A Town Called Valentine(19)
Emily had occasionally felt alone in San Francisco with Greg’s long hours, which was why she filled her days as much as possible, deluding herself that when she had a baby, Greg would spend more time with her, with their little family. The old pain hadn’t dulled, she realized, setting down her fork because of the lump in her throat.
Monica thoughtfully bit into a cheese stick and chewed. “Pretty quickly, you do feel like you’ve met every man. We often used to drive into Aspen to meet all the rich guys. But you know, most of them only wanted one thing from local girls. And let me tell you, there weren’t a lot of brothers on the ski slopes.”
Emily smiled. Both of them glanced toward the street as a commercial van pulled up next to them, the power company advertised on the side. A balding, middle-aged man in jeans, work shirt, and boots came around to them and smiled.
“Hey, Monica,” he said, nodding to her.
“Charlie,” she answered back. “Tell your wife those napkin holders decorated with hearts are hot sellers.”
“Great!” He looked at Emily. “Are you Emily Murphy?”
Surprised, she straightened up from her lazy slouch. “I am.”
“I’m Charlie Bombardo. I hear you were scheduled to have your electric and gas turned on in a couple days. Nate Thalberg knew I was working in the area, so he gave me a call.” He smiled. “He has a way of getting a person moved up the list.”
Damn, had she been so pitiful that he’d done her another favor? How was she supposed to rely on her own strengths when people kept assuming she couldn’t?
Monica laughed and shook her head. “That Nate. So what did he promise you?” she asked Mr. Bombardo.
“Lunch and a beer. I’ll be collecting during the Colorado Rockies game next weekend.”
“I—I don’t know what to say, Mr. Bombardo.” Emily heard herself stuttering, knew she hardly sounded professional. “Surely, I should be the one to owe you for this favor.”
“It’s Charlie. And no, don’t worry about it. I’m happy to help. And it’s hardly a favor—you’ll be paying the company for the service.” He grinned. “It’ll just take me a few minutes to make sure your hot-water heater and furnace turn on.”
“Perhaps I should be your guide,” Emily said ruefully. “The last tenants left a mess.”
“I’ll find what I need.”
After he went inside, Emily saw Monica regarding her thoughtfully.
“Well, well,” the other woman said.
Emily held up a hand. “Don’t even think it.”
“Think what?” Monica countered, cocoa brown eyes wide with innocence.
“Anything to do with Nate.”
“He’s doing you a lot of favors.”
Emily pressed her lips together. She might as well be a heroine tied to the railroad tracks the way she inspired Nate to rescue her.
“So you noticed, too,” Monica said. “Whatever he wants for it will be more than worth it if my girlfriends are telling the truth.”
Wanting to clap her hands over her ears, Emily concentrated on her salad.
After a long day of hauling junk to the Dumpster—and no end in sight—Emily washed her face in the blessedly warm water in the restaurant ladies’ room. Miraculously, the plumbing still worked.
She felt bone weary and full of new aches, wondering if her thirties would now feel different than her twenties. She’d heard that the altitude could make her tired and out of breath. Since Greg had left her, she hadn’t made time for exercise like she used to. That would have to change.
Tomorrow. Tonight, the only exercise she’d get would be the walk to the mechanic to hear about her car. She changed into a clean shirt and repacked her backpack before locking the door. Early evening in Valentine Valley echoed with chirping birds and the occasional quiet laughter from open windows.
She walked tiredly down Main Street but still managed to notice the rest of the shops. The scent wafting from Carmina’s Cucina on the other side of Monica’s smelled divine, but she could also have eaten Mexican, or at a diner or a tearoom. And there were so many more ways for tourists to amuse themselves: a gift emporium, art galleries, and a portrait studio to have old-time photos taken. A huge sign advertised an outdoor tour company, and she imagined they did a brisk business in these mountains.
Hal’s Hardware was a welcome sight, and she knew she’d be frequenting it. Perhaps they gave lessons, or had books she could study. At the boardinghouse that morning, she’d seen an old computer with a big square monitor in a corner of the dining room. Were the widows even connected to the Internet? she wondered. They might still have dial-up.