me, and a son younger than that, maybe still a teenager. He’s divorced.”

“Okay. At least when I get around to questions, I won’t be upsetting his wife.” Three kids—were they her siblings? It seemed unreal.

“Who’s the next suspect?”

“Joe Sweet.”

Brooke whistled, eyebrows raised. “Not divorced—pretty happily married, or so it’s always seemed. He’s part of a very big, very powerful family in this valley. Several sons in their twenties and a teenage daughter.”

More potential siblings, Emily thought, feeling a little daunted. What was she getting into? How many people would be affected? Maybe she should call the whole thing off.

“Stop it right there,” Brooke said sternly. “I can read your face so easily. This isn’t your fault. And they would want to know the truth.”

“Even if it disrupted their lives?”

“It’s not like you’re twelve years old looking for a place to live,” she said patiently. “You just want to know your father. And these guys—they’re good men. They’d want to know you.”

Emily took a deep breath and let it out. “Okay, okay, I’m not backing down. Let me get changed, and we’ll take a walk to the theater.”

“Wear your rain boots and carry an umbrella,” Brooke said glumly.

The Royal Theater had been built when the town was in the middle of the silver boom in the late nineteenth century. The detailed décor had been gilded until it shone, all against a red-and-cream background, and the town had certainly kept up repairs. Emily was so busy gawking at the elaborately painted ceiling of the lobby, with cupids smiling down from heavenly clouds, that she almost forgot why she was there.

“I don’t see him,” Brooke said as she surreptitiously scanned the room.

About a dozen other people lingered in the lobby, looking at the giant framed posters that represented the movies being shown in the upcoming romantic-comedies film festival, as well as the newly released movies.

“Can we just wait?” Emily asked. “I’m a tourist, after all.”

“There’s usually a tour every morning and afternoon during the season. Let’s check the schedule.”

It was hung next to the box-office window, and the young woman inside smiled at them.

“Can I help you, Brooke?” she said through the glass separating them.

“No thanks, Naomi, my friend might be taking the tour today.”

“It starts in another hour.” The chubby blonde smiled at Emily.

“Thanks!” Emily smiled and stepped away, then whispered to Brooke. “You’re as bad as your brother, knowing everyone in town.”

“Sometimes it’s bad—but sometimes it’s good.” She turned back to the box office. “Hey, Naomi, any repairs going on today, or can we take a look at the stage while we wait?”

Emily held her breath.

“Go on in,” Naomi said, popping a quick bubble of gum. “The crew is doing some seat repairs, but that shouldn’t bother you.”

“And we won’t bother them,” Brooke responded brightly.

She led Emily through the lobby, past many curtain-framed double doors that were stationed around a long, curved hall. Every so often, wide, carpeted staircases led up to what must be the balcony.

“Maybe we should go up and peer down,” Emily suggested.

“Coward.” Brooke kept walking until she reached an open door. Inside, they passed beneath the overshadowing balcony, and the theater soared up to a high ceiling, swirls painted in gold just like the lobby. Several private boxes were stacked atop each other along the side walls. Down the long aisle, a wide, empty stage held several boxes and pieces of equipment along the edge. Four men were scattered through the auditorium, attending to seats that were in various stages of repair.

Brooke boldly walked halfway down the aisle, then sat down. Emily slid in beside her, feeling nervous.

“Don’t worry, lots of people come to gawk,” Brooke said in a soft voice. “There’s a lot of history here. You really should take the tour sometime. Can-can dancers from France made a special stop here in the silver boom days.”

But Emily was only half listening. “Do you see Steve Keppel?”

Brooke looked at each man, then shook her head. “Not here.”

“Damn.” Emily started to stand up.

Brooke pulled her back down. “Where you going? He’s their boss. He’ll check in eventually. That way we won’t have to look even more suspicious tracking him down.”

Fifteen minutes later, when Emily thought she’d memorized everything on the walls, a man in jeans and a button-down work shirt walked down the main aisle, right past them.

Brooke squeezed her arm, and whispered, “That’s him.”

Though his hair was faded and thin on top, Steve Keppel was a redhead. Emily thought of her own strawberry blond hair—could this be her father? Her stomach twisted in knots as she continued to study him. Besides a slight paunch, he had the broad frame of a man who worked with his hands for a living. He talked to each employee doing repairs in a polite, unemotional voice. No kidding around, no cracking jokes. He looked down the aisle toward someone in the back, and she thought his eyes were dark. Too dark. But she wasn’t close enough to be certain. Her gaze stayed glued to Steve, who walked down to the stage and began going through boxes.

“One of his daughters dated Josh, now that I think about it,” Brooke said slowly. “I think he complained that her dad was a stickler about curfews. A real straight arrow.”

“Doesn’t sound like the kind of man my mom preferred,” Emily replied, sighing. “People do change, of course. And there’s the hair. And did his eyes look dark to you?”

Brooke glanced at her. “The hair doesn’t look like your color, so it’s hardly proof of anything. But yeah, I thought his eyes seemed dark, too. Do you want to go talk to him?”

“No. It just feels wrong. Let’s go find Joe Sweet.” As they stood up and walked up the aisle, past a couple of gawking tourists, she added, “Thanks for not pushing the issue, Brooke. I need to take things at my own pace.”

“And that’s why you didn’t go to my brother about this.” Brooke grinned.

As they walked through the lobby, Emily shook her head. “No, that’s not it at all. Nate respects whatever I ask him to.” She didn’t meet Brooke’s eyes, feeling a high-school blush heat her face. She was hardly a teenager hiding her first sexual encounter, but her intimacy with Nate seemed too private and special to be shared right away. Especially with his sister. “It’s just . . . I need to rely on myself.”

Brooke laughed. “I understand, believe me. On to the Sweetheart Inn. If it was a beautiful day, I’d suggest walking, but in this rain, let’s hop in my Jeep.”

Like everything in Valentine Valley, the inn wasn’t too far away. Emily had often seen its windows reflecting the sun during the day, and its lights twinkling at night, seeming to float above the town on the slopes of the Elk Mountains. They entered the grounds from Mabel Street, and Emily admired the lush gardens and trees, giving her a feeling of remote peacefulness. The inn itself was three floors of elaborate white-sided Queen Anne, with levels of gables and turrets, towering chimneys, and several covered porches trimmed with sunburst details in the corners. A few stained-glass windows added color. Daffodils and tulips bloomed everywhere, and banks of forsythia bushes were bursts of yellow among the greenery.

“Wow,” Emily breathed, as they drove past the inn and toward the parking lot off Bessie Street.

“Beautiful, huh? The original Sweets were miners who hit it rich, then came here to Valentine to expand into ranching. Joe’s dad built a modern ranch house nearer to their fields, and his mom turned this old place into an inn. Not as pricey as in Aspen, but the most expensive place in town. The most elegant restaurant, too.”

“And the pastry chef,” Emily said, remembering how everyone ordered his work.

“Oh no,” Brooke suddenly said, pulling into a parking spot and looking over her shoulder. “I just saw Joe’s truck heading down the road.”

“Are you sure he was in it?” Emily asked with disappointment.

“I’d recognize that blazing white Stetson anywhere. Should we follow him?”

“That won’t accomplish a look into his eyes.”

“Well, there’s a family portrait in the lobby of the inn. Do you want to see that?”

“Yes!” Emily’s frustrated disappointment turned into eagerness. Maybe she’d have an answer sooner than she thought.

After parking, they walked across the long porch, where baskets of impatiens hung like Christmas decorations. Inside, the “lobby” must have been the original front parlor, now decorated with a collection of antique stained-glass lamps on mahogany furniture. A wide staircase led up to the next floor. The front desk resembled an old-fashioned bar, where a young man waited on guests. On the far side of the lobby, she could see the elegant restaurant through closed French doors.

But it was the portrait that captured her interest, and she didn’t need Brooke to point it out. It dominated the wall just to the right of the entrance, a huge sprawl of many generations of a family. They’d been photographed outside against a backdrop of green bushes and trees, making them look like a colorful flock of birds—very happy birds.

Scanning the several men in the photograph, Emily whispered, “Which one’s Joe?”

Brooke silently pointed to a middle-aged man, lean and fit. The Stetson was tipped back on his head, just revealing blond hair lightened white. Above his confident smile were Paul Newman blue eyes that made Emily gasp.

“I thought his eyes might be blue,” Brooke mused. “But I didn’t want to get you excited for nothing.”

Emily nodded and kept studying his open face, the contentment she could sense beneath the surface. There was family all around him, and she wondered if the dark-haired woman beside him was his wife, and which were his kids. But always her gaze returned to his face, while her heart beat an excited yet terrified rhythm to her thought of Are you my dad? Is this my family? My huge family?

She backed away from the portrait, knowing that Brooke was studying her closely. “We can go now.”

Though Brooke started to talk about the Sweet family on the drive back to the restaurant, Emily stopped her, still too dazed.

In the flower shop, Monica was in the workroom, arranging cut flowers in a wet foam base in a basket. She looked up and smiled. “What have you two been up to today?”

Emily eased onto a stool. “I . . . I think I may have found my father.”

Monica gasped and listened avidly as Emily and Brooke recounted their adventure.

“You don’t want to look into Hal’s eyes?” Monica asked.

“I already did once, and I certainly wasn’t blown away. I don’t even remember them. But a high-school girl gushing about blue eyes—Joe Sweet was the perfect target for that.”

“What’s next?” Brooke asked, rubbing her hands together.

“I guess I’ll go introduce myself eventually, hear what he has to say. But not yet. I’ve got a name—let me just absorb it.”

“I think you need a distraction,” Monica continued. “I’m taking my sister to a hockey game tonight.”

“A hockey game?” Emily echoed in surprise.

“There are lots of rinks in these mountains, and a lot of leagues. I need to amuse my sister with something that doesn’t involve me hearing about her running from protestors in the Middle East.”

“It sounds like a dangerous job,” Emily said.

Monica sighed. “It is. And I know she’s brave. But it’s not the only kind of job. So wear some warm clothes. We leave at six.”