the house for Josh, then out in the barn. The door of the converted tack room was ajar, and he walked by Brooke in her horse’s stall without saying a word. Scout slunk in with her instead of following him. Then he spotted Josh bent over his workbench, using a tiny knife on a long strip of leather.
“I just went to look at the status of the rodeo stock—Josh, I forgot to order it.” He slapped a hand to his forehead. “I don’t know what happened.”
Brooke stepped into the doorway and looked between them uncertainly. “Nate?”
He grimaced at her. “Brooke—”
“Calm down,” Josh interrupted, setting down his knife. “Everything’s okay.”
Nate groaned and said to Brooke, “It’s not okay. The rodeo might not go on because I forgot to order—”
“I ordered it,” Josh said simply.
Nate gaped at him. “The stock? For the rodeo?”
“Is ordered. I was curious, looking through all the prep that you do for this event, and I noticed your usually meticulous spreadsheet wasn’t filled out. So I called and took care of it. I got it all in a notebook, and just didn’t log it into the computer yet. Sorry to scare you.”
Nate leaned back against the worktable and closed his eyes. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for. You saved my ass.”
Josh grinned. “Someone had to.”
Nate popped him in the shoulder, and Josh did the same back.
Brooke rolled her eyes. “How old are you two?”
Nate felt positively elated with relief. “Obviously, I’m not old enough. I can’t believe I made such a mistake.”
“You’re human,” Josh said simply.
“And now you’ll probably say I told you so, that I’m spreading myself too thin,” Nate said in a glum voice.
“Nope, you draw your own conclusions, big brother. But I’ve always got your back.”
Josh bent over his etching, Brooke whistled and returned to her horse, and Nate stood there, wondering if he’d overextended himself by getting involved with Emily—too involved.
That night at dinner, with Nate’s whole family gathered around, including Grandma Thalberg and Aunt Marilyn, Emily seemed like a pretty, bubbling flower in their midst, smiling and laughing, and looking so at ease.
Nate felt anything but. It was as if he didn’t know himself anymore, his feelings for Emily, his confusion over what Josh had been saying. He wasn’t used to feeling confused about anything.
And then she smiled at him, and he saw her in her pretty sleeveless top and flowered skirt, looking beautiful and happy, her hair a mass of red-gold curls, as if she took special care just for him and his family. He had to tell her the truth, that he was getting too close, that he’d hurt her. He’d already almost hurt the ranch. He had to break up with her, just as he’d done with so many other women over the years. But this time, this time, he felt the hurt, too.
Emily had a lovely evening with Nate’s family, even if Nate, though smiling and occasionally cracking jokes, seemed a bit preoccupied. On the drive back to her apartment, she didn’t know how to ask him if anything was wrong—didn’t want to force him to talk when he wasn’t ready. After all, he wasn’t the one who’d invited her to the big family dinner. But she had to say something.
“Brooke and I went to the Royal Theater the other day. And no, it wasn’t for a film festival. I’m saving all those for you.”
His white teeth glimmered in the darkness of the pickup. “And I’m so grateful. That Bette Davis was some hot chick.”
She laughed. “Actually, we went so I could spy on Steve Keppel.”
He glanced at her. “Why?”
“Because Cathy Fletcher gave me his name as one of the teenagers who hung around at my mom’s family store.”
“Aah,” he said, nodding. He pulled into the alley behind her building and stopped the car, watching her with interest. “And do you think he’s a possibility?”
She shrugged. “He has red hair, but his manner seems so . . . serious. And Brooke said he was a stickler about curfews, hardly the kind of guy my mom would choose.”
“But people change.”
“You sound like your sister, but yes, you’re both right. I just didn’t get a . . . gut feeling about him. And then there are the eyes.”
He smiled. “The eyes? A window to the soul?”
Laughing, she said, “I found an entry in my mom’s diary after all, just one, from her senior year. Although