“Have a seat,” Dr. Ericson said, keeping his shrewd eyes on her. “Nate didn’t say what this was about, only that you needed privacy. Not privacy from him, I take it.”
She shook her head. “It’s nothing to do with Nate. I could have come alone, but he knew you, and . . . I thought it would help smooth the way.”
The doctor steepled his fingers and regarded her over them, waiting.
“My mother was Dorothy Riley, and she grew up here.”
He didn’t look surprised. “I’ve heard who you are.”
“I’m just so popular,” she said lightly, then realized she was rubbing her damp palms on her skirt and stopped herself.
“It’s too bad you and your mom didn’t continue to visit,” Dr. Ericson said.
“Having finally spent some time here, I agree. But . . . my mother didn’t seem to have any good memories of Valentine, at least as a teenager. I recently learned that my mother was pregnant with me before leaving Valentine rather than afterward. My mom died last year, so I can’t talk to her. Could you look in your records and see if she came to you about this, if perhaps she mentioned the name of the father?”
He slapped his hands on the desk, startling her. “Don’t see why not. She was your mom, after all, and privacy laws don’t really matter now that she’s dead. But I’ll have to dig through the old files in the storage room. You two amuse yourselves. Nate, keep your hands off my skis.”
When he’d gone, Emily sank back in her chair and let out a heavy breath.
“You thought he wouldn’t help?” Nate asked.
“I was worried your legendary charm might not work on an old man.”
“My ‘legendary charm’?” He grinned.
She grinned back. “All a person has to do is walk around town with you. I’ve never seen so many women burst into smiles at just the sight of a man. What did you do for that kind of welcome?”
He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, and she laughed.
“Oh, please, not that young hostess at the Halftime,” she said.
“No, but she keeps trying. I like ’em a little older than twenty.”
“Let me guess—twenty-one?”
“Naw, my sister used to babysit Julie and some others her age. I’d feel like a pervert.”
“And that’s the only reason?”
He slouched in his chair and sent her a dangerous look. “I like a woman with a little more experience.”
She felt a pleasurable tension seep into her bones.
“Life experience, that is,” he added, flashing those dimples at her.
“Oh, you must mean divorced. My lucky day. I’m glad my bad judgment gives me an edge over perky college students.”
His laugh was a low rumble, and they kept looking at each other until Dr. Ericson marched back into the room, holding a folder in one hand.
“Damn, I’m organized,” he said with satisfaction, spreading open the folder.
Emily held her breath, shocked to find that she hoped her grandmother was somehow wrong, that Jacob Strong was her dad, that everything could go back to the way it was.
Chapter Thirteen
Nate reached to take Emily’s hand, then stopped himself. He saw both courage and fear in her face and knew that regardless of what had happened in his past, he didn’t have to brace for the unknown like she did.
Doc lifted his head and somberly narrowed his black eyes at Emily. “I remember your mom and her case quite well, but I wanted to confirm my memory before saying anything. She was definitely pregnant before she left town.”
Emily’s shoulders slumped. He couldn’t look away from her face, pale now, with a hint of tears she didn’t let fall. But . . . hadn’t she already known this? Or had some part of her still not wanted to believe?
Her voice trembled as she said, “Is there any mention of my—of the father?”
Doc shook his head. “I remember asking, but she refused to tell me even though I insisted that a young man deserved to know the truth. She said she’d do what was best, and that was the last I ever heard from her. Did see her in town once or twice when you were little, but that was all.”
Emily nodded, biting her lip, then managed a rueful smile. “If you don’t know the father’s name, I’m not sure how to find out. There was only one close friend, and she didn’t know about the pregnancy.”
“Guess you’ve got a mystery.”
Color was returning in splotches to her face, and her voice took on an edge of anger. “My father—the man I