A Town Called Valentine

chapter Five



Nate drew back on the reins, and Apollo obediently came to a halt. The horse nickered softly, gesturing with its head at Emily.

“I know what you mean, boy,” Nate murmured, his earlier curiosity at the sight of her running toward him, having turned to exasperation.

She looked clammy and pale, with her breathing coming too quickly. He reached into the saddlebag for a bottle of water, then dismounted. Apollo contentedly bent to graze in the grass beside the road, while Scout danced excitedly at his side, panting from the run.

Emily frowned at Nate, but before she could open her mouth, he held out the water, and said, “You’re not used to the altitude yet. Take some slow, deep breaths, and you’ll start to feel better.”

She winced but did as he ordered, and he could see when she gradually regained control of herself. After a couple sips of water, the color began to return to her face.

“Don’t you work enough at the building all day?” he asked. “Why are you pushing yourself so hard?”

The annoyance faded from her expression as she studied him. “Why do you care?”

He found himself smiling. “Because you’re being nice to my grandmother. And I’m regretting getting her that cell phone because she’s suddenly calling me more than once a day and manages to get your name in there.”

She rolled her eyes, but there was a reluctant grin on her lips that reminded him too much of the woman she’d been at the tavern, the one who didn’t seem to exist except when she’d had a couple beers. No, the real woman had problems, lots of them, and that was pealing like a warning bell in his mind.

“Look, I’m sorry your grandmother is annoying you,” she said, bending down to pet a very grateful Scout, who leaned against her legs and gazed up with adoration. “I like her a lot, but I won’t overstay my welcome. She should leave you alone after that. And about Charlie from the power company, you shouldn’t have done that. I can take care of myself just fine. You may get a thrill out of rescuing women, but—”

“Rescuing women?” he countered, chagrined to realize that she saw right through to part of his biggest flaw. If it was only about rescuing women, maybe he could have conquered it already. “I saw him passing on the street and knew you needed a break. And as for right now, if I hadn’t come along, you might be planted facefirst in my hayfield.”

She grimaced. “No more favors, Thalberg.”

His cell phone began to beep, making him grateful for the interruption. Pulling it out of his pocket, he glanced at the screen. “I have to take this.”

“Thanks for the water.”

She walked away at a brisk stride. He didn’t let his annoyance with himself stop him from watching her. For a short woman, she had legs that were long and shapely, and she obviously took care of herself.

Then he swore as he realized his cell phone had gone to voice mail. Before he could call the supplier back, he heard the arrival of another horse and glanced over his shoulder to see his sister, Brooke, bearing down on him, looking past him to Emily.

With a sigh, Nate patted Apollo’s neck and mounted to meet his sister at eye level, which wasn’t difficult when she sat in the saddle almost as tall as he did. Her brown hair was hidden by her cowboy hat, but he knew a long braid trailed down her back, and although it got in the way sometimes, she didn’t cut it. Those intelligent hazel eyes finally settled on him.

“So who was that?” Brooke asked. “I didn’t recognize her.”

“Emily Murphy. She just came to town to see about some old family property she inherited.”

Brooke’s amused eyes suddenly focused on him with new light. “I see.”

He didn’t stiffen, knowing how easily she could read him. “What do you see?”

“Grandma Thalberg was here yesterday.”

He wanted to wince. “Then you know everything I do. I’m sure Emily will be gone soon enough, and we can go back to knowing just our regular neighbors’ business.”

It was bad enough he couldn’t get Emily out of his mind, but he certainly didn’t need his sister or brother to know that. Although with the way Josh had been picking fights, maybe rumors of woman trouble would distract him.

“So what happened to Ashlee?” Brooke asked.

Nate frowned. “What do you mean? Is something wrong with her?”

“Oh, Nate, you’re hopeless,” Brooke said with a groan. “No, there’s nothing wrong with her. Although shouldn’t you know that since you’ve been dating her?”

“Was dating her. We cooled it off.”

“You mean you cooled it off. Had she reached the ten-date limit?”

He guided Apollo back down the road, away from town. Brooke’s gelding ambled alongside, while Scout trotted beside them, occasionally pausing to stick his nose in a hole.

“I don’t have any dating limits,” he said mildly, then remembered that Josh had first come up with that supposed rule.

“Oh, please. Every girl in Valentine knows your dating rules. I think Ashlee let her hopes get too high.”

“No, she didn’t,” Nate said patiently. “She sensibly asked me if I’d like to take our relationship deeper, and I regretfully said no. No tears, no recriminations.” Ashlee and all the others like her were safe from him—he knew when to stop himself from getting too involved, saw the warning signs a mile away—except where Emily was concerned.

“She knew the score, like every woman in Valentine Valley.” Brooke glanced over her shoulder as if she could still see Emily. “But this woman’s new. Someone will have to explain how it all works to her. You can’t trust Grandma Thalberg for that. If it were up to her, we’d each be married already.”

“Married?” He smiled. “You have a barrel-racing career to advance.”

She snorted. “You know I’ll be lucky to win at our rodeo, let alone take my meager talents on the road.”

With a laugh, he said, “Don’t worry about Emily. She doesn’t seem to be the tenderhearted sort. She’s fixed on repairing her property, selling it, and leaving.”

“Your ideal woman.”

“Will you stop it?” he demanded with exasperation. “You can find out the truth all by yourself the next time you see Monica Shaw. As I was leaving yesterday, I saw her curious face peering out at me. You can bet she’s hightailed it next door already.”

Brooke’s face lighted up at the mention of her best friend. “Then I know who I have to visit today.”

“We’re going out to inspect the irrigation ditches at Cooper’s Mine. Dad and Josh are waiting for us up at the barn. I think we have some holes that need plugging. That could take all day.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll bring my hip boots. That’ll help me wade through the bullshit you always spout.”

With a tap of his bootheels, he had his mount dancing up against hers, and laughing, they took off at a gallop for the barn, Scout chasing them with eager excitement.

The Silver Creek Ranch was a sprawling complex of a half dozen buildings beside the main house on its thousand acres. They even had a bunkhouse for use mostly during calving and branding season, when neighbors and extra help could stay the night. The ranch was a family business, manned by Nate and his parents and siblings. They had been self-sufficient for generations, and proud of it.

But the last thirty years or so, things had changed in the Roaring Fork Valley, as skyrocketing land prices made selling out family ranches far too easy to do. But the Thalbergs stood for tradition in Valentine, and Doug Thalberg had wanted to do what his father and grandfathers before him had done, run cattle.

And Nate had been able to continue his father’s family traditions, with a little smart investing, and he’d never been prouder. And it hadn’t taken anything away from the job he did day to day on the ranch—he made certain of that.

Josh and their dad were just leading a saddled horse out of the barn. Ducks quacked and scattered out of the way, heading back to the pond. Josh would be driving the ATV in case they needed extra supplies quickly. Doug Thalberg squinted out over his land with the narrowed, gray-eyed gaze of a man who knew the worth of what he did. He had the same brown hair as Brooke and Josh, but his was going gray, along with his mustache.

Josh, as usual, looked like he’d just rolled out of bed, rumpled and unshaven, but always alert and ready for whatever the weather and the ranch would bring that day. His eyes, so similar to their father’s, saw the world kindly, but lately he’d been focusing too sharply—needlessly—on Nate.

“Nate, did you get word about the part for the swather?” his dad asked, all business. “The hay won’t cut itself.”

“And the cattle won’t feed themselves this winter,” Brooke added, grinning at their father’s oft-repeated phrases.

Josh smiled at their sister.

“He just called,” Nate said. “I’ll head to the office and call him back right now. You all go on ahead, and I’ll meet up with you.”

“Take your time,” Josh said. “We can handle the dams.”

“Nope,” Nate said briskly. “I won’t be long at all.”

“Afraid I’ll move my dams quicker than you will?” Josh taunted, grinning.

He sounded completely good-natured, but Nate knew a challenge when he heard one. Lately, everything with Josh ended up with a challenge.

“Not a chance,” Nate said. “I always do my share.”

Josh studied him, then shook his head. “I know you do.” He headed for the truck shed where the ATV was parked.

Brooke and their father mounted and rode off, several ranch dogs chasing them, but Nate stood with his hands on his hips, watching until Josh disappeared inside the shed.

Lately, Josh had this crazy idea that Nate was trying to do too much, spreading himself too thin, and Nate was mightily offended. He’d spent years juggling the ranch investments, his own, as well as his ranch chores. Nate tried to ignore Josh’s concern rather than confronting him outright, partly because he didn’t want their father to think something was wrong. When Nate had insisted on going to Colorado State while his parents would have preferred he go to school closer to home, things had changed between Nate and his dad. He got the feeling that Doug Thalberg thought he was going to leave the ranching business—much as he’d always told Nate he could choose whatever career he wanted. A subtle tension had worked its way into their relationship even though Nate had majored in animal sciences along with business.

When Nate was young, there was always a part of him that wondered if Doug could think of him as a real son because he’d been adopted. Nate’s biological dad had married his mom, then abandoned them when Sandy had been diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. Nate, only four at the time, had brief memories of his mom’s sorrow, and that perhaps things had been hard, but his mom made sure he never knew it. A year later, Doug had fallen in love with Sandy, and when he married her, he adopted Nate. True to his word, the adoption had been a pact between them, and Nate didn’t think his dad could possibly love him or his mother more.

College had seemed to change something between them, and it had taken years to work itself out. They were fine now, and he didn’t want Josh upsetting things. Nate had the ranch’s best interests at heart, and he knew what he was capable of—Josh didn’t. So many mountain ranching families couldn’t make a living and had to sell out, but Nate had found a way to bring more money in. His wide variety of investments—rodeo stock, organic farms, even a winery at lower altitude—were a challenge to manage, and he’d certainly never imagined the pleasure he’d take in coordinating so much, including the Silver Creek Rodeo, a month away.

That reminded him—after his phone call with the parts supplier, he could check out the online registration and make sure all the program advertising was in place.

There was always so much to do, enough to keep thoughts of Emily Murphy at bay, to his complete satisfaction.

As Emily got dressed after her shower, thoughts of Nate kept interfering. He’d looked so damn good riding toward her like a cowboy out of a Western movie. She had no idea cowboys still wore chaps, but they’d covered his jeans, fringe flapping at the edge. He’d worn a heavy work jacket, gloves dangled from his belt, and even had a scarf about his neck as if he’d need to cover his face in a dust storm. A dust storm in the Rockies? That almost made her smile.

But she hadn’t been smiling when she’d seen him. She’d been panting, and not out of lust but out of stupidity. Of course she’d heard about taking it easy when exercising at altitude. She’d just totally forgotten. Did he think she’d done it on purpose to get his attention? After all, she’d been jogging on his family land. But she’d stuck to the road. She’d been all ready to be upset at the implication she couldn’t take care of herself, and once again, he’d simply thanked her in regard to his grandmother. Nate Thalberg was making it too easy to forget what they’d done together that first night.

No, that was a lie—she couldn’t possibly forget. She still woke up in the middle of the night remembering how good she’d felt in his arms.

Maybe he wanted her to forget. She was living with his grandmother, after all. He was hardly going to proposition her under those circumstances. It had taken alcohol to make him do so in the first place, she thought with a sigh.

And there she went, downplaying her own sexiness. He’d thought her sexy enough that first night. Now she was just an annoyance, and it was better that way. Her indebtedness to him and his family—both father and grandmother—felt like another anchor around her neck as she struggled to stay afloat in the pursuit of her new life.

At least they hadn’t threatened her with foreclosing on the property, she reminded herself as she went into the kitchen. She would soon be able to repay it, once the building sold.

She hoped.

The widows were all in the kitchen as if waiting for her. Mrs. Thalberg seemed dressed for another casual day on the ranch, jeans and boots this time, and her red vest perfectly matched her hair. Mrs. Palmer was as colorful as a tulip beneath her blond wig, and Emily had realized that the prints and patterns in her dresses were just like her personality, big and vibrant. Mrs. Ludlow, dressed conservatively in tailored clothing, certainly didn’t let using a walker interfere with her self-respect.

“So let’s taste those muffins you made last night,” Mrs. Thalberg said brightly. “While we eat, you can tell us how you’re feeling. Nate called to make sure you got home all right.”

The word “home” struck her with a moment of sadness until she realized Nate was part of the same sentence. She smiled through gritted teeth, hating that she inspired anyone’s concern. “He felt the need to check up on me?”

“Of course he did!” Mrs. Palmer said sternly, with a hint of her Western drawl. “You could have full-blown altitude sickness, you know. You gotta take that seriously.”

“But I’m fine, and Nate could see that.” Emily turned to Mrs. Thalberg. “You know he wouldn’t have let me go, otherwise.”

It was true. He obviously liked to take control of every situation.

“Now let’s taste those muffins,” Emily said, changing the topic.

They weren’t perfect yet, so next time she’d alter a different ingredient, sugar instead of baking powder. Mrs. Thalberg said you just kept experimenting until you got it right. But the apple tarts, now those had turned out pretty good, and Emily carefully packaged plenty to take to Monica to thank her for lunch.

At her building, Emily had already cleared the beginning of a path through the downstairs restaurant and kitchen though now it looked like the maze of paths in a hoarder’s house. Braving a peek in the basement, she found more junk, but it could wait. Deciding to begin hauling out the garbage in the apartment, she headed upstairs until she heard a bell ring at her back door. Through the door window she could see a handsome, middle-aged man dressed stylishly in a sport coat and open-necked shirt, as if he’d just left a boardroom meeting in New York City. When she opened the door, he took off his sunglasses, his eyes widening as he looked past her.

“Good morning,” he said when he’d recovered. “I’m Cal Carpenter. Are you Emily Strong, granddaughter of Agatha Riley?”

She nodded curiously, but didn’t offer her married name. “What can I do for you, Mr. Carpenter?”

“I used to be with a law firm in Aspen although I live here now in blissful semiretirement.”

His toothpaste-commercial grin said he was more than enjoying himself in “semiretirement.” He seemed tanned and fit, as if he spent a lot of time outdoors.

“Your grandmother hired me before she died to take care of some legal matters.”

She blinked at him in surprise. That had to be over twenty-three years ago. “You mean her will?”

He nodded. “Among other things. Obviously, the will has long since been settled, but she left something for you.” He reached inside his breast pocket, withdrew a long envelope, and handed it to her. “Have a good day, Miss Strong.”

“Wait!” she said, before he could do more than begin to turn away from her.

He paused, eyebrow arched. He was so impeccably groomed, she wondered distractedly if he had those perfect eyebrows plucked.

“Why wasn’t I given this before?”

“I was under orders not to have it sent to you until you came to Valentine Valley to deal with this building.”

“And what if I never did?” she demanded with exasperation. “What if my mother sold it before she died?”

“I had other directions to follow.” He grinned. “But that didn’t happen, did it? And you still would have received the letter on your thirty-fifth birthday. Your grandmother said she was giving her daughter a chance to tell you herself.”

Emily felt a chill sweep over her. “What do you mean?”

He shrugged. “I wasn’t given all the details. Your grandmother was a private woman, even toward her own daughter.”

She couldn’t think straight, her mind was tumbling. But practicality intervened at last. “But—do I owe you something for your services?”

“No, it was all taken care of. Enjoy your day.” Then he glanced past her again and winced. “Or at least try to get out of here occasionally. Spring can be beautiful around here—as long as you don’t mind the mud.”

“Mud?” she said blankly.

“On the trails up in the mountains. At least I can still use my snowmobile farther up.” He smiled at her, then nodded toward the envelope. “Hope that’s good news.”

When he was gone, she stared at the envelope, tracing the faded lettering of her name. The handwriting was firm and bold, and she wished she’d thought to ask Mr. Carpenter if it was her grandmother’s. She had a faint memory of a warm kitchen smelling of pine from the nearby Christmas tree, and rolling out cookie dough with her grandmother. She was surprised to feel a sting of tears, and knew it wasn’t truly for the grandmother she couldn’t remember but because the homey memory made her long for a simple life. She’d chased that memory and longing through her life, first with her distracted mom, then in her marriage, but she’d never made it work.

With a sigh, she sat down on the only unbroken chair in the restaurant and opened the envelope. There was a single sheet of paper dated the year of Grandma Riley’s death, and it was addressed to her.

My dear Emily,

You’re a sweet little girl as I write this, knowing nothing about your history here in Valentine Valley. But I’m worried that your ma’s eagerness to forget the past will blind her to how lies hurt. She kept things from you—and from me—that were easier for her to forget. She was always free-spirited, and doing things without thinking. It usually didn’t hurt her. But she left town so fast after her high-school graduation, then married barely four months later to a man she just met. When she came home with you, I confronted her and she finally admitted the truth—Jacob Strong wasn’t your father.



With a gasp, Emily reread the last sentence over again. Her grandmother was saying her entire childhood was a fabrication.

She’d never questioned her mother’s impulsive decision to marry her father after knowing him so briefly. Since Delilah consulted the stars for so many things, it was hard to find more . . . grounded reasons for what she used to do. Half the time, Emily thought Delilah had picked her dad for his last name since she always said she liked how “Delilah Strong” sounded. Emily’s memories of him were of a warm, patient man who loved her and put up with her mother’s flitting in and out of their day with resignation mingled with affection.

But . . . he wasn’t her biological father.