A Town Called Valentine: A Valentine Valley Novel (11 page)

Deke shuddered. “Naw, this tastes like horse piss, but the company’s not bad.”

Bill Chernoff patted his slight paunch. “No Sweetheart Inn cookies to tempt me.”

She narrowed her eyes in puzzlement. “Sweetheart Inn cookies?”

“That’s where Suzie gets her coffee-dippin’ cookies next door.”

“I see.” She glanced at Hal and smiled. She was about to ask him where the drywall was, when Deke spoke.

“Never did get to eat at the restaurant that rented your grandma’s store. What are you doing with the place?”

All four eyed her, suddenly serious.

“I’m selling the building and returning home to San Francisco.”

“But your people come from here,” Francis said, bushy brows lowered in confusion.

For just a moment, she thought about asking questions about her mother even though these men were older than Delilah. But this was a very public forum—and she didn’t want to know, she reminded herself. “I wasn’t born here, but thanks for including me. It would have been nice to be raised in such a beautiful place.”

“It’s hard work keeping it beautiful,” Bill said. “You’ll find out when you put the building up for sale. Only certain stores fit in.”

Was he on the preservation-fund committee? she wondered with amusement.

“You never know who wants to move here,” Francis said, shaking his head. “Big-city folk from Denver want everything left ‘unspoiled,’ they say, as if our hundred-year-old ranches don’t belong here.”

“And then there’s the tourists,” Deke practically spat.

“They look harmless to me,” she said, “holding hands and taking pictures and eating at your restaurants.”

“But then they rent their ATVs. Punk-ass kids take down my
NO TRESPASSING
signs and ride through my hay like it’s just grass in a meadow.”

They all seemed to grumble under their breaths, nodding in agreement.

“Strangers bought up that house my boy’s been saving for,” Francis said. “Cash money, too.”

Hal shrugged at her, his expression regretful, as if he knew she had better things to do at his store.

The door jangled, and she glanced over her shoulder, stiffening as Nate Thalberg walked in, Scout at his heels. He had work gloves tucked into his belt and a scarf around his neck as if he’d just come from the ranch.

Deke patted his cell phone on the table. “These little things can be handy.”

Chapter Nine

S
he wanted to groan. Why had Deke called Nate? Then she saw all four older men grinning at each other, and she remembered that they had all probably speculated on what she and Nate had been doing in the back room at Tony’s. She tried to keep a smile on her face, knowing they thought they were teasing her but not appreciating being the butt of their joke.

The amused glances they shot at Nate made her realize that perhaps she wasn’t the target. Yet she couldn’t miss the fondness in the old ranchers’ eyes when Nate ambled over to shake hands with everyone. After nosing her hand, Scout went from knee to knee, wriggling in canine delight at each petted greeting.

“Moved the herd to the next pasture yet?” Francis asked, stroking his mustache with interest.

Nate began to talk about conditions up on their grazing lands and asking about the health of everyone’s cattle. He might be the son of their fellow ranch owner, but they treated him with the respect of a contemporary.

Though the conversation was interesting, Emily had work to do. She turned away and began to examine the racks behind her stocked with patching supplies, writing down some prices. But it was hard to concentrate when they started talking about an upcoming local rodeo, because images of Nate on horseback kept intruding on her thoughts. Would she be able to watch him compete? No, no, she’d be gone by then, she reminded herself sternly.

She wasn’t certain how much time had passed until Nate spoke right behind her. “A different brand is on sale at the end of the rack.”

She gave a start, then glanced over her shoulder to see him grinning.

“Concentrating, huh?” he said. “Such dedication.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“So what do you need?” He looked over her shoulder at her growing list. “Drywall. Yep. Don’t buy all those tools on your list. I have plenty you can borrow.”

Once again, he was trying to do her a favor, and though part of her bristled, the practical side of her was reluctantly grateful for anything that saved her money. “Thank you.” She picked up the patching compound that he’d shown her was on sale, trying not to feel embarrassed at revealing even more of her financial problems. But then again, the way Valentine Valley worked, the mechanic had probably told him she couldn’t have her car repaired, and Nate had already known she couldn’t afford to stay in a motel. To cover her embarrassment, she babbled, “When I was looking up the hardware store on the Internet, I was shocked that a small-town store had its entire inventory online.”

“Hal’s not the only owner,” Nate said. “His partner has plenty of money to put into the business. You’ll find that a lot around here.”

“Silent partners with plenty of money?” she said dryly. “That could sound suspicious.”

“If we weren’t so close to Aspen. People are always looking for investments. Or else they’ve moved here from somewhere else to semiretire.”

“Like the lawyer, Mr. Carpenter?” she said without thinking.

He shot her a surprised glance. “Cal? Where’d you meet him?”

“Oh, around,” she said, trying to sound nonchalant. “He introduced himself, just like everyone does around here.”

When he accepted her explanation without comment, she quietly let out her breath. He didn’t need to know about the ache in her heart over her father. He unsettled her, made her babble when she should choose her words carefully. But he had a lot of experience with home repairs, so she’d take his advice, regardless of what it cost her in pride or composure.

She wasn’t there to buy, only to make lists and plan her purchases. Nate followed her around the store, mentioning the extras she hadn’t thought about, filling in details that the videos online hadn’t. He didn’t seem to care that the two of them were a source of amusement to the men hanging out in the paint department.

She did pick up some cleaning supplies, and as she took them to Hal at the counter, she overheard Deke grumbling to Francis.

“A restaurant for raw fish? Isn’t that what sushi is? Who needs it?”

“The diner is just fine,” Francis shot back. “And when I want fancy, there’s the steak house at the Hotel Colorado.”

All the men nodded.

“And about that other place,” Deke continued. “What does ‘new age store’ even mean?”

Though she’d brightened at the thought of sushi, now she winced, having spent her life hearing variations of that question. There was a new age store in Valentine Valley?

“The owner’s a woman,” Francis said. “Maybe ‘new age’ is code for bein’ younger.”

“Or maybe she’s a witch,” Deke shot back.

That made everyone guffaw.

She could be a witch,
Emily thought mildly, but if she tried to explain the Wiccan religion to these old guys . . .

“She did have witch books,” Bill insisted.

“So you went inside?” Francis asked incredulously.

“Naw, saw it through the window. She had a sign about getting one of those card readings. Who the heck believes in telling the future?”

“Why does it matter?” Emily heard herself asking. She might have distanced herself from her mother’s interests, but the store had put food on her table.

She was suddenly the focus of all the male attention.

She shrugged. “People have a right to open any business they choose, and only the customers can decide if it will succeed. How long has this store been open?”

“A year,” Deke gruffly answered.

“Then she has customers.”

“Tourists,” Francis snorted.

“Just tourists?” Emily smiled. “You sure none of your wives and daughters have stopped in?”

A couple of the men frowned, a couple looked shocked.

“Oo-kay,” Nate said, smiling at Hal. “We’re ready to check out.”

By the time he escorted her out of the hardware store, Emily was almost enjoying herself. “My, you’re sensitive,” she said, when they were out on the sidewalk. “You practically yanked on my arm to get me out of there. No healthy discussions in the paint department?”

“The old-timers have their own problems,” Nate said, taking the bag out of her hands.

She tried to tug it back. “I can carry my own bag.”

“And what would my mother think if she drove by right now and saw that I was empty-handed?”

She was tempted to answer that since she hadn’t met his mother, she didn’t know—but that would sound like she
wanted
to meet his mother, that she wanted to get to know him better. Bad impression. She began to walk up Main Street, and Nate fell in at her side.

“So the
old-timers
don’t like anything new or different moving to town?” Emily asked. “That kind of leads to stagnation, doesn’t it?”

“Whatever they think about mystical stuff, they know that modern technology has revolutionized ranching and can save them money in the long run. They aren’t against new ideas.”

“Unless they can make fun of them.”

“Why are you so quick to defend a store you know nothing about?”

She hesitated, then found herself saying, “Because my mother owned a new age store.”

He shot her a surprised look. “I didn’t think anyone from Valentine Valley had such free-spirited ideas.”

“Why do you think she left?” Or that’s what Emily had always been told. Her grandmother’s revelation rose unbidden in her mind. “Delilah was born too late to be a hippie though she’d have fit right in.”

“Delilah?”

“She liked me to call her by her first name. I always thought she felt too young to be a mom. She was only nineteen when she had me.” So young and hotheaded. Delilah fled Valentine rather than admit to her own mom that she was pregnant. “Her real name was Dorothy, but she changed it in San Francisco.”

“Part of her new age image?”

Nate seemed curious rather than condescending, and she felt herself relax as they slowly strolled down Main Street. “Or her image of herself. She had different ideas about everything, from the Wiccan religion to tarot readings.”

“But not you?”

“No, I’m more practical, like my dad.” She’d thought about him with love and fondness for so many years, she was surprised to feel her eyes sting. “He died when I was seven. He loved my mother, and didn’t care what her beliefs were, as long as they made her happy.” Had he loved her so much he could accept another man’s baby? Oh, why couldn’t she forget about that?

“So if you’re practical like your dad, it sounds like maybe you and your mom didn’t get on real well.”

She eyed him even as she came to a stop outside her building. “We didn’t understand each other. She was happy with her popular store and her succession of men.”

“But not happy with you?” he asked in a teasing tone.

She couldn’t answer lightly. “No.”

His smile faded. “Sorry if I’m prying.”

“It’s okay. She didn’t understand how I could drop out of college to get married. Frankly, I think we disappointed each other.”

“You were practically a baby when you got married.”

“I know. But I was in love, and people in love can make the wrong decisions.” She was revealing too much. “So that’s why I know all about new age stores. Honestly, I’m as surprised as the old guys that you have one here. Your preservation-fund committee didn’t have a problem with it?”

“They don’t control the town,” Nate said, then sighed. “And Mrs. Palmer likes to read tarot cards.”

She was delighted to hear him almost sounding annoyed. “I’m glad they’re not too conservative since I just discovered that an unusual company is showing interest in my building.”

“Unusual company?” he echoed.

“Uh-huh. It’s called Leather and Lace.”

“I don’t suppose it specializes in Stevie Nicks stuff,” he said, arching an eyebrow.

“Nope. It’s a lot better than that. But I am impressed at your musical knowledge.” She grinned.

He sighed. “So what’s the store?”

“Naughty lingerie. They want to see the building when I’m done.” His wince made her laugh aloud. “I wouldn’t have taken you for a prude, Nate Thalberg.”

“You of all people know I’m not.”

She choked on her laugh.

“But Valentine prides itself on being family-oriented,” he said. “A store like that might get some protests—not from me, of course.”

“Of course. But Valentine is a romance-focused town, after all. Brooke told me the B&Bs host wedding showers all the time. Lingerie is the perfect gift. Besides, I’m sure the window displays will only hint at what’s inside. And is this about the preservation-fund committee?”

“They’ll be overly interested,” he said with a sigh. “And I’ll get to hear all about it.”

“Oh, I see. So you have a personal motive for your complaint.”

“Well, I can hardly object to the store itself, and call myself a red-blooded man.”

“This isn’t a chain store, so they can’t object to that. This will only be their third store, and they’re all owned by one person.” They had reached her building, and as she unlocked the front door, she took the bag from him. “Thanks for your help, Nate, and your offer to lend me tools. I’ll let you know when I’m ready.” She went inside and closed the door behind her, giving him a little wave through the glass.

E
mily spent the next two days scrubbing the upstairs apartment until it was ready for her to move in. It was mindless work, so it gave her far too much time to think. The new age store had triggered memories of her childhood, and she kept reliving moments, from holidays to Sundays together, as if she could see new motivations behind everything her parents did. Had they been in love, or was her father a convenience? Had he fallen in love at first sight with her beautiful mother, and Delilah had taken advantage of him?

She remembered a particular day when they’d gone fishing, all three of them. Her parents had laughed with each other. Her father had put her up on his shoulders when they walked, helped her bait the hook, looked at her with pride when she caught a tiny fish. It was hard to tell if her mother had been having a good time or simply throwing pebbles into the stream to read signs in the ripples, something Emily knew Delilah believed in.

She began to realize that her questions would drive her crazy if she didn’t do something about them. The box of diaries and yearbooks seemed to be shouting at her each time she stepped into her room, so on her last night at the boardinghouse, she gave in and opened it up before going to bed. She sat cross-legged on the mattress in her old nightshirt and pulled out the diaries first. To both her relief and disappointment, they were from her mother’s middle-school years. No secrets to be found. And she would hardly need to research the names of boys Delilah had a crush on at thirteen.

The yearbooks from the late seventies and early eighties weren’t that much more informative—no hearts drawn around a certain boy’s photo, no declarations of love. But that wouldn’t have been her mother’s style. When Emily had once whined about finding nothing to do in high school, her mother had actually confessed she found one club she enjoyed—the 4-H club. That had made Emily giggle, for she was a child of the city, and she hadn’t been able to imagine her mom on a farm. It was easier to imagine now, for her mom had grown up right next door to a working ranch. And though Delilah had the Wiccan appreciation of nature, loving anything to do with meadows and streams and forests, she’d chosen San Francisco to raise her daughter, a contradiction Emily had never asked about.