A Town Called Valentine(88)
Brooke boldly walked halfway down the aisle, then sat down. Emily slid in beside her, feeling nervous.
“Don’t worry, lots of people come to gawk,” Brooke said in a soft voice. “There’s a lot of history here. You really should take the tour sometime. Can-can dancers from France made a special stop here in the silver boom days.”
But Emily was only half listening. “Do you see Steve Keppel?”
Brooke looked at each man, then shook her head. “Not here.”
“Damn.” Emily started to stand up.
Brooke pulled her back down. “Where you going? He’s their boss. He’ll check in eventually. That way we won’t have to look even more suspicious tracking him down.”
Fifteen minutes later, when Emily thought she’d memorized everything on the walls, a man in jeans and a button-down work shirt walked down the main aisle, right past them.
Brooke squeezed her arm, and whispered, “That’s him.”
Though his hair was faded and thin on top, Steve Keppel was a redhead. Emily thought of her own strawberry blond hair—could this be her father? Her stomach twisted in knots as she continued to study him. Besides a slight paunch, he had the broad frame of a man who worked with his hands for a living. He talked to each employee doing repairs in a polite, unemotional voice. No kidding around, no cracking jokes. He looked down the aisle toward someone in the back, and she thought his eyes were dark. Too dark. But she wasn’t close enough to be certain. Her gaze stayed glued to Steve, who walked down to the stage and began going through boxes.
“One of his daughters dated Josh, now that I think about it,” Brooke said slowly. “I think he complained that her dad was a stickler about curfews. A real straight arrow.”
“Doesn’t sound like the kind of man my mom preferred,” Emily replied, sighing. “People do change, of course. And there’s the hair. And did his eyes look dark to you?”
Brooke glanced at her. “The hair doesn’t look like your color, so it’s hardly proof of anything. But yeah, I thought his eyes seemed dark, too. Do you want to go talk to him?”
“No. It just feels wrong. Let’s go find Joe Sweet.” As they stood up and walked up the aisle, past a couple of gawking tourists, she added, “Thanks for not pushing the issue, Brooke. I need to take things at my own pace.”
“And that’s why you didn’t go to my brother about this.” Brooke grinned.
As they walked through the lobby, Emily shook her head. “No, that’s not it at all. Nate respects whatever I ask him to.” She didn’t meet Brooke’s eyes, feeling a high-school blush heat her face. She was hardly a teenager hiding her first sexual encounter, but her intimacy with Nate seemed too private and special to be shared right away. Especially with his sister. “It’s just . . . I need to rely on myself.”
Brooke laughed. “I understand, believe me. On to the Sweetheart Inn. If it was a beautiful day, I’d suggest walking, but in this rain, let’s hop in my Jeep.”
Like everything in Valentine Valley, the inn wasn’t too far away. Emily had often seen its windows reflecting the sun during the day, and its lights twinkling at night, seeming to float above the town on the slopes of the Elk Mountains. They entered the grounds from Mabel Street, and Emily admired the lush gardens and trees, giving her a feeling of remote peacefulness. The inn itself was three floors of elaborate white-sided Queen Anne, with levels of gables and turrets, towering chimneys, and several covered porches trimmed with sunburst details in the corners. A few stained-glass windows added color. Daffodils and tulips bloomed everywhere, and banks of forsythia bushes were bursts of yellow among the greenery.
“Wow,” Emily breathed, as they drove past the inn and toward the parking lot off Bessie Street.
“Beautiful, huh? The original Sweets were miners who hit it rich, then came here to Valentine to expand into ranching. Joe’s dad built a modern ranch house nearer to their fields, and his mom turned this old place into an inn. Not as pricey as in Aspen, but the most expensive place in town. The most elegant restaurant, too.”
“And the pastry chef,” Emily said, remembering how everyone ordered his work.
“Oh no,” Brooke suddenly said, pulling into a parking spot and looking over her shoulder. “I just saw Joe’s truck heading down the road.”
“Are you sure he was in it?” Emily asked with disappointment.
“I’d recognize that blazing white Stetson anywhere. Should we follow him?”