A Town Called Valentine: A Valentine Valley Novel (23 page)

A
s she was getting ready for bed, Emily heard her doorbell, and when she looked out the window, she saw Nate’s pickup in the alley. With excited anticipation, she wrapped a robe around herself to hurry down the stairs. After she opened the door, he stood looking at her, his expression so intense that it took her breath away. Then he swept her into his arms.

“Damn, but you looked so good tonight,” he said into her hair.

Between kisses, she laughed. “In my jeans and fleece?”

“In your robe, I don’t care. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I couldn’t wait—”

He slammed the door behind him and carried her upstairs. And then they were undressing each other, her tugging loose his shirt, him pulling free the belt of her robe.

“Emily.”

He said her name between a whisper and a groan, and her blood hummed with pleasure and need. They fell naked on her bed, and it was like a scene from a movie as they kissed and caressed and rolled about with abandon.

“I can’t get enough of the taste of you,” Nate murmured, exploring her body with his lips and tongue.

She lay there, quivering and feeling worshipped, gasping as he spread her thighs and with the torture of his tongue made her beg for him. When her orgasm practically shook her off the bed, he came up on his hands and stared down at her, dazed.

“I’ll be right back,” he said hoarsely. “In my pants—”

“Hurry,” she panted back.

He grinned down at her like a pirate anticipating plunder, all dark-haired and wicked-eyed. With a giggle, she pushed him away, and when he returned with the condom, helped him put it on. She took over, mounting him, controlling both of their pleasure. His grin faded and they stared into each other’s eyes as their bodies, their very wills, took hold, sweeping away lighthearted play, leaving them desperate and yearning and overcome.

Only when she was collapsed at his side, staring stupidly up at the ceiling, was she able to think rationally. “I have ice cream.”

He gave a hoarse chuckle. “You should have said that before. It might have made things interesting.”

“Instead of boring?” she asked sweetly.

He slapped both hands to his chest as if she’d shot him. When she sat up, he said, “No clothes allowed.”

“But I think my front curtains are open!”

“No clothes.”

Giggling foolishly, she crept down the hall, ducked into her galley kitchen for chocolate ice cream and two spoons, then dashed back to her bedroom. Nate was waiting for her, propped up on pillows against the headboard, still naked. She skidded to a halt, her mouth open, and almost tossed aside the ice cream. Damn, he looked good, all lean, long muscle
.

He was watching her just as intently, and she was as unembarrassed as if he’d been looking at her nude forever. It was daunting—it was exhilarating—it was confusing. So she opened the ice cream and took a spoonful, her gaze never leaving him.

“You can be my second dessert,” she said.

He laughed and patted the bed, then scooped her against his side. They shared the ice cream, feeding each other or themselves, and when a dollop landed on her breast, he licked it off.

“Wait, wait,” she said, laughing, putting her fingers over his mouth. “I have something to ask you. I heard you and your friends talking about the rodeo. Brooke explained that it’s your family tradition.”

“Yep.” He slowly licked his spoon, and he wasn’t watching her face, as if he anticipated licking other things.

It would have been so easy to melt into a chocolate puddle beneath him.

“I’m surprised you never mentioned it,” she said curiously.

“I didn’t think you’d be interested,” he said, “and I wasn’t sure you’d still be here.”

“The girls will probably pressure me to enter the baking competition. Are you okay with that?”

He smiled, but for some reason, she wasn’t certain it reached his eyes.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“We’re . . . just dating. This is your family event or tradition or whatever, and if you felt I’d be intruding . . .” She felt like an idiot, worried about his reaction when it was a public event anyone could attend. Much as she wanted to keep things casual, it was starting not to feel that way for her, but she couldn’t let him know that. Maybe the sex had changed things since she’d always considered herself an old-fashioned girl. But she had to grow beyond that girl.

“I was simply waiting to see if you’d still be here for the rodeo before I asked,” Nate said. “I’d like you to come.”

“Then it’s a date.” But she still felt awkward, and he must have sensed that, because he cupped her cheek and leaned forward to softly kiss her.

“Sorry,” he murmured against her lips.

“It’s really okay,” she murmured back, then forgot about the ice cream.

Chapter Twenty

S
aturday evening, after the flower shop closed, Emily was making a cheesecake to take to the Thalbergs for dessert the next day, when Monica rang the bell and came up to join her.

Monica looked at the batter with its chunks of brownie pieces and nuts. “Oh, please, can I have the bowl, Mom?”

Emily laughed. “If you’re a good girl.”

“I came up to tell you that Nate stopped by at lunch. Did he catch up with you later?”

Emily frowned. “No, no messages.”

“He saw his brother’s handiwork in their new special display.”

“What did he say?”

“He seemed surprised, like Josh hadn’t told him. And Josh apparently didn’t tell him he was taking you to lunch.” Monica blinked her big brown eyes innocently.

Emily waved a hand, then licked batter off her finger before it spread anyplace else. “There wasn’t a plan. It was a spur-of-the-moment thing.”

“Okay. Think that’s a good idea, when something’s going on between those two?”

“A good idea?” Emily echoed, confused. “Josh is a client. Why would Nate care?”

“I don’t know. But I thought you seemed a little upset about not knowing about the rodeo. And since he didn’t call you, maybe he’s a little upset you didn’t tell him about Josh.”

Emily opened her mouth, then slowly closed it. Was dating truly getting this complicated? She was trying hard not to involve Nate too deeply in her life—how could he possibly object?

Monica looked around the kitchen. “You baked more than one dessert?” she asked incredulously.

Emily glanced at the brownies and the raspberry torte with a little guilt. “I couldn’t decide.”

“They’re all good—everyone says so. You could sell them.”

Emily blinked at Monica, then around her kitchen, still orderly in the middle of a baking explosion. Sell her desserts? “You mean . . . to a bakery?”

Monica met her gaze in surprise. “Well . . . you could sell them yourself.”

“My own bakery?” she asked in disbelief. “I don’t know anything about running a business.”

“Why can’t you learn?”

“You don’t understand—my mom’s business took up most of her time, and so I stayed as far away from it as I could.”

“I thought you said men took up the rest of her time.”

“Well . . . they did.”

“Would you make that mistake?”

“Of course not! But this isn’t about my mom. Do you have any idea how much real estate costs in San Francisco? I couldn’t just . . . open a business.”

Monica rested her chin on her fist and watched her with interest. “Who said anything about San Francisco? You own a building right here.”

“But . . . this isn’t my home,” Emily said, bewildered. “I’m not staying here. And I’ve got Berkeley in the fall.” But in that moment, she thought of making heart-shaped cakes and gooey Valentine’s Day treats. But that would mean changing every plan she had for herself, flitting to whatever new idea struck her fancy—and that seemed too much like her mom.

“Okay, forget about
where
you have a bakery,” Monica said. “Is it something that interests you?”

“I—I never thought about it. I just like to bake. I’m not a trained pastry chef. No one would buy anything from me!”

“Then maybe you should think about it first. Nothing else has occurred to you, right?”

“I’m going back to college to figure that out,” she said, feeling stubborn and uneasy. “Not culinary school.”

“And you like college,” Monica said dubiously.

“I’m older and wiser now. And smart, too—did I mention that? I know lots of people back home, a whole network of people who’ll help me make a decision.” But some friends hadn’t been so easy to reach the few times she’d called. Maybe they really were Greg’s friends instead of hers.

“Should I be sorry I brought this up?” Monica asked.

Emily shook off her panic. “No, no, of course not. But I’m not a chef, I’m not a businessperson. I don’t know what I am,” she finished, looking away.

She felt Monica touch her arm.

“It’s okay, Em,” she said softly. “There’s no rush.”

“No rush? I’m thirty years old!” she whispered fiercely. “Ever since—since Greg left me, my life has been turned upside down. I’ve really had to look at myself, and realize how poorly prepared I let myself be, all in the name of love and family.”

“Those aren’t bad motives, honey.”

“I wasn’t thinking about my future—I let Greg take care of me. And Nate,” she whispered. “It would be too easy to let him take care of me. I’m pathetic.”

Monica took her shoulders and gave her a little shake. “Stop that! It’s not true. I’ve admired your determination from the first. You came to a strange town with very little money. You had a little help with your renovations, but
you’ve
done the majority of the work. Some people might crawl into a hole instead of look for a dad who’s a stranger to them—not you.”

Emily was surprised to feel tears slide down her cheeks.

“And as for Nate—he’s been your friend. Friends help each other. He helps
everyone.
Trust me, he doesn’t need to do that for sex.”

Emily found herself choking on a laugh. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“I don’t know, but it made you laugh.”

And then Monica hugged her, and Emily hugged her back, her eyes still dripping tears.

E
arly Sunday afternoon, Nate went to the ranch office and sat down at the computer. There was still so much left to do before the rodeo. First, he went into the spreadsheet showing the livestock he’d ordered from the stock contractor—and found nothing.

He gaped at the computer. You couldn’t hold a rodeo without bulls and broncs to ride. Could he really have forgotten something so important? He never forgot anything!

He should go talk to his father, but he went to look for his brother instead, the brother he always confided in. Maybe between them they could fix this if it wasn’t too late. Nate stormed out of the office, checked in the house for Josh, then out in the barn. The door of the converted tack room was ajar, and he walked by Brooke in her horse’s stall without saying a word. Scout slunk in with her instead of following him. Then he spotted Josh bent over his workbench, using a tiny knife on a long strip of leather.

“I need to talk to you,” Nate said urgently.

Josh slowly straightened, eyes concerned. “About what?”

“I just went to look at the status of the rodeo stock—Josh, I forgot to order it.” He slapped a hand to his forehead. “I don’t know what happened.”

Brooke stepped into the doorway and looked between them uncertainly. “Nate?”

He grimaced at her. “Brooke—”

“Calm down,” Josh interrupted, setting down his knife. “Everything’s okay.”

Nate groaned and said to Brooke, “It’s not okay. The rodeo might not go on because I forgot to order—”

“I ordered it,” Josh said simply.

Nate gaped at him. “The stock? For the rodeo?”

“Is ordered. I was curious, looking through all the prep that you do for this event, and I noticed your usually meticulous spreadsheet wasn’t filled out. So I called and took care of it. I got it all in a notebook, and just didn’t log it into the computer yet. Sorry to scare you.”

Nate leaned back against the worktable and closed his eyes. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for. You saved my ass.”

Josh grinned. “Someone had to.”

Nate popped him in the shoulder, and Josh did the same back.

Brooke rolled her eyes. “How old are you two?”

Nate felt positively elated with relief. “Obviously, I’m not old enough. I can’t believe I made such a mistake.”

“You’re human,” Josh said simply.

“And now you’ll probably say I told you so, that I’m spreading myself too thin,” Nate said in a glum voice.

“Nope, you draw your own conclusions, big brother. But I’ve always got your back.”

Josh bent over his etching, Brooke whistled and returned to her horse, and Nate stood there, wondering if he’d overextended himself by getting involved with Emily—too involved.

T
hat night at dinner, with Nate’s whole family gathered around, including Grandma Thalberg and Aunt Marilyn, Emily seemed like a pretty, bubbling flower in their midst, smiling and laughing, and looking so at ease.

Nate felt anything but. It was as if he didn’t know himself anymore, his feelings for Emily, his confusion over what Josh had been saying. He wasn’t used to feeling confused about anything.

And then she smiled at him, and he saw her in her pretty sleeveless top and flowered skirt, looking beautiful and happy, her hair a mass of red-gold curls, as if she took special care just for him and his family. He had to tell her the truth, that he was getting too close, that he’d hurt her. He’d already almost hurt the ranch. He had to break up with her, just as he’d done with so many other women over the years. But this time, this time, he felt the hurt, too.

E
mily had a lovely evening with Nate’s family, even if Nate, though smiling and occasionally cracking jokes, seemed a bit preoccupied. On the drive back to her apartment, she didn’t know how to ask him if anything was wrong—didn’t want to force him to talk when he wasn’t ready. After all, he wasn’t the one who’d invited her to the big family dinner. But she had to say something.

“Brooke and I went to the Royal Theater the other day. And no, it wasn’t for a film festival. I’m saving all those for you.”

His white teeth glimmered in the darkness of the pickup. “And I’m so grateful. That Bette Davis was some hot chick.”

She laughed. “Actually, we went so I could spy on Steve Keppel.”

He glanced at her. “Why?”

“Because Cathy Fletcher gave me his name as one of the teenagers who hung around at my mom’s family store.”

“Aah,” he said, nodding. He pulled into the alley behind her building and stopped the car, watching her with interest. “And do you think he’s a possibility?”

She shrugged. “He has red hair, but his manner seems so . . . serious. And Brooke said he was a stickler about curfews, hardly the kind of guy my mom would choose.”

“But people change.”

“You sound like your sister, but yes, you’re both right. I just didn’t get a . . . gut feeling about him. And then there are the eyes.”

He smiled. “The eyes? A window to the soul?”

Laughing, she said, “I found an entry in my mom’s diary after all, just one, from her senior year. Although she didn’t write his name, she focused on her boyfriend’s incredible blue eyes.”

“So that’s where you get them,” he said quietly.

She smiled and reached for his hand.

“And did you talk to him?”

“No, not yet. His eyes seemed too dark. Then there’s Hal Abrams, whom I’ve already met.”

He nodded. “Any gut feeling about him?”

“No, and I don’t remember his eyes behind his glasses, so they couldn’t have been all that memorable. We went to see Joe Sweet, another of the guys, according to your dad.”

“My dad?”

His head tilted back in surprise, but he didn’t release her hand, which made her relax.

“Yep. But Joe was headed out of town, so I didn’t even get to see him. Brooke told me about the painting in the lobby.”

“You don’t have to say anything more. Even I’ve noticed his eyes. You think he’s the one?”

“Maybe. I think so. I don’t know,” she added in a rush. “I’ll have to talk to him.”

“One of the players on my hockey team is his son, Will.”

Emily’s mouth dropped open. “Really? I wish I had known. Although it would have been strange to see him and wonder if he was . . . if we were related.”

“I know the family pretty well, and I have business with Joe.” He squeezed her hand. “Can I answer any questions?”

“Come on up and have a beer while I pick your brain.” She grinned. “Aren’t we lucky you don’t still live at home? Maybe you’re one of those guys who doesn’t want his mom to know the hours he keeps.”

Nate smiled, but he seemed . . . restrained, which echoed his behavior all evening. She let it go, fighting every impulse to ask him to confide in her. He followed her upstairs, and she brought out his favorite beer and the brownies she hadn’t taken to the ranch. As they settled side by side on the love seat, she listened to his summary of Joe.

“He’s not your average rancher,” Nate said, leaning his head back on the couch. “He’s actively involved in a coalition of organic farmers, and he’s their rep to a lot of the restaurants in the valley.”

“Organic farming? Now that sounds promising.”

His hand very gently stroked her thigh, up and down, making her brain feel fuzzy. “What else?” she asked.

“He’s a writer of local history, too, kind of a bohemian guy with a lot of interests.”