A Town Called Valentine(15)
Her own storefront restaurant was shuttered and dark, looking so forlorn between Wine Country and Monica’s Flowers and Gifts. It was still too early for them to be open, so she took a moment to admire the Hotel Colorado across the street, three stories with arched columns running the length of the block, like a grand old duchess, with sparkling glimpses of its youth. She tried to imagine all of this in the nineteenth century, when the wide dirt street would have been teeming with mule trains, and the hotel full of newly rich miners, come down from the mountains to enjoy themselves. Okay, so she’d done her research before driving up.
But she couldn’t delay any longer, regardless of the sunshine and the beautiful spring day. She had to face something ugly and deliberately ruined, and she reminded herself that this was not an omen of her future. It was like her marriage, something she could eventually put in the past as a bad memory. Taking out her keys, she tried the front door. The lock turned with a little effort, and she went inside, tripping almost immediately over a toppled table in the gloom. She opened one of the shutters partway, not wanting people to be able to see the disaster.
And then she sighed. A corner bar that would have once served drinks was now spattered with paint, as if someone had just tossed an open container. Every upended table and chair seemed to be missing legs. The mirror that lined one wall to make the room seem more open had giant cracks running through it, like an ancient face. And someone must have taken a sledgehammer to the walls. Even the trim and baseboards had been gouged. The security deposit they’d forfeited was miniscule compared to all this.
Emily could have cried.
But she was done crying. It had gotten her nowhere, solved none of her problems. She didn’t even know where her tenants had gone, and she could hardly afford a private investigator to find them. She could do this on her own; she’d pull out her notebook and start her lists: jobs to be done, supplies to be purchased, repairs to be made. She didn’t have the money to hire someone, so she would do it herself. With access to the Internet, she could learn how to do anything.
But first, the electricity. She placed a call, glad that her cell phone worked, when she knew reception could be spotty in the mountains. To her dismay, the power company couldn’t give her an appointment for another three days, much as she tried to explain the circumstances. They compromised on two days, but that was it. At least the days were growing longer, so she could work when the sun was up.
She took out her notebook and spent an hour cataloging the damages and making her to-do lists. After discovering a Dumpster in the back alley, she began dragging out the worst of the garbage, trying to clear a path from the front of the restaurant to the kitchen. She was so engrossed in her chores, she didn’t hear the front door open until a dog’s bark alerted her.
She whirled around in surprise and saw Nate Thalberg grimacing as he looked about, and Scout, off leash, nosing into a pile of garbage. Nate’s cowboy clothes had been replaced with loose shorts, sneakers, and a t-shirt that outlined his biceps as he held the door open. She could berate herself for the previous night, but damn, she couldn’t fault her choice of men. Yet he’d seen her at her worst, offering herself to him in a way she’d never done with any man before. And he’d accepted it all, as if he was used to women throwing themselves at him. He made her feel flustered even though she was sober. She’d never been nervous around people, always the gracious host and volunteer. But with him, she didn’t know how to behave or what to say.
Stiffening, she tried to think about being polite and neutral, hoping he’d leave. She looked a mess after all, sweaty, disheveled, and covered in dust and dirt. But then his eyes locked on her, and suddenly she was back in the bar, his mouth on hers, his hands making her feel like a woman once again.
Chapter Four
Nate hadn’t thought the destruction in the old restaurant could look any worse in the daylight, but he’d been wrong. It was as if a demon had been set loose. He was tempted to haul Scout back by the collar. But there was Emily, wide-eyed and lovely, the dirt streaking her face evidence of the work she’d already put in that morning.
And there was that thin t-shirt, clinging to her damply.
Emily lifted a hand before he could speak. “You don’t need to remind me. I promise to be out of your grandmother’s hair quickly. Now you can go on and”—she tilted her head and spotted his mountain bike leaning against the front of the building, helmet dangling from the handle—“ride your bike, knowing you’ve put the fear of God into me. Is this how cowboys get around in the mountains now?”