A Town Called Valentine(79)

When Nate had gone, Emily leaned against the door and contemplated what he’d told her. It would be so easy to feel like a giddy teenager again. But she was a mature woman of thirty who knew her own mind, and he was a mature man who’d made mistakes and wouldn’t repeat them. All the better for her. His attention, his sweet consideration of her feelings, and the way he made her feel like the most desirable woman ever to inhabit the planet . . . those things were a balm to her spirit. The fact that he had such a weighty reason not to go any further reassured her.

But she felt sorry for him, too. He was still hurting about things that weren’t all his fault. She’d tried to tell him, but she guessed he didn’t believe her, not after long years of thinking the worst.

With a sigh, she sank onto the love seat and let her mind drift back to the moments spent in Nate’s arms. Then she shook herself, saying aloud, “Get yourself together, Emily Murphy. Emily Strong. Whoever you are.”

She might have had a different last name, if things had turned out differently. That put her back to the three men who might be her father—and if she were honest, there could be other candidates, but she couldn’t think about that right now. She’d almost told Nate about them, but decided to stand on her own two feet for a while and do her own investigating. Good thing, too, after what he’d just confided. There were only three likely men, after all, one of whom she’d already met. When she went in for more paint supplies, she would talk to Hal Abrams, try to get a feel for him. As for the other two men—she’d have to subtly ask questions.

She thought of the yearbooks then, and went to look at the black-and-white pictures of each. Fresh eager faces, and Hal Abrams looked different without a beard. Neither he nor the other two men seemed familiar to her at all, as if their genes might be part of hers. She couldn’t believe there was nothing here to give her a clue. With a groan, she flipped open one of the middle-school diaries and riffled the pages, Delilah’s handwriting a blur of schoolgirl penmanship. But right at the end, just before the book closed, she saw different ink, different writing.

Surprised, she opened it back up to the last written page. It was Delilah’s handwriting, but not the same. And the date—the date was April of her senior year. For some reason, she’d added an entry to her old diary. Even the page before was dated four years earlier.

Excited, nervous, Emily spread the book wide on her lap and began to read. It was about a boy, and her mother almost gushed about meeting him in secret down by the creek, or in a barn. But she never said his name! Over and over, she melodramatically mentioned his blue eyes seeing into her soul.

Blue eyes, just like Emily’s, but not her mom’s. There was only the one entry. Closing the book, she put her hand against it, and said, “Thanks for the clue, Delilah. At least it’s something.”

Brooke and Monica would be a good place to start. She was already relying on Nate enough, and it was obvious he didn’t want her to lean on him. It seemed . . . confusing to turn to him for entertainment, for renovations, for . . . hell, for foreplay, then consult him about her biological father. She wouldn’t get too dependent on him. He’d be hurt as badly as she would. She’d spent the last ten years being dependent on a man who’d given her every indication that he was dependable—until the worst happened.

She refused to go back to that woman who couldn’t seem to leave her bed last year. She was going forward one step at a time, and that was all she could ask of herself.





Chapter Seventeen



The next morning, Emily was in the back room of the flower shop making bows when Monica called out, “Em, there’s someone who wants to talk to you.”

Emily came through the door, then stopped in surprise on seeing Josh Thalberg standing at the counter, carrying a closed box.

“Hi, Josh,” Emily said, staring with interest at the box.

“Josh said you hadn’t been formally introduced,” Monica said doubtfully, “and I was to do the honors.”

Emily smiled at Josh, who returned the smile in a slow, aw-shucks way that was endearing. “We spoke once, but without exchanging names. And then I saw you at the ranch,” she said to Josh. “We never did get to say two words to each other yesterday.”

“Damn cows,” he said, nodding.

Monica spread her hands wide. “Ookay. Emily Murphy, this is Josh Thalberg.”

Josh put the box on the counter, and they shook hands. “Nice to finally meet you, Emily.”