grumbled, before taking a bite of her chicken drumstick.
Emily concentrated on her sandwich for a moment, controlling her tone, before saying, “Nope. But your grandmother is absolutely wonderful.”
“Thanks. And she really likes you. She says it’s a shame you’re leaving in a couple weeks.”
Emily explained about selling the building and moving on with her life.
“Doing what?” Monica asked.
Emily chewed a celery stick thoughtfully. “College. I’m enrolled at Berkeley for the fall semester. The first time I went, I was so in love, I dropped out to get married. It didn’t end well,” she murmured, and was grateful when the two women nodded with sympathy instead of asking questions. “Although I’m in liberal arts, I’m determined to find a more specific major that interests me.”
“You don’t sound like you did that before,” Brooke said.
Emily shrugged. “I didn’t. I’m hoping a school advisor can help me. Maybe take some kind of aptitude test or something. It’s sad to be thirty years old and not know what you want to do with your life. Monica, did you always know the flower shop was what you wanted?”
“No, I went to college. I took a lot of business courses because I knew I wanted to be my own boss. I’d always been creative—I used to draw and paint—so I tried interior design. That was when I realized it was the flowers I was drawn to more than the furniture or wallpaper. And luckily, the owner of the flower shop here in Valentine was ready to retire, so I assumed the lease. I keep taking classes, studying books, learning new things. And I love it.”
Emily was glad to hear that someone else had to figure out her career path—until Brooke spoke.
“I always knew what I would do.”
Monica groaned. “Isn’t she wonderful.”
“Hey, it’s a family business,” Brooke protested. “When you’re in the saddle by age three, guiding cattle to pasture by eight, and helping birth calves at fourteen, it’s kinda in your blood.”
Emily gaped at her. “I was playing soccer at fourteen—and even that seemed too complicated. Wow.”
“It’s not that impressive around here,” Brooke said with a shrug. “You smell like cow shit a lot. We were thigh deep in muddy irrigation ditches today, and I’ll be heading back there after lunch.”
“I bet Nate was there,” Monica said, using her carrots to scoop up a creamy dip even as she eyed Emily.
Emily ignored her.
“We all work the ranch together. My mom takes care of the books and keeping everyone fed. My dad and my two brothers work outside with me.” As they divided up the apple tarts, Brooke turned to Monica. “I saw your sister on TV last night.”
Emily glanced in surprise at Monica, who frowned.
“Oh, she likes being famous,” Monica answered flippantly.
“She’s a journalist at CNN,” Brooke explained. “She’s often out of the country covering whatever big disaster or battle is hot.”
“She likes the big-city life,” Monica said at last. “And I don’t. Kind of strange, for twins.”
“Twins?”
“Fraternal. We don’t look alike.”
“Sure you do,” Brooke said, rolling her eyes. “Like sisters, anyway. Okay, so Missy knows how to glam herself up.”
“Melissa,” Monica countered. “Let’s not forget that ‘Missy’ doesn’t sound professional. Doesn’t matter that’s what we all called her.”
“I’m sorry you and your sister aren’t getting along,” Emily said.
Monica smiled. “Thanks. You’re sweet. We used to. I never thought anything would separate us. We went off to college together, and afterward, she chose the big city, and I moved back home. Over the years, we seem to have . . . lost our connection.”
“I can’t believe that. You’re sisters.”
“Hey, you never know,” Brooke said, using her finger to swipe another crumb from the container. “I always thought my brothers got along great, but lately, I’ve sensed . . . I don’t know, tension or something.”
“Not Josh and Nate,” Monica said dismissively. “So they had an argument.”
Brooke shrugged, her eyes focused far away. So Fantasy Cowboy had some human weaknesses after all, Emily thought. It was a lot easier to hear about other people’s family problems than consider her own.
Nate knew he shouldn’t go anywhere near Emily’s building, but Valentine Valley was a small town, and on his way to the feed store, he ended up driving his pickup past her block. He glanced down the alley—being cautious, he told himself—and saw Emily dragging a huge stuffed chair a couple inches at a time toward the Dumpster. Once again, he got that immediate sensation of awareness and interest and concern that didn’t bode well.