A Town Called Valentine(51)

“I didn’t think I came off as shy,” she said wryly.

He chuckled, and again the memory of standing between her thighs bent over a pool table rose between them.

She cleared her throat. “I’m focused on a single purpose here, but in my real life, it really makes me happy to entertain. I love to cook and decorate, all those girly things that must make a cowboy like you squirm.”

“I don’t just squat on my haunches eating steak grilled over a campfire.”

She laughed. “Glad to hear it.”

“Although I enjoy that, too.”

“You’re the outdoor type?” she said, hand pressed to her chest, batting those sky blue eyes at him.

“And you’re the elegant hostess. What else did you do with yourself?”

Some of the humor left her eyes. “I volunteered a lot of my time. I didn’t have a job.”

Surprised, he said, “That’s rare nowadays.”

“It is. My mom was pretty disappointed. But . . . I thought I knew what I wanted—and what Greg wanted. I was happy for a while there.”

She looked wistful and sad, and there was a part of him that wanted to know how she’d been hurt, what her ex had done to her. Had Greg wanted some other woman? That seemed hard to understand. But more focused questions would only increase the hurt in her eyes—and make him know her too well. Not good.

Emily sighed, regretting how easily Nate made her pour out things that were none of his business. Had he been disappointed she hadn’t been ambitious enough to work these last nine years? Many men expected a woman to share equally in paying the bills. But he didn’t seem to judge her, and she was grateful. Or else he was hiding his thoughts well. He was good at that, she suspected.

Was he good at keeping secrets, too? So far, she didn’t think he’d said one word about what they’d done together—even though the whole town knew something had happened. But he’d been a gentleman so far and forgiven her for leading him on. And she’d forgiven him for taking advantage.

He looked over her shoulder and briefly frowned.

She turned and saw that an older man had just come through the door and removed his cowboy hat. He had graying brown hair that matched his mustache, and the lean ranginess of a man who worked the land, dressed in tan work pants and a denim jacket. When the stranger spotted them, he gave a faint smile and approached their table.

Nate stood up, and whatever reservations he’d first had faded into an affectionate smile. “Hi, Dad.”

Emily straightened with eagerness but tried not to show it. Nate had kept his private life off the table, including info about his family. She imagined he even regretted that she’d befriended his sister. He was being far smarter than she was. But still . . .

Nate towered over his father, gesturing to Emily. “Dad, this is Emily Murphy. Emily, Doug Thalberg.”

“Nice to meet you, Ms. Murphy,” Mr. Thalberg said, his voice gruff and worn.

They exchanged a firm grip, and she liked the way he regarded her steadily, pleasantly. She couldn’t even read curiosity in his expression—and that would make him as unreadable as his son, which would make sense.

“You here for lunch, Dad? You could join us.”

“Thanks, but no, Deke Hutcheson is meetin’ me. But I’m early, so I’ll be glad to join you for a beer”—he crinkled his eyes at Emily—“if I’m not intrudin’.”

“Not at all,” Emily said.

Linda was already on her way carrying another Dale’s, along with Emily’s salad, and Mr. Thalberg took a seat.

“No offense, Ms. Murphy,” he said, “but I don’t recognize you. Did Nate meet you in Aspen?”

This was just another confirmation that Nate didn’t tell anyone—even his family—about her. But why wouldn’t Grandma Thalberg have mentioned her? Was the old widow trying to keep Emily hidden so that Nate would feel less family pressure? Before she could explain who she was, Nate answered for her. Biting her tongue at his presumption, she poured some of the dressing over her salad.

“Emily is only visiting Valentine, Dad. She’s Agatha Riley’s granddaughter, come to sell the building.”

Mr. Thalberg’s eyes focused on her. “Dot’s daughter.”

“Dot?” Emily echoed, smiling with bemusement before taking the first bite of her salad.

“A nickname. She hated it. Changed her name to Delilah, I know, but I couldn’t break the habit. We’d been friends too long. I was sorry to hear about her passin’.”