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 to gather the herd to bring them down to the ranch. Brooke accidentally let slip how many cows were missing and feared dead, and Nate felt awful, like he’d let everyone down when he should have been there. He rushed home to help, even though he knew Lilly felt abandoned by him right when she needed him most. Though he loved her, she thought he was putting his family first. Furious about being on her own, she floundered in her classes, dropped out of school and out of his life. He hadn’t realized how he’d undermined her, but that was no excuse. It was a lot longer before he learned his lesson.
“Good morning, Emily and Nate!”
They turned to see Mrs. Ludlow, dressed in a tailored skirt and blouse, limping toward them with the aid of her walker. Her granddaughter, three or so years old, if Nate remembered, held on to one of the metal bars. He got to his feet and tipped his hat as Mrs. Ludlow came to a smiling stop.
“Well, it’s so pleasant to see you both,” she said with a smile.
To Nate’s surprise, Emily knelt right down on the sidewalk as if her bones had melted and smiled at the little girl.
“And who are you?” Emily asked.
The girl pulled her thumb out of her mouth, said, “Miri,” and popped it back in.
“It’s short for Miriam,” Mrs. Ludlow said with pride. “She’s one of my granddaughters.”
“Aren’t you so pretty?” Emily clapped her hands together.
The little girl giggled.
Emily glanced up at Mrs. Ludlow with such a sweet, happy expression, it was like a reality kick in the gut to Nate. He didn’t need a billboard sign to tell him she was the marrying kind of woman.
As the two women discussed Miri’s dress, handmade by Mrs. Ludlow, and Emily fingered the lace, he saw a pale line on her ring finger. Had she already been married? Or was she still?
Her background was none of his business.
Emily offered part of an apple tart to the little girl, then boosted her onto the bench to eat it.
“You’re just the kindest girl,” Mrs. Ludlow said, a bit too loudly. “You fit in well at the boardinghouse. We have a mission, I’ll have you know.”
“A mission?” Emily echoed. “Sounds mysterious.”
“Nothing political, of course,” Mrs. Ludlow said firmly. “But we take pride in Valentine Valley, and we