A Town Called Valentine(55)

“You’re talkin’ that first night when you two were settin’ the town gossips afire?”

“Yeah, that night.” Nate sighed. “I didn’t know anything about her except that she was down on her luck. And I didn’t want her to think . . .”

His dad put his hands on his hips. “That you’re more than a dirt-poor cowboy?”

“Something like that.” But not really. He waited for his dad to cuss him up one side and down the other.

But his dad just studied him for a moment, his gaze unreadable. “You’re a grown man, Nate. I’m not tellin’ you what to do.”

Nate felt strange, wondering why his dad didn’t interfere a bit more where Emily was concerned. Did he know something Nate didn’t? “Why did you invest in something so risky as a new age store, Dad?”

Doug shrugged. “Why not? Dot had collateral and had already proven she could make a success of the store. She wanted to expand. Perhaps you get your good head for investments from me.”

They grinned at each other.

Nate didn’t like keeping secrets from his dad, and this new one Emily had confided in him was important. His dad had known Delilah after all, and Nate hoped Emily would want to hear Doug’s opinion.

“You see, Dad, Emily has this problem. She just found out that her mom was actually pregnant with her when she left town.”

Doug arched a brow. “I never heard that.”

“No one did, so this is just between us. It was Agatha Riley’s info, and Emily just found out about it. She’s going to ask Doc Ericson if he’s got the name of the father.”

Doug put a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t let her have you believing I might be on a boyfriend list.”

Nate smiled. “She says you’re not, that her mom never would have come to you for money if she was keeping something that big from you.”

“I’m sure you’re relieved,” Doug said dryly.

It was Nate’s turn to shrug. “It shouldn’t matter—she won’t be here much longer.”

“You tell yourself that, son. And you go ahead and help her as long as you need to.”

Nate stiffened. “I’m not at the ranch as much as I should be, but I’m able to keep track of a lot of the paperwork by phone and e-mail. It’s just that she doesn’t know what the hell she’s doing even though she insists she doesn’t need help. I have to show her how to use my tools, or she might break ’em.”

Doug slowly smiled. “Are you tellin’ me or yourself?”

“You,” Nate said irritably.

“Then don’t worry. We can do with less of your time until the hay’s ready to be cut. Frankly, your mom and I were sayin’ it’s been rather peaceful on the ranch lately.”

“You’re talking about what’s been going on between me and Josh.”

Doug shrugged. “You’re both adults; you’ll figure it out. Unless you want advice.”

“Nope.”

“Why am I not surprised.”

There was a note taped to the front door of the restaurant in Monica’s scrawled hand, sending Emily to the alley, where she found a sturdy coffee table with only a few scratches. She ducked into Monica’s workroom from the back door, going past the big walk-in coolers with their explosion of colorful flowers, and the worktables with racks of ribbon spools and containers of wire and other supplies.

In the showroom, she waited while Monica finished with a customer, then said, “A coffee table?”

“It’s not from me,” Monica said, leaning back against the counter and crossing her arms over her chest. “Brooke left it. She said it was in storage after the boardinghouse renovation. Oh, that reminds me.” She reached beneath the counter for a bag and handed it over. “It couldn’t be left in the alley.”

Emily peered inside at a bundle of white eyelet cotton fabric. “What’s this?”

“Curtains. It appears the widows are concerned you’re letting the whole town see in at night. I’m assuming one of them handmade them for you, since Mrs. Ludlow asked me to measure my own front window to compare the size. Hope you have a plain rod across the top, just like I have.”

“That is so incredibly generous,” she murmured, staring down into the bag. She was still so amazed by how the residents of Valentine Valley were going out of their way to help her. She felt . . . cared for, rather than another anonymous face people passed by in the big city. “You’re all so generous—and that includes your Mrs. Wilcox.”