A Town Called Valentine - By Emma Cane Page 0,64

an eye on the store on your first day? I’ll bring back lunch, too.”

“Uh . . . lunch hour? Isn’t that a busy time?”

“Sure it is, but you’ll do fine. The cash register walks you through any purchase, and you seemed to pick that up easily. If they want to place a large order, have them make an appointment with me. Here’s the calendar. Most people just want to pick out some flowers for whatever occasion is happening that day, and often, they know exactly what they want. If not, show them some flowers. Just check the price list to give them a ballpark figure. And play up the crafts and plants—they make great gifts! If you’re really stuck, remember, I’ll be back in half an hour. People will understand.”

Monica hurried out, as if she might break down in front of Emily and didn’t want to. It made her think again that she might have her own sister out there. She was almost glad when a customer walked in. While the older gentleman sampled a piece of coffee cake, she wrapped up a half dozen roses for him in a fancy white box. By the time she was done, a younger man in his twenties was hovering near the displays at the front of the store. He was tall and lean, in cowboy boots and jeans, a typical outfit in Valentine. He wore a leather vest over a t-shirt, and it seemed to go with the stubble on his face.

When she came up behind him, he swept off his cowboy hat and turned to face her. She could have stopped in her tracks at the tousled brown hair that framed storm cloud gray eyes. He was too handsome by far, straight nose, full mouth, even with a scar that curved on his chin.

“Afternoon, miss,” he said, nodding to her.

Colorado cowboys were so polite. “May I help you?” she asked.

He hesitated, his hands curling the edge of his hat.

“Flowers for a girlfriend?” she suggested.

He shook his head. “No girlfriend. Guess I was looking at all the crafts you have here.”

“Everyone in Valentine seems so talented. You’ll be able to find a gift for anyone.”

“It’s not so much a gift I’m looking for. Thought I’d ask about how to submit something to be sold in your store.”

“I see.” She gave him a frank smile. “I’m sorry, but it’s my first day, and I haven’t been taught about the consignment part of the business. Monica should be back in fifteen minutes or so. Would you like to wait for her?” When he hesitated, she realized she didn’t want to let him go so easily. “What do you make?”

“I tool leather—creating designs and patterns,” he added, when he saw her clueless look. “I’ve made frames, wallets, belts, and saddlebags, to name just a few.”

“Do saddlebags sort of look like purses?”

He smiled. “Sort of, but don’t tell a ranch hand that.”

“Leather purses tooled by a handsome cowboy? I think those would sell, too.”

“Depending on my talent,” he added dryly.

“Well, of course, but I didn’t think you’d be venturing into the flower shop if you didn’t think you had talent.”

His smile spread into a grin, and she found herself wondering how many hearts he’d broken.

“So do you want to wait for Monica?”

“Naw, I’ll catch up with her later. I want to see the look on her face when I bring a sample by.”

“So you know her?”

“ ’Course. She was just a couple years ahead of me in school.”

Emily found herself wondering if Monica could use her own cowboy distraction right around now. Nate was working wonders on Emily’s frame of mind. She had barely thought about her hunt for her father all morning as she looked forward to a drywall session with him.

“Then come on back when you’re ready,” Emily told the cowboy as he walked to the door. “Can I tell her who stopped by?”

“Now that would ruin the surprise.” Grinning, he slipped on his hat and tipped it toward her. “Afternoon, miss.”

Emily watched him walk down the street, shaking her head. You didn’t meet men like that in San Francisco—what a shame.

That evening, when darkness began to creep over them, Nate was answering e-mails in the ranch office. At last he sat back and let his mind wander tiredly—and it immediately went to Emily. He’d see her in the morning, and he was eager for it.

He could be careful. It wasn’t as if he was unaccustomed to dating and enjoying himself, ending it when

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