“And she didn’t like my family,” he continued, a trace of bitterness in his voice now. “She thought they were too concerned with us and what we did. She didn’t like that the ranch and the inn were so important to me, often saying they were more important than she was.” He winced. “But that’s no excuse for . . .” He gestured toward her. “For this.”
Emily flinched.
Joe’s eyes went wide, and he reached toward her, but stopped before touching her hand. “That came out wrong. I’m sorry. I just don’t know what to call this—this situation between us. I mean . . . I think you’re my daughter.”
He didn’t sound angry so much as bewildered and hesitant, and something in Emily relaxed the tiniest bit.
“Until a couple weeks ago,” she whispered, “I had the memory of a wonderful man as my dad, even though he died when I was seven. I’d feel better if we had a DNA test just to make sure. We really don’t know who else my mother might have . . .”
And then she trailed off, because she couldn’t stop looking at him, and he seemed to be feeling the same thing.
“No problem,” he said in a husky voice. “But I think . . . I think . . . you look like my mom.”
Emily was almost shocked when a tear rolled down her cheek. And then he touched her hand, and he was trembling as much as she was. Her mind, which had been so focused on him, started reeling. It was true—she really had another family, brothers, a sister.
She drew her hand away. “I . . . I heard you’re married, right?”
He nodded, not looking offended by her withdrawal. “My wife’s name is Faith, and we’ve been together thirty years.”
“Right after my mom left?”
He winced and glanced at Nate. “Faith was a good friend and helped me realize what true love was. We have three sons and a daughter.”
He kind of stumbled on the last word, and she smiled awkwardly, wondering if he would someday include her as another daughter when he talked about his family.
Her family. Three brothers and a sister. She’d wanted nothing but a close family her whole life, and had failed time and again, first with her mom, then with her own marriage. And now there were all these new people. Joe looked . . . okay with it so far, even eager, but how would his wife feel? His children? Would that make him change his mind about his own feelings?
It seemed overwhelming, all these people she was now connected to in Valentine, Nate and Joe, Monica and Brooke, the widows at the boardinghouse—so many people, so many new ways to be hurt. It was suddenly too much.
Joe cleared his throat. “Maybe . . . maybe you could come to dinner sometime.”
She stood up hastily. “I—I don’t know. I’ll be leaving town soon—oh, but of course, I promise I’ll visit, and we can get to know each other. But—but I can’t stay, not really. I grew up in San Francisco, and my life is there.”
Nate was staring at her, his expression impassive as she foolishly babbled. Was she hurting him, or would he be relieved when she left? She didn’t want to hurt anyone—including herself.
“Nate, I’m really not too hungry, and I promised Monica I’d work today. Do you mind if we leave?”
Joe got to his feet, too. “Emily, it was nice to meet you.”
He put out a hand, and she slowly took it. He cupped hers in both of his and smiled at her. Her throat felt so tight she didn’t think she could swallow, but she managed a smile in return.
“We’ll talk again when you’re ready,” Joe said. “You let me know.”
She nodded and hurried away without a backward glance, hoping Nate was following.
Chapter Twenty-two
When Emily arrived through the back door of the flower shop, Monica looked up from an arrangement she was designing.
“Well, well, well,” Monica said with interest. “I never saw your lights go on last night after your big dinner with Nate.”
Emily gave her a wry, tired grin. “He booked a room. That is such a beautiful place.”
Monica continued to study her. “Well?”
Emily sat down on a stool. “I guess you’re not talking about Nate.”
“Did you see Joe?”
“We talked.” Emily had to swallow again. There was a lump in her throat that wouldn’t seem to go away. She’d had it during the