A Town Called Valentine: A Valentine Valley Novel (21 page)

She hesitated. “Not really. I knew what he wanted in life. I just never imagined he would go looking for it without me.”

“You mean he had an affair?” He felt guilty even asking, in the face of her pain.

“No. Nate, don’t worry about it. It’s in my past, and it’s too beautiful a day to think about sadness. So, do you have plans for Aspen, or will we just see what happens?”

Nate had to force a smile, when he really wanted to know every detail of what Greg had done to her. He felt the strong pull of sympathy and compassion and knew where they could lead to. They were only dating, he reminded himself. He wasn’t going to learn everything about her. Because if he kept feeling this way, he was going to have to end it between them. And Emily would thank him for it.

Emily was relieved when Nate dropped the subject of her ex. The fact that he was curious meant he still didn’t always succeed at keeping his distance, and she wasn’t going to be another person he regretted being with. He didn’t need to understand her or her past. She was escaping painful memories, starting a new life, finding a new Emily.

And this Emily showed off a lot of cleavage, she thought ruefully. Glancing down at her chest still made her start with surprise, as if she hadn’t finished dressing. She’d dressed much more conservatively in San Francisco, and not because Greg had tried to control what she wore. She just had a different sort of life then.

Now, it gave her pleasure to see the way Nate couldn’t take his eyes off her, and once she even had to remind him that he was driving. It took twenty minutes to reach Aspen, where he parked the car, and they wandered hand in hand through the small town. Victorian gingerbread homes gave way to impressive mansions that perched on the hillsides through the valley. But the town itself still clung to its cozy village charm. He took her on a gondola ride up the mountain so that she could gape at the incredible view of the green valley spread below her and the snow-topped mountains all around her. They window-shopped the little boutiques on the Cooper Avenue Mall, a touristy area where a little creek ran through a tree-shaded boulevard. She gaped at the clothing prices and insisted she didn’t need to try anything on. He even begrudgingly followed her into the little history museum, where she learned all about the nineteenth-century mining that had begun the transformation of a remote encampment to the eventual mecca for the world’s wealthy. For dinner, he took her to a small, candlelit restaurant, where the chef came out to greet him like an old friend. Nate later explained that he and the chef had common friends in an organic farmer down valley, but Emily thought he was leaving things out. She didn’t blame him.

On the trip back to Valentine, the darkness enveloped them in the truck cab, and Nate took her hand. “Would you like to come back to my cabin for a drink?”

She glanced at him without surprise. She enjoyed being with Nate, and found his notion of dating much easier than she’d imagined. There was no pressure, for she knew he wasn’t looking for a wife. She’d spent her life longing to be someone’s wife, looking for the family and stability she’d never had. And look where that had gotten her! If she didn’t go to Nate’s cabin, was she still protecting herself? How was she supposed to live a new life like that? Maybe she was being too cautious, too careful. It was time to be as sexually casual as everyone else in the twenty-first century.

“Since you haven’t answered my question,” Nate finally said, “should I take it back? Maybe I’m rushing you.”

As they turned off the highway, heading toward the deeper darkness of the mountain silhouettes, she unbuckled her seat belt and slid beneath his arm. “No, you’re not rushing me. I’d love to see your place.”

She felt his hand in her hair, and she could have purred at the pleasure of it. She wasn’t going to think about anything else but him and the night and the passion they’d felt combust between them since the first moment they met.

Silver Creek Ranch was dark beneath the starlit sky as they rode between the hayfields and the creek. When the pickup turned into a driveway, a spotlight came on over a garage. Nate’s cabin was made of logs, old, she could tell, but kept in good shape. Scout was waiting just inside, and he joyously greeted them before running past into the night.

“Is there a fence to keep him in?” she asked dubiously.

Nate shook his head. “He knows his way around. Sometimes he’s gone for hours.”

“Will he need to be let back in?”

He met her gaze. “He’ll wait on the porch until I come for him.”

“Ah, how handy.”

“I know how to train a dog.”

Inside, he’d opened up the main living area into one room, with a kitchen and its island in one corner, dark cabinets gleaming with silver touches. As he flipped on more accent lights, she realized that the focus of the room was a pool table.

She arched a brow at him, and he grinned.

“I never hid my enjoyment of the game,” he said, going to the wet bar at the end of the kitchen counter. “Would you like a glass of wine?”

“Anything white would be fine.” She kept staring at the pool table, remembering. She heard soft music turn on, something sensual in rhythm and blues.

He brought her a glass of wine, then stood at her side as she took a sip. “Every time I look at this table, I remember.”

“Good or bad memories?” she asked, glancing at him with amusement.

“Both, I guess. You were . . . wild that night, and I enjoyed every minute of it. And then it was over, and I never got to see how the game ended.”

She set down her wine. “Then we should play another game.”

He put down his own glass. “I’ll win,” he said softly, reaching out to touch her bare shoulder, just a fingertip that gently traced.

She shuddered and briefly closed her eyes at the electric sensation. “You won’t be the only winner.” She grinned at him. “So rack ’em up, cowboy. But first take off your shirt.”

His smile was briefly interrupted with surprise, and she took satisfaction in that. No point being too predictable since she was becoming a new Emily.

Nate sailed his hat onto the glass coffee table, leaving his black hair tousled, then slowly pulled off his shirt, his gaze fixed on her. Her mouth went a little dry at all that lean muscle earned working hard for a living. Even though he had the faintest farmer tan on his lower arms, it was obvious he worked without a shirt when he was overheated.

Speaking of overheated . . . she felt suddenly too warm beneath his smoldering regard. She didn’t want to play pool; she wanted him to sweep her into his arms as if he couldn’t resist her anymore. Instead, he sauntered to the pool table and racked the balls, just as she’d stupidly asked. Ah, but he had to bend over the table . . . and reach for things . . .

“Emily?”

To her surprise, she realized he’d been holding out a cue to her, and she’d barely noticed, so focused was she on his broad chest scattered with dark hair.

“Oh . . . sorry.”

When she reached for the stick, he closed his hand over hers, bringing her closer, until her bare arm brushed his bare chest.

“I think you need a lesson,” he murmured against her hair. “May I?”

“Please.”

Then started the most pleasurable, slow-building foreplay of her life, as he used his hands to position her body, to guide her arms, to lean her over the edge of the table to position her cue just right. Her pulse pounded so hard she could barely hear the music. When she was trying to make a shot, he was right behind her, and she gasped when his hips brushed her backside.

“Concentrate,” he whispered evilly.

She glared at him over her shoulder, then her trembling hands ruined the shot. But it didn’t matter, for he leaned his hips into hers, pressing her against the table. He buried his face in her hair, kissing her neck, caressing her arms and back, then pulling her shirt up over her head. He reached around to cup her breasts and guide her back against his body. She sagged in his arms as he gently rubbed her nipples through her lace bra, playing with her, tormenting her. Her moans were plaintive, and his answering groans let her know he felt just as turned on as she did. When he unsnapped her bra, she let it fall down her body. He turned her about and stared down at her with so much hunger she felt like a sex goddess. Feeling provocative, she leaned back on the table, bracing herself with her arms behind her, her breasts practically lifted in his direction.

With another groan, he gathered her against him, skin to skin, her nipples gently abraded by the hair on his chest. Then, just like before, he lifted her until she sat on the edge of the table. When he pressed between her thighs, this time her skirt rode up. And then they were kissing, his hands filled with her breasts, his tongue taking possession of her mouth. She lost track of everything but the feel of him beneath her hands, the sleek heat of his skin, the ripple of muscle down his stomach, the roughness of his face at the end of the day.

He kissed his way down her neck, arching her back, and she wantonly let her hair spill all around the table, crying out when his lips found her nipple. He nipped and licked and drew her deep within his mouth, leaving her shuddering and gasping, pressing herself hard against the long ridge of his erection.

“Let me take you to bed,” he whispered harshly.

“Why not right here?” she whispered back, still arched and offering her breasts.

He groaned and shuddered, and she felt him cup her buttocks with both big hands. The slide of her panties down her thighs was erotic, until the feel of his fingers lightly stroking her made her realize that everything before had led up to this, this burst of sensation and need and desperation.

“Nate, please,” she whimpered.

But he seemed in no hurry, staring down at her half-naked body with hooded eyes, his fingers moistening the deeper he played with her. With his other hand, he caressed her breasts. She trembled and shuddered with each touch, holding her breath as he came closer and closer to what she really wanted.

He circled her clitoris, making her practically sob. She came at once, shuddering in his arms as he reached down to hold her.

“Jesus,” he whispered hoarsely.

“It’s been a long time.” Her voice was shaky with satisfaction. “Now take off your pants, and let’s rack some other balls.”

His laugh was partially a groan, and she heard him fumbling in his pants pocket before he yanked off his clothes. He was quick with a condom, and before she could even reach for him, he thrust home swift and sure.

She felt the deep fullness, the pressure of him already unfurling a new burst of passion. Joined so intimately, he leaned over her, hands braced on the pool table on either side of her body, his eyes pinned to hers.

“You . . . all right?” he asked, his breathing coming deep and quick.

“Better than that.” She reached to play with his nipples, to stroke every part of his bare skin she could reach.

Eyes closed, he accepted her touch, quivering, his erection pulsing inside her as if longing to be unleashed. Perspiration broke out on his forehead, he bit his lip, yet he held himself still as she explored him.

Then, with a groan, he pulled out and surged back in. She felt electric, her skin tingling with sensitivity. Every thrust of his body brought her closer to bliss again, and when at last she exploded, he let himself go, harder and faster and deeper until his upper body collapsed on top of her.

Chapter Eighteen

N
ate felt as if his body were no longer under his control, so sated and exhausted were his muscles. And then he realized that Emily was sprawled on an uneven table beneath him.

He came up on his elbows and cupped her moist, flushed face. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

Her smile was sleepy and satisfied and indulgent. “I’m more than
okay
.”

She was so small, he lifted her right off the table, and she laced her ankles behind him and held on tight. It was only a few steps to the leather couch, and he was able to sink back, never leaving her body. Her short skirt pooled around her hips, an erotic sight.

“Jesus,” he whispered again, her breasts right before him like ripe peaches. He took them in his mouth, felt her body clutch him from deep inside. He was still hard, and moved in her slowly, even as she laughed, and then gasped again when his tongue flicked her nipple.

“So do you use that pool table a lot?” she asked, clutching his head to her.

“You’re the first.” She tasted sweet, and he could smell the scent of her skin, elusive and floral.

“So pool tables are our shared destiny.”

He chuckled and leaned back against the couch to look up at her. He couldn’t keep his hands off her breasts, and she watched him with a faint, amused expression, even as her eyes went dreamy.

At last, she slid to the side, and he excused himself to take care of the condom. When he returned, she was already in her bra, the skirt tugged back into place.

“Emily—”

“I should go,” she interrupted, her voice laced with reluctance. “I’m . . . I’ll feel too close to you if I spend the night. Neither of us wants that.”

He pulled on his jeans but didn’t protest. Yet he found himself wanting to touch her, to soothe her, but she pulled her shirt over her head, then straightened it over her breasts.

She gave him a reluctant glance. “You’ll think this strange, but you’re only the second man I’ve ever made—had sex with.”

“I’m not surprised, considering how young you were when you married.” Had she meant to say “made love”? That she’d changed her words made him feel confused even though she was calling sex what it was.

She smiled. “Trust you to understand how . . . strange this is for me.”

He watched as she looked around, and he found her purse and handed it to her. “Does this change things for you?”

“You mean can we still date?”

She came up on her tiptoes, and he leaned down. Their lips met softly, briefly, once, twice. He would have gone on kissing her, but she stepped away.

“Yes, Nate, I’m not done with you yet. I still have a couple months before classes start, and you’ve proved too much fun.”

He followed her to the door. “ ‘Too much fun’? I’m not sure how to take that.”

She looked over her shoulder, smiling, even as her gaze drifted down his chest. “That you’re irresistible, and I’m only human.”

“Then don’t resist me. Let’s get together again.”

“All right.” She opened the door, and Scout came bounding in, happily bouncing between them. “He’s all yours, Scout.”

“Wait, you don’t have a car,” he reminded her. He slid on his shirt and a pair of shoes, then followed her out to the truck, Scout trailing behind. He and his dog drove her home, and the silence was companionable and easy. He kept glancing at her as she leaned against the headrest, calm and faintly smiling.

When he would have escorted her inside, she touched his arm. “I’m okay. You can watch me open the door and guard against the Valentine criminal element.” Then she laughed. “Does the sheriff even have anything to do around here?”

“Cattle rustling.”

Her eyes sparkled as she left his truck. When she unlocked the door, she blew him a kiss and slipped inside.

Nate watched until he saw her bedroom light go on above the alley. He gripped the steering wheel tightly, disappointed she hadn’t invited him up. It was seldom he wished for an evening not to end, so he tried to laugh at himself. But it wasn’t easy. He was feeling the old pull too strongly, the one that always got him in trouble.

E
mily looked out the window, moving the curtain only briefly, curious why Nate still hadn’t left. At last he put the truck in gear and slowly drove down the alley, and she pressed her face against the glass until his taillights disappeared.

This fling with Nate was supposed to be fun, to make her feel better, to start a new chapter in her life. And it had, to a degree. Every moment of the day had been enjoyable. They laughed at the same things, even liked the same foods—not that those were all you built a relationship on.

Yet . . . who was she kidding? Dating wasn’t a simple concept. Nate was using her for a good time, and she was using him . . . to forget. Always, lurking beneath her day was the reality that her future was murky, that she had yet to find a place for herself in it. Her past, everything she thought she wanted in life, was just as illusory. Every decision she’d made, every goal, had ended up wrong and full of heartbreak. Though it helped her to pass the time with Nate, in the end, she had to remember she was still alone. And she wanted it that way for now—she had to prove to herself that she didn’t need anyone else.

And she had a dad out there somewhere, a dad with blue eyes. He could be part of her future—if he wanted her.

I
n the morning, while Emily tried to carefully remove the paint that her tenants had splattered all across the lovely mahogany bar in her restaurant, she waited for Brooke’s response to her text.

Instead of a text, Brooke strode through the door at midmorning, wearing cowboy boots and jeans beneath a heavy rain slicker.

“It’s terrible out there,” she said, shaking off the rain as she stood just inside the door.

“Drape your coat over my only unbroken chair.”

Brooke grinned as she did so. “Thanks for getting me away from the ranch. Josh and Nate were working on mechanical stuff for the swathers.”

“You’ve lost me,” Emily said, pounding the tin lid back in place on the paint remover.

“Something about carburetors and oil changes. Swathers cut hay. It’s almost time, but this rain certainly doesn’t help.”

Brooke followed Emily into the kitchen while she washed up. “No more flooding the fields?”

“Hope not. And I can follow directions in the shop, but that’s about all. And they’re bickering about a meeting Nate’s supposed to attend although he says he can finish helping Josh first—and Josh thinks Nate should just leave. I think they were happy to see me go since they weren’t interested in my opinion.” Brooke smiled. “So what’s going on?”

“My biological father. I could use your help. I have three names now, and I’ve put off researching them long enough.”

“Researching? Can’t you just introduce yourself?”

Emily winced. “Hi, my name is Emily. Did you bang my mother thirty years ago? And are your eyes blue because she gushed about them in her diary?”

Brooke laughed. “Okay, I get your point. Nice clue, by the way. What’s your plan?”

“I just want to . . . see them first. Okay, see their eyes. I’ve already met Hal Abrams—”

“Mild-mannered Hal is a contender?” she asked, eyes wide.

“Yeah, but that only confirms my doubt. He seems like a nice guy.”

“And he’s been with the same woman since high school, and they have one son.”

“Well, he hung around my grandparents’ store, flirting with Delilah, so he might not be all that innocent.”

“Or those other guys were simply the friends he hung out with.”

“I know, I know. And eventually I’ll ask the questions I need to. But today . . . I just want to see them, see if I get some kind of sense or intuition.”

“And get close enough to see their eyes.”

Emily sighed. “That’ll be fun. And I’d feel stupid hanging out alone, waiting for a glimpse. That’s where you come in. You’re going to show me the sights.”

“Like the hardware store?” she asked doubtfully.

“No, we’ll start with the Royal Theater, then maybe the Sweetheart Inn.”

“So tell me names,” Brooke said, leaning forward with interest.

“Cathy Fletcher and Doug Thalberg suggested them. The first is Steve Keppel, building and grounds supervisor at the Royal Theater.”

Brooke frowned. “Keppel . . . He has twin daughters a couple years younger than me, and a son younger than that, maybe still a teenager. He’s divorced.”

“Okay. At least when I get around to questions, I won’t be upsetting his wife.” Three kids—were they her siblings? It seemed unreal.

“Who’s the next suspect?”

“Joe Sweet.”

Brooke whistled, eyebrows raised. “Not divorced—pretty happily married, or so it’s always seemed. He’s part of a very big, very powerful family in this valley. Several sons in their twenties and a teenage daughter.”

More potential siblings, Emily thought, feeling a little daunted. What was she getting into? How many people would be affected? Maybe she should call the whole thing off.

“Stop it right there,” Brooke said sternly. “I can read your face so easily. This isn’t your fault. And they would want to know the truth.”

“Even if it disrupted their lives?”

“It’s not like you’re twelve years old looking for a place to live,” she said patiently. “You just want to know your father. And these guys—they’re good men. They’d want to know you.”

Emily took a deep breath and let it out. “Okay, okay, I’m not backing down. Let me get changed, and we’ll take a walk to the theater.”

“Wear your rain boots and carry an umbrella,” Brooke said glumly.

T
he Royal Theater had been built when the town was in the middle of the silver boom in the late nineteenth century. The detailed décor had been gilded until it shone, all against a red-and-cream background, and the town had certainly kept up repairs. Emily was so busy gawking at the elaborately painted ceiling of the lobby, with cupids smiling down from heavenly clouds, that she almost forgot why she was there.

“I don’t see him,” Brooke said as she surreptitiously scanned the room.

About a dozen other people lingered in the lobby, looking at the giant framed posters that represented the movies being shown in the upcoming romantic-comedies film festival, as well as the newly released movies.

“Can we just wait?” Emily asked. “I’m a tourist, after all.”

“There’s usually a tour every morning and afternoon during the season. Let’s check the schedule.”

It was hung next to the box-office window, and the young woman inside smiled at them.

“Can I help you, Brooke?” she said through the glass separating them.

“No thanks, Naomi, my friend might be taking the tour today.”

“It starts in another hour.” The chubby blonde smiled at Emily.

“Thanks!” Emily smiled and stepped away, then whispered to Brooke. “You’re as bad as your brother, knowing everyone in town.”

“Sometimes it’s bad—but sometimes it’s good.” She turned back to the box office. “Hey, Naomi, any repairs going on today, or can we take a look at the stage while we wait?”

Emily held her breath.

“Go on in,” Naomi said, popping a quick bubble of gum. “The crew is doing some seat repairs, but that shouldn’t bother you.”

“And we won’t bother them,” Brooke responded brightly.

She led Emily through the lobby, past many curtain-framed double doors that were stationed around a long, curved hall. Every so often, wide, carpeted staircases led up to what must be the balcony.

“Maybe we should go up and peer down,” Emily suggested.

“Coward.” Brooke kept walking until she reached an open door. Inside, they passed beneath the overshadowing balcony, and the theater soared up to a high ceiling, swirls painted in gold just like the lobby. Several private boxes were stacked atop each other along the side walls. Down the long aisle, a wide, empty stage held several boxes and pieces of equipment along the edge. Four men were scattered through the auditorium, attending to seats that were in various stages of repair.

Brooke boldly walked halfway down the aisle, then sat down. Emily slid in beside her, feeling nervous.

“Don’t worry, lots of people come to gawk,” Brooke said in a soft voice. “There’s a lot of history here. You really should take the tour sometime. Can-can dancers from France made a special stop here in the silver boom days.”

But Emily was only half listening. “Do you see Steve Keppel?”

Brooke looked at each man, then shook her head. “Not here.”

“Damn.” Emily started to stand up.

Brooke pulled her back down. “Where you going? He’s their boss. He’ll check in eventually. That way we won’t have to look even more suspicious tracking him down.”

Fifteen minutes later, when Emily thought she’d memorized everything on the walls, a man in jeans and a button-down work shirt walked down the main aisle, right past them.