Deke shuddered. “Naw, this tastes like horse piss, but the company’s not bad.”
Bill Chernoff patted his slight paunch. “No Sweetheart Inn cookies to tempt me.”
She narrowed her eyes in puzzlement. “Sweetheart Inn cookies?”
“That’s where Suzie gets her coffee-dippin’ cookies next door.”
“I see.” She glanced at Hal and smiled. She was about to ask him where the drywall was, when Deke spoke.
“Never did get to eat at the restaurant that rented your grandma’s store. What are you doing with the place?”
All four eyed her, suddenly serious.
“I’m selling the building and returning home to San Francisco.”
“But your people come from here,” Francis said, bushy brows lowered in confusion.
For just a moment, she thought about asking questions about her mother even though these men were older than Delilah. But this was a very public forum—and she didn’t want to know, she reminded herself. “I wasn’t born here, but thanks for including me. It would have been nice to be raised in such a beautiful place.”
“It’s hard work keeping it beautiful,” Bill said. “You’ll find out when you put the building up for sale. Only certain stores fit in.”
Was he on the preservation-fund committee? she wondered with amusement.
“You never know who wants to move here,” Francis said, shaking his head. “Big-city folk from Denver want everything left ‘unspoiled,’ they say, as if our hundred-year-old ranches don’t belong here.”
“And then there’s the tourists,” Deke practically spat.
“They look harmless to me,” she said, “holding hands and taking pictures and eating at your restaurants.”
“But then they rent their ATVs. Punk-ass kids take down my NO TRESPASSING signs and ride through my hay like it’s just grass in a meadow.”
They all seemed to grumble under their breaths, nodding in agreement.
“Strangers bought up that house my boy’s been saving for,” Francis said. “Cash money, too.”
Hal shrugged at her, his expression regretful, as if he knew she had better things to do at his store.
The door jangled, and she glanced over her shoulder, stiffening as Nate Thalberg walked in, Scout at his heels. He had work gloves tucked into his belt and a scarf around his neck as if he’d just come from the ranch.
Deke patted his cell phone on the table. “These little things can be handy.”
Chapter Nine
She wanted to groan. Why had Deke called Nate? Then she saw all four older men grinning at each other, and she remembered that they had all probably speculated on what she and Nate had been doing in the back room at Tony’s. She tried to keep a smile on her face, knowing they thought they were teasing her but not appreciating being the butt of their joke.
The amused glances they shot at Nate made her realize that perhaps she wasn’t the target. Yet she couldn’t miss the fondness in the old ranchers’ eyes when Nate ambled over to shake hands with everyone. After nosing her hand, Scout went from knee to knee, wriggling in canine delight at each petted greeting.
“Moved the herd to the next pasture yet?” Francis asked, stroking his mustache with interest.
Nate began to talk about conditions up on their grazing lands and asking about the health of everyone’s cattle. He might be the son of their fellow ranch owner, but they treated him with the respect of a contemporary.
Though the conversation was interesting, Emily had work to do. She turned away and began to examine the racks behind her stocked with patching supplies, writing down some prices. But it was hard to concentrate when they started talking about an upcoming local rodeo, because images of Nate on horseback kept intruding on her thoughts. Would she be able to watch him compete? No, no, she’d be gone by then, she reminded herself sternly.
She wasn’t certain how much time had passed until Nate spoke right behind her. “A different brand is on sale at the end of the rack.”
She gave a start, then glanced over her shoulder to see him grinning.
“Concentrating, huh?” he said. “Such dedication.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“So what do you need?” He looked over her shoulder at her growing list. “Drywall. Yep. Don’t buy all those tools on your list. I have plenty you can borrow.”
Once again, he was trying to do her a favor, and though part of her bristled, the practical side of her was reluctantly grateful for anything that saved her money. “Thank you.” She picked up the patching compound that he’d shown her was on sale, trying not to feel embarrassed at revealing even more of her financial problems. But then again, the way Valentine Valley