A Town Called Valentine: A Valentine Valley Novel (16 page)

In the shade of the alley behind her building, he stopped so suddenly, it sent her purse tumbling to the floor. Swearing, he reached for it at the same time she did, and they bumped heads. As they both turned to apologize, their gazes met and held, and suddenly, she couldn’t seem to catch her breath. Before she knew it, their mouths came together in a fierce, hot kiss that burned away her fake shell of friendly indifference, turning her into a woman greedy for passion. His hand cupped her head and she arched even farther toward him, both restrained by their seat belts.

Gasping, she pushed away and gaped at him, her mouth damp, her heart thundering in her chest. “My God,” she whispered.

“I didn’t mean—”

“I shouldn’t have—”

He held up both hands. “Stop. I don’t want to fight this anymore.”

“Fight . . . what?” she whispered, still trembling and aching with need. She needed to hear him say the words. He tasted so good, and she wanted more, like he was chocolate candy she shouldn’t have but craved.

“You and I get along,” he said at last.

She choked on a laugh. “Sexy. Don’t make me swoon too much, cowboy.”

He groaned and tipped his head back. “We’re hanging out a lot. It’d be stupid not to enjoy it. We said no dating, but I think if we keep the ground rules clear, we could enjoy ourselves together in something that’s not work or duty or with friends.” He turned off the ignition, unbuckled his seat belt, and faced her. “There’s a lot of other stuff between ‘just friends’ and a committed relationship.”

“Go ahead and explain it to me.” She was staring at his mouth. “But be quick.”

He closed his eyes as if for control, and she felt wickedly content that she affected him as much as he did her.

“We could just date casually,” he said in a husky voice.

She knew he was trying to seem
very
casual, but after that kiss, it was too late. His gaze was openly traveling down her body, and she was glad she wasn’t wearing the raincoat. She unbuckled her seat belt, and he watched her like she was doing a striptease.

Her brain was having a heated debate, ping-ponging between letting her know this might be a mistake and slyly whispering that she could control something so harmless as dating.

She couldn’t lie to herself—she liked his kisses, liked the way he was looking at her, as if he’d been resisting showing his interest and now couldn’t get enough of the sight of her. It made her feel like a desirable woman, something the last few years of her marriage had taken away—she’d thought for good.

His eyes narrowed when she didn’t say anything. “Well, Em? Tell me what you think.”

“I—” She glanced away, suddenly realizing that her doubts and fears were bubbling to the surface. “I’m not sure I know anything about dating, Nate. And that’s the truth. As for that first night when we kissed, alcohol had a lot to do with it.”

He made a dismissive sound. “I don’t believe that for a minute. Or is that just what you’ve been telling yourself?”

“Maybe.” She looked down, picking at a thread in her sundress. “You have to understand. I had crushes on boys in high school, and the occasional date, but when I met Greg in college, I fell hard. We both knew we saw marriage in our future.”

He reached for her hand, and she let him, enjoying too much the way he gently rubbed her fingers. His own were rough with calluses, large and very male.

“Then think of this as an experiment,” he urged, obviously trying to win her with his dimpled smile.

She softly laughed. “An experiment? But aren’t you the master at dating? Won’t it be beneath you to try to teach a neophyte like me?”

He began to tug on her hand. She had no choice but to come up on her knees, even as he leaned back against the driver’s door. He put up the armrest so that nothing separated them on the bench seat. He gave another tug until she was forced to put her other hand on his chest to brace herself or fall into his lap.

“I don’t think I’ll be bored,” he said huskily, threading his hand into her hair and cupping her neck to draw her closer. “Let’s find out. Kiss me, Em.”

He spoke those words so close to her that she felt his breath on her mouth. Those green eyes held her, challenged her, intrigued her. She leaned in for the kiss, and admitted to herself that he’d been right—alcohol had had nothing to do with the attraction that simmered between them.

She kept the kiss light, playfully teasing his lips with her own, learning the soft touch of him, exploring the way each kiss heightened her rising need. She hadn’t felt this way about a man in so long, eager and desperate, afraid and fearless all at the same time.

She lifted her head and stared at him, still only touching with her hands and nothing else. “Were you bored?” she whispered.

He groaned and closed his eyes as he leaned his head back against the window. “If you get a little closer, you’ll see how not bored I am.”

Then he lifted his head and kissed her, not giving her a chance to change her mind. He held her head to his, deepening the kiss, his mouth hot and open on hers. When his tongue teased hers, she groaned, and could have easily tumbled into his lap for more.

She lifted her head again, gasping. “Okay, okay . . . you’ve made your point.”

“I don’t think so.”

He tried to pull her against him. This time she pushed away, and he let her go.

“Hey, I’m a neophyte, remember?” she said, feeling shaky and still full of yearning. “I think this is going too fast for me. We haven’t even been on a date—and don’t tell me brunch with your grandmother counts.”

He winced. “No, that was certainly no date.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear it. A girl expects a lot when a cowboy asks her out.”

His slow smile almost made her change her mind about kissing him some more.

“A lot? Should I feel threatened by your expectations?” he asked.

“Probably not. The way every woman smiles at you, it seems you’ve met a few dating expectations,” she said dryly, sinking back to her own side of the pickup.

He linked hands with her again, his smile banked into earnestness. “I’m glad you’re giving this a try, Em. There’s more to life than figuring out your past or your future. You can live in the now, just like I try to do.”

“The now, huh?” She grinned, but inside she couldn’t help her curiosity. Was he hiding from something in his past, or didn’t he want to confront the future? Or a little of both? She was intrigued enough to want to find out.

He nodded. “The now. No expectations but enjoyment.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone as bossy as you, Nate Thalberg.”

“Someone had to take charge and speak the truth about what was happening between us. I couldn’t have taken another moment working side by side on renovations.”

“So you’re saying that now you’ll feel free to seduce me instead of teach me to drywall?”

“Heck, no. I’m just saying that now I can be patient, knowing that I’ll have my shot.”

He raised her hand and placed a soft kiss on her palm that sent shivers up her arm.

“We can have fun together. You won’t regret it, Em.”

She looked into his eyes, and although she was flattered and excited, she also felt a trace of fear. He was so . . . overpowering. Would she be able to date without entangling her emotions? Other people did. And she had strong motivation to keep things casual—college in the fall.

“Let me show you what we do for fun in these mountains,” he said. “It’s spring, the runoff is fast into the river valleys, the perfect time for whitewater rafting.”

She widened her eyes. “Are you kidding? That sounds scary, not fun. The movie theater is showing a forties romantic suspense film festival. It would give us so much to talk about.”

“Since when have we lacked for conversation?”

She laughed and batted her eyelashes at him.

“Then we compromise,” he continued. “Let’s do something outdoors as a first step. Let me take you hiking. The view from these mountains has to be seen.”

“It’s a deal. But you have to teach me to drywall first.”

“Blackmail. You play dirty. I like it.” He leaned in and gave her a quick kiss. “Now I have to get back to the ranch. We’ll talk.”

She felt like one big cliché, floating as she went inside her building and changed into old clothes. She glanced at the box of her mother’s things, then deliberately turned away from it.

The second-guessing about Nate began as she pried baseboard and trim. She was taking a chance, knowing it might hurt her in the end.

But if this was a mistake, she had damned well better enjoy it along the way.

Chapter Fourteen

E
arly the next morning, Emily removed the last of the damaged trim and baseboards, then showered and dressed for her first day’s training. She was at Monica’s Flowers and Gifts by ten for her first official tour and description of her duties—taking care of customers, placing orders, preparing simple flower arrangements, making bows, and, of course, dealing with the local craftspeople about their consignment items.

And through it all, Emily watched Monica at work, the way she knew so many of her customers and their tastes, or if they were tourists, the way she sensed how they wanted to be approached and made them feel at ease. Young lovers out for a stroll popped in for an impromptu rose. Expensively dressed older couples from Aspen, looking to spend a simple day together, toured all the little Main Street shops, intrigued by the crafts on display.

While Monica dealt with a bride’s mother about flower arrangements for a wedding shower, Emily washed the little china plates, with their tulip-and-daffodil pattern, on which Monica served the day’s pastry treat. The coffee cake was delicious, of course, but Emily frowned as she considered it, knowing that Monica ordered her desserts from the pastry chef at the Sweetheart Inn.

When the door jingled with the customer’s departure, Monica sat down on the little wrought-iron chair by the dessert table. “Whew! Mothers of the bride can be so picky.”

“Isn’t she your cousin?” Emily said, glancing toward the door.

“And that’s why I feel free to comment. It will be a lovely wedding if Angela calms down. Hard to believe my cousin has a daughter old enough to marry.” She shuddered.

Emily grinned, then gestured to the coffee cake. “Sweetheart Inn?”

“Yep, and delicious.”

“Of course. But can I make a suggestion? I love to bake. Why don’t you let me whip something up for you? Why should you pay those exorbitant prices from the inn?”

“I pay it because it’s the only game in town. But I must say, those tarts of yours were scrumptious.”

Emily grinned and sat down opposite Monica. “I’ve been working on my high-altitude baking since I arrived.”

“So now my customers will be test subjects?”

“Hell, no, you will. If you don’t like it, I take it back. I just . . . I just really miss cooking for people. Almost makes me want to move back to the boardinghouse. Those ladies were very appreciative.”

“Wow, okay, okay, we wouldn’t want you to give up your freedom just to keep baking. I’ll pay you, of course.”

Emily shrugged. “Just the ingredients. I’m not a professional although I did bake desserts for a friend’s catering business in San Francisco. Nothing full-time, just when she was swamped.” She cut a slice of cake. “But regardless, this shouldn’t go to waste.”

“Dessert before lunch—my idea of being a grown-up.”

While they dug into the cinnamony goodness, Emily studied her friend, who’d seemed . . . not quite herself this morning, shadows beneath her eyes, her smile a bit strained.

“Monica,” Emily said hesitantly, “is something wrong?”

Monica shot a surprised glance at her, then gave a distracted smile. She opened her mouth to answer, but then stopped at the sound of someone in the back room and put a finger to her lips.

Into the shop came a young black woman with close-cropped hair, dressed elegantly in pants and a silk blouse. Emily saw the resemblance at once, the cheekbones of a model, and caramel-colored skin.

Monica stood up. “Hey, Missy—Melissa, I’d like you to meet my friend, Emily.”

Emily stepped forward to shake hands with Monica’s sister, who didn’t flinch at her childhood nickname. “Nice to meet you, Melissa.”

The woman’s smile was friendly and engaging, but then as a reporter, she dealt with the public all the time.

“You’re the one doing all the renovations yourself, right? Monica bragged about you.”

“She shouldn’t have. I’m such a klutz that I have to learn everything I do each step of the way.”

“And who better to help than Nate?” Melissa grinned at her.

Monica winced her apology.

“He knows a lot about renovations,” Emily said neutrally. “He’s been kind enough to take time out of his busy schedule to help.”

“That’s our Nate,” Melissa said cheerfully. She glanced at her sister. “I’m heading over to Mom and Dad’s. See you there for dinner?”

“I’ll be there.”

“Bye, Emily,” Melissa said, sliding on expensive sunglasses as she went to the door. “Don’t work too hard.”

When she’d gone, Monica went to the glass door, and after watching her sister walk away, let out a heavy sigh. “She’s staying with me, which she usually never does. Mom is beside herself, considering she renovated Missy’s old room.”

“Well, Melissa probably didn’t realize it was for her. And you’re her twin—don’t you think she’d want to spend time with you?”

Monica frowned, and said in a softer voice, “It’s so . . . uncomfortable now. It makes me want to cry.”

Emily put an arm around her, which Monica accepted for a moment, before straightening and moving behind the counter. “She took over my second bedroom with enough luggage for a monthlong stay.”

“You know how the weather can change here. She probably wants to be ready for anything.” Emily hesitated. “How’s it going so far?”

Monica shrugged. “Okay. I tried to show her the things I’ve changed in the flower shop, but she only pretended interest. The fact that she looks down on what I do . . .” Her voice dropped to a whisper, “It really hurts, Emily.”

“Oh, Monica.” Emily felt helpless in the face of her friend’s pain. “I’m so sorry.”

Monica wiped away a tear and put on a fake smile. “I’ve got to go to the bank. Do you mind keeping an eye on the store on your first day? I’ll bring back lunch, too.”

“Uh . . . lunch hour? Isn’t that a busy time?”

“Sure it is, but you’ll do fine. The cash register walks you through any purchase, and you seemed to pick that up easily. If they want to place a large order, have them make an appointment with me. Here’s the calendar. Most people just want to pick out some flowers for whatever occasion is happening that day, and often, they know exactly what they want. If not, show them some flowers. Just check the price list to give them a ballpark figure. And play up the crafts and plants—they make great gifts! If you’re really stuck, remember, I’ll be back in half an hour. People will understand.”

Monica hurried out, as if she might break down in front of Emily and didn’t want to. It made her think again that she might have her own sister out there. She was almost glad when a customer walked in. While the older gentleman sampled a piece of coffee cake, she wrapped up a half dozen roses for him in a fancy white box. By the time she was done, a younger man in his twenties was hovering near the displays at the front of the store. He was tall and lean, in cowboy boots and jeans, a typical outfit in Valentine. He wore a leather vest over a t-shirt, and it seemed to go with the stubble on his face.

When she came up behind him, he swept off his cowboy hat and turned to face her. She could have stopped in her tracks at the tousled brown hair that framed storm cloud gray eyes. He was too handsome by far, straight nose, full mouth, even with a scar that curved on his chin.

“Afternoon, miss,” he said, nodding to her.

Colorado cowboys were so polite. “May I help you?” she asked.

He hesitated, his hands curling the edge of his hat.

“Flowers for a girlfriend?” she suggested.

He shook his head. “No girlfriend. Guess I was looking at all the crafts you have here.”

“Everyone in Valentine seems so talented. You’ll be able to find a gift for anyone.”

“It’s not so much a gift I’m looking for. Thought I’d ask about how to submit something to be sold in your store.”

“I see.” She gave him a frank smile. “I’m sorry, but it’s my first day, and I haven’t been taught about the consignment part of the business. Monica should be back in fifteen minutes or so. Would you like to wait for her?” When he hesitated, she realized she didn’t want to let him go so easily. “What do you make?”

“I tool leather—creating designs and patterns,” he added, when he saw her clueless look. “I’ve made frames, wallets, belts, and saddlebags, to name just a few.”

“Do saddlebags sort of look like purses?”

He smiled. “Sort of, but don’t tell a ranch hand that.”

“Leather purses tooled by a handsome cowboy? I think those would sell, too.”

“Depending on my talent,” he added dryly.

“Well, of course, but I didn’t think you’d be venturing into the flower shop if you didn’t think you had talent.”

His smile spread into a grin, and she found herself wondering how many hearts he’d broken.

“So do you want to wait for Monica?”

“Naw, I’ll catch up with her later. I want to see the look on her face when I bring a sample by.”

“So you know her?”

“ ’Course. She was just a couple years ahead of me in school.”

Emily found herself wondering if Monica could use her own cowboy distraction right around now. Nate was working wonders on Emily’s frame of mind. She had barely thought about her hunt for her father all morning as she looked forward to a drywall session with him.

“Then come on back when you’re ready,” Emily told the cowboy as he walked to the door. “Can I tell her who stopped by?”

“Now that would ruin the surprise.” Grinning, he slipped on his hat and tipped it toward her. “Afternoon, miss.”

Emily watched him walk down the street, shaking her head. You didn’t meet men like that in San Francisco—what a shame.

T
hat evening, when darkness began to creep over them, Nate was answering e-mails in the ranch office. At last he sat back and let his mind wander tiredly—and it immediately went to Emily. He’d see her in the morning, and he was eager for it.

He could be careful. It wasn’t as if he was unaccustomed to dating and enjoying himself, ending it when the urge to smother the woman with his opinions and his help started to prove too attractive.

With Emily, his help was concrete—it was about her renovations, or her search for her dad. His opinion wasn’t important, so much as practical advice. Now if she started asking what major she should focus on in college, he was backing away like she was dynamite. He’d talked careers before, with terrible results, and not just with his college girlfriend.

He turned off the office lights and went out into the night, standing still for a moment as his eyes adjusted. He saw the lights on in the horse barn and knew it had to be his brother. Josh had converted an old tack room into a leatherworking shop and spent a lot of his spare time there. On his way through the barn, Nate petted the horses, who all dipped their heads out of their stalls to greet him with soft whinnies. Scout was a favorite with the horses and remained behind to greet his friends.

Nate followed a stream of light across the floor, then leaned his shoulder against the doorway to watch his brother. Josh was using shears to cut a piece of leather into a strange shape that Nate didn’t recognize. But he knew talent when he saw it, and his brother had that.

Josh suddenly glanced up, his face creasing into a curious smile.

Nate looked around the workshop at the goods in various stages of work, from pieces of unadorned leather to braided rope to the beginnings of a vine of flowers etched into a long piece of leather. “What will that be for?” Nate asked, gesturing to the last item.

“The frame of a mirror.”

Nate nodded, impressed. “I know I’ve told you before, but you’re really good.”

Josh glanced up. “Thanks.”

“So what’s the plan for all of this?” Nate asked.

“There has to be a plan?” Josh asked, studying him with amusement.

“My thought was, you’re so talented that it’s a shame you only create things for yourself or the family. Lots of other people would be interested, especially in a tourist town like Valentine has become.”

Josh cocked his head. “What if I’m not interested in becoming a businessman? I’m a cowboy, a full-time job.”

Nate didn’t like how he was suddenly feeling defensive. “You don’t have to become a businessman. You can hire people to do that work for you. But you have to come up with a business plan, a guide for what you expect to do with this.”

“That’s what
you’d
do, big brother,” Josh said quietly. “You like the business side of things.”

“Well . . . yeah. It’s part of having a business.”

“You’re making my leather tooling about more than it is. It’s what I do for enjoyment.”

Nate’s defensiveness morphed into irritation. “I don’t just work, you know. I can enjoy things, too.”

“Seems to me you’re turning even Emily Murphy into work—drywalling, I hear? Sexy.”

“How did you know—” Nate broke off.

Josh grinned in a knowing way, and that made Nate want to stick out his chest, and say, “Oh yeah?” like he was twelve.

But he wasn’t going to go bragging about what he and Emily had recently shared just to prove to his brother that he had all the different parts of his life under control.