“Avoiding the question!” Madeline called out, pointing at her like a courtroom attorney. “No one is trying to put a ring on it. We just want to know who he is. I mean, it’s not like total strangers show up at Homecoming Ranch every day.”
“What are you talking about? Total strangers show up all the time. We do destination events, remember? We run a veterans’ rehab center.”
“Okay, they don’t show up for you,” Madeline amended.
“Fine,” Emma said, giving in. “He thinks I have something that belongs to a guy we both know. He had to come to Colorado for something or other, I don’t know, and he stopped by to ask about it.” She lifted her palms up to indicate that was all there was.
“That’s it? That’s the reason he came all the way out to Homecoming Ranch? Why didn’t he just call you? If he knew you were there, he must have had your number.”
“I don’t know,” Emma said, squirming a bit. “What are you, a detective?”
“He’s so hot,” Libby enthusiastically continued, nudging Emma. “I mean, I’m totally in love with Sam, but I think that guy is freaking hot.”
Inexplicably, that annoyed Emma even more. “Jesus, is sex all you guys think about?”
“It’s not all we think about,” Madeline said.
Emma groaned with exasperation. “I would really like to speak to a waiter.” She looked back over her shoulder. “I could have downed two drinks by now.”
“Wait, I’m confused,” Libby said. “Who’s the guy you and Cooper both know? And what does he think you have?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know? You mean that totally hot Cooper came all the way out to the ranch, without calling, to ask for something back from that guy and you don’t know what he was asking for? Something doesn’t smell right,” Madeline pressed. “Like, why you, why he came here, why didn’t the other guy come himself, what he thinks you have—”
“A medal, okay?” Emma said, interrupting Madeline. She managed to catch the waiter’s eye; he started for their table.
“A medal!” Libby exclaimed loudly, as if she’d never heard the word before. “What kind of medal?”
“I don’t know, Libby, a medal. How should I know? A glass of cabernet,” she said to the waiter, who appeared tableside.
Madeline and Libby ordered drinks, and Libby ordered an appetizer. “I don’t know why, but I am so hungry all the time,” she said sheepishly.
“Maybe you’re pregnant,” Emma suggested. “You should get a pregnancy test on the way home.”
Libby’s eyes rounded. “No!” she said, and laughed nervously. “No, I can’t be.”
“She’s not pregnant,” Madeline said.
“How do you know?” Libby demanded, but Madeline waved her off and fixed her gaze on Emma again.
Emma picked up the menu and began to peruse it.
“I think it would be nice if you invited Hot Guy for dinner.”
Emma lowered her menu and pinned Madeline with a look of annoyance. “Do you, Madeline? And why would that be nice of me? Would it be nice to invite everyone in town who happens to be from California?”
“No,” Madeline drawled. “But it would be nice of you to invite someone you know, who happens to be in town alone. It’s called hospitality.”
“It’s called manipulation,” Emma said. “And you’re very good at it.”
“Don’t think of it as a date, because I know that’s what you’re thinking,” Madeline doggedly continued, unruffled by Emma’s remark. “We’ll be there, won’t we, Libs?”
“Of course!”
“Do either of you realize how aggressive you’re being right now?” Emma blurted, searching for anything to get them to stop. “It may be your main goal in life to get a man, but it’s not mine. It’s none of your business if I know Cooper or not. And anyway, I don’t like him, okay? Don’t. Like. Him. It’s not my problem if he’s a stranger in town, and honestly, I couldn’t care less. And finally, Madeline, you of all people should know I’m really not hospitable.”
Madeline laughed. “Oh, I know,” she agreed. “But I would love to see you untwist a little.”
“Yeah, well, that’s not going to happen,” Emma said, and lifted her menu again.
“But . . .” Libby squirmed in her seat.
“Don’t you start,” Emma warned her.
“No, no, I’m not starting. You don’t like him, fine. But don’t you ever . . . don’t you ever just want to . . . you know.”
“Have sex,” Madeline said flatly. “It’s not a dirty word.”
There was no way to explain to these women that she didn’t want to have sex. Wait—that wasn’t entirely accurate. Her body wanted sex—real sex, good sex—not the sex she generally had. And if she were going to have really good sex, it would be with someone like Cooper. Okay, it would be with Cooper. And that was definitely outside the realm of possibilities. It was all too complicated in her head. “I’m good.”
“Okay,” Libby said with a shrug. “It’s your life. I’m just surprised, that’s all, because you don’t seem the type to be celibate at all. Madeline, maybe, but not you.”
“Hey!” Madeline protested.
Emma smiled. “What makes you think I’m celibate?”
“You just said—”
“No, you just said. I’m not celibate. Anything but,” she added, and felt a funny little flip of her gut.
“Really?” Madeline leaned forward. “Here’s a question. How many guys have you been with?”
“Well, that’s awfully personal,” Libby said, clearly appalled.
“I know,” Madeline said cheerfully. “But we’re sisters, aren’t we? Seems like something sisters would ask each other. Wouldn’t they? If we’d known each other all our lives instead of a few months, would we not have asked this very question along the way?”
“Are you drunk?” Libby whispered loudly.
“No! Okay, I’ll go first,” Madeline offered. She looked around to see if anyone might overhear, then said low, “I’ve been with four.”
“Congratulations,” Emma said drily.
“You’ve been with four?” Libby exclaimed, as surprised as Emma was unimpressed.
“What? Is that too few or too many? Did you think Luke was my first?”
“Sort of,” Libby admitted, which made Emma laugh with delight.
“Are you kidding? I’m thirty, Libby!” Madeline exclaimed as the waiter arrived with their drinks and deposited them on the table. When he’d gone, Madeline asked Libby, “How many have you been with?”
“Oh gosh.” Libby squinted at the ceiling, her lips moving as she counted. “Five,” she said. “Including Sam, of course. That sounds like a lot, doesn’t it? I’m really not a slut. I mean, I always thought I’d marry my first.”
That earned her a pair of looks from Emma and Madeline.
“Okay, all right, I’m old-fashioned that way,” Libby said, waving her hand, clearly embarrassed now. “What about you, Emma? How many?”
“Too many to count,” Emma said honestly.
“No, seriously,” Libby said, nudging her. “How many?”
“I am serious. Too many to count.” She didn’t know if that was entirely accurate—she fooled around more than she had sex, really—but Emma was almost twenty-eight years old, and the last few years had not been good. She wasn’t going to count, afraid of what she might discover.
“So you’re a slut?” Madeline asked with a snort.
“Basically.”
Madeline wasn’t buying it, judging by the exaggerated roll of her eyes. “Okay, so don’t play our little game. What about this—have you slept with anyone famous?”
Emma thought about that for a moment. “Fame is such a subjective thing—”
“Nope, no way. You’re not going
to turn a very simple question into philosophical bullshit and avoid answering. It’s very simple, Emma. Anyone famous, yes or no?”
“Yes,” Emma said. “Val Kilmer.”
Madeline and Libby gasped at the same time. “The actor?” Libby asked in a bit of a squeal.
“No, the pizza delivery guy,” Emma said. “Of course the actor.”
“You slept with him?” Madeline whispered.
“Wasn’t that the question?”
Madeline and Libby looked at each other and simultaneously burst into laughter. “Emma! You’ve been holding out on us!” Madeline cried.
“I have not! I didn’t even know you until this spring, remember? I didn’t realize I was supposed to arrive with my sexual dossier all typed up and ready to be handed out.”
“That would have been awesome,” Madeline said.
“You definitely should have told us if you slept with Val Kilmer!” Libby cried, and punched Emma in the shoulder. “That’s big news! So? What was he like?”
Emma smiled. “Like all the rest of them,” she said, and picked up her menu. Except that he wasn’t fat. But he was older. “Nothing to write home about. What are you eating?”
Libby pressed for more details, but Emma stubbornly ignored her. She really didn’t remember much about that night. She’d drunk too much at a party, and had ended up in his hotel room. Unfortunately, he’d had an early flight and was gone by the time she awoke the next day, taking a little piece of her with him in exchange for nothing but a raging headache.
When Libby and Madeline realized they’d get no more information from her, the talk turned to Madeline’s wedding. It was to be held New Year’s Eve in the barn at the ranch, the same place they’d hosted Thanksgiving. Emma didn’t understand Libby’s and Madeline’s fascination with that barn, but she supposed it was at least something useful to come out of Homecoming Ranch.
To Emma’s thinking, they had inherited Grant’s problem—a run-down ranch that owed more than it took in. Thanks again, Dad. At first, Emma had been so angry about it. That was his dying apology to her? To give her another problem she didn’t need? But Libby had seen that ranch as a new beginning and had desperately clung to it, even when Madeline and Emma wanted nothing to do with it.
So Emma did what she was apparently good at doing—she left. She left the problem with Libby, figuring if Libby wanted that ranch so badly, she could have it. She’d disappeared into her life in LA and had assumed Madeline would go back to hers in Orlando. She’d assumed everything would go back to the way it was before Grant had died. But then Madeline had begun to see something in that ranch, too, and had left Orlando behind for it.
Emma still had wanted nothing to do with the ranch, and God knew she wouldn’t be here now had the candlestick thing not happened. But here she was, and she had to admit to herself, she was impressed with Libby’s vision for it. Libby had smartly started a reintegration program for armed forces veterans who were struggling with PTSD and needed help learning how to reenter their lives after the wars of the last decade. She’d secured some grant funding, and they’d renovated the bunkhouse for them. Ernest Delgado, Homecoming Ranch’s longtime ranch hand, was something of a den mother to the five men who were currently in the program. In addition to participating in some donated therapy programs, the men did odd jobs around the ranch.
Unfortunately, in the winter, there was not enough to keep five grown men occupied.
Moreover, the opportunities to grow Libby’s vision were not great. The ranch was too remote, so far removed from services and medical facilities that no one wanted to come. Libby was working tirelessly to shore up the program, and Emma was truly in awe of her tenacity—she would have given up long ago.
Of all of them, Libby made life look so . . . effortless. After her bad meltdown last summer, the result of a relationship gone way south, she’d bounced right back. Now she took a little pill each morning and she was happy in love, full of big ideas and smiles.
Emma wished she could be more like that, but really, she was more like Madeline. It would probably kill Madeline if Emma ever said that aloud, but it was true. Like Madeline, Emma was straightforward, never afraid to say what was on her mind. That is where their similarities ended. Madeline had more tact and a surprisingly big heart. She could learn to love anything, like dogs and damaged veterans and widows. Emma couldn’t seem to love anything.
Madeline wasn’t ready to give up on Homecoming Ranch yet, either, it was apparent. She was going to marry here, maybe even start a family here. She was starting her life over here.
That was okay with Emma. They could keep this money-eating ranch for now. Personally, she’d put a lot of money aside and could even float the ranch for a few months if necessary, if for no other reason than to have a place to be. That was what Emma needed from the universe right now—a place to be, a place to figure out how to make her way back to the world.
But eventually, she’d leave. Emma knew herself too well. She’d go on with her life and forget her sisters. It was an ugly but certain truth about her.
It was Madeline who shook Emma out of her thoughts by mentioning Grant. “I ran into Grant’s friend Sylvia Breslin,” she said. “Know her?”
Emma shook her head.
“Yeah, of course,” Libby said. “She’s been selling real estate forever in this town. What about her?”
“So Michelle Catucci, the banker? She introduced us, and mentioned that I was one of Grant Tyler’s daughters. You know, like that’s my identity,” Madeline said with a snort. “Anyway, Sylvia perked up. She said she’d heard about what had happened with Grant and his kids, and Libby’s meltdown last summer—”
“Oh my God!” Libby exclaimed. “I swear, you have one small meltdown in Pine River and no one will forget it.”
Libby failed to acknowledge that hers was a pretty spectacular meltdown, judging by what Jackson had told Emma—she’d taken a golf club to a man’s truck.
“Don’t worry about it,” Madeline said to Libby. “Anyway, Sylvia said that just before Grant got sick, he’d been talking to her about buying some property in Vegas. And I was like, seriously? Because he couldn’t pay his bills. But Sylvia said that’s what she’d heard and thought he was planning to move before he got sick. She asked if he had ended up buying property there—you know, like I would have any idea.”
The mention of Grant and Las Vegas was an unwelcome jolt of memory for Emma. She put down her fork, her appetite gone.
“Vegas,” Libby said, her voice full of disgust. “That’s just like Dad, to plan something without mentioning it to anyone. What would he do there?”
“Gamble, among other things,” Emma said. “How do you think he made the money to buy the ranch in the first place? It’s not like he ever held a real job.”
“Who would know?” Madeline said.
“Seriously?” Libby asked. “I mean, do you know that for a fact? I didn’t think you’d had much contact with him.”
“I didn’t,” Emma said. “My mom kept in touch with him.” She looked off, unwilling—unable—to think of how her mother had kept in touch with Grant after what had happened.
“So what was he like?” Madeline asked curiously.
“How the fuck would I know?” Emma said sharply, surprising even herself.
“Hey,” Libby said. “She was just asking.”
“You think I knew him any better than either of you? He was never around for more than a minute, and when he was, he made trouble for everyone. He was a prick.”
“Hey!” Libby exclaimed again. “He was still our father.”
“Yeah, right,” Emma said. “And how’d that work out for you, Libby? He wouldn’t give you the time of day even when he was on his deathbed.”
Libby gasped.
Emma hadn’t meant to wound her with that remark, she’d meant to make Libby see just how a
wful . . . forget what she meant. If Libby hadn’t figured out what a prick Grant was by now, she never would.
“Well, I didn’t know him at all,” Madeline said, her back up now. “I don’t know if he was a prick or a saint because I couldn’t even pick him out of a lineup. You know what I remember about him? That he smelled like smoke. That’s it, that’s how much contact I had with my father. So pardon me if I am a little curious about the man who abandoned me. I just thought maybe you could give me some insight since you were closer to him than any of us.”
“But I wasn’t closer,” Emma said. “I’m not close to anyone.”
“No surprise there,” Madeline said flatly.
“He was always nice to me,” Libby said, sounding uncertain. “I mean, when he was around. Which he never was.”
“He wasn’t nice to me and he wasn’t around. He lied about everything,” Emma said. “That’s what you need to know about him, Madeline. He was a lying bastard.”
Madeline and Libby looked at each other. There it was again, that exchange of knowing looks between her sisters, the unspoken unity against Emma and her mouth. Emma didn’t blame them one bit, and, in fact, she sided with them. Her sharp tongue had put a damper on an otherwise perfectly enjoyable evening with them, had perhaps even taken a bite out of their fragile camaraderie. Her only regret was that she hadn’t meant to bite. Her reaction had been disturbingly visceral.
“I’m sorry,” Emma said tightly.
“It’s fine, it’s all right,” Madeline started, but Emma waved her hand.
“It’s not all right. Look, I can’t change—” She stopped. She wasn’t going to apologize for who she was. She felt as if she’d been doing that for a very long time. “It’s not my intent, never my intent, to hurt anyone.”
“Then why do you keep doing it?” Libby muttered.
Emma glanced down at her hands. “Touché, Libby. I wish I had an answer for you.”
“Well, that’s news,” Libby said pertly. “Can’t remember the last time you didn’t have an answer for everything.”
Emma sighed. She signaled the waiter. “Check, please,” she said.
The Perfect Homecoming (Pine River) Page 13