A Town Called Valentine

chapter Twenty-one



Wherever he was, whatever he was doing, Nate couldn’t get the image of Emily in that little lace number out of his mind. Not that he’d let her wear it for that long, but still . . . The lingerie stood for something—for Emily leaving. She might have a buyer for the building, then she’d be gone. Maybe he could wait until then to break up with her. That had been the plan all along.

But he was hurting her already. He knew she thought he’d go to the Sweetheart Inn with her. It was one thing to help her to take concrete steps to find her father, and another to be there while she met him. It would be a momentous, emotional moment for her, and he didn’t want to influence her opinions or decisions.

Tuesday morning, just after sunrise, Nate and his brother and sister were already up in the White River National Forest, riding their grazing allotment, looking for sick cows, broken fences, or evidence of coyotes or other predators. It was usually a peaceful time, with the weather breezy and cool on the mountain, the smell of pine as well as the grass so necessary to the herd. And so far they’d seen nothing unusual, were able to talk casually about a new saddle Josh had been commissioned to decorate, or the barrel racer coming to challenge Brooke. Nate enjoyed this time immensely, the feel of his horse beneath him that linked him to his ancestors and the land. He loved what he did.

“So Emily’s going to dinner tonight at the Sweetheart Inn—alone,” Brooke suddenly said.

Nate’s peace was shattered, and he glanced at her with a frown. “I know.”

“I thought you two were dating,” Josh said curiously.

“We are, but this isn’t a social evening.”

Brooke sighed and guided her horse around a tree stump. She briefly explained to Josh about the chance that Joe Sweet was Emily’s biological father.

Josh whistled. “This must have been tough for her. And you helped?” he asked Nate, eyeing him with amusement.

Nate shrugged, feeling grim.

“You are so easy to read,” Josh said, shaking his head. “You’ve been rattled by one little mistake for the rodeo.”

“Little?” Nate echoed icily.

Josh ignored him. “It’s not because you’ve been with Emily. I can tell you want to go with her tonight, so why are you resisting?”

Nate didn’t answer, and knew Brooke was eyeing him in the way of little sisters who are about to savor something to use over a big brother’s head.

“Don’t sacrifice a good relationship for work, Nate,” Josh continued quietly.

Apollo shook his head and danced sideways, giving Nate a welcome distraction.

“Look, we’re dating, we’re not in a relationship,” he said at last. “We’ll be ending it soon, and it’s better that she not get used to confiding everything in me.”

“Hey, she’s got me, too!” Brooke said. “But I think I understand where you’re going, and I don’t like it. You want to break up with her already, don’t you?”

“That’s between me and Emily,” Nate said impassively.

“Why?” she asked, as if she hadn’t heard him. “You’re having fun, so’s she.”

“It’s not always about fun, it’s about people not getting hurt.”

“And he doesn’t mean himself,” Josh told her.

Brooke snorted. “I already knew that.”

“Thanks,” Nate said dryly.

“Wait,” Josh interrupted, standing up in his stirrups. “Is that fence near the creek leaning sideways?”

“Must be elk again,” Nate said. “Brooke, write it down.”

“How does the girl become the secretary?” she asked with sarcasm, pulling a little notebook out of the breast pocket of her vest.

“It’s because you’re the youngest, not because you’re a girl,” Josh told her.

They guided their horses along an overgrown path, tall grass slapping their chaps.

“Back to Nate,” Brooke said, putting away her notebook.

Nate winced. “Must we?”

“So you think Emily’s going to get hurt,” she continued thoughtfully. “Is she falling in love with you?”

To his surprise, just the thought made his chest hurt. “No, it’s not about that.” He hesitated, then said in a low voice, “It’s just . . . I’m going to hurt her. I always do.”

He spurred his horse to a trot, not wanting their pity or to answer questions.

Josh caught up with him. “Nate, you’ve got these habits where women are concerned, and never once have you even been tempted to go beyond the ten-date rule. After all these years, you might have grown up a bit. We all do. Don’t you think you should start trusting yourself? Emily is making you behave differently—doesn’t that tell you something?”

“I think it should tell you something,” Brooke said from the other side, her tone superior. “You don’t want to break up with her, and you’re fighting as hard as any calf on the end of a rope. Take her to dinner. And if you just want to call it a date, then fine. But don’t give up because of what might happen. Emily’s not like the other women you’ve dated. She’s strong, and she’s growing stronger every day. I think you’ve met your match, and it scares you silly.”

“Now that’s enough,” Nate said with exasperation. “While you’ve been jawing, you missed another sagging fence.”

“Fine, Josh and I will go check out the fence post, while you call Emily. Take her to dinner. She shouldn’t be alone when she meets her dad for the first time.”

“Is that a yearling on the wrong side of the fence?” Josh suddenly called out.

“I’ll get her before you will,” Brooke challenged.

Nate watched his brother and sister ride off at a gallop. Scared silly? Of falling in love? How was he supposed to know what love felt like? He always thought he’d positively know when it was time to settle down and start a family. He didn’t want to imagine it could involve feeling so ambivalent and hopeful, worried and excited, all at the same time. Was he really falling in love?

That would screw up everything. But he called Emily and asked if he could accompany her to the inn. Though she hesitated, she said yes at last. And he felt relieved, like he’d made the right decision. Now he would have to be very wary and aware, to remain neutral, to be her support and not influence her.

That evening he picked her up to take her to dinner at the Sweetheart Inn, and for the short drive there, he couldn’t stop looking at her, her hair caught up at the back of her head, the blue dress hugging her curves tastefully but provocatively—at least to him. She wore strappy sandals that showed off her cute feet. Cute feet?

Emily kept looking at him, too, not quite hiding her confused expression. He hadn’t really explained why he wanted to take her to dinner, and she hadn’t asked. Maybe she really had wanted him to come support her, and he was just a jerk.

As they passed the front desk of the inn, he exchanged a nod with the slim, older woman who was waiting on a customer.

“Who’s that?” Emily asked softly, when she went to examine a mixed set of vases on several shelves.

“Eileen Sweet, Joe’s mother. She’s the one who turned this place into an inn, and now runs it with her daughter Helen.”

He saw Emily’s gaze dart back to her, wide-eyed with interest.

“Maybe she’s your grandma,” he whispered.

She elbowed him. “None of that, Nate Thalberg. We’re here to look around, not speculate.”

“Look around? We’re having dinner.”

He saw her glance at the open French doors leading to an elegant formal dining room, its low lighting emphasized with candles everywhere.

“I’m sure it’s expensive. We could just explore and look for Joe.”

“We can eat and see if Joe’s here just as easily. The family is always wandering through the dining room. Come on.” He took her elbow and led her toward the restaurant. “And as for the money, I asked you out, so it’s my treat.”

“Couples take turns paying, and since this was my idea and for my benefit—”

“Who says it’s for your benefit?” he drawled. “You’re puttin’ out later.”

The laughter in her eyes made him begin to relax at last.

The Sweetheart Inn Restaurant could rival one in any elegant, Old World hotel. It was situated in a corner addition to the house, with windows filling two long walls, emphasizing spectacular views during the day. He could hear the muted sounds of someone playing the piano. They followed the hostess past tables dressed in white cloth, with fresh flowers and candles as decorations.

When they were seated and opening their menus, Emily whispered, “So was the hostess a Sweet as well?”

“Yep, Theresa, Joe’s niece. She’s pretty involved with every aspect of the inn. I think they’re grooming her to take over someday.”

After giving their order to the waitress, Emily put her chin on her hand and studied Nate. “You look pretty good for a cowboy,” she said in a low voice.

He glanced down at his casual slacks and button-down shirt. “Uh . . . thanks.”

“You fit right in here, even though I could swear some of these elegantly dressed people came up from Aspen for the day. I think I’ve seen that woman over there in a movie.”

He smiled and took her hand, and the usual thrill zapped right up his arm and seemed to burn in his chest, a comforting warmth sometimes, a blazing inferno of desire at others.

She gave him a bright smile, and said, “So tell me more about Joe. If he was someone my mom was attracted to, what would drive her away?”

“You mean besides being pregnant at eighteen?”

“Besides that,” she answered wryly. “If Joe really is my da—biological father, why do you think she didn’t tell him? She had to feel so alone, so frightened. And apparently he’s not a mass murderer or anything.”

“For one thing, your mom seemed like a rebel, according to you. Joe’s family has been here over 130 years. Some people consider them our leading citizens.”

“That’s a lot to live up to,” she mused. “And something that Delilah wouldn’t have wanted. She valued her independence.”

“Even when there was a baby involved?”

She hesitated. “Even then. She liked to do things her own way. She only married once, even though I know she received several proposals in her life.”

“She told you that? Seems like it would be getting her little girl’s hopes up.”

“I was a teenager before she mentioned those kinds of things, and by then, too cynical about her wild ways. I was relieved each time she declined. She would have been miserable having someone to answer to.”

“Were you?” he asked quietly.

She blinked at him. “Miserable about answering to someone? No, not often. Greg wasn’t demanding of me. And I trusted him—my mistake.”

Emily seemed relieved when the sommelier approached to pour their wine, and Nate let the topic go. He hadn’t meant to start it anyway. Then the waitress arrived with appetizers they hadn’t ordered.

“Compliments of Mrs. Sweet,” she explained, smiling at Nate.

“Give her my thanks,” he said. “Is Joe around tonight?”

“Sorry, I haven’t seen him.”

Emily shook her head after the girl had left. “You’re a charmer even with the older women, but then I’ve seen that with the widows.”

He smiled and saluted her with his wineglass. After taking a sip, he said, “Since it looks like you might be disappointed again about Joe, I have an idea. I’m going to book a room.”

“Oh, no, Nate, we can’t do that.”

“Then you can explore to your heart’s content as a guest and not feel like you’re intruding. You’ll meet more of the family.”

She opened her mouth, then slowly closed it, as if she were considering the idea.

“And if you’re going to protest about money again, I don’t want to hear it. The rooms are all priced differently, and some are small but reasonable, especially since it’s still early in the season. The front desk can get us anything we need, like toothbrushes—and you won’t be needing anything to sleep in.”

He realized that making her happy was truly important to him, which was why he was so worried about doing something to hurt her. He finally had to admit that this was more than dating—he found himself wanting to tell her things about himself he’d never confided in another woman. He trusted her—but that didn’t mean he trusted himself.

Before he realized what he was doing, he told her about forgetting to order stock for the rodeo.

“So Josh thinks I’m overextending myself,” Nate finished tiredly. “And before you get all worked up, it doesn’t have anything to do with you. He’d been bugging me about this long before you came to Valentine Valley.”

She smiled briefly. “Whew. Guess you know me well enough by now to know I’d be worried about just that. But okay, if it isn’t me, then you need to look at yourself. If Josh believes you’re overextending yourself, then that means you’re doing more work than he does. So he’s a slacker?”

“Of course not! He works as hard as anybody. He’s just . . . enjoying pissing me off lately.”

“Then he thinks you do way more than you need to. Why do you go above and beyond?”

“I just . . . do what’s necessary to keep the ranch running. And I want my mom and dad to enjoy getting older rather than worrying about the little stuff.”

“Ah,” she said, tilting her head. “So it’s about your parents. You’re the oldest child. Makes sense.”

He sighed. “I don’t like that there’s a part of my mom that feels bad for me because of what her first husband did. She’s always saying that because we were on our own for a while, I learned way too early to do things myself, to . . . I don’t know.”

“Protect her? Help her?”

He shrugged.

“Or maybe there’s something else going on,” she said quietly. “You’re adopted, after all, and you weren’t an infant when it happened. But what if your problems are connected to Doug? You’ve been a great right-hand man to him.”

He frowned at her. “He raised me to be what I am. I’d do anything for him.”

“With all the stuff you coordinate around the ranch, are you still trying to prove how much you love him, love the ranching lifestyle?”

Nate opened his mouth, but an answer didn’t come. After a moment, he murmured, “I didn’t like how stressed the family became when I went to college. I always thought Dad believed I was choosing another life instead of his.”

“Did you want to?”

“Never, not once,” he said, shaking his head. But hadn’t there been moments since when he regretted being pulled away from a conference call about the breeding program he’d invested in, or a new method of getting organic produce into the most markets, just to do chores that other people could do? But he loved the satisfaction of those chores, of making the ranch succeed.

“Maybe you’re still trying to prove your loyalty to the ranch by being everything you think you should be. Josh knows you well enough to see you’re feeling torn.”

Nate stared at her thoughtfully. Were his problems at the ranch all because he knew deep down that he was being drawn toward the business end of the ranch, and he was fighting it? “Okay, Doc,” he said instead. “I’m not used to being dissected.”

“It’s good for the soul,” she insisted. “And after all, aren’t you the one who thinks he’s always doing the dissecting?”

He reared back, pretending she’d slapped him. “Ouch.”

They smiled at each other.

As her salmon and his steak were served, Emily studied Nate’s face, which she was growing to know too well. He wasn’t only the easygoing cowboy he presented to the world. He’d had heartache as a little boy, and she knew it was probably worse than he was saying. But she’d given him something to think about, and she wouldn’t harm the evening by pushing anymore.

So while they ate, she told him about his grandmother’s reaction to Leather and Lace, and the newest garage-sale treasure, a scarred old blanket chest, she’d found for her bedroom. She’d come to realize she loved decorating something to suit her own simple tastes, not Greg’s more expensive ones.

When Nate asked about the painting she’d been doing in the restaurant, she mentioned she was almost done, and they both got quiet. She didn’t want to think about the painting because when she was finished, she’d be selling and leaving. That was the plan, and it was a good one. But there was an ache inside her that didn’t have a name, something she couldn’t look at too closely.

After dinner, when she gasped over the dessert tray, and Nate mentioned to the waitress that Emily baked, she found herself being escorted back into the kitchen to see the area where the pastry chef worked. She almost turned down the tour, but her refusal might make Nate wonder why, and she didn’t want to explain the crazy idea she and Monica had been batting around, the one that kept reappearing in her mind just before she went to sleep, disturbing her dreams.

The pastry area was a separate room off the hot kitchen, with its own walk-in refrigerator and freezer, and a stand mixer as tall as she was. Utensils hung from hooks within easy reach. Stainless-steel shelves were filled with sheet pans and trays, every size base for cakes. The upper shelves overflowed with ingredients like sugars from around the world, and various imported fine chocolates. She gaped at them, imagining what she could create, suddenly longing to do so. She stood outside a glass-walled cooler filled with the finished products for the evening’s guests, sumptuous cakes and pies and chocolate decadence. Another set of shelves on wheels contained unrefrigerated pastries, scones, and breads. Nate seemed to keep studying her, and she felt uneasy and vulnerable. She hated worrying if every decision she made was the right one.

It was a relief when he took her to their room, with its fireplace and curtained four-poster bed. Their little balcony overlooked the mountains they couldn’t see at night, and she thought about the decadence of sitting there in the morning.

Nate came up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. “You seem quiet.”

She glanced back at him, resting her hands on top of his for a moment. Then she turned into his arms and kissed him, not wanting to talk about anything else.

When Nate suggested a dawn hike to the hot springs up behind the inn, Emily practically had to be dragged out of the comfortable bed. But when she saw the little built-up rock pool along the bank of a tumbling stream, steam rising in the flickering light between the trees, she gave a little gasp. There was even a little bench, and an overflow of bushes and plants and flowers for privacy. Nate stripped and waded in, while she looked back down the path in indecision. But upon hearing his satisfied sigh as he settled into the hot water, she took off her clothes and joined him.

They relaxed for an hour, enjoying the sun and the steam and each other, before returning to the inn for breakfast on the stone terrace.

They’d only just sat down when Nate called, “Joe!”

Emily stiffened and turned her head to see a lean man wearing a white cowboy hat raise his hand to Nate and smile. As he walked toward them, Emily studied him and saw a good-looking older man with a day’s growth of light stubble on his face. And those eyes, as clear and bright as if they could see past the horizon. He swept off his hat when he saw her, displaying his unruly white-blond hair, long enough to brush his collar.

“Hey, Nate,” Joe Sweet said good-naturedly.

Emily just stared at him.

“Joe, I’d like you to meet Emily Murphy.” Nate hesitated, then without asking how she meant to proceed, added, “Her mom was Dorothy Riley.”

An immediate change came over Joe’s face, cheerfulness turning into wary interest. He studied her with an intensity that made her feel all charged up and strange inside. Oh, God, it’s all true.

“That’s a name I haven’t heard in a long time,” Joe finally said, nodding to her. “Emily, it’s nice to meet you, although I think I met you once when you were a little girl.”

“You did?” She swallowed and gestured to a chair. “Would you mind joining us?”

Joe kept looking at her, and she kept looking at him, and she didn’t know what she felt—was she supposed to experience a bang of revelation? An instant yearning? Instead, she simply felt anxious and intrigued all at the same time.

Nate signaled for the waiter, who filled all their coffee cups. “You want coffee?” he asked Emily in surprise.

She stared at her cup. “Oh, of course not.” She smiled distractedly at the waiter. “Could I have a glass of orange juice, please?”

When he’d gone, she watched Joe put cream but no sugar in his coffee. “So you . . . met me?” she began cautiously.

He smiled at her. “One of the rare times your mom came back to town. You were only a couple years old at the time. Cute as a button then, and you’ve grown into a pretty young woman.”

She smiled nervously at his compliment. He couldn’t possibly know he was her father, not by the way he was acting.

“Mr. Sweet—”

“Joe,” he said affably.

“Joe.” She was almost glad when her orange juice arrived, and she took a sip. Nate said nothing, letting her take the lead. Joe seemed to realize she needed a moment, for he remained silent, too. “Joe, I don’t know if you know this, but my mom died last year.”

His face clouded over. “I heard about the accident. You have my condolences, young lady. No one should die so young.”

She nodded. “Thank you. When I returned to Valentine to sell the building I inherited from her, I discovered that she’d lied to me my whole life. The man she married when she left here wasn’t really my dad.”

His sympathetic expression faded into confusion.

She rushed on. “I recently discovered she was pregnant when she left town at eighteen.”

Now Joe’s skin turned pale, mottled with red. “Son of a bitch,” he murmured. “Oh, sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Emily stared at him, not certain what he was thinking. Was he angry?

Whatever struggle was going on inside Joe’s head, he seemed to shake it off with a sigh. “How’d you get my name?” he asked. “It’s obvious you came to speak to me.”

“Doug Thalberg said you used to hang around my grandparents’ store. You weren’t the only one, of course, and I still have two men to talk to.”

“Forget about them,” he said flatly. “I was dating her.”

His gaze was sharp on her face, as if he needed to examine her every feature. She felt a little faint with nervousness.

“You were?” she whispered. “Did you . . .” And then she couldn’t go on.

“I didn’t know she was pregnant,” he said, running a hand down his face. “She broke it off, and she left town. When I saw her again—with you—she knew what I was thinking. She—she lied about your age, right to my face. Said she was happily married to your dad, and I believed her. Why would she do that?”

“I don’t know.” Emily barely saw Nate wave away the waiter, so focused on Joe was she. She gripped her orange juice, shaking so badly she almost spilled it, then sat back and fidgeted with the napkin in her lap. “In some ways, I never understood my mother. We didn’t exactly . . . get along. I didn’t like the way she ran her life, and she thought I was crazy for getting married young—just like her.” She added that last part with faint sarcasm.

And still they stared at each other.

“I think—” Joe broke off and cleared his throat. “I think she never liked it here, and didn’t want to be forced to stay.”

Emily nodded gravely.

“And she didn’t like my family,” he continued, a trace of bitterness in his voice now. “She thought they were too concerned with us and what we did. She didn’t like that the ranch and the inn were so important to me, often saying they were more important than she was.” He winced. “But that’s no excuse for . . .” He gestured toward her. “For this.”

Emily flinched.

Joe’s eyes went wide, and he reached toward her, but stopped before touching her hand. “That came out wrong. I’m sorry. I just don’t know what to call this—this situation between us. I mean . . . I think you’re my daughter.”

He didn’t sound angry so much as bewildered and hesitant, and something in Emily relaxed the tiniest bit.

“Until a couple weeks ago,” she whispered, “I had the memory of a wonderful man as my dad, even though he died when I was seven. I’d feel better if we had a DNA test just to make sure. We really don’t know who else my mother might have . . .”

And then she trailed off, because she couldn’t stop looking at him, and he seemed to be feeling the same thing.

“No problem,” he said in a husky voice. “But I think . . . I think . . . you look like my mom.”

Emily was almost shocked when a tear rolled down her cheek. And then he touched her hand, and he was trembling as much as she was. Her mind, which had been so focused on him, started reeling. It was true—she really had another family, brothers, a sister.

She drew her hand away. “I . . . I heard you’re married, right?”

He nodded, not looking offended by her withdrawal. “My wife’s name is Faith, and we’ve been together thirty years.”

“Right after my mom left?”

He winced and glanced at Nate. “Faith was a good friend and helped me realize what true love was. We have three sons and a daughter.”

He kind of stumbled on the last word, and she smiled awkwardly, wondering if he would someday include her as another daughter when he talked about his family.

Her family. Three brothers and a sister. She’d wanted nothing but a close family her whole life, and had failed time and again, first with her mom, then with her own marriage. And now there were all these new people. Joe looked . . . okay with it so far, even eager, but how would his wife feel? His children? Would that make him change his mind about his own feelings?

It seemed overwhelming, all these people she was now connected to in Valentine, Nate and Joe, Monica and Brooke, the widows at the boardinghouse—so many people, so many new ways to be hurt. It was suddenly too much.

Joe cleared his throat. “Maybe . . . maybe you could come to dinner sometime.”

She stood up hastily. “I—I don’t know. I’ll be leaving town soon—oh, but of course, I promise I’ll visit, and we can get to know each other. But—but I can’t stay, not really. I grew up in San Francisco, and my life is there.”

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.