A Town Called Valentine

chapter Twenty-three



Later that night, Emily invited the girls back up to her apartment to sample some of the goodies that she hadn’t ended up entering, and to celebrate her winning the grand prize blue ribbon in the baking competition. She sat back on her love seat, watching them make small talk with each other, feeling a contentment with other women that was new to her. She savored it quietly as she ate her cookie-dough mini cupcake in two delicious bites.

Melissa pulled a chair over to her. “So did you think any more about the college stuff we discussed?”

Emily opened her mouth, but before she could answer, Monica said, “I think Emily has a career path she’d like more than college. She should stay here and open a bakery.”

Brooke gasped, then clapped her hands together. “That is perfect! When did you come up with that?”

Emily tried to speak again, but this time, Melissa interrupted. “A bakery?” she said, frowning. “Emily, you’re enrolled at Berkeley.”

“And is there something wrong with a bakery?” Monica asked her sister in an icy voice. “God knows you’re always quick to show me how you feel about a mere flower shop.”

Melissa’s brown eyes went wide. “What are you talking about? Your flower shop is cool, and I like how you’ve brought in the local craftspeople.”

Monica gaped at her. “Missy, you’re lying to yourself if you think you’ve ever given me the impression that you approve of what I’m doing. I know it’s not a big high-powered job like yours, but it’s tearing me up inside that you think I don’t measure up.”

Emily and Brooke stared at each other helplessly but let the argument between the sisters play out.

“When did I ever say you didn’t measure up?” Melissa hopped to her feet as if she could no longer stay still. “I’ve always been proud of you. It’s you who didn’t like what I did, wouldn’t even come with me to DC after college.”

“What do you mean come with you?” Monica echoed, throwing her hands wide as she met her sister nose to nose. “You knew I loved Valentine and wanted a life here. And you made sure I felt bad about my choice compared to yours!”

Melissa burst into tears.

Monica glanced at Brooke as if looking for help, but Brooke could only shrug and urge her silently with her hands to do something.

“Why are you crying, Missy?” Monica asked in a softer voice.

“I never wanted you to feel bad,” she said, between sobs.

Emily helplessly handed her a tissue, and she took it to blow her nose.

“Then why were you always talking up your job and the city?” Monica asked plaintively.

“Because . . . because . . . I wanted you to come with me!”

Monica’s mouth fell open.

“We went to . . . college together,” Melissa continued, gasping out her words, “and I just assumed we’d go have our careers together. But then . . . but then . . . you went home, and I went to a city where I didn’t know anyone, where I didn’t have my twin . . .” She gave another sob and buried her face in several more tissues she pulled from the box. “And I’ve been so lonely!”

Monica started to cry, too, then they were both holding each other, rocking. Emily stared at them, feeling touched and even frightened, because now she had a sister, too. And how could they ever be so close since they hadn’t grown up together?

“I was even jealous,” Melissa said, lifting her head to smile weakly at her sister. “You were so happy.”

“But—I thought you were happy, too, flying all over the world, covering the stories you thought so important.”

“I am happy with my job. But I’d rather be home more, which is why I took so much time off, I guess. And when would I ever have time for a man? I’ve met guys I was attracted to, but it’s hard to be the power sister in a couple, and most lose interest fast.”

“Well, do you see me with a man? A laid-back life doesn’t always bring on the bliss. I guess there’s good and bad in both our lives.” She took Melissa by the shoulders. “But Missy, why didn’t you tell me this from the beginning? We lost years drifting apart.”

“I know, I know,” Melissa said, blowing her nose again. “I just felt so weak and foolish and didn’t want you to know.”

They stared at each other, smiling slowly, tears starting up again, and then they were hugging as if they’d never let go.

“Maybe I’m glad I don’t have a sister,” Brooke said wryly.

Emily sighed. “Guess I do now. Do you know her?”

“Well, I’ve met her occasionally, but Em, Stephanie’s only seventeen years old.”

“A teenager,” she said with a groan.

Emily glanced at Melissa and Monica, sitting side by side and talking about, of all things, some guy Melissa met back in Washington, completing each other’s sentences, laughing at things no one else in the room got.

“Was it always this way?” Emily asked Brooke.

She shuddered. “Worse. Are you sure you want to meet your sister?”

Emily took a deep breath. “I think it’s time.”

“What about this bakery idea?” Brooke watched her closely.

“I’ve . . . considered it. There are a lot of reasons I don’t think it would work.”

“Really? Tell me my brother isn’t any of those reasons.”

“No. And he doesn’t know, Brooke, so don’t tell him.”

“But Em—”

“I’ll handle this, I promise.”

The day after the rodeo, Nate hung up his cell before putting it in his pocket. He took a few quick notes so he wouldn’t forget the business discussion, because lately, his mind strayed to Emily if he didn’t focus. His secretary, Gloria, Monica’s aunt, glanced at him briefly but didn’t ask any questions. They were alone in the ranch office, and he spun his chair slowly until he could look out the big picture window at the Elk Mountains. The word “majestic” must have been created for mountains. They called to him even now, with their remoteness, their sense of adventure. It had always been about freedom for him, and the quiet stillness in his mind as he skied fast down a hill or controlled the jarring turns on his bike.

But since Emily had come to Valentine Valley, being alone didn’t have the allure it once did. He found himself thinking of things he would show her, or tell her about. She never left his thoughts anymore, and he was filled with a sort of . . . peace because of it.

He was a man who knew the value of family and knew how much Emily longed to experience it. Here she had a dad who couldn’t wait to get to know her, yet she kept him at a polite distance. But then she’d always held part of herself back. Nate wanted to know everything about her. He’d tried to break up with her and couldn’t make himself do it. He’d spent ten years honing his discipline, and mastered the ability to keep himself from getting too close to people he might hurt—but he’d still let himself fall completely under her spell.

He’d fallen in love with her, and for a moment, the realization made him pause, as if he’d feel worried by this new closeness with a woman. But instead, something lightened inside him, something eased. It felt right. Emily was intelligent and fun, determined to succeed on her own, trying to find the path of her life in the midst of uncertainty and chaos. He knew she’d been betrayed over and over, yet she had gotten back up and was stronger for it. She was a woman who’d stand up against him when he was treating her wrong—how had he not seen that?

He loved her. The thought felt bright and shiny, complete with a different kind of hope for the future that he’d never felt before. He wanted to be with her; he wanted to make her part of him.

Could he convince her to share the last of her secrets, trust him, if he’d share his?

Emily wasn’t surprised when her doorbell rang that night, and she opened it to find Nate leaning in the doorway, giving her that special, intimate smile he was so good at. The welling of warmth and happiness his face alone inspired in her took her by surprise, and for a moment, she resisted, knowing without a doubt that leaving him would hurt. But whether she stayed or left, one of them would be hurt.

She couldn’t stop herself from letting him kiss her, tucking herself beneath his arm as they walked up the narrow stairs side by side. She laughed and tried to push him away, but he wouldn’t let her.

When they were settled on her love seat with two beers, he studied her thoughtfully, and she grew uneasy.

“So what’s going on, Nate?” She twisted on the small sofa, one knee bent along Nate’s side so she could face him.

“I meant to introduce you to an important woman in my life yesterday, but I never got the chance.”

She raised her eyebrows in surprise.

“Gloria’s my secretary. I hired her about five years ago when I realized the work I was doing was keeping me off the ranch. It may seem funny to an outsider, but I love working with my family on property we’ve owned for more than a hundred years.”

This was important, and she felt a sense of distance, as if this moment loomed larger-than-life.

“It doesn’t seem funny at all,” she said quietly. “I lo—really enjoy that about you.”

His smile seemed twisted with amusement and tenderness, and she could have lost herself in those vivid green eyes.

Nate finally cleared his throat. “About ten years ago, it began to be obvious that the ranch was in trouble. We’re small, and easily affected by a bad season, whether it’s a winter that lasts too long or a drought that affects our only hay crop of the year. In other parts of the country, they can have several cuttings a year, but up in the mountains, the season isn’t long enough for more than one. Anyway, my dad had some money set aside. Knowing diversification was a way for a small ranch to survive, he gave it to me to invest. I probably bragged too much when I got back from college about all I’d learned in my business classes.”

Emily touched his hand. “Or he trusted you.”

She expected Nate to shrug off her compliment, but he didn’t, only studied her with a seriousness that made her feel almost nervous.

“Thanks.” He squeezed her hand. “This ranch is everything to my family, and the heritage of the land and the trust my father and grandfather placed in the next generation to protect it . . . well, I couldn’t let go of this place. I couldn’t risk it failing. So I took the money and I invested it, just a little here or there, testing my theories on where we’d earn the most. And I discovered I seemed to have a knack for what would make a profit—bull genetics, organic produce in Aspen’s restaurants, rodeo stock, a winery on the Western Slope, even the stock market.”

She gave him a warm smile. “So you have a head for money. Why am I not surprised?”

“I guess I do. I invested for myself as well, and I’ve done pretty good.”

“Pretty good?” she echoed, amused.

“Pretty good.”

He smiled at her almost abashedly, and the warmth she felt for him curled right up inside her as if to stay. She felt a little jolt of fear, which she pushed down, as if squashing it would make it go away.

“So I have some money,” he said, a trace of resignation threading into his voice. “To help my dad simplify things, I bought out some of his own investments . . . like the lien on your building.”

“I take it you don’t mean recently.”

He shook his head.

She should be angry that he’d misled her, but she knew him so much better now, understood that he had fears he wouldn’t acknowledge, that his past had affected him just the same as hers had.

“You don’t have anything to say?” he said, warily studying her face.

She took a sip of her beer. “I guess whether it was you or your dad owning it, your family still did, and I’ll be repaying the debt.”

His eyes narrowed. “But I deliberately—”

“I know,” she interrupted. “You didn’t know me, Nate. I was some chick you’d gotten drunk with in a bar and who you’d now discovered was so broke she couldn’t afford a night in a motel. I don’t blame you for protecting yourself or your family. If I only thought you a cowboy, you could be certain I wouldn’t demand anything of you—that you wouldn’t get too close.”

He briefly rubbed his fingers over his eyes. “That sounds pretty bad.”

She took his hand again. “It wasn’t. I’m not angry.”

“But maybe you’re disappointed I didn’t tell you any of this sooner.”

“No. You’re a private person, Nate, and you were honest with me about that. I’ve heard about your involvement in the preservation fund.”

“You have?” he demanded. “Who—”

“It isn’t important. You do the best you can for the people you believe in, and you don’t want anyone’s thanks, so you keep it private. The fund lets you help, while keeping your distance, not risking guiding a person a way they might not want to go, right?”

He winced. “I never thought of it like that. I kept parts of my financial life private for other reasons. A lot of my dad’s friends wish the town wasn’t changing, that their ranching lives would stay the same, that newcomers would never find our little peaceful corner of the world. The preservation fund bothers some of them, and I didn’t want them throwing my involvement back in my dad’s face. But Em, it bothered me they couldn’t see the future, that Valentine would die without new blood and new investments to make it attractive.”

She smiled. “Not everybody can see the future like you can. And as for keeping things private—I like that about you. My ex would donate to charities and make sure his name was prominent every time. I blinded myself to a lot of things about him, rushed into marriage without considering the important stuff. But I’m older and wiser now.”

He looked at her with a poignant sadness that made her turn away.

“You were right about my biological father affecting me,” he said at last in a quiet voice. “He left my mom when she was ill, but the worst of it was, he cleaned out every bank account and used up the credit cards before he left.”

Emily couldn’t hold back a gasp. “Oh Nate.” She imagined Sandy as a young abandoned mom with a frightened little boy, no money to buy food or pay the bills. “Your mother is such a brave woman. But your own wariness about people makes so much more sense.”

He stared at her in surprise, then bit by bit, tension seemed to leak away from him, as if her words had answered questions he’d never known he had.

“You know, we have something in common,” she continued, picking at the label on her beer bottle. “Your first dad left your mom because she was ill. Greg left me because I couldn’t have children.”

She didn’t look at him, afraid she’d burst into tears. When he put an arm around her, pulling her against his warm, solid side, to her surprise, she didn’t feel as devastated as she once had.

The words just started tumbling out of her. “I could get pregnant, you see, though it took a long time. But then I’d have a miscarriage, two or three months in.”

“Oh, Emily,” he said raggedly.

“My third pregnancy went much farther, but then in my seventh month, the baby died. The doctor said I’d be unlikely to ever have children.” She swallowed hard but didn’t look at him. “When I came home from the hospital, Greg said he wanted his own children, that he didn’t want to adopt. So he left me.”

And then Nate pulled her into his arms, and she clung to him, but her eyes were dry, her emotions full of sadness but also a rising determination. She pulled away to look into his eyes.

“So you can see why I plan to adopt. I want a family, and biology doesn’t matter to me. Greg was an ass, and if we’d shared any kind of true love, he couldn’t have treated me that way. But we matched so well, wanted the same sort of traditional life. I let that blind me to the kind of man he really was, let myself make excuses when I sensed he might not measure up.”

Nate still looked at her as if she might crumble to pieces any moment, and he wanted to be her rock.

She smiled tremulously and cupped his face with one hand. “It’s okay,” she insisted. “The worst of the betrayal is past me now. Trust me, anger has a way of pushing out the grief. It was bad at first—I almost lost myself in depression, never leaving my bed for days. I feel like such a fool now. I let him make me feel like less than a woman because I couldn’t give birth. You’ll really think I’m an idiot when I tell you I refused Greg’s guilt money, wanting no connection to him.”

“I don’t think you’re an idiot.” Nate touched her hair, her shoulder, her hand, as if he couldn’t stop.

“It didn’t work for me, Nate. Marriage, I mean. You’re telling me deeply private things, and I’m doing the same for you, but . . . I don’t think of myself as anyone’s potential wife. I stand on my own now.”