A Town Called Valentine

chapter Seven



Emily knew they were connected too long. His hand was so big and warm and rough from working hard on the ranch every day. His hat shadowed his face in the afternoon sun, but that only made his eyes gleam even greener.

A car slowed down as it went past them, and even that didn’t stop them—until she noticed the twin smirks from the two men in the car, men she’d seen that first night at the tavern. She pulled her hand away.

“Don’t worry about them,” Nate said. “It’s just Ned and Ted Ferguson. Guess plumbing doesn’t keep them amused enough.”

“So you don’t mind being on display for the whole town?” she asked skeptically.

“On display? You make it sound like we’re doing something dirty rather than enjoying the sun.”

“And the mountains,” she said at last, relaxing back on the bench, reluctantly enjoying the sexiness of his drawl. “It’s so beautiful here.”

He took another bite of the apple tart and savored it.

It had seemed like forever since a man had appreciated her cooking. But that memory took her back to her marriage, and she wasn’t going there.

“Nate,” she began, then hesitated. “Just so you know, I’m not interested in dating anyone while I’m here. If you had other ideas, I’ll understand if you don’t keep dropping by.”

He chuckled, exuding all that smoldering sexuality that seemed so unconscious on his part. But she would learn to be unaffected if it killed her. She reminded herself it had taken alcohol to make him respond to her.

“I appreciate honesty in a woman.”

And then he took another bite of her tart. She wasn’t sure he’d agreed to her conditions, but she let it go. It was a tentative, temporary friendship. It wasn’t as if she was tempted to confide in him about her grandmother’s letter. No, that was personal and none of his business. But of course, her mother must have been close to his father to ask for a loan—not the way you’d treat a man you were hiding a pregnancy from, thank God, because the thought of being Nate’s sister made her feel icky.

Nate studied the play of emotions on Emily’s face, from happiness to hesitation to determination. She was telling the truth about not wanting to get involved with a guy, and he understood that. He wasn’t a getting-involved kind of guy, especially not with someone with her vast array of problems. And he’d already been so drawn to her, it was wise to keep anything from going further. She was right about his liking to rescue women. But it was more than that. He wanted to help people—too much. And then things went bad in ways he never intended, and people ended up resenting him.

Like Lilly, his girlfriend sophomore year at Colorado State. She was his first real clue that he had a dangerous weakness. He’d fallen in love so fast, his head spun every time he looked at her. And that was a lot, because they spent all their free time together. She’d been a freshman, from a small town like he was, so lost her first few weeks of college that it had been easy to give her some suggestions—good classes to take, professors who’d go easy on her. He’d been a shoulder for her to cry out her homesickness, and he’d stupidly felt all puffed with pride, glad he could be there for her. A week or two before midterms that semester, her dad had gotten sick, and Nate ended up helping her study and get organized when she could barely think straight. They were both overwhelmed, but he was determined not to be like that sorry excuse for a man, his own biological father, who’d run out on his mom at the first difficulty. In hindsight, he could see now that he probably spent more time trying to keep Lilly afloat than having a good relationship. He didn’t seem to know how to do both. What poor woman would want a man who tried to do everything for her?

To make it up to her, he’d stayed on campus with her during the break, but a freak snowstorm hit early up in the mountains, while his family was trying to gather the herd to bring them down to the ranch. Brooke accidentally let slip how many cows were missing and feared dead, and Nate felt awful, like he’d let everyone down when he should have been there. He rushed home to help, even though he knew Lilly felt abandoned by him right when she needed him most. Though he loved her, she thought he was putting his family first. Furious about being on her own, she floundered in her classes, dropped out of school and out of his life. He hadn’t realized how he’d undermined her, but that was no excuse. It was a lot longer before he learned his lesson.

“Good morning, Emily and Nate!”

They turned to see Mrs. Ludlow, dressed in a tailored skirt and blouse, limping toward them with the aid of her walker. Her granddaughter, three or so years old, if Nate remembered, held on to one of the metal bars. He got to his feet and tipped his hat as Mrs. Ludlow came to a smiling stop.

“Well, it’s so pleasant to see you both,” she said with a smile.

To Nate’s surprise, Emily knelt right down on the sidewalk as if her bones had melted and smiled at the little girl.

“And who are you?” Emily asked.

The girl pulled her thumb out of her mouth, said, “Miri,” and popped it back in.

“It’s short for Miriam,” Mrs. Ludlow said with pride. “She’s one of my granddaughters.”

“Aren’t you so pretty?” Emily clapped her hands together.

The little girl giggled.

Emily glanced up at Mrs. Ludlow with such a sweet, happy expression, it was like a reality kick in the gut to Nate. He didn’t need a billboard sign to tell him she was the marrying kind of woman.

As the two women discussed Miri’s dress, handmade by Mrs. Ludlow, and Emily fingered the lace, he saw a pale line on her ring finger. Had she already been married? Or was she still?

Her background was none of his business.

Emily offered part of an apple tart to the little girl, then boosted her onto the bench to eat it.

“You’re just the kindest girl,” Mrs. Ludlow said, a bit too loudly. “You fit in well at the boardinghouse. We have a mission, I’ll have you know.”

“A mission?” Emily echoed. “Sounds mysterious.”

“Nothing political, of course,” Mrs. Ludlow said firmly. “But we take pride in Valentine Valley, and we like to make sure it stays true to its small-town roots while still encouraging the right improvements, the kind that preserve the history of our buildings for the enjoyment of our residents and visitors.”

“You mean tourists,” Nate said dryly.

“There is nothing wrong with tourists,” Mrs. Ludlow scolded.

“You don’t like visitors?” Emily asked him sweetly.

He knew she was amusing herself at his expense. He let his eyes remind her just how welcoming he’d been to her, a visitor. She blushed.

“I like visitors and tourists just fine,” he drawled.

“Others don’t,” Mrs. Ludlow said. “But we simply can’t let our historic buildings fall down around us—or allow an inappropriate business to give people the wrong idea. Rosemary, Renée, and I oversee the Valentine Valley Preservation Fund.”

Nate didn’t like where the conversation was heading.

“A preservation fund sounds very worthwhile,” Emily said politely.

“And the town has been the better for it. We’re the ones who encouraged businesses like Back in Time Portrait Studio to open here.”

“Mrs. Palmer just likes dressing up in costumes like his customers do,” Nate said dryly.

“She’s loyal to our roots here in the West,” Mrs. Ludlow insisted.

“She goes around like a pioneer woman on the Fourth of July,” Nate said to Emily in an exaggerated undertone.

“What a wonderful idea,” Emily said. “I bet the tourists love it.”

Mrs. Ludlow smiled with superiority at Nate, before continuing, “Main Street’s flourishing, more and more Aspen tourists are taking a day to come relax with us, and our little Victorian gingerbread houses don’t stay on the market more than a day.”

“And some would say the prices are getting pretty high,” Nate volunteered.

Emily’s glance morphed into skepticism as she studied him.

“Beautiful craftsmanship always draws the connoisseur.” Mrs. Ludlow lifted her nose in the air.

Nate lifted both hands, palms out. “I know all about a free-market economy. I studied it in college.”

“I think it’s a wonderful thing you’re doing,” Emily said to the old woman. “How does it work?”

As Mrs. Ludlow explained the application process, and the widows’ coordination of donations and grants, Nate waited with resignation for her to mention his connection. Much as he tried to keep his business private, that was hard to do in a town the size of Valentine. To his surprise, she left him out of it.

“I think you should apply for yourself,” Mrs. Ludlow finished.

Emily blinked. “For myself? But Mrs. Ludlow, I’m selling the property as soon as I can. I don’t even know who’ll end up buying the place. Surely the funds should be used by those who intend to stay and be a part of the town.”

She didn’t jump at the offer of money, and Nate respected her for it. Eventually, Mrs. Ludlow and Miri were on their way, and Emily was perched on the edge of the bench. She shielded her eyes from the sun as she looked up at him. He sat back down.

“Brooke said your whole family works on the ranch,” she said. “You raise cattle?”

He nodded.

“I didn’t see any cows when I was jogging—or should I say trespassing—on your property.”

He gestured with his head toward the mountains. “They’re in summer pasture, grazing our allotment in the White River National Forest.”

“So you have to ride up there”—wide-eyed, she pointed to the same mountains—“to check up on them?”

“We drive pickups pulling horse and ATV trailers, then we ride around to check up on them.”

“Not very Old West of you,” she said wryly. “But I love steak as much as the next person, and I certainly don’t want it to be even more expensive.”

“I prefer being on a horse although Scout might disagree. He likes to perch behind me on the ATV.”

She smiled. “I’m very relieved that you project a traditional cowboy image. The hat’s important, of course, and you don’t fall down on the job there.”

“Complimented on my hat,” he said dryly. “That might be a first for me.”

She rolled her eyes. “I think you’ll take compliments where you can get them.”

“Now you’re implying I’m desperate.”

“Oh, your grandmother doesn’t think so. She thinks women are too easy on you, lining up to be your casual dates.”

He leaned back on the bench, lowering his hat over his eyes. “I knew taking you to the boardinghouse would be a mistake.”

She laughed again, and it made him feel too good to take her mind off her troubles—he glanced at her bare ring finger again—whatever they might be.

“About that preservation fund,” she began. “So the widows try to keep certain businesses out?”

Nate’s shoulders relaxed. “That sounds worse than it really is. We have a McDonald’s by the highway, right? It’s not just the widows—everyone wants the locals to benefit the most from tourists. And what tourists will be drawn by chain restaurants and stores they can find anywhere?”

Emily smiled. “So you’re not talking about censorship or favoritism.”

“God, no.”

“You know I didn’t mean to imply that your grandmother would be a part of something so . . .”

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell her what you were thinking,” he said in a confidential tone.

She rolled her eyes.

“She’s sharp as a tack, my grandma.” He shook his head. “She deals with the paperwork of the committee, handling the behind-the-scenes stuff, preparing the grants for the committee and the investors. Mrs. Palmer, in all her Western-drawl glory, is the public face, the one at every opening, the one who delivers the good news and the bad.”

“Why does that not surprise me?”

He grinned. “Mrs. Ludlow handles the legalities, attending the mayor’s press conferences, or sitting in on corporate board meetings, anything involved with the investors. Those three women are pretty formidable when they’re all together. Once, they chained themselves to a broken-down old house that had been a mining-town brothel.”

“No!” Emily clapped her hands to her cheeks, eyes wide with humor.

“The mayor wanted to tear it down, but they claimed it stood for women’s history since Chinese immigrant women had been the original whores—uh, prostitutes.”

“Good thing you corrected yourself. I can’t hear naughty words.”

He didn’t want to like her, but he couldn’t help himself. “I was a teenager at the time, but I can still remember Mrs. Ludlow calmly setting her walker to one side and putting manacles on her wrists.”

She laughed aloud, and he saw more than one man look her way appreciatively.

“So what happened to the building?” she asked. “Surely they didn’t drag three old women away.”

“Nope, they came up with a grant that enabled the building to be renovated into a B&B down by Silver Creek. It’s called Connections now.”

“Connections?”

“The B&B is one of the ways we’re connected to Valentine’s past.”

They smiled at each other, and he felt his own begin to fade as he contemplated the joy in Emily’s eyes. A man could look at that every day.

She slapped her hands on her thighs as she rose to her feet. “I think it’s time for you to go, cowboy. I have work to do, and I suspect those cows need you, too.”

He followed her back inside the restaurant and through the kitchen. He saw again the holes in the walls. “You going to hire someone to repair all this?”

At the back door, she turned and put her hands on her hips. “Why does everyone ask that? I’m a hard worker.”

“No offense, but there’s some skill involved.”

“What I don’t know, I’ll learn, so thanks for your concern.”

He passed her to go out into the rear hall. Without even touching her, he could feel the warmth of her body, smell the faint hint of floral perfume beneath the odor of Spic and Span. Whatever he told his brain, his body was paying attention to other signals.

“Tell Scout I missed seeing him,” Emily said, holding open the door to the alley.

She was a dog lover, too. Nate took the steps down to his truck before he could linger, but Emily had already shut the door.

Emily locked the alley door behind Nate and locked away any more thoughts of him. She was glad the awkwardness was finished. Well, most of it. She returned to the front of the restaurant and stood near the door’s glass window. Though she still kept the shutters drawn because of the mess, she could see out enough to admire how the town had made the best of its location and history. The perfect example was the Hotel Colorado just across the street, where a steady stream of cars loaded and unloaded near its front door. She imagined that the preservation-fund committee might have had an active part in that, too. Except for her own building, she hadn’t seen a business on Main Street that looked in need of repair; but then again, she hadn’t walked the side streets, something she’d have to rectify. It was hard to make the time when she needed to finish the building before she could get on with her life.

She idly wondered about the donors to the preservation fund and their opponents, the people against bringing in tourism. Which side did Nate really come down on? His family was well entrenched, and it would be easy to imagine that they didn’t want things to change.

Thoughts of Mrs. Ludlow’s fund made her remember the lady’s granddaughter. Seeing the little girl with her curly pigtails had made Emily’s heart just about tighten up in her chest. It used to hurt every time she walked past a stroller or a school bus or a ball field. But she couldn’t keep living in that constant state of depression, or she might never come out of it. She had a future, a good one. She was doing something about her wish for a family, beginning with the repairs on the building. It wouldn’t happen overnight, but she could be patient, waiting for the day she had enough money to adopt. She’d spent too many weeks and months of her life wallowing in the wreck of her marriage and dreams, as if she didn’t have the power to change things.

Just looking around at the restaurant made her realize she’d already made a dent in the chaos. And she was doing her Internet research each night on putting up drywall and ripping up damaged flooring. It didn’t look too hard, she told herself. Nate might be unconvinced, but she would show him what she was capable of.

No, he wasn’t her motivation. She would show herself.

Over the next few days, Emily spent most of her waking hours focused on the building. Occasionally, the widows dropped food off to her at midday, as if they didn’t trust her to remember to feed herself—or if they thought she wasn’t spending her money on that.

And they were right. The longer Emily remained in Valentine, the more she realized she was going to have to look for part-time work soon. Yet she took the time to put flowers in the planters out front, so that her bare building wouldn’t hurt any of the other businesses nearby.

She’d become acclimated to the altitude at last, and found some wonderful hiking trails up behind the town hall. Running brought her such peace in this beautiful mountain country, leaving her feeling stronger than she had in a long time.

She didn’t see Nate at all, and told herself that was a good thing. Brooke occasionally mentioned how busy they were at the ranch, with the stress of haying season coming up in June. If they didn’t harvest a good crop, they’d have to purchase hay at the end of winter to feed the cattle, cutting into their profit.

Monica and Brooke were proving to be a welcome distraction, occasionally insisting she accompany them to a movie or out to eat. Brooke dragged them to Outlaws, the local honky-tonk bar, where Brooke fit right in with her cowboy boots and hat. She did a mean line dance, but Emily felt like she had two left feet though she gave it a try. Her ex didn’t like to dance, so they didn’t. Why had she been so stupid as to let that stop her? Because she’d let go of her high-school and college girlfriends, that was why. She’d been a fool.

At Outlaws, they were each drinking beer, turning down requests to dance until they could get their breath back. A Kenny Chesney song was blaring in the background. Even though Emily was only wearing jeans and a shirt over a camisole, she noticed more than one admiring glance, and as the evening went on, her spirits lifted. She watched the crowd, a mixture of young and old, and found herself focusing on the older men, gathered in a booth near the back, playing cards.

Could one of them be her father?

Angry with herself, she took another swig of beer and glanced at Monica, who was picking the label off her bottle absently.

“Is something wrong?” Emily asked.

Monica glanced up with a jerk. “Sorry. Guess I got distracted.”

Brooke studied her. “With what? Everything okay at the store?”

“Busy, and Mrs. Wilcox was sick again today, so I was alone.”

“Poor old lady,” Brooke murmured. “What about Karista?”

“She’s still in high school, remember? She’s only evenings and weekends. But that’s not the real problem.” Monica heaved a sigh. “My sister’s coming to visit.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Emily asked.

Her friend shrugged. “It should be. But sadly, Missy always manages to make sure I know she thinks I’m wasting my life.”

“She says that?” Emily was aghast.

“No, not in so many words. But I know. She thinks you can only feel ‘fulfilled’—her word—with an important job in a city.”

Brooke smiled without amusement. “You can only imagine what she thinks about me.”

“No, she really doesn’t think that way about other people,” Monica insisted. “It’s just me. I’m her sister—her twin. Somehow, she thinks we’re supposed to want the same things.”

Mention of Melissa had brought down the mood of the evening. Emily had always wanted a sister or brother, and it made her sad to see sisters not getting along.

“When is she coming?” Brooke asked.

“I don’t know the exact date. She’s in the Middle East right now. When it quiets down a bit, they’ll give her some free time.”

“It sounds like an exciting job,” Emily said, then realized she sounded too wistful when Brooke gave her a warning frown. “I mean—”

“Emily,” Monica interrupted with a smile. “I’m not that sensitive, whatever Brooke thinks. Of course Missy’s job is exciting. But it’s not exactly glamorous most of the time, especially when she’s covering earthquakes and tsunamis, and people are dying right in front of her. Sometimes she can’t get a lot of food because it might make her a target for starving, desperate people. But if it sounds interesting to you, then you should talk to her about it. She’d love that,” she added dryly.

“That’s the problem—I don’t know what sounds interesting to me.” Emily clenched her beer bottle in frustration. “I know going back to college is the right thing to do, but I didn’t enjoy it the first time, and I have no clue what to study. Although I think I’ll rule out international journalism.” She grinned at Monica. “Too much travel.”

“You don’t like to travel?” Brooke asked in surprise.

“I do, but I want to have a family, and that would be difficult.” She smiled shyly. “I’m going to adopt.”

“That’s a great plan,” Monica said. “You’re not waiting for a husband to share it with?”

“I tried that, and it didn’t work. I’m getting too old to wait around for the right man, especially since I’ll have to save up adoption money.”

“You might not know what you want to do for a job,” Brooke said, “but you’ve got a plan, and that’s important.”

“You must have been a cheerleader in high school,” Emily said.

“Bite your tongue. I was a barrel racer, and the high-school girls’ champion of Colorado.”

“I’m impressed, and I don’t even know what it means,” Emily continued. “You ride horses around barrels?”

“Something like that. I’ll show you sometime.”

“Speaking of plans,” Monica said cheerfully, “Emily, you mentioned needing some furniture in your apartment. What do you have?”

“I don’t need much since I won’t be here long. There’s a bed frame, but I wouldn’t feel comfortable using the mattress.”

Brooke visibly shuddered, and they all laughed.

“What size bed?” Monica asked.

“Looks like a double, since the bedroom is pretty small.”

“Let me see what my parents have.”

Emily frowned. “What do you mean? I certainly can’t take your family’s furniture.”

“They’ve been talking about remodeling the guest bedroom for the longest time. Now that Missy’s coming home, I’m sure my mom will jump right in.”

“I detect sarcasm,” Brooke murmured.

Monica briefly stuck out her tongue.

“I don’t know if I feel right about this . . .” Emily began.

“Quiet. What else do you need?” Brooke asked.

“There’s already a table and two chairs. With those and a mattress, I’ll have eating and sleeping covered. That’s all I need.”

The two women looked at each other doubtfully, and Emily prepared herself to insist, but nothing more was said about furniture.

Brooke set her empty beer bottle down with a thump. “Guess it’s time to go. I need to be up before dawn.”

Monica shuddered. “You work long hours. I don’t know how you do it.”

Brooke shrugged. “It has to be done. Emily, can I drop you off on my way home?”

Emily gladly accepted, no longer feeling guilty about it, since the boardinghouse really was on the way to the ranch. After letting herself in the back door, she came up short when she found Mrs. Thalberg, dressed in a housecoat and slippers, sitting at the kitchen table with papers spread out before her.

Mrs. Thalberg lifted her head and smiled. “Did you have a nice evening, Emily?”

She grinned. “I did. Brooke taught me a line dance, and I wasn’t too terrible. But why are you still up at midnight?”

“I just wanted to prepare our new applications for the committee meeting tomorrow. Now that I don’t have to get up before dawn, I do some of my best thinking at night.”

Emily found herself picturing the redheaded grandmother chained to a brothel, and barely held in a laugh.

“When it’s not so late, I’d love to hear all about your work. It sounds really challenging.” Emily suddenly noticed a man’s jacket on the hook by the back door. “Uh-oh, someone might be cold tonight since he left that behind.”

“That would be Nate’s. He dropped by to see you.”

Emily stiffened in surprise.

“He fell asleep on the couch,” Mrs. Thalberg continued, shaking her head. “That poor boy works too hard. I think you should go wake him since he brought a box he says is for you.”

Two beers must have been too much, for Emily felt a pleasant little zing of warmth traveling through her veins.