A Town Called Valentine: A Valentine Valley Novel (12 page)

She paged through the yearbook until she found an outdoor picture of the 4-H club members. Her mom was prominent, with her long curly hair blowing across her cheek, her eyes luminous and mysterious as she looked into the camera. Emily stared into that face and felt the same old frustration and sadness and the terrible yearning of a child wanting to be loved by her mother.

She took a deep breath and turned the page. She began to read the lines scrawled by Delilah’s friends. One girl’s name was repeated all four years, with more than one mention of “best friends.” Cathy Lombardi. Perhaps she still lived in Valentine Valley. Emily had never heard her mother mention the name, so she doubted they’d remained friends. Delilah’s San Francisco friends were all women who frequented her store, who believed in the goddess, like she did.

By morning, Emily had decided to go talk to Cathy. She knew if she left town and never returned, her mother’s secrets would haunt her. She had to know the truth about her real father, even if she didn’t act on it.

When she returned from her morning run, she whipped up a special breakfast for the widows, scrambled eggs and a selection of her favorite breads and coffee cake, some of which she’d baked the previous night.

Mrs. Thalberg was the first to enter the kitchen, and she paused on the threshold to shake her head. “I knew this day was coming. You’re moving into the apartment.”

Emily gave her a hug. “I am. I hope you don’t mind.”

Mrs. Thalberg sighed. “Renée warned me that you were almost ready, so I can’t say it’s a surprise.”

“You’ll come visit me, won’t you? Although believe me, it’s very bare bones. Nothing as wonderful as the Widows’ Boardinghouse.”

“Then why don’t you stay?” The old woman seemed to search her face.

Emily hesitated. “I’m thirty years old, and I’ve never lived on my own. I went from my mom’s house to sharing a dorm, to getting married. The couple months since my divorce don’t really count. I think it’s time I give it a real try.”

Mrs. Palmer bustled around them into the kitchen, followed by Mrs. Ludlow, taking her time with her walker.

“Sounds like the perfect reason,” Mrs. Palmer said. “Rosemary, even you can’t dispute such common sense.”

Mrs. Thalberg sighed and patted Emily’s arm. “It sounds like an exciting time in your life.”

“Exciting?” Emily said, giving a short laugh. “I don’t know about that. It’s pretty scary to start over again.”

“Now you’re being modest.” Mrs. Ludlow slowly sat down at the table. “I think you’re very brave.”

“It’s brave to do something important that you don’t
have
to do,” Emily countered. “I have no choice. I think that’s called desperation.”

The widows laughed, and although Emily joined them, she wasn’t joking. They all gathered around the table, and after they oohed and ahhed over her cooking until she was blushing, she needed to change the subject.

“I’ve been going through my mother’s yearbooks,” she began slowly, buttering a slice of pumpkin bread. “Before I leave town, I’d like to talk to people who were friends with my mother. Cathy Lombardi wrote in every yearbook. Does she still live in town?”

“Cathy? Of course she does!” Mrs. Thalberg beamed. “She’s the secretary at St. John’s Church, and her married name is Fletcher.”

A church secretary? The woman’s photos made her seem like a refugee from the sixties, with her tie-dyed shirts, headbands, and colored glasses.

“She’s there every day,” Mrs. Ludlow said. “I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if you dropped by.”

“I will. Which church is it?”

“The Catholic one on Third and Grace, just the next block over from your building,” said Mrs. Thalberg. “Now before you get going,” she added, when Emily started to rise, “we have some things we’ve been collecting for you.”

Emily was surprised and even embarrassed when the widows handed her several bags filled with linens. “Oh, you didn’t have to—”

“Now why should you waste your money buying new towels and sheets?” Mrs. Thalberg demanded. “We’ve lived so long that we have plenty, and we’re happy to share.”

Emily felt herself blinking back tears as she looked at the three widows. “I don’t know what to say. You’ve been so kind to me, accepting me into your home and treating me like family.”

It was like she had grandmothers—three of them.

Mrs. Thalberg patted her arm. “You
are
like family, my dear. That’s how we felt about your grandmother.”

“I’m going to miss you all, but I will certainly come visit, and I hope you’ll do the same.”

“I’ve been waitin’ for a tour ever since you got here.” Mrs. Palmer rubbed her hands together with glee.

And this was the moment Emily should have told them about the interest from Leather and Lace, but she decided against it. She didn’t want to risk spoiling her last morning with the widows, especially when Mrs. Thalberg so graciously insisted she would drive Emily and her possessions into town. Or perhaps she wasn’t giving the widows enough credit, but Nate’s concern wouldn’t quite leave her.

Chapter Ten

S
t. John’s Church was built of stone, with a tall spire that topped town hall. Though it looked majestic and conservative, Emily had to laugh, because right across the street was the Mystic Connection, the new age store the old men had been grumbling about. She wondered what the priest thought of the Wiccan priestesses who might frequent the shop.

The rectory and the church office were next door to St. John’s, and when Emily entered, the woman at the front desk rose with a smile.

“You must be Emily Murphy,” the woman said, coming around the desk and holding out her hand. “I’m Cathy Fletcher. Mrs. Palmer gave me a call.”

She should never trust the widows with an actual secret, Emily thought with resignation. She shook hands with Cathy, a plump woman with a matching skirt-and-sweater outfit. Short, curly brown hair framed her face, and she wore stylish glasses. No longer a rebel teenager, Emily thought with amusement.

Cathy gestured to a chair and sat down beside her. The rectory looked to be a converted Victorian home, complete with a two-story foyer that was outfitted for the receptionist.

“Mrs. Palmer tells me you’re Delilah’s daughter,” Cathy said.

“Had she already changed her name in high school?” Emily asked ruefully.

Cathy laughed. “She loved that name, but no, it wasn’t official. Mrs. Palmer told me about the change, and that you came to town to sell the old store because your mom died last year in a car accident. I was so sorry to hear that.”

“Thank you.”

“It feels like a part of my childhood is gone.” Cathy sighed.

“Did you keep in touch with my mother?”

Cathy took a deep breath and straightened her skirt over her knees. “Not for long although I sometimes like to think that if we had e-mail back then, we would have remained friends. Letters can be hard to write. Plus, I went to work right away as a secretary—I took business classes in high school—and your mom . . .” Her voice trailed away.

“Yes?” Emily didn’t know how to ask about the pregnancy without adding more gossip to Valentine’s rumor mill.

“Your mom felt . . . oppressed by small-town values and nosiness. I might have flirted with the idea of being a wild child, but when it came down to it, I just didn’t want to leave.”

“Did she ask you to go with her?”

Cathy frowned. “No, and perhaps that’s part of the reason we drifted apart.”

“But you said you didn’t want to leave.”

“I guess it would have been nice to know she wanted me to. And then she got pregnant and married so fast, and that new life really changed her.”

Emily withheld a sigh of frustration. It sounded like Cathy didn’t know that Delilah had gotten pregnant before leaving Valentine. “So she told you about me?”

“Oh, yes.” Cathy smiled. “She said she was grateful your father loved her enough to marry her even though they hadn’t planned on you so quickly.”

“Did she sound happy?” Emily asked wistfully. She shouldn’t ask—she knew how her mother felt. Her mother had confided her ambivalence about being a mother on the eve of Emily’s wedding.

“Happy? Don’t take this the wrong way, honey, but when you’re eighteen and pregnant, I can’t imagine you can be happy right away. She was scared for her future, but your dad supported her. The last letter I got from her was when your dad died. She didn’t want me to worry, said she was using the insurance money to begin her own business to support both of you. Imagine—a new age store. I thought it so appropriate. Sadly, she never answered my next letter. By then I was married and pregnant, and we both just got so busy with our lives.” She sighed, a small smile lingering on her mouth. “But look at you. Obviously, Delilah succeeded in raising a wonderful daughter.”

“That’s nice of you to say.” Emily leaned forward. “So tell me about you and my mom. I’d love to hear a couple stories. Were there other good friends I can talk to?”

“Good friends from high school? No. Delilah and I . . . well, we were different, but then you’ve seen the pictures.”

Cathy laughed, as if she’d long ago made peace with her past. Emily envied her.

“Delilah and I had each other, and that was fine for us.”

“She mentioned the 4-H club.”

“Oh, she did a few things with them for the fun of it, but always claimed no one else really understood the two of us. But then again, I’m kind of embarrassed just remembering how we used to behave.”

Cathy launched into several stories about how they rebelled against the music of the early eighties and wore bell-bottoms to the prom. It really did seem like Delilah and Cathy against the world. The two didn’t even date all that much, at least according to Cathy. By the time Emily left, she tried to tell herself that perhaps she wasn’t meant to know the complete truth. But now that she’d given in to her curiosity, she couldn’t just abandon the search.

E
mily awoke in the morning and lay still, listening. She was alone in an apartment she owned, a rare, heady feeling. Valentine Valley might have been a small town, but she could still hear noises outside her window at dawn—cars heading off to work, the faintest sounds of voices as several people walked past. She wasn’t the only one who was an early riser.

But there wasn’t a single honking horn, just the distant, muted sounds of a new day. She could get used to this.

After her run, she went to take a shower, only to realize she hadn’t remembered a shower curtain. Laughing at herself, she took a quick bath, feeling awkward because it had been years since her last. The towels were soft, and had hand-sewn embroidery along one end. Those women were so thoughtful!

She spent part of the morning purchasing several sheets of drywall and all the accessories she’d need—including a shower curtain. She held back on the tools because of Nate’s offer. Was she simply supposed to call him up and remind him? But she didn’t have to. As if she’d summoned him, he marched into the restaurant, bearing a toolbox and other supplies, a man who worked with his hands and knew how to get things done. A little shiver of delight worked its way up her spine. How was she going to get any work done when she wanted to gape at him?

She put her hands on her hips and demanded in disbelief, “How did you know I might need you?”

He grinned. “Hal called me. I picked up your drywall, too.”

“He said he would deliver the panels.” She felt annoyed, as if Hal thought she couldn’t take care of things herself. “You didn’t need to—”

“It wasn’t out of my way.” After donning work gloves, he walked back toward the entrance, saying over his shoulder, “Surely you didn’t want to inconvenience Hal?”

“Inconvenience?” she muttered. “I spent my money there.”

When Nate returned, hefting the first panel of drywall, she pointed to where she wanted it, then stood back and admired the view without guilt. She’d never really thought about how enjoyable it was to watch a man work with his hands. Her ex-husband had always hired men to do any repairs or renovations.

As Nate made a few more trips to his pickup, she consulted her notebook lists, so she wouldn’t delay him. He put down the last panel and straightened, and she found herself studying the width of his back too much. She was only human. As long as she looked but didn’t touch . . .

When he met her eyes, she had a friendly smile waiting. “Thanks so much, Nate. I made a list of the tools I need, so if we could separate them out, you can be on your way.”

“On my way? You’re kidding, right? I’m hardly going to let you borrow my tools without making sure you can handle them properly.”

“But I’ve watched a ton of videos online. I’m perfectly prepared.”

He chuckled. “Sounds like you’re ready to bake a cake.”

“There can be a lot of preparation to bake a cake!”

“Look, Emily, I’m here to show you what to do. Neighbors help neighbors in Valentine Valley. It’ll go a lot easier if you just accept my help.”

Something uneasy seemed to flash across his face before he glanced away.

“Did you buy yourself some work gloves?” he asked.

She hesitated, wanting to protest some more, strangely excited and nervous that they would be spending time together. But if he kept assuming he knew what was best for her, she was going to have to set him straight. She’d already spent ten years letting a man sway her decisions. She was in control of herself now, knew what was important in her life. Having let herself go head over heels for Greg, she would never make that mistake again.

But she couldn’t deny that watching him was a pleasurable sensation all on its own. When he squatted to show her how to pry away the baseboard from the damaged wall, she bit her lip and concentrated on his words, on his gloved hands, so she wouldn’t have to look at the way his jeans tightened over his broad thighs.

Horseman’s thighs.

Oh, God, she’d been reading too many historical romances, she thought, holding back a laugh.

But like a good historical-romance heroine, she had goals for her future to focus on. She took the pry bar, awkwardly inserted it, pulled the wood away from the wall, then moved to the next section. Later, she rose to move a panel of new drywall away from where she’d be working next.

“Hold on there,” Nate said, coming up behind her. “You’re too skinny for that kind of work.”

She drew in a breath when he put a finger in the belt loop at the back of her jeans and tugged.

“I think you need to eat better,” he continued.

She hadn’t been eating as much, trying to conserve her money. Did it show? That was it—she was going to have to get a job.

“Oh please,” she said loftily. “The way everyone in Valentine keeps trying to feed me, I won’t be fitting into these jeans soon.”

He was still standing too close, looking down at her, his face almost puzzled. What was he thinking? She hadn’t said anything outlandish or daring. His eyes continued to study her face, narrowing, and she felt the very air between them begin to shimmer with a growing tension that had nothing to do with renovations and everything to do with seduction. A distant part of her ordered her to be strong, but she felt herself sway toward him, and he lifted a gloved hand as if he might touch her face.

And then he stepped back. “Okay, it’s my turn to feed you.” He pulled off his gloves and tossed them onto the bar.

She was blinking and dazed and barely able to speak. “W-what are you talking about?”

He tugged off her gloves, and with unerring aim, threw them beside his own. “We’re going out for lunch.”

“I made a sandwich.” But it was obvious he suddenly wanted to get away from her, and she was thankful that at least one of them hadn’t been mentally incapacitated.

“We’re working up a bigger appetite than that. The Halftime Sports Bar has a BLT so huge you can barely bite into it.”

“And is that supposed to sound appetizing?” Even though it did. “Look, Nate, it’s a nice gesture, but I have so much to do. You go on.”

“Now that you’re living on your own, my grandmother can’t watch over what you eat.”

“So she put you in charge? Did she call you the moment I left?”

When he hesitated, her mouth dropped open. “She did! Good Lord, those widows called Cathy Fletcher before I could get to her, too. Your grandmother is a wonderful woman, but she’s nosy—gee, I wonder where her grandson gets it from.”

“Cathy Fletcher?” He frowned. “Hey, wait—nosy? I didn’t call Grandma; she called me. And what about Cathy?”

She’d hoped his defensiveness would make him forget her slip, but no such luck. She lifted her nose in the air. “I’m interested in St. John’s. My grandparents were Catholic, so surely they were parishioners there.”

He studied her face as if he didn’t know whether to believe her. “Whatever. We’re going to the Halftime. It’s just down the street. My treat.”

She glared at him, feeling indignant. “You’ve done too much, Nate.”

He tipped her chin up until she looked him in the eyes. “It’s a BLT, Em,” he said softly. “If you want, you can pay.”

He shortened her name just like his sister did, and it almost hurt her inside that he could treat her so familiarly, and she could feel so desperately in need of that. Somebody treated her kindly, and she fell apart. Words tumbled out of her that she hadn’t planned. “Then perhaps—perhaps you can give me your ideas on where I can find a part-time job around here.”

He frowned, but said, “No problem.”

But maybe it was a problem. She didn’t want help, then she asked for it. He must think she was crazy. But he was standing too close, looking at her mouth. It was her turn to be the sensible one, so she quickly stepped away. “A BLT, huh? What if I’m a vegetarian?”

“You ordered a burger at Tony’s Tavern.”

The flush of heat she felt just looking into his eyes only intensified. “Oh, right, I keep forgetting about that.”

“I don’t,” he said shortly, and went by her to wash his hands at the sink behind the bar.

What was that supposed to mean? she wondered with exasperation. Well, she was just going to ignore it, as she was trying desperately to ignore the awareness that crackled between them whenever they got too close.