A Town Called Valentine: A Valentine Valley Novel (13 page)

Chapter Eleven

N
ate scrubbed his hands far longer than he needed to, trying to get control of himself.
What the hell am I doing?
He put his hands on her jeans like he was allowed to touch her. And every conversation they had seemed to lead back to that night at Tony’s, even if it was only in his thoughts.

She’d made it clear that she was leaving town. Was that some kind of challenge to him, one he couldn’t control? After all, he didn’t want a relationship with her either—of course that made her the perfect woman to date, no strings attached. Couldn’t he just be friends with a woman? he thought with disgust.

Yet here he was, teaching her about drywall, taking her to lunch—touching her. He hadn’t felt so out of control in a long time, and he knew what happened when he started to care too much. He’d screw up her life, and she’d hate him for it. And he’d hate himself.

But the alternative was to cut her out of his life, and he just couldn’t do that. Or he could treat her like one of the women he occasionally dated—even though he wasn’t dating her. He’d keep it light on the surface, no deep talks, no intimacy.

And he was hardly manipulating her life—he was lending her the tools she needed, showing her how to use them. That wasn’t forcing himself or his ideas on her.

Taking a deep breath, he turned around, only to find her missing. He walked through the swinging door into the kitchen, but she wasn’t there either. He heard the tapping of her feet down the steps, and she came in the back door a moment later. She’d changed into a flowered top that flattered her without being too revealing.

She blushed. “I needed my purse,” she said, a bit defensively.

He arched a brow.

“And that shirt was dirty and sweaty. I wasn’t going to wear it to lunch. I happen to like the people in this town, and they don’t need to see me at my worst.”

“You’ve certainly met enough of them,” he said over his shoulder as he walked into the front of the building.

“Through no fault of my own, believe me. I thought I was going to clean, sell, and be out of here, but life had other plans.”

“Don’t you know a lot of people in San Francisco?” he asked, as they left the building, and he waited for her to lock up.

“Well, of course, but I’d built a life there. We did a lot of entertaining.”

Scout bounded out through the open window of the pickup.

Emily gaped. “That was impressive.”

Nate whistled, and Scout came to heel.

“He’s very well trained,” she said.

“He has to be. He’s a cattle dog, with a lot of responsibility. He’s good at getting animals to do what he wants.”

“And humans, too?” she asked, smiling. “He has you wrapped around his paw, going everywhere with you.” She looked at the people they passed on the street. “But then again, lots of people have dogs around here. Hal didn’t even mind Scout inside the hardware store.”

“And he’s coming into Halftime with us, too.”

“Oh.” She gave the dog a surprised look.

The Halftime Sports Bar was just a block down Main Street, and unimpressive from the outside, with neon signs the only decoration in the two windows that flanked the glass door. But inside, there were comfortable chairs and tables, flat screen TVs with perfect views from anyplace you sat, a huge old wooden bar that had to be there from the nineteenth century, and sports memorabilia hanging all over the darkly paneled walls. There was always something to look at.

Julie, the daytime hostess, was a redheaded college student who always had a teasing wink for him and a pat on the head for Scout. She was too young for him but took the rejection good-naturedly. As she led them to a table, Nate nodded one by one to the people he knew and didn’t respond to Julie’s curious gesture toward Emily. Sometimes he could see why Emily’s mom had wanted to leave.

As she sat down, Emily smiled at Julie, who handed her a menu.

“You won’t be needing that,” Nate said.

“So I’m supposed to order the BLT,” she said dryly.

Julie walked away, saying over her shoulder, “It’s delicious.”

“I think I’ll look through the menu anyway,” Emily said to him pointedly.

He raised both hands. “I’ve eaten here a lot, but you don’t have to take my recommendation.” He let her scan the menu in silence, and when she at last put it down, he said, “So about the entertaining you used to do. You just liked throwing parties for no reason?”

“I love to throw parties, but there was often a reason. We entertained my husband’s partners.”

The mysterious husband. Nate felt uncomfortable about his own curiosity. “What kind of partners?”

“Greg’s a corporate lawyer at an important firm. He liked to make a good impression, and I liked entertaining.” She gave him a wry smile. “By all outward appearances, we complemented each other well.”

Their waitress, Linda, approached, setting down a glass of ice water for Emily and a Dale’s for Nate.

“Thanks, darlin’,” he said, taking a swig.

Linda, a working mom of school-age kids, gave a laugh. “We all know what you like to drink, Nate. Have you been out on the bike much yet?”

“Up at Mushroom Rock. It’s not too wet up there.”

Emily looked between them, amused and wide-eyed.

“You must be Emily,” Linda said, looking her over with open friendliness. “I’m Linda.”

“Nice to meet you,” Emily said.

“What can I get you?”

Emily sighed and smiled. “A BLT and a small salad, please. Ranch dressing on the side. And a Diet Coke.”

Nate grinned. “I’ll take the same, Linda, but hold the Diet Coke and the salad and give me fries instead.”

When Linda had gone, Emily said wryly, “Must be nice to have a job that burns lots of calories.”

“You bet.” He took another sip of beer. “You’ve spent so much time alone here that it kind of surprises me you like being with a bunch of people at parties.”

“I didn’t think I came off as shy,” she said wryly.

He chuckled, and again the memory of standing between her thighs bent over a pool table rose between them.

She cleared her throat. “I’m focused on a single purpose here, but in my real life, it really makes me happy to entertain. I love to cook and decorate, all those girly things that must make a cowboy like you squirm.”

“I don’t just squat on my haunches eating steak grilled over a campfire.”

She laughed. “Glad to hear it.”

“Although I enjoy that, too.”

“You’re the outdoor type?” she said, hand pressed to her chest, batting those sky blue eyes at him.

“And you’re the elegant hostess. What else did you do with yourself?”

Some of the humor left her eyes. “I volunteered a lot of my time. I didn’t have a job.”

Surprised, he said, “That’s rare nowadays.”

“It is. My mom was pretty disappointed. But . . . I thought I knew what I wanted—and what Greg wanted. I was happy for a while there.”

She looked wistful and sad, and there was a part of him that wanted to know how she’d been hurt, what her ex had done to her. Had Greg wanted some other woman? That seemed hard to understand. But more focused questions would only increase the hurt in her eyes—and make him know her too well. Not good.

Emily sighed, regretting how easily Nate made her pour out things that were none of his business. Had he been disappointed she hadn’t been ambitious enough to work these last nine years? Many men expected a woman to share equally in paying the bills. But he didn’t seem to judge her, and she was grateful. Or else he was hiding his thoughts well. He was good at that, she suspected.

Was he good at keeping secrets, too? So far, she didn’t think he’d said one word about what they’d done together—even though the whole town knew
something
had happened. But he’d been a gentleman so far and forgiven her for leading him on. And she’d forgiven him for taking advantage.

He looked over her shoulder and briefly frowned.

She turned and saw that an older man had just come through the door and removed his cowboy hat. He had graying brown hair that matched his mustache, and the lean ranginess of a man who worked the land, dressed in tan work pants and a denim jacket. When the stranger spotted them, he gave a faint smile and approached their table.

Nate stood up, and whatever reservations he’d first had faded into an affectionate smile. “Hi, Dad.”

Emily straightened with eagerness but tried not to show it. Nate had kept his private life off the table, including info about his family. She imagined he even regretted that she’d befriended his sister. He was being far smarter than she was. But still . . .

Nate towered over his father, gesturing to Emily. “Dad, this is Emily Murphy. Emily, Doug Thalberg.”

“Nice to meet you, Ms. Murphy,” Mr. Thalberg said, his voice gruff and worn.

They exchanged a firm grip, and she liked the way he regarded her steadily, pleasantly. She couldn’t even read curiosity in his expression—and that would make him as unreadable as his son, which would make sense.

“You here for lunch, Dad? You could join us.”

“Thanks, but no, Deke Hutcheson is meetin’ me. But I’m early, so I’ll be glad to join you for a beer”—he crinkled his eyes at Emily—“if I’m not intrudin’.”

“Not at all,” Emily said.

Linda was already on her way carrying another Dale’s, along with Emily’s salad, and Mr. Thalberg took a seat.

“No offense, Ms. Murphy,” he said, “but I don’t recognize you. Did Nate meet you in Aspen?”

This was just another confirmation that Nate didn’t tell anyone—even his family—about her. But why wouldn’t Grandma Thalberg have mentioned her? Was the old widow trying to keep Emily hidden so that Nate would feel less family pressure? Before she could explain who she was, Nate answered for her. Biting her tongue at his presumption, she poured some of the dressing over her salad.

“Emily is only visiting Valentine, Dad. She’s Agatha Riley’s granddaughter, come to sell the building.”

Mr. Thalberg’s eyes focused on her. “Dot’s daughter.”

“Dot?” Emily echoed, smiling with bemusement before taking the first bite of her salad.

“A nickname. She hated it. Changed her name to Delilah, I know, but I couldn’t break the habit. We’d been friends too long. I was sorry to hear about her passin’.”

“Thank you. I know you must have remained friends through the years since Nate told me about the money you lent her. I promise I’ll pay you back as soon as the property sells.”

Mr. Thalberg glanced at Nate so quickly that Emily almost missed it, but it gave her a strange feeling. Yet how could she say,
Why that unreadable look at your son?

“No problem,” Mr. Thalberg said. He and Nate took matching drinks of beer.

“My mother left Valentine right out of high school.” She hesitated, uncertain how to phrase her question. “It seems . . . strange that you would lend her money years later.”

“She had the buildin’ as collateral, and I knew where I could reach her. I was lookin’ for an investment at the time, and her store expansion looked promisin’. Why not help her?”

“Did she say why she didn’t just sell the building here?”

“No. Perhaps she wanted to give you a reason to return someday.”

Emily laughed with faint bitterness. “She didn’t speak well of her time here, but you probably know that.”

“Maybe she wished things had been different.” Mr. Thalberg sighed. “But she never told me. Sorry.”

Deke Hutcheson came limping through the door, and Mr. Thalberg stood up, taking his beer.

“Nice to meet you, Ms. Murphy.”

“It’s Emily, please, especially for an old friend of my mother’s.”

Mr. Thalberg nodded and glanced pointedly at Nate. “See you at home.”

Deke waved at them both but followed Mr. Thalberg to a table. Linda brought over their BLTs at that moment, leaving Emily’s to the side so she could finish her salad.

“Those are huge,” Emily said. “I’ll be taking half home for another meal.”

“Not me.” Nate took a big bite and closed his eyes in bliss.

She studied him for a moment, eating the last of her salad, then taking the first delicious bite of her BLT, thinking about his ability to keep quiet, and the way even the town elders regarded him with respect. His sister loved him, so that counted for something, too. Emily liked the easy camaraderie between him and his father. He understood families.

“Nate, I have something personal to tell you. Could you keep it between the two of us?”

He paused then swallowed his food. “Of course.”

“I . . . misled you about how I knew Cal Carpenter.” She told him about the letter from her grandmother and the old woman’s bombshell about Emily’s paternity.

He blew out a breath and sat back to study her. “I’m so sorry.”

“I tried to ignore it at first, figuring—what could I do? I loved my father and—” She broke off, the lump in her throat suddenly making speech difficult. Swallowing several times, she finally continued. “But ignoring it just makes it haunt me more.”