A Town Called Valentine(83)

And this Emily showed off a lot of cleavage, she thought ruefully. Glancing down at her chest still made her start with surprise, as if she hadn’t finished dressing. She’d dressed much more conservatively in San Francisco, and not because Greg had tried to control what she wore. She just had a different sort of life then.

Now, it gave her pleasure to see the way Nate couldn’t take his eyes off her, and once she even had to remind him that he was driving. It took twenty minutes to reach Aspen, where he parked the car, and they wandered hand in hand through the small town. Victorian gingerbread homes gave way to impressive mansions that perched on the hillsides through the valley. But the town itself still clung to its cozy village charm. He took her on a gondola ride up the mountain so that she could gape at the incredible view of the green valley spread below her and the snow-topped mountains all around her. They window-shopped the little boutiques on the Cooper Avenue Mall, a touristy area where a little creek ran through a tree-shaded boulevard. She gaped at the clothing prices and insisted she didn’t need to try anything on. He even begrudgingly followed her into the little history museum, where she learned all about the nineteenth-century mining that had begun the transformation of a remote encampment to the eventual mecca for the world’s wealthy. For dinner, he took her to a small, candlelit restaurant, where the chef came out to greet him like an old friend. Nate later explained that he and the chef had common friends in an organic farmer down valley, but Emily thought he was leaving things out. She didn’t blame him.

On the trip back to Valentine, the darkness enveloped them in the truck cab, and Nate took her hand. “Would you like to come back to my cabin for a drink?”

She glanced at him without surprise. She enjoyed being with Nate, and found his notion of dating much easier than she’d imagined. There was no pressure, for she knew he wasn’t looking for a wife. She’d spent her life longing to be someone’s wife, looking for the family and stability she’d never had. And look where that had gotten her! If she didn’t go to Nate’s cabin, was she still protecting herself? How was she supposed to live a new life like that? Maybe she was being too cautious, too careful. It was time to be as sexually casual as everyone else in the twenty-first century.

“Since you haven’t answered my question,” Nate finally said, “should I take it back? Maybe I’m rushing you.”

As they turned off the highway, heading toward the deeper darkness of the mountain silhouettes, she unbuckled her seat belt and slid beneath his arm. “No, you’re not rushing me. I’d love to see your place.”

She felt his hand in her hair, and she could have purred at the pleasure of it. She wasn’t going to think about anything else but him and the night and the passion they’d felt combust between them since the first moment they met.

Silver Creek Ranch was dark beneath the starlit sky as they rode between the hayfields and the creek. When the pickup turned into a driveway, a spotlight came on over a garage. Nate’s cabin was made of logs, old, she could tell, but kept in good shape. Scout was waiting just inside, and he joyously greeted them before running past into the night.

“Is there a fence to keep him in?” she asked dubiously.

Nate shook his head. “He knows his way around. Sometimes he’s gone for hours.”

“Will he need to be let back in?”

He met her gaze. “He’ll wait on the porch until I come for him.”

“Ah, how handy.”

“I know how to train a dog.”

Inside, he’d opened up the main living area into one room, with a kitchen and its island in one corner, dark cabinets gleaming with silver touches. As he flipped on more accent lights, she realized that the focus of the room was a pool table.

She arched a brow at him, and he grinned.

“I never hid my enjoyment of the game,” he said, going to the wet bar at the end of the kitchen counter. “Would you like a glass of wine?”

“Anything white would be fine.” She kept staring at the pool table, remembering. She heard soft music turn on, something sensual in rhythm and blues.

He brought her a glass of wine, then stood at her side as she took a sip. “Every time I look at this table, I remember.”

“Good or bad memories?” she asked, glancing at him with amusement.

“Both, I guess. You were . . . wild that night, and I enjoyed every minute of it. And then it was over, and I never got to see how the game ended.”