A Town Called Valentine: A Valentine Valley Novel (14 page)

“You questioned my dad about her,” he said, his eyes widening. “Did you think he and your mom—”

“I never even considered it. I knew my mother. There’s no way she would have gone to your dad about a loan if she was keeping his baby a secret. She was a private person in many ways, and that would have been inviting trouble.”

“So you’re positive we’re not related,” he said with faint amusement.

“And why would it be a problem if we were?” she asked innocently.

He didn’t say anything at first, only looked at her with doubt and intensity, enough to make her squirm.

“As for my father,” Nate finally said, “he’s not the kind of man to let a woman leave town right after he’s slept with her. He’s too honorable. Once he cares about you, he never stops.”

“And that would have meant he had an affair,” she said quietly.

“No, it wouldn’t have.”

She frowned. “But you’re older than I am. Your parents weren’t married?”

“My father is the kind of man who would fall in love with a woman even though she had MS and a five-year-old kid. He adopted me. My biological father left us right after my mom’s diagnosis.”

Emily’s heart gave a lurch as she watched Nate continue to eat. Was he trying to pretend it didn’t still hurt? “Oh Nate,” she said softly.

He glanced up at her. “No puppy-dog eyes. It was the best thing to happen to both of us. He was . . . scum.”

“And Doug Thalberg adopted you.” She sat forward, intrigued. “I’m considering adoption myself. I would love to talk more with your parents.”

He frowned. “Maybe.” He gestured to Linda for another beer.

She studied him in surprise. Most men would express some curiosity that an unmarried woman her age was considering adoption. She wouldn’t have answered with personal details of heartbreak that would only make him pity her, but she’d learned not to repress the memories of her baby’s death. But it was as if the discussion of his parents’ personal situation had made him . . . shut down. Was that why he’d winced when his father walked in? He didn’t want Emily talking to him?

She should be offended, but instead, she was intrigued. His new coolness was like a blazing warning sign, but she’d started this conversation, and she was going to finish it.

“I could use your advice,” she said, after taking a sip of her Diet Coke.

Another frown. “About adoption?”

Not likely.
“No, about my grandmother’s letter. Every older man I see, I find myself wondering. I need to know the man’s name.”

They were interrupted by Linda, who brought another round of drinks.

With her elbow on the table, Emily rested her chin in her palm. “What makes this difficult is how much my father loved my mother.”

“And that’s part of the reason this hurts so much,” Nate said.

She eyed him. “Wow, cowboy, that was insightful.”

He took a big bite of his sandwich and chewed, not agreeing or disagreeing.

“My mother,” she began, then paused for a moment. “ ‘Mother’ isn’t the best word for her. After my father died, she was wrapped up in her store, then in her succession of men. I was third in line.”

She was waking up all the twisted emotions she thought she’d put behind her—the hurt, the anger, the despair. And love? Could she still have a spark of love for a woman who had kept the truth from her all these years? Emily thought of her own mistakes, and knew she was just as flawed as anyone else. But a lie like this . . .

“I can’t be surprised she kept this terrible secret,” she said softly. “The night before my wedding, she told me she hadn’t wanted to be a mom so young, and when my dad died, the responsibility was overwhelming, making everything worse. She’d made mistakes. At the time . . . at the time I was furious with her for laying that on me just before my big day, and I didn’t understand how a woman couldn’t want her own child. But I might have misjudged what she was trying to say to me. I think she was apologizing in her way, and giving me a warning that life doesn’t always end up as we want. Maybe I also wasn’t seeing the clue in her words, about her ‘mistakes.’ I need to discover what I can.” Now that time had passed, and she’d carried her own child, it was also far easier to imagine how her mom had felt when eighteen and pregnant—afraid and penniless. But her mom had never gotten past the ambivalence about her pregnancy.

Nate pointed at her with a french fry. “Then tell me how I can help.”

“I talked to Cathy Fletcher, her high-school friend.”

“Ah, so it wasn’t just interest in St. John’s that sent you there.”

She shrugged and smiled. “Cathy assumed Mom got pregnant in San Francisco, so I didn’t correct her on that. No point in letting the whole town know.”

“And you trust that I won’t do the same?”

She studied him, trying to come up with a flippant reply, but couldn’t. “Yes.”

He wiped his mouth with a napkin and sat back, his expression unreadable. It was almost as if . . . he didn’t like being trusted. He was probably trying to keep the boundaries intact between them since she was doing such a poor job.

“If you’re asking my opinion,” Nate said, “I’d go to the source, Doc Ericson. He’s been here forever. If your mother consulted him, she might have told him the father’s name in confidence.”

Emily straightened in surprise. “I didn’t even think she might have gone to a doctor. It’s a good lead, thank you.”

“I’ll introduce you.”

She started to protest.

“Of course you can make an appointment yourself,” he interrupted. “But with privacy laws nowadays . . . you might have to bring proof of her death or something, and maybe I could just persuade Doc to help.”

She let out her breath, feeling reluctant. “Okay, good point.”

“I have another lead. You said you were looking for part-time work, right?”

“Just remember, I’m not working for
you
!”

He looked at her like she was crazy. “Trust me, I’m not asking. But a job has been staring you right in the face—at Monica’s Flowers and Gifts.”

“She has two employees.”

“I’m not talking about Karista.”

“But Mrs. Wilcox has been sick,” Emily protested. “Monica would never fire someone over that.”

He leaned across the table and spoke in a confidential tone. “Did you ever think that Mrs. Wilcox is too kindhearted to leave Monica in a lurch, even though she might be ready to take a break?”

“No!” she whispered, looking around as if someone would overhear them in the bustling sports bar. “How do you know—oh, wait, the Widows’ Boardinghouse and Gossip Mill.”

He grinned. “Good one. But I’m not revealing sources. I could talk to Monica for you.”

Though she should be amused at how easily he tried to take charge, she found herself stiffening. “I’m perfectly capable of speaking to Monica myself.”

His smile grew lazy. “I’m relieved.”

After a glance at the check, he tossed some money on the table. She’d already pulled out her wallet, and they had a momentary staring match. With a sigh, she let him have his way.

As they walked out of the Halftime, Scout at Nate’s heels, she gave Nate a sideways glance, knowing she’d become his project, and she was only encouraging him by asking for his help. If it had been pity, or thinking he had to help the “little people,” she’d have put a stop to it immediately. But it wasn’t. She guessed it was Nate’s very nature to help everyone he could, but that was difficult for someone like her, who wanted—needed—to do things on her own.

She glanced over her shoulder as the door closed behind them, and saw Mr. Thalberg watching them. She gave a wave, and he answered with a pleasant nod. He’d raised a lost boy into a fine man. He hadn’t been a biological father to Nate, and it hadn’t mattered one bit. Love and respect were what mattered.

Nate paused, looking over his shoulder back inside the Halftime. “I forgot about something I need to discuss with my dad. Can I meet you back at your place in fifteen minutes?”

“Nate, you’ve shown me enough to finish out the day, and perhaps several days’ worth. Why don’t you go back to your own work?”

Standing there on the street, he looked down at her, indecision in every line of his tense body. That tension jumped to her like lightning, and she couldn’t help wondering if there was more to his need to help her—and it set off alarm bells in her head.

“Go, Nate,” she said, giving his shoulder a friendly push. “I’ll give you a call when I reach a renovation impasse. Text me about Doc Ericson when you get the chance. And thanks for lunch. Now go on. Daddy’s waiting.”

It was his turn to roll his eyes, and she gave him a grin as she turned and walked back down Main Street. Her purse swung and bumped against her hip as she walked, and she knew with certainty that he was watching her.

Chapter Twelve

N
ate stood on Main Street, admiring the cute sway of Emily’s ass as she walked away from him. People were watching him, he knew, but a man had a right to look at an attractive woman.

But did he have a right to keep coming around when his body was telling him he wanted more from her?

Scout was watching him, his head cocked to one side with confusion.

“Nope, we’re not going with her, buddy. I’m giving you every mixed signal today. Let’s go see Dad.” He and the dog went back inside the Halftime and approached his father’s table. He nodded to Deke. “Can I borrow my dad for a sec?”

Deke frowned as he forked his salad around his plate. “Sure thing, kid. It’ll give me time to find the fried chicken I know was buried in here somewhere.”

Nate walked back to the bar and found two empty stools at the end. Before he could think how to broach the uncomfortable subject, his father did it for him, as straightforward as always.

“Did you lie to that girl, Nathaniel?” he asked mildly.

Nate winced. “ ‘Lie’ is a lot stronger word than’s necessary.”

“She thinks I still own the lien on her property. Why didn’t you tell her you bought it?”

“At the time it came up, she and I were pretty upset with each other,” Nate began slowly.

“You’re talkin’ that first night when you two were settin’ the town gossips afire?”

“Yeah, that night.” Nate sighed. “I didn’t know anything about her except that she was down on her luck. And I didn’t want her to think . . .”

His dad put his hands on his hips. “That you’re more than a dirt-poor cowboy?”

“Something like that.” But not really. He waited for his dad to cuss him up one side and down the other.

But his dad just studied him for a moment, his gaze unreadable. “You’re a grown man, Nate. I’m not tellin’ you what to do.”

Nate felt strange, wondering why his dad didn’t interfere a bit more where Emily was concerned. Did he know something Nate didn’t? “Why did you invest in something so risky as a new age store, Dad?”

Doug shrugged. “Why not? Dot had collateral and had already proven she could make a success of the store. She wanted to expand. Perhaps you get your good head for investments from me.”

They grinned at each other.

Nate didn’t like keeping secrets from his dad, and this new one Emily had confided in him was important. His dad had known Delilah after all, and Nate hoped Emily would want to hear Doug’s opinion.

“You see, Dad, Emily has this problem. She just found out that her mom was actually pregnant with her when she left town.”

Doug arched a brow. “I never heard that.”

“No one did, so this is just between us. It was Agatha Riley’s info, and Emily just found out about it. She’s going to ask Doc Ericson if he’s got the name of the father.”

Doug put a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t let her have you believing I might be on a boyfriend list.”

Nate smiled. “She says you’re not, that her mom never would have come to you for money if she was keeping something that big from you.”

“I’m sure you’re relieved,” Doug said dryly.

It was Nate’s turn to shrug. “It shouldn’t matter—she won’t be here much longer.”

“You tell yourself that, son. And you go ahead and help her as long as you need to.”

Nate stiffened. “I’m not at the ranch as much as I should be, but I’m able to keep track of a lot of the paperwork by phone and e-mail. It’s just that she doesn’t know what the hell she’s doing even though she insists she doesn’t need help. I have to show her how to use my tools, or she might break ’em.”

Doug slowly smiled. “Are you tellin’ me or yourself?”

“You,” Nate said irritably.

“Then don’t worry. We can do with less of your time until the hay’s ready to be cut. Frankly, your mom and I were sayin’ it’s been rather peaceful on the ranch lately.”

“You’re talking about what’s been going on between me and Josh.”

Doug shrugged. “You’re both adults; you’ll figure it out. Unless you want advice.”

“Nope.”

“Why am I not surprised.”

T
here was a note taped to the front door of the restaurant in Monica’s scrawled hand, sending Emily to the alley, where she found a sturdy coffee table with only a few scratches. She ducked into Monica’s workroom from the back door, going past the big walk-in coolers with their explosion of colorful flowers, and the worktables with racks of ribbon spools and containers of wire and other supplies.

In the showroom, she waited while Monica finished with a customer, then said, “A coffee table?”

“It’s not from me,” Monica said, leaning back against the counter and crossing her arms over her chest. “Brooke left it. She said it was in storage after the boardinghouse renovation. Oh, that reminds me.” She reached beneath the counter for a bag and handed it over. “It couldn’t be left in the alley.”

Emily peered inside at a bundle of white eyelet cotton fabric. “What’s this?”

“Curtains. It appears the widows are concerned you’re letting the whole town see in at night. I’m assuming one of them handmade them for you, since Mrs. Ludlow asked me to measure my own front window to compare the size. Hope you have a plain rod across the top, just like I have.”

“That is so incredibly generous,” she murmured, staring down into the bag. She was still so amazed by how the residents of Valentine Valley were going out of their way to help her. She felt . . . cared for, rather than another anonymous face people passed by in the big city. “You’re
all
so generous—and that includes your Mrs. Wilcox.”

Monica frowned. “What does she have to do with it? Poor lady is in bed again today.”

“Which leaves you with the bulk of the work during the daytime. Nate seems to think Mrs. Wilcox would like a rest but is too concerned you’ll need her.”

“That’s ridiculous! She knows she can tell me anything.”

Emily shrugged. “I’m only telling you what Nate told me.”

“Did he give you any brilliant solutions? Because if he’s wrong, and I hurt her feelings by suggesting a long vacation . . .”

“His brilliant solution is one that would help me, too.” Emily took a deep breath. “If it’s okay with Mrs. Wilcox—and you, of course!—I could take her place part-time until I go home. It’ll give her a break, and me a little spending money and—”

Monica threw her arms around her. “And me someone reliable to help out so I’m not trapped here twelve hours a day. This is perfect!” She stepped back, still holding Emily’s shoulders. “But are you sure you’re not trying to do me a favor out of some misplaced sense of gratitude? I know how important it is for you to sell quickly and move on.”

She almost winced, for that made her sound so self-centered. Was that how she came off? “No, Monica, you’d be helping me so much—you know that. Certainly, I haven’t been successful at hiding my financial problems from you guys.”

Laid-back Monica actually giggled. “I’m so happy! Not about your financial problems, of course—which I can relate to, because I’ve been there before—but that you’ll be working with me.”

“Will we get anything done?” Emily laughed. “So how much do you want me to work?”

“I’ll have to talk to her, of course, before making something permanent. But what do you say to fifteen to twenty hours a week during the day? I can be very flexible.”

“So can I. I think this will work out.”

They grinned at each other.

“I have an appointment with a bride in fifteen minutes,” Monica said, “so I should probably get out my paperwork. Let me talk to Mrs. Wilcox and get back to you. Then we’ll arrange a training day—it won’t take long.”

“Just let me know,” Emily said, taking her package of curtains and heading out the back door. She was really looking forward to working with customers and hanging out with Monica several hours a day. She didn’t like being alone so much. She would have to remember that, when she narrowed down her major—to find a career where she worked with other people.

When her phone beeped, she found a text from Nate waiting for her. They had an appointment with Dr. Ericson at eight in the morning. The little thrill that shivered through her just seeing Nate’s name on the screen was something she’d have to deal with eventually.

T
he next morning, Emily changed clothes three times before deciding on what to wear—just to ask questions of a doctor! She felt like an idiot even as she knew the doctor wasn’t the reason she was wearing sundress, sandals, and summer sweater, even though it was raining outside.

When she heard a horn honk in the alley, she scooped up her pink raincoat and purse, then dashed outside. She opened the passenger door and got in, meeting Nate’s gaze, before deliberately looking out the passenger window. She heard the soft drumming of the rain on the roof, felt the damp mugginess from keeping the windows up. It was like a warm little world inhabited by the two of them. Far too seductive, making her feel overheated and dismayed all at the same time.

After letting her off at the front door to the doctor’s office, he parked around back and met up with her inside the vestibule.

“The doctor opens early,” she said, feeling awkward.

“No, but he did today, for us.” Nate glanced down at her as he rapped on the inner door. “I didn’t think you’d want other patients seeing the two of us at a doctor’s appointment together.”

Her eyes went wide, for it had never occurred to her—and then she started to laugh, covering her mouth when the door creaked open.

Dr. Ericson was a short, spry man with a white mane of hair. He gestured them into his small waiting room, which was mercifully empty, and then through another door into his book-lined office. A pair of skis rested in a corner.

“You haven’t put those away yet?” Nate asked, gesturing to the skis.

The doctor shrugged. “A man can hope. I’m thinking about skiing the Fourth of July bowl. My nephew can take me up on his snowmobile. I’m too old to be skinning up a mountain.”

Emily glanced at Nate. “Skinning?”

“It’s a way to ski uphill when the lifts aren’t running,” he explained. “You put skins on your skis, and they let you go forward, but the friction keeps you from sliding backward.”

“Oh,” she said, nervously looking back at the doctor.

“Sorry about my manners,” Nate said. “Doc Ericson, this is Emily Murphy.”

They shook hands.

“Have a seat,” Dr. Ericson said, keeping his shrewd eyes on her. “Nate didn’t say what this was about, only that you needed privacy. Not privacy from him, I take it.”

She shook her head. “It’s nothing to do with Nate. I could have come alone, but he knew you, and . . . I thought it would help smooth the way.”

The doctor steepled his fingers and regarded her over them, waiting.

“My mother was Dorothy Riley, and she grew up here.”

He didn’t look surprised. “I’ve heard who you are.”

“I’m just so popular,” she said lightly, then realized she was rubbing her damp palms on her skirt and stopped herself.

“It’s too bad you and your mom didn’t continue to visit,” Dr. Ericson said.

“Having finally spent some time here, I agree. But . . . my mother didn’t seem to have any good memories of Valentine, at least as a teenager. I recently learned that my mother was pregnant with me
before
leaving Valentine rather than afterward. My mom died last year, so I can’t talk to her. Could you look in your records and see if she came to you about this, if perhaps she mentioned the name of the father?”

He slapped his hands on the desk, startling her. “Don’t see why not. She was your mom, after all, and privacy laws don’t really matter now that she’s dead. But I’ll have to dig through the old files in the storage room. You two amuse yourselves. Nate, keep your hands off my skis.”

When he’d gone, Emily sank back in her chair and let out a heavy breath.

“You thought he wouldn’t help?” Nate asked.

“I was worried your legendary charm might not work on an old man.”

“My ‘legendary charm’?” He grinned.

She grinned back. “All a person has to do is walk around town with you. I’ve never seen so many women burst into smiles at just the sight of a man. What did you do for that kind of welcome?”

He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, and she laughed.

“Oh, please, not that young hostess at the Halftime,” she said.

“No, but she keeps trying. I like ’em a little older than twenty.”

“Let me guess—twenty-one?”

“Naw, my sister used to babysit Julie and some others her age. I’d feel like a pervert.”

“And that’s the only reason?”

He slouched in his chair and sent her a dangerous look. “I like a woman with a little more experience.”

She felt a pleasurable tension seep into her bones.

“Life experience, that is,” he added, flashing those dimples at her.