A Town Called Valentine: A Valentine Valley Novel (3 page)

Without answers, she trudged back down and found Nate in the hall, waiting for her. She couldn’t see his face, with that cowboy hat hiding everything.

“Let’s go,” he said quietly.

She frowned and opened her mouth to protest.

He took the flashlight back. “I shut off the water. There’s nothing else for you here tonight. You can come back tomorrow and see the rest of the damage.”

She felt exposed, vulnerable, and suddenly so weary. He’d seen the mess in the restaurant, just as if he’d seen the mess in her life. She couldn’t waste the last of her money when she was going to need every dime to fix this place.

“Listen, cowboy,” she said firmly, “I know this looks bad, but it isn’t up to you to make my decisions for me.”

“Is that right?” He tipped up his hat to look her in the eyes.

She suddenly noticed that his drawl had disappeared, and he spoke in crisp, cool tones.

“Well, it’s a shame you didn’t tell me what you were doing here from the beginning because I could have saved us all this hassle. I do have a say in your decisions”—he briefly looked past her—“or at least my father does, because you don’t own this property outright. My dad lent your mother money, and he has a lien on the place. She’d been paying him back over time.”

Emily gaped at him, still standing a step up so he couldn’t crowd her in the tiny hallway. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I wish I was. I’ll tell my father about your arrival and word of your mother’s death.”

“She died last year!”

“We’ve been receiving regular payment through a lawyer. If you don’t believe me, I’ll bring the papers to show you.” He sighed. “He would never stand in the way of you selling the building—to an appropriate business, of course.”

She felt her face heat. “Excuse me?”

“With how land is selling in Valentine Valley,” he continued as if she hadn’t spoken, “you’ll have no problem getting a decent price, and you’ll be able to keep most of it.”

Swallowing, she knew it was best to keep her temper until she saw those papers. She’d thought she was on her own, independent at last, and now to find out someone else controlled her, after everything that had happened in her marriage . . . To her mortification, she felt her eyes sting. Thank goodness for the darkness.

Nate was still watching her. She stiffened and met his gaze with what she hoped was a look of cool defiance and a tilt of her chin.

“I’m glad you’re being calm and reasonable about this,” he said. “That means you’ll also understand that you can’t stay here tonight. It may be spring, but the nights are cold in the mountains. I have a place you can stay.” When she drew in a furious breath, he held up both hands. “Not with me. My grandmother has a boardinghouse for her and all her friends, and I do occasional work for her. There’s an empty room right now, and you can stay there until you figure things out.”

For a crazy moment, Emily wanted to refuse, to kick him out, to hunker down in the only place that was hers. But common sense intervened at last, and she let out a frustrated breath. “I guess I don’t have a choice. I’m sorry you’re forced to help me once again.”

He didn’t answer, just stood looking at her. She was suddenly very conscious of the quiet, of the lateness of the hour, of how very alone they were. Without thinking about where she was, she took an instinctive step back—and hit her heel on the next step and started to fall backward.

He caught both her arms and briefly steadied her. Even that little touch brought back those hot moments when he’d stood between her thighs and kissed her.

“Let’s go,” he said gruffly, and walked out of the building into the rain.

Emily took a few minutes to lock both interior doors, then the outside one, before running back to the pickup. She received a sniff to the back of the neck from Scout, but she’d been prepared this time.

Without a word, Nate drove slowly down the alley and out onto a street. Within a few minutes, they left behind the twinkling lights of Valentine Valley, and she got the impression of immense darkness rising on one side of the pickup. They were driving closer to the Elk Mountains, if she remembered her map correctly, and they must blot out the stars. After crossing a bridge, they turned and followed the creek for several hundred yards before pulling up in front of a huge old three-story Victorian home. Lights illuminated the wraparound porch, and she could see decorative gingerbread trim. A huge, cheerfully lettered sign read,
WIDOWS’ BOARDINGHOUSE.

Emily glanced at Nate, raising an eyebrow.

“I didn’t name it,” he said impassively. “They think it’s funny.”

Except for the porch lights, there was no illumination in the house. With a glance at the dashboard clock, she realized it was past one in the morning.

“Nate . . .” she began.

“Most of them wear hearing aids, and your room is on the first floor in the back.”

“But—”

He got out of the pickup, and this time Scout followed him to do his business at the base of the sign before bounding up on the front porch to watch them alertly. Emily at last got a good look at the dog, all black-and-white irregular patterns in his furry coat, a cute pointed nose that almost looked delicate, and eyes that watched Nate with adoration and readiness.

Like every woman he met, she thought with sarcasm. Herself included.

“Stay, Scout,” Nate said, pulling her suitcase out of the pickup and closing the door.

“I can carry my own—”

He strode past her. With a sigh, she followed him onto the porch and all the way around to the rear of the house. After letting himself in with a key, he led her through a neat kitchen, lit only with a dim light above the sink. She thought she could smell the lingering scent of pumpkin pie, and it gave her a stab of homesickness for the world she’d left behind. She didn’t have time to examine the kitchen, her favorite room in any house, but had to follow him through a door and down a small hall to another door. He opened it and turned the light on, leading the way into a small sitting room.

He pointed to a key ring on a table next to the door. “A set of keys for this room and the outside doors. You don’t have a private kitchen—this is more of an ‘assisted living facility,’ or so I’ve heard people call it. The widows share the kitchen. A woman comes in to do their laundry and the general cleaning. There’s a bedroom through that door, and a bathroom beyond. The linen closet will have sheets and towels.”

He set down the suitcase and turned to leave.

“Nate!” She caught his arm, and he stopped, looking down at her. Her mouth seemed to dry up every time those green eyes captured her, and such weakness made her furious. She’d conquer it if it were the last thing she did. “Thank you, but your grandmother—”

“I’ll leave her a note. She’ll be tickled pink.”

She almost smiled. “ ‘Tickled pink’?”

“Her words, not mine. We’re only about a mile from Main Street, so you’ll be able to come and go until your car is fixed.”

When he turned away, she called to him once again. “Nate, please!”

He stopped, but only glanced over his shoulder.

“You don’t know me,” she said tensely. “Why are you doing this?”

“For the sex, of course.”

Her mouth fell open.

He sighed and shook his head, looking amused for the first time in several hours. “You’re gullible. Hard to believe you’re the one from the big city.”

“Be serious,” she said harshly.

His smile faded. “If my sister found herself in this predicament, I’d want someone to help her. Now go to sleep. You look exhausted.”

And, like a stupid teenager, she put a hand to her hair in distress, but he was already gone.

After preparing for bed, she lay a long time staring into the darkness. She didn’t want to remember the evening, but every time her eyes drifted closed, she saw the intensity in Nate’s face, the hungry way he’d looked at her, like she was the only one who would satisfy him. She could still remember his hand cupping her breast and the pleasurable ache he’d roused in her.

Even though she was ashamed by her drunken behavior, part of her was relieved. At least her ability to feel passion hadn’t died with her marriage.

Chapter Three

N
ate loved the privacy of the log cabin he’d renovated on the edge of the Silver Creek Ranch, which had been owned by his family for generations. He’d torn down walls, creating a large open living space with a bedroom at the back, and a loft above for his office. Though he spent most of each day at the ranch, his free evenings were in his own private sanctuary, where he seldom invited women.

But the cabin had one drawback: it was within a half mile of the boardinghouse, and tonight that was too close. He was already imagining Emily getting ready for bed, and wondered what she wore, or if she wore anything at all . . .

Stop it,
he told himself.

Scout took up his customary perch on the back of a couch up against the window, where he could look out over his domain. Nate smiled and ruffled between the dog’s ears, making Scout pant and look up at him with adoration. A dog only wanted affection, and that was so easy to return.

With a sigh, Nate turned away. He should get to bed, for the next day would be another long one. He was getting less and less sleep each night. Preparations for the Silver Creek Rodeo, run by his family, were heating up, and there were always the day’s chores at a cattle ranch. Instead, he paced, remembering Emily, and the way she’d insisted on going to her building instead of a motel. She really would have stayed in that unheated mess if he hadn’t insisted she leave. And all of that told him she was desperate, with little money and nowhere else to go. When he felt his sympathy being churned up again, he should have run the other way.

Instead, he’d put her with his grandmother and her friends, the town busybodies. They knew everything and everyone. Certainly, they could inform Emily all about her mother’s family. But they could also discuss Nate. And he didn’t want to be a topic of conversation, especially not after the way he’d behaved tonight at Tony’s Tavern.

After undressing, he stepped into the shower to remove the tantalizing scent of Emily still on his clothes, on his skin. If only cold water could remove memories.

I
t was still dark when Emily awoke at the beep of her cell-phone alarm. She didn’t hit snooze but sat right up. For just a moment, she’d thought she was at home, but she didn’t have a home anymore. Greg had remained in their elegant apartment in San Francisco, close to his law firm in Nob Hill, and she’d found a temporary little sublet across the bay. She’d been so furious with him, so disappointed and heartbroken at his betrayal, she hadn’t wanted to be tied to him in any way, so she’d refused alimony—his guilt money.

Sometimes it seemed like
every
decision she made led to a mistake. She’d fallen in love with Greg, a law student, while she’d been in college, and when he graduated, she quit school to marry him. She’d never enjoyed school although she’d gotten good grades, and had only gone to college because it seemed the thing to do. After her crazy upbringing, all she’d ever wanted was to be a wife, to make a home, to have a family. She still had warm memories of her father, Jacob Strong, the scent of his aftershave when he hugged her, how special she felt when he exclaimed over every art project she brought home from school. She’d dreamed of re-creating those simple but heartfelt moments for her own family.

But after her dad’s death, her mom had spent most of her time on her new age shop and the various men in her life, making Emily feel . . . inconvenient. It was how she had first discovered she loved to cook, for fast food or late meals had grown irritating. Delilah often forgot to come home to make dinner after work. But at least she always spent nights at home, and never at some guy’s place. It had taken Emily until adulthood to appreciate that. Her mom always said she wished she’d been born early enough to be a hippie, so she lived the life, from practicing reiki to insisting Emily call her “Delilah,” not Mom or even “Dorothy,” the name she’d been born with.

It had all come to a head for Emily on the opening night of her school musical. She had the lead, the youngest ever at fifteen, and thought for sure she’d given her mom a reason to be proud of her, a reason to care. But her mom hadn’t remembered to come. Every other kid had a parent—hell, a whole family—meet them backstage with flowers and hugs and praise. Delilah could charm a forget-me-not blossom and keep it in her purse to remember a date with a man, but her daughter’s musical was not that important. Emily had stood alone, feeling as if the last joy in her accomplishment was crushed beneath her mother’s indifference. She was achingly alone, would always be—until she made her own family. That had become her guiding force through the rest of high school and into college.

She thought she’d succeeded with Greg, a man whose extended family made her feel included. For several years, she’d given elegant dinners for their friends and the partners at Greg’s firm. Greg’s family lived on the opposite coast, and year after year, he couldn’t find vacation time to visit them. At first, she pretended not to see that she’d exchanged one lonely life for another. She volunteered at the local hospital, crocheted blankets for premature babies, and occasionally worked as an emergency backup for her friend’s catering business by baking desserts and pastries, waiting for the day she had a baby.

But that day never came, and her marriage fell apart in ways that still hurt too much to think about, a well of grief so raw it was a physical ache. She’d lost her baby and her husband and her dreams all within a week. Emily had known she had to find a way to support herself, but each day she could barely get out of bed. She was skirting the edges of depression, replaying the tragedy of her marriage and Greg’s cruelty over and over again in her mind. Her money running out had finally awakened her to the pitiful excuse her life had become, the way she wallowed in self-pity. Though Greg was gone, she was still letting him control her. She didn’t need a man to create her own family.

But she did need a career, something she’d so conveniently ignored when she was head over heels in love with Greg. College just hadn’t seemed important—but it was important now. She’d already registered for the fall semester back at UC Berkeley. She had to find a way to support herself even though she didn’t have a clue what to major in. That was what advisors were for. Perhaps her two years’ worth of credits would still count for something.

When she sold her mother’s building, she’d use that money to pay her tuition. Once gainfully employed, she would save enough to adopt. She’d gone the husband route, and it had failed. But there were plenty of children around the world desperate to be part of a family.

She thought she’d taken control of her life by coming to Valentine Valley, but on the first night, she made out with a stranger, her car wouldn’t start, and she had found that her building was severely damaged. It was as if life was giving her a good kick for her efforts.

She wasn’t going to let “life” get away with it. Sitting up, she threw back the covers with determination. She’d had a couple setbacks, that was all. She would lay out a plan to repair her building as quickly as possible. Her future was waiting for her.

But in the present, she was a stranger in a home with elderly women who hadn’t even been consulted about the arrangement. Nate Thalberg had made decisions for everybody.

But he’d also given her a place to stay for the night, and she would force herself to feel gratitude instead of resentment that she hadn’t been able to do that for herself.

As for the ladies, she only had one way to show her gratitude, and that was in the kitchen. After a quick shower, she dressed again in a long-sleeve t-shirt and jeans. After reading the note Nate had left for his grandmother in the formal dining room—it was short and to the point, but didn’t make her sound too pathetic—she went to take stock of the pantry. The kitchen itself was full of windows to let in the rising sun, a little breakfast nook, oak cabinets that gleamed, and a decorative theme of . . . cows. There were bowls of fruit decorated with black-and-white cow spots, two lowing cows held up napkins, horns sprouted near the back door for hanging jackets. Cows everywhere. It made Emily smile. If Nate was a cowboy, perhaps his whole family was involved.

The house remained quiet as, from memory, she began to assemble muffins and banana bread on the spacious granite countertops, then started a pot of coffee while they baked.

With twenty minutes to spare, she stepped outside onto the porch, rubbing her arms at the brisk chill, then catching her breath in wonder. The mountains loomed above her, so high and magnificent and close that they didn’t seem real. Snow dusted the peaks even as spring had brought out the green below the tree line. During the drive up, she’d gaped up at the towering peaks and narrow canyons, finding it difficult to concentrate on her driving. But now she was in a wide valley between two mountain ranges, carved out over time by the Roaring Fork River, according to her map. The Silver Creek in Valentine joined with the river down valley. She could see farm fields with high stalks of some kind of grain stretching off into the distance, and a glimpse of what might be a red-roofed ranch house, but no cows.

Emily let the beautiful scene bring her a moment’s peace, then went back inside, knowing she had a long day ahead of her. To her shock, the baking was a disaster. She should have realized something was wrong when the batter seemed too thick. The muffins were flattened when she pulled them out of the oven, and the bread was still batter at the bottom of the pan, though the top seemed done.

She was glaring at her creations when she heard someone enter the room. She turned about, and to her relief, it wasn’t Nate but three elderly ladies, one leaning on a walker, another clapping her hands together with excitement, the third holding Nate’s note.

“Good morning!” said the cheerful one with the note. “I’m Grandma Thalberg. You must be Emily.”

Emily smiled cautiously. “How nice to meet you.”

Mrs. Thalberg had the reddest shade of curly hair Emily had ever seen. She wore a battery of makeup, though skillfully applied, and a colorful housecoat and slippers. She introduced her companions. Mrs. Ludlow, the trim, white-haired lady leaning on her walker, was already dressed for the day in slacks and a bright blue blouse. Mrs. Palmer, plump and vibrant in a paisley dress, pearls, and what must be a blond wig, nodded at Emily and began to wash dishes.

“Oh no!” Emily said quickly. “Breakfast is my way of thanking you for allowing me to spend the night. You mustn’t clean up. Not that I’ve made much of a treat . . .” She trailed off, embarrassed.

Mrs. Thalberg glanced at Emily’s failed muffins and banana bread. “Oh dear, let me guess—you’ve never baked at altitude before.”

Emily smacked her forehead. “I never thought of that! I’ve seen it mentioned on boxed mixes, but I never cook with those.”

“They’ll still taste lovely,” Mrs. Ludlow said kindly.

“Not the banana bread. It’s practically batter at the bottom.”

Mrs. Palmer broke out the aluminum foil. “We’ll cover it and cook it a bit longer. Next time, use a tube pan. We swear by it!”

Emily stared around her as the ladies—widows all? she wondered—began to bring out china and silverware. She didn’t know where anything was, so she brought out the milk and butter.

Then they sat down at the table in the sunny corner of the kitchen and looked at her expectantly. Emily sank down opposite them. They exclaimed over her flattened muffins until at last Emily tried one. They weren’t horrible, but she was known for her baking talents, and this was just upsetting.

Mrs. Thalberg gave a kindly smile. “I’d love to give you the little baking tips we mountain dwellers have learned from childhood.”

“That’s so kind of you, Mrs. Thalberg, but I won’t be in town very long.”

Mrs. Ludlow elegantly patted her lips with a cloth napkin. “Where are you in such a hurry to return?”

“San Francisco, ma’am. I was born and raised there, and I’m going back to college this fall.”

“Good for you. Nate says your mother was born in Valentine Valley.” Mrs. Thalberg shook her head even as she clucked her tongue. “But he didn’t say her
name,
the silly boy. Yours is Murphy, but that’s not familiar to me.”

“I’m divorced,” Emily said, trying not to feel humiliation, her constant companion these last six months before she’d realized her future could only begin with her. “My mother’s maiden name was Riley.”

Mrs. Palmer, who kept straightening things on the table as if she couldn’t sit still, now froze. “Agatha Riley was your grandmother?”

Mrs. Thalberg gasped, and Mrs. Ludlow put a hand to her heart.

“Yes.” Emily felt a sudden warm glow as she realized these ladies had known her grandmother, and it was as if they had opened up a connection to a past when she still had a family. “She died when I was eight, so I don’t remember her well.”

“Agatha Riley was such a treasure,” Mrs. Thalberg gushed, patting Emily’s hand. “You look like her!”

Emily felt a flush of warmth.

“That lovely shade of strawberry blond hair,” Mrs. Thalberg continued. “I was always so jealous.”

Emily hid a smile as she regarded the flaming color the old lady had chosen.

“She was a teacher before she married, and loved children,” Mrs. Thalberg continued. “I always thought it such a shame she only had one herself. When her husband died, she took over the general store and seemed to find a new calling.”