A Town Called Valentine: A Valentine Valley Novel (8 page)

She put her hands on her hips. “This can’t be a coincidence. Didn’t I just see you this morning?”

“I’m on my way to the feed store. What am I supposed to do when I see a woman in distress? My mom would beat me if I didn’t stop. Now move aside.”

He brushed past her, and she seemed to quickly get out of his way. She was being smarter than he was. He hefted the chair off the ground and walked the final twenty yards to the Dumpster. She raced ahead of him to open the lid, and he got to watch her jeans-clad butt as she stood on tiptoes to reach the top.

He tossed in the chair.

Wide-eyed, she said, “Okay, that was impressive.”

“That couldn’t have been a compliment. After all, I was rescuing you again.”

“So your mama raised you right. Thank you for your help.”

As she walked by him, she stole a glance at him that he couldn’t quite read. It wasn’t angry or defensive or affronted. So what was it?

He found himself walking beside her. “Did you get your lunch?”

She snorted, and he was surprised she wasn’t too ladylike for it.

“Do you doubt your sister?”

“Nope. Just checking up on her. Although now that I think about it, she did rave about some apple tarts. So I guess she had those with you.”

She climbed the couple stairs to her building and glanced at him over her shoulder. Luckily, he’d stopped checking out her butt in time.

“You don’t sound like you listen to your sister very well.”

He realized he’d lost track of the conversation.
Damn.
He climbed the first step, unaware she’d stopped until he almost bumped into her. Their eyes met and held for a moment before she glanced away. He found himself wanting to gather her wayward hair into his hands and . . . fix it for her. Not . . . caress it or anything.

“You brought up the apple tarts for a reason,” she said. “You country boys probably need to check out a woman’s cooking.”

“You baked them yourself?”

“Don’t sound so disbelieving,” she shot back.

He raised both hands. “Just surprised.”

“I like to cook.” She lifted her chin, as if daring him.

“Then I better try one,” he said, trying to remain serious when a grin was eating at him.

The kitchen was still a mess, but a lot of the junk was off the floor, and it had been swept.

“You’ve been working hard,” he said.

“Thank you.” She picked up a container and continued to walk into the restaurant. “Now that I have paths to the doors, I’ve been focusing on the apartment—so I don’t have to impose on your grandmother,” she added over her shoulder.

“You know she doesn’t consider you an imposition.”

“But you do.”

He didn’t know what to say—it had seemed true. And he was no longer certain why. After all, it wasn’t like he was forced to see her every day.

“No, you’re not an imposition. Not if you can cook, anyway.”

He thought she might have smiled, but since she was still ahead of him, and he was still focused on her butt, he wasn’t certain.

“There aren’t enough usable chairs in here,” she said. “We’ll sit outside on the bench.”

“So you’re not handing me a tart and sending me on my way?” he asked dryly.

“I considered it. But you’re Brooke’s brother, and I like her.”

But not me, he thought. He tried to tell himself that was a good thing, but already his mind was slyly protesting that she’d liked him well enough a couple nights ago. Damn, he shouldn’t have let his thoughts go there. Before he knew it, he was noticing how close they had to sit on the bench, and that when he sat naturally, his leg touched hers, so he pulled back. But he’d almost lingered.

She handed Nate a tart on a napkin. When their fingers touched, he didn’t pull away too quickly. She blushed, and he knew she was remembering Tony’s Tavern, too.

He took a bite, and as the sweet and tart flavor oozed across his tongue, he made a humming sound of approval.

“Thank you,” she answered, just as if he’d spoken.

“Oh, you’re good,” he rumbled, after swallowing.

Another answer that could be taken two ways.

She didn’t meet his eyes but let out a deep breath. “Look, there’s been this . . . tension between us since that first night.” As she glanced at him, her big blue eyes looked determined. “I’m going to be here for a couple weeks, and it’s a small town, and I’m living with your grandmother, and I’ll probably keep bumping into you.” She stopped, as if realizing her mouth was running away with her.

He kind of liked it. She was nervous about him.

“It’s silly for us to . . . go on like this,” she continued. “I just wanted to tell you I’m sorry I drank too much and let things go too far between us. Regardless of what you might think, I’ve never done anything like that before, and when I realized what I was doing, I had to stop it. I don’t just . . . give myself to a guy I just met.”

He smiled. “ ‘Give’ yourself? That sounds pretty old-fashioned.”

“You know what I mean,” she said with exasperation.

She was watching him, looking anxious and hesitant, as if she cared what he thought. Something inside him eased.

He tipped his hat to her and grinned. “Apology accepted. I feel bad that things have been awkward between us. Regardless of what you might think, I don’t normally drink and proposition women in bars. But you were sitting there so . . .” His voice drifted into a soft rumble.

She was staring at him wide-eyed, fresh and innocent and embarrassed.

“Drunk?” she offered wryly.

“No. Pretty. Pretty and relaxed and funny. I’m a sucker for funny. But I apologize for going too far. I’ve been pretty mad at myself these last couple days for taking advantage.”

She blinked at him. “I thought you were mad at me.”

“For saying no?” He snorted. “Hardly. It wasn’t your fault.”

She smiled at last and kept glancing at him as if she didn’t know whether to believe him.

She stuck out her hand. “Could we start over? I’d like it if we could be friends.”

He slid his hand around hers, noticing how small and fragile it was, that he had to be careful not to squeeze too hard and hurt her.

“Friends,” he said, his voice too husky.

This was a bad idea, but he couldn’t stop himself.

Chapter Seven

E
mily 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.