A Town Called Valentine: A Valentine Valley Novel by Emma Cane

mily knew they were connected too long. His hand was so big and warm and rough from working hard on the ranch every day. His hat shadowed his face in the afternoon sun, but that only made his eyes gleam even greener.
    A car slowed down as it went past them, and even that didn’t stop them—until she noticed the twin smirks from the two men in the car, men she’d seen that first night at the tavern. She pulled her hand away.
    “Don’t worry about them,” Nate said. “It’s just Ned and Ted Ferguson. Guess plumbing doesn’t keep them amused enough.”
    “So you don’t mind being on display for the whole town?” she asked skeptically.
    “On display? You make it sound like we’re doing something dirty rather than enjoying the sun.”
    “And the mountains,” she said at last, relaxing back on the bench, reluctantly enjoying the sexiness of his drawl. “It’s so beautiful here.”
    He took another bite of the apple tart and savored it.
    It had seemed like forever since a man had appreciated her cooking. But that memory took her back to her marriage, and she wasn’t going there.
    “Nate,” she began, then hesitated. “Just so you know, I’m not interested in dating anyone while I’m here. If you had other ideas, I’ll understand if you don’t keep dropping by.”
    He chuckled, exuding all that smoldering sexuality that seemed so unconscious on his part. But she would learn to be unaffected if it killed her. She reminded herself it had taken alcohol to make him respond to her.
    “I appreciate honesty in a woman.”
    And then he took another bite of her tart. She wasn’t sure he’d agreed to her conditions, but she let it go. It was a tentative, temporary friendship. It wasn’t as if she was tempted to confide in him about her grandmother’s letter. No, that was personal and none of his business. But of course, her mother must have been close to his father to ask for a loan—not the way you’d treat a man you were hiding a pregnancy from, thank God, because the thought of being Nate’s sister made her feel icky.
    Nate studied the play of emotions on Emily’s face, from happiness to hesitation to determination. She was telling the truth about not wanting to get involved with a guy, and he understood that. He wasn’t a getting-involved kind of guy, especially not with someone with her vast array of problems. And he’d already been so drawn to her, it was wise to keep anything from going further. She was right about his liking to rescue women. But it was more than that. He wanted to help people—too much. And then things went bad in ways he never intended, and people ended up resenting him.
    Like Lilly, his girlfriend sophomore year at Colorado State. She was his first real clue that he had a dangerous weakness. He’d fallen in love so fast, his head spun every time he looked at her. And that was a lot, because they spent all their free time together. She’d been a freshman, from a small town like he was, so lost her first few weeks of college that it had been easy to give her some suggestions—good classes to take, professors who’d go easy on her. He’d been a shoulder for her to cry out her homesickness, and he’d stupidly felt all puffed with pride, glad he could be there for her. A week or two before midterms that semester, her dad had gotten sick, and Nate ended up helping her study and get organized when she could barely think straight. They were both overwhelmed, but he was determined not to be like that sorry excuse for a man, his own biological father, who’d run out on his mom at the first difficulty. In hindsight, he could see now that he probably spent more time trying to keep Lilly afloat than having a good relationship. He didn’t seem to know how to do both. What poor woman would want a man who tried to do everything for her?
    To make it up to her, he’d stayed on campus with her during the break, but a freak snowstorm hit early up in the mountains, while his family was trying