A Town Called Valentine(103)

“Doug Thalberg said you used to hang around my grandparents’ store. You weren’t the only one, of course, and I still have two men to talk to.”

“Forget about them,” he said flatly. “I was dating her.”

His gaze was sharp on her face, as if he needed to examine her every feature. She felt a little faint with nervousness.

“You were?” she whispered. “Did you . . .” And then she couldn’t go on.

“I didn’t know she was pregnant,” he said, running a hand down his face. “She broke it off, and she left town. When I saw her again—with you—she knew what I was thinking. She—she lied about your age, right to my face. Said she was happily married to your dad, and I believed her. Why would she do that?”

“I don’t know.” Emily barely saw Nate wave away the waiter, so focused on Joe was she. She gripped her orange juice, shaking so badly she almost spilled it, then sat back and fidgeted with the napkin in her lap. “In some ways, I never understood my mother. We didn’t exactly . . . get along. I didn’t like the way she ran her life, and she thought I was crazy for getting married young—just like her.” She added that last part with faint sarcasm.

And still they stared at each other.

“I think—” Joe broke off and cleared his throat. “I think she never liked it here, and didn’t want to be forced to stay.”

Emily nodded gravely.

“And she didn’t like my family,” he continued, a trace of bitterness in his voice now. “She thought they were too concerned with us and what we did. She didn’t like that the ranch and the inn were so important to me, often saying they were more important than she was.” He winced. “But that’s no excuse for . . .” He gestured toward her. “For this.”

Emily flinched.

Joe’s eyes went wide, and he reached toward her, but stopped before touching her hand. “That came out wrong. I’m sorry. I just don’t know what to call this—this situation between us. I mean . . . I think you’re my daughter.”

He didn’t sound angry so much as bewildered and hesitant, and something in Emily relaxed the tiniest bit.

“Until a couple weeks ago,” she whispered, “I had the memory of a wonderful man as my dad, even though he died when I was seven. I’d feel better if we had a DNA test just to make sure. We really don’t know who else my mother might have . . .”

And then she trailed off, because she couldn’t stop looking at him, and he seemed to be feeling the same thing.

“No problem,” he said in a husky voice. “But I think . . . I think . . . you look like my mom.”

Emily was almost shocked when a tear rolled down her cheek. And then he touched her hand, and he was trembling as much as she was. Her mind, which had been so focused on him, started reeling. It was true—she really had another family, brothers, a sister.

She drew her hand away. “I . . . I heard you’re married, right?”

He nodded, not looking offended by her withdrawal. “My wife’s name is Faith, and we’ve been together thirty years.”

“Right after my mom left?”

He winced and glanced at Nate. “Faith was a good friend and helped me realize what true love was. We have three sons and a daughter.”

He kind of stumbled on the last word, and she smiled awkwardly, wondering if he would someday include her as another daughter when he talked about his family.

Her family. Three brothers and a sister. She’d wanted nothing but a close family her whole life, and had failed time and again, first with her mom, then with her own marriage. And now there were all these new people. Joe looked . . . okay with it so far, even eager, but how would his wife feel? His children? Would that make him change his mind about his own feelings?

It seemed overwhelming, all these people she was now connected to in Valentine, Nate and Joe, Monica and Brooke, the widows at the boardinghouse—so many people, so many new ways to be hurt. It was suddenly too much.

Joe cleared his throat. “Maybe . . . maybe you could come to dinner sometime.”

She stood up hastily. “I—I don’t know. I’ll be leaving town soon—oh, but of course, I promise I’ll visit, and we can get to know each other. But—but I can’t stay, not really. I grew up in San Francisco, and my life is there.”

Nate was staring at her, his expression impassive as she foolishly babbled. Was she hurting him, or would he be relieved when she left? She didn’t want to hurt anyone—including herself.