The Perfect Homecoming (Pine River)

by London, Julia

  Fortunately, things were a little more upbeat up at the ranch. Madeline and Libby were completely caught up in the last-minute preparations for Christmas and the wedding. They’d enlisted Tony D’Angelo, the de facto governor of the Homecoming Ranch Veteran’s Rehabilitation Center, and a veteran himself, to build a tent awning over the old paddock in case the barn was too small to include their guests and the buffet. Tony didn’t like that idea. If it snowed, he said, the tent would collapse. Which prompted Madeline, Libby, and Tony to relentlessly study the weather forecasts on an iPad.

  When they weren’t trying to predict the weather, they were making things. Libby made sashes for the chairs just like the ones she’d seen in a magazine, and Madeline and Luke were building an arbor under which they would stand for the ceremony. There were mason jars and ribbons and sashes and candles everywhere.

  And Emma?

  When Emma wasn’t with Leo, she was lying on her bed, staring up at the ever-changing mountaintops, thinking of Cooper and of all the things he’d come to represent to her. Hope, for one. Normalcy. Maybe even love.

  Emma had never been in love. Not real, deep love. She wasn’t even certain that was what she was feeling—what she felt seemed awfully painful to be love.

  She thought of all the things she wanted with every bit of her being, but couldn’t have. This painful love she was feeling. A home. Someone to come home to, someone to share her life with. Children. All of that had seemed out of reach for her for a long time now, locked up tight as a drum in this body and brain and soul she inhabited.

  For a week, Emma was lost. For a week, she hardly remembered to eat at all, unless Libby yelled at her and shoved a piece of chicken under her nose. Emma began to understand that she had no direction, and she hadn’t had one in ages. When she was a kid, she’d had these ideas of what she would become—a wife, a mother, a fashion model. A famous painter! Which was more amusing than reality, as the idea had sounded romantic to a teenage Emma, even though she’d never shown the slightest bit of talent. But at least she’d been thinking of a future, of a life. It was as if her life had shuddered to a stop the summer she turned seventeen.

  How far from that girl she was now. Look at her—she’d quit her job, she’d left Los Angeles, she’d developed a torch, a flaming bonfire of a torch, for Cooper Jessup. She would be twenty-eight years old in a few months with no destination for her life, and worse, a maddening inability to maintain a single relationship. The only thing Emma had going for her was the money she’d saved and some marketable skills in a certain world. But in the greater scheme of things? She had nothing that mattered. She didn’t have anyone to care for or who cared about her.

  What would she do once Luke and Madeline were married and settled here? Emma presumed they would—they had no place to go until the fate of the ranch was settled. Libby’s life had done a dramatic turnaround since last summer. She was happy now, and she was talking about moving in with Sam and maybe buying in to a partnership with Sherry Stancliff at the Tuff Tots Daycare.

  None of them had said a word to Emma about her length of stay at the ranch. None of them had asked her to stay. But then again, she’d made it painfully clear she wouldn’t be around long.

  Because she was going where again? To do what?

  Maybe she’d head east, she mused. To New York, to bright lights and high society. Surely there was a management company that could use her experience in Hollywood. But . . . but if she went to New York, did that mean she was starting over? Or did that mean she was still hiding, or whatever the politically correct term was for running away? Would she run to London after that? Then Paris? Islamabad, Hong Kong? When, Emma whispered to herself, when would she stop? When would she find the courage to stop and face her issues?

  Emma didn’t have any answers. She lay there, turning the St. Christopher medal over in her hand, reflecting back on a life that had made her afraid of rejection and disappointment. Of wanting her mother’s approval and finding nothing but criticism. You’re not as cute as you think you are. You’re pretty enough, but Laura is what I would call cute. Of wanting a father to want her. I think we should invite Laura to Vegas, don’t you, kiddo? Of believing someone could love her and want her, even once they had discovered the person beneath the face. I care about you.

  Hope could be a cruel bitch.

  Cooper finally called.

  Leo was sleeping, and Emma was lying down on the bed in a room that was considered Luke’s on those rare occasions he stayed home with his father and brother. When Emma’s phone rang, she glanced at the number on the screen. It was an LA area code, and her heart skipped a beat or two. Before she could talk herself out of it, she hit the talk button. “Hello.”

  “Hello, Emma.”

  Cooper’s voice dripped into her like warm honey, and she closed her eyes, savoring it. “Cooper,” she said softly. “How did you get my number?”

  “From Luke.” He sighed, sounding tired to her. “I’m guessing I don’t have to say why I’m calling, do I?”

  “No,” she said weakly, and opened her eyes. She heard Cooper release a breath and imagined he’d been hoping she would tell him something like, hey, you won’t believe what Libby found in the kitchen.

  “I’m flying through Denver tomorrow on my way to Texas. I’m asking you to bring the medal to me, Emma. My grandfather gave that to me. I’ve carried it for years.”

  “I know. Where do you want me to bring it?”

  There was another pause, and she wondered if there was something else she was supposed to have said. Perhaps he’d wanted her to deny it, to offer an explanation. What could she say that wouldn’t be empty and meaningless to him now?

  “The airport, or some place around there. I have a three-hour layover. So you’ll bring it?”

  Emma held up the medal and looked at it. “You don’t have more of them lying around?”

  “What?” He made a sound of impatience. “Of course not. But would it matter if I did? It’s mine, it belongs to me, and you took it from me. I’m not another notch on your bedpost.”

  Oh, she didn’t blame him for that, but it hurt. He was anything and everything but that. “No, of course not—”

  “I don’t care what you have to do, but I better see you in Denver tomorrow. My flight arrives at two. I’ll text you when I land.”

  “Cooper, listen, I—”

  She heard the unmistakable click of his phone shutting off.

  “I think I love you,” she whispered, and clicked off her phone. She gripped the St. Christopher in her hand and turned on her side. A tear slid from the corner of her eye to her pillow. Emma wouldn’t allow herself to cry more than that single tear. She didn’t deserve tears. She hadn’t earned them. She’d brought this debacle on herself and there was no room for crybabies in her thoughts.

  She had to get her act together and figure things out. And she had to give Cooper back the piece of him she’d taken without asking.

  The next afternoon, Emma waited in the cell phone lot at the Denver airport, having left a message for Cooper to text her when he was coming out so she could drive around to the terminal and pick him up. His text in return was brief: Here.

  “Okay,” she said, and steeled herself.

  She spotted him instantly, a head taller than most, heart-stoppingly gorgeous, standing on the curb. He had a backpack slung over his shoulder, one hand in the pocket of his black jeans. He was wearing a leather jacket, and under it, a Seattle Seahawks T-shirt. He had a cap as dark as his hair that he was wearing with the bill to the back.

  Emma tried to tamp down her nerves as she pulled up alongside him. He opened the door, tossed in his backpack, and got in.

  He took a look at her in her jeans and boots, the turtleneck sweater beneath a down vest. She had braided her hair, and it hung like a rope over her shoulder. Emma smiled a little at his perusal of her, and when she did, Coo
per sighed. It sounded full of resignation. He picked up the end of her braid and toyed with it between his fingers. “You’re a mess, Emma Tyler.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know,” she said, and put the car in gear.

  “Where are we going?” he asked as she entered the stream of cars leaving the airport.

  “I don’t know. Some place to talk, I guess. There are a few restaurants on Tower Road.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  She looked at him and smiled sadly. “Me either, Cooper.” But she kept driving in the direction of Tower Road and pulled into the parking lot of a diner. Where else would she take him? A roadside hotel?

  The hostess, a girl with straight brown hair and black pants that rode far too low and too tight on her hips, seated them in a booth. Cooper ordered coffee, black. Emma didn’t want anything, but she felt bad for the waitress, an older, plodding woman with gray hair and a stained uniform, so she ordered coffee and a slice of cheesecake. The waitress did not appear to appreciate Emma’s gesture.

  When the waitress had gone, Cooper arched a questioning brow and spread his arms along the back of the booth. “Well? Give it to me,” he said. His gray eyes looked like stone.

  Emma unwrapped a straw. “I don’t want to give it to you.”

  “It’s mine.”

  “I know,” she said. “I stole it from you, remember?”

  Cooper groaned and suddenly surged forward. He took his cap off, ran both hands over his head and then reseated his cap. “I would ask you why you did, but I know you won’t give me a straight answer. What the hell, I’ll ask it anyway,” he said, and looked up, his gaze piercing hers. “Why, Emma?”

  She swallowed nervously. “I guess that’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it? If I had a really good reason, a good explanation for taking shit, I probably wouldn’t take shit, you know? Catch-22.”

  “That’s a cop-out. Give it back.”

  Emma opened her purse and reached inside for the charm. She reluctantly slid it across the table to him. Cooper picked it up and looked at it. He laid it back down on the table and lifted his gaze to her again.

  His disapproving expression made Emma feel very self-conscious. “It’s the only one I have. I know it’s the right one.”

  Cooper said nothing. It was that look, always that look, that suggested he could see right through her, could look right into the strange lands that inhabited her head.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice cracking a little.

  Cooper’s jaw clenched. “Unfortunately, sorry won’t do. You can’t sorry your way out of this one. We had a great time. No, fuck that—we had more than a great time, we had meaningful sex. Real sex, Emma. We connected. In other words, we made love. Unless I was on some mind-bending trip and went there by myself. Was that it? Was I the only one feeling it?”

  Emma shook her head and swallowed down a nauseating lump of regret.

  “And then you did that?” he said, wincing, gesturing at the charm. “After that extraordinary moment between us, you could turn around and toss me into a basket with all the other meaningless men you’ve used? How could you do that? How could you equate what we had with all those . . . others?” he asked her, sounding disgusted.

  “I don’t know,” she answered honestly. “I didn’t. I know it seems like I did that, but it was different, and I honestly, sincerely, don’t know why I did it. It’s like a weird compulsion. But Cooper, you have to believe me, that’s not why I wanted to be with you. I swear it.”

  He stared at her, waiting for her to say more, but Emma didn’t know what more to say. It wasn’t what she’d wanted. What she’d wanted, what she still wanted was . . .

  The waitress appeared with a slab of cheesecake, two coffees, and two forks.

  “I thought we were better than that,” Cooper said bitterly when the waitress had left. “I thought what you wanted was for there to be something real between us.”

  “I did,” Emma assured him. “I do.”

  “Tell me,” he said, gesturing impatiently for her to speak. “Explain to me what was between us.”

  “What you said.”

  Cooper grunted, clearly dissatisfied with her answer. He picked up a fork and took a big bite of cheesecake. And then another before putting the fork down.

  “I’m sorry, Cooper—”

  “Goddammit, stop telling me you’re sorry.”

  “I don’t mean I’m sorry for taking the St. Christopher,” she said earnestly. “I mean I am sorry for that, but I’m so sorry I’ve disappointed you.”

  He glanced up at her, interested.

  “You’re not alone in your confusion and frustration,” she said. “I actually have a family I’ve been disappointing for a long time. There’s just something in me that won’t work right,” she said, and fidgeted with the end of her braid.

  Cooper watched her closely, waiting. He wasn’t going to help her explain herself. He wasn’t going to tell her it was all right.

  “I am not trying to hide anything or be purposefully vague,” she said. “It’s just something I can’t really explain, you know? All my life, from the time I was a little girl, I wanted to be was the girl everyone wanted,” she said, flicking her wrist to the vast universe of everyone. “I wanted to be the girl my dad wanted to be a father to. I wanted my mother to think that I was . . .” She paused here, uncertain. “I wanted her to think I was as good as my stepsister, Laura.”

  He looked down when she said Laura’s name.

  “But instead, I was the kid who never said the right thing. I wasn’t cute and friendly like Laura. I wasn’t fun to be around. I wanted to be, but I couldn’t figure out how to be.”

  Cooper lifted his gaze again. He was listening. Intently.

  “I was—I am—really awkward. I always say the wrong thing, even when I’m trying to say the right thing. And God, please, don’t ask me if I have Asperger’s syndrome. I’m just socially awkward.”

  “You’re not,” he said low.

  “I am. I can say it, Cooper. I know it’s true, and I can live with it. But I wish, I wish,” she said, pressing her hands to her chest, “that I was different. Unfortunately, wishing doesn’t make it so.”

  “I understand,” he said.

  “No you don’t. All that wishing has turned me into someone I don’t like very much. I do things I don’t even understand,” she said bitterly, “things I don’t want to do. And yet, I can’t seem to stop myself.”

  He reached across the table and put his hand on her arm. “I do get it. You think it’s easy having a brother who is always in trouble? When he’s the kid that the neighbors suspect stole their lawn mower, and by extension, think you stole their lawn mower, too, because you’re the kid they always see tagging along behind him? I have wished my brother was different. I have wished my dad wasn’t as strict as he was with Derek, and I have wished he could have been a little more understanding. I have wished for a lot of things that never happened. But here’s the thing I know about my brother. Derek isn’t a bad guy. I mean, yes, obviously, he is missing some moral fiber and he does some reprehensible things. But at the same time, he was a great brother to me. He had a big, warm heart, he loved animals, he loved me. He was a good guy underneath, but he couldn’t make himself fit in like the rest of us. He tried, but he could never seem to do it.”

  “Boy, do I get that,” Emma sighed.

  “Maybe that’s why I’m so angry with you right now, Emma. Because in some ways, you are like my brother. You’ve got issues, but underneath it, you’re a good person. I always knew with Derek it didn’t have to be that way. He could have been anything he wanted to be if he’d only allowed himself to believe it. The same goes for you. I would hate to see you live your life alone and on the fringe.”

  Emma shook her head. “I don’t think it’s the same thing.”

  �
�Yes, it is,” Cooper said adamantly. “Look, I can’t begin to understand why you pick up guys and take things. I hate that—it’s disgusting, especially because I know you are so much better than that. You deserve so much better than that.”

  She could feel those words squeezing around her heart, holding it tight against the guilt that was roaring up from the bottom of her soul. “Don’t kid yourself about me.”

  “Don’t run yourself down,” he said. “Who made you think you were less than zero? Who put that idea in your head?” he demanded a little angrily. “Because they couldn’t be more wrong.”

  How was it that he could put into words things she was feeling before she could do it herself? It made her shiver, and she rubbed her arms.

  “Remember that night in Beverly Hills?” he asked.

  Emma remembered every single thing about it, every moment, every smile. The way his eyes danced in the low light, the way he’d laughed at her recounting of the polygamist anniversary. The way he’d looked at her when she’d left him, the way Reggie kept stroking her earlobe, making her feel like a dog, and most of all, the look in Cooper’s eyes when Reggie had rolled down that window.

  She nodded.

  “You were different with me that night. You were real. There have been moments here in Pine River when you’ve been that girl. And then you . . .” He made a sound of impatience. He leaned across the table again and grabbed her hand, holding it. “It could be like that night in Beverly Hills with us all the time. Do you get that?”

  She wanted to believe it. She wanted that more than anything, but she had no faith in herself. Emma bit her lip and squeezed his hand.

  Cooper squeezed her hand, too, and let go, shifting back, sliding away from her. She almost grabbed his hand before he could slip out of her reach, but in a moment, it was too late. “I need to get back to the airport,” he said.