A Town Called Valentine(10)
But after her dad’s death, her mom had spent most of her time on her new age shop and the various men in her life, making Emily feel . . . inconvenient. It was how she had first discovered she loved to cook, for fast food or late meals had grown irritating. Delilah often forgot to come home to make dinner after work. But at least she always spent nights at home, and never at some guy’s place. It had taken Emily until adulthood to appreciate that. Her mom always said she wished she’d been born early enough to be a hippie, so she lived the life, from practicing reiki to insisting Emily call her “Delilah,” not Mom or even “Dorothy,” the name she’d been born with.
It had all come to a head for Emily on the opening night of her school musical. She had the lead, the youngest ever at fifteen, and thought for sure she’d given her mom a reason to be proud of her, a reason to care. But her mom hadn’t remembered to come. Every other kid had a parent—hell, a whole family—meet them backstage with flowers and hugs and praise. Delilah could charm a forget-me-not blossom and keep it in her purse to remember a date with a man, but her daughter’s musical was not that important. Emily had stood alone, feeling as if the last joy in her accomplishment was crushed beneath her mother’s indifference. She was achingly alone, would always be—until she made her own family. That had become her guiding force through the rest of high school and into college.
She thought she’d succeeded with Greg, a man whose extended family made her feel included. For several years, she’d given elegant dinners for their friends and the partners at Greg’s firm. Greg’s family lived on the opposite coast, and year after year, he couldn’t find vacation time to visit them. At first, she pretended not to see that she’d exchanged one lonely life for another. She volunteered at the local hospital, crocheted blankets for premature babies, and occasionally worked as an emergency backup for her friend’s catering business by baking desserts and pastries, waiting for the day she had a baby.
But that day never came, and her marriage fell apart in ways that still hurt too much to think about, a well of grief so raw it was a physical ache. She’d lost her baby and her husband and her dreams all within a week. Emily had known she had to find a way to support herself, but each day she could barely get out of bed. She was skirting the edges of depression, replaying the tragedy of her marriage and Greg’s cruelty over and over again in her mind. Her money running out had finally awakened her to the pitiful excuse her life had become, the way she wallowed in self-pity. Though Greg was gone, she was still letting him control her. She didn’t need a man to create her own family.
But she did need a career, something she’d so conveniently ignored when she was head over heels in love with Greg. College just hadn’t seemed important—but it was important now. She’d already registered for the fall semester back at UC Berkeley. She had to find a way to support herself even though she didn’t have a clue what to major in. That was what advisors were for. Perhaps her two years’ worth of credits would still count for something.
When she sold her mother’s building, she’d use that money to pay her tuition. Once gainfully employed, she would save enough to adopt. She’d gone the husband route, and it had failed. But there were plenty of children around the world desperate to be part of a family.
She thought she’d taken control of her life by coming to Valentine Valley, but on the first night, she made out with a stranger, her car wouldn’t start, and she had found that her building was severely damaged. It was as if life was giving her a good kick for her efforts.
She wasn’t going to let “life” get away with it. Sitting up, she threw back the covers with determination. She’d had a couple setbacks, that was all. She would lay out a plan to repair her building as quickly as possible. Her future was waiting for her.
But in the present, she was a stranger in a home with elderly women who hadn’t even been consulted about the arrangement. Nate Thalberg had made decisions for everybody.
But he’d also given her a place to stay for the night, and she would force herself to feel gratitude instead of resentment that she hadn’t been able to do that for herself.
As for the ladies, she only had one way to show her gratitude, and that was in the kitchen. After a quick shower, she dressed again in a long-sleeve t-shirt and jeans. After reading the note Nate had left for his grandmother in the formal dining room—it was short and to the point, but didn’t make her sound too pathetic—she went to take stock of the pantry. The kitchen itself was full of windows to let in the rising sun, a little breakfast nook, oak cabinets that gleamed, and a decorative theme of . . . cows. There were bowls of fruit decorated with black-and-white cow spots, two lowing cows held up napkins, horns sprouted near the back door for hanging jackets. Cows everywhere. It made Emily smile. If Nate was a cowboy, perhaps his whole family was involved.