sounds really challenging.” Emily suddenly noticed a man’s jacket on the hook by the back door. “Uh-oh, someone might be cold tonight since he left that behind.”
“That would be Nate’s. He dropped by to see you.”
Emily stiffened in surprise.
“He fell asleep on the couch,” Mrs. Thalberg continued, shaking her head. “That poor boy works too hard. I think you should go wake him since he brought a box he says is for you.”
Two beers must have been too much, for Emily felt a pleasant little zing of warmth traveling through her veins.
Chapter Eight
Emily walked slowly through the dark dining room, wishing Mrs. Thalberg would’ve come with her. But the old woman had mentioned Nate, then disappeared up the back staircase, wiggling her fingers good-bye. Emily saw a box on the dining table, and much as she wanted to open it, she kept on going. The living room—or the parlor, as the widows enjoyed calling it—was decorated in country-printed fabrics and seemed to be the focus of whatever crafting talents the women possessed. There were crocheted pillows and afghans, needlepoint scenes on the walls, even a pile of rocks glued together—surely the talents of someone’s grandchild. But beneath the country charm, she could see modern touches: brand-new windows, newly stained floorboards, and elegant trim.
It was homey and feminine, which was why the sight of Nate sprawled across the too-small couch seemed out of place. His legs dangled over one armrest, and his hand rested on the floor. The ever-present cowboy hat was perched on his chest, rising and falling with his even breathing.
Emily tiptoed closer and stared down at him. Without her being able to see the knowing look he often wore, he seemed younger, more relaxed. The lines fanning out from his eyes were less evident. She found herself wanting to touch his unruly hair, straighten it.
And then he opened his eyes, and she jumped back with a gasp.
“God, you scared me!” she said in a loud whisper.
“I could say the same thing.” He swung his feet to the floor and sat up, setting his hat beside him and running his hands through his hair.
“It’s still sticking up,” Emily said, unable to help herself.
He rolled his eyes even as he absently fingered it again. Glancing at the grandfather clock standing guard in the corner, he said, “It’s past midnight.”
She folded her arms over her chest. “Your point?”
“My sister’s cranky when she doesn’t get enough sleep.”
“She’s a big girl.”
He rose to his feet, six-plus feet of him, taking her breath away with his lean, rangy height and all that masculinity.
“You smell like beer,” he said.
And suddenly she remembered what had happened the last time she had a beer with him. The bar had had the same dark shadows as now enfolded them in the parlor, making her feel like they were alone in the world.
“I was much more careful this time,” she said.
The corners of his lips turned up with a touch of bad-boy humor.
“Do you dance as well as your sister?” she asked.
“Is that an invitation?”
The awkwardness she’d been hoping to avoid returned with a vengeance. “Sorry, I was only teasing.”
He ran a hand down his face. “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be flirting. It’s a habit with me and the female of the species. You’ll have to break me of it.”
She laughed. “You’re probably not thinking straight, having just woken up. I guess I should’ve called your grandmother to let her know how late I’d be.”
“No curfew at the Widows’ Boardinghouse. That Mrs. Ludlow likes to party all night long.”
Emily covered her mouth although a snort of laughter escaped.
“I decided to hang around,” Nate continued, grinning. “There’s always something that needs fixing.”
“Really?” She wandered away from him, toward the front hall and the beautifully carved woodwork of the staircase banister. “From the way your grandmother talks—and from what I’ve seen myself—you did a superb job the first time you worked on this house. You really did it all yourself?”
He shrugged. “I grew up helping my dad in his woodworking shop.”
“There must be a lot of things to fix on a ranch.”
“I like making things work.”
She leaned against the banister even as Nate came closer, standing beneath the arched entrance of the parlor. “What did you work on tonight?”
He pointed to the banister behind her head, and she jumped away with a wince.
He laughed softly. “No, I was just teasing. That’s solid and well over a hundred years old. I sanded and stained it a couple years ago, but that’s