by Julia London
“I have to call Bree,” she said apologetically. “I need to get the ball rolling on the DiNapoli sale.”
And now, he felt like an ass. She was tiptoeing around him, practically asking his permission to call her office. He’d been on the other end of this scenario more than once, having sex with a woman who thought that came with a tether and ownership instructions, and now, here he was, wishing he had a tether so this one couldn’t get away. “Yeah, of course,” he said, and turned his head, flashed her a smile. “Cream in the coffee?”
“Black, thank you,” she said.
Why did that not surprise him? Black was easy—no decisions, no judgments, no need to second-guess how much cream or sugar to use. Just black. “Make your phone call. I’ll make you coffee.”
“Thanks.” She disappeared into the living room.
“God, grow up, Kendrick,” he muttered under his breath. He brewed the coffee, one cup at a time. He left hers on the coffee table, next to the floor pillows where they’d thrashed around, completely into each other, then took his and headed back to his bedroom and his shower. He tried to wash the conflicting emotions out of his head. He tried to be a guy, to consider it a one-night stand as any guy would do, and for shit’s sake, move the hell on.
But Luke couldn’t do it. He wasn’t that kind of guy. He never had been. He couldn’t simply notch last night into his bedpost and forget it.
Hell, he would never forget last night.
Luke finally emerged, clean-shaven and dressed in jeans and boots and a Pearl Jam T-shirt. Madeline was sitting nervously on the arm of his couch as she watched him walk down the little hall. She had cleaned up, too, as best she could, washing her face free of any makeup, braiding her hair and donning the pink ball cap. Going through the motions of getting dressed was the only thing that felt normal this morning.
Madeline didn’t know what she was doing. She knew Luke was unhappy with her—God, she’d be unhappy if she were him—but anxiety was making her crazy.
She stood up a little too eagerly and pasted a bright smile on her face. “Wow,” she said. “You look great.”
He looked down at his old T-shirt. “Are you ready to go?”
“I am.” She picked up her bag, slung it over her shoulder. She was wearing the same clothes from yesterday, but had returned his flannel jacket to the hook next to the door. Her hiking boots were laced up and tied tightly in perfect bows. Gone was the woman who had let herself go last night, who had felt things, experienced things she’d never felt before. Old Madeline was back. Uptight, do-not-step-off-the-center-line Madeline.
Luke opened the door for her. Madeline smiled, but he had already turned away to lock up. She walked on, slipped into the passenger seat of the Bronco, her focus on her phone, texting Trudi fast and furiously, a stream of empty talk.
She desperately wanted to say something. But while she debated, he started up the Bronco and headed for Pine River.
The more time that passed, the emptier the words rattling around in Madeline’s head seemed to be. She blindly e-mailed herself lists of things to do, exchanged two e-mails with Jackson. Luke turned on the radio, his eyes on the road. Madeline wanted to touch his arm, his leg. She wanted to lay her head on his shoulder and close her eyes and think, but she was frozen with anxiety. At last, she tried to break the silence. “Good news—the storm didn’t do any damage,” she said.
Luke looked at her, confused. Madeline pointed to the radio.
“Ah,” he said absently.
“I had an e-mail from Jackson this morning.”
“Okay,” he said, waiting for her to continue.
“He’s found someone who is willing to lead the horseback riding, and he said he gave Libby some names of rafting outfitters we could hire. I think I could make a deal with them. Oh, and I thought we should have the meeting tent erected next to the picnic area beside the house. We might as well make use of that space.”
Luke’s gaze flicked coolly over her, then returned to the road. “I thought Libby had suggested it be down near the campsites.”
Libby had said that, all right. Madeline just hoped she’d be open to discussion about it. “She seems pretty flexible. So how long do you think it will take to finish the temporary showers?”
“Don’t know.”
Madeline didn’t believe that for a moment. “I was going to add it to my spreadsheet,” she said.
“What spreadsheet?”
“I set one up yesterday,” Madeline said, and clicked over to an app on her phone. “I find things are easier to keep up with if you have them lined out.” She held up her phone; Luke squinted at it. It was a miniature spreadsheet with tasks and bars of yellow sliding across the screen, marking how many days to completion of any task.
Luke looked up from her phone and met her gaze. Madeline had the distinct feeling he wanted to say something, but all he did say was, “I don’t know how long.”
Madeline lowered her phone. “Okay. Well, when you do, let me know, and I’ll add it.” She smiled.
“Sure.” He didn’t sound like he meant it.
Madeline could feel the anxiety filling her up like a balloon. Last night had been so great, too great. She’d been so free, so happy, and now she was struggling. She never meant to hurt him, or anyone. And honestly, she didn’t understand why he was so angry. It was one night. And he didn’t really know her. If he did know her, really know her, he would… he would…
He’d what?
Madeline’s pulse began to pound in her neck. Say it. SAY IT. It was all she could do to admit her greatest fear to herself: that he would leave her. He would know her, and he would leave her.
So tell him you’re sorry. Sorry? But that sounded so wrong. What exactly was she sorry for? Because she wasn’t sorry, she was enthralled by him. Then tell him that, tell him how you feel.
How did she feel? Scared and a little crazy at the moment. What she needed was some space. Some time to think, to put everything back in place.
By the time they reached Pine River about an hour later, Madeline had worked herself up into a silent lather about it. She was droning on about chairs and cots—hell, she didn’t know what all she said. Luke barreled down the main drag, pulling up outside Tomlinson’s Feed.
“What are we doing?” Madeline asked, sitting up, staring at the specials shoe-polished onto the windows of the store.
“Dog food,” he said curtly, and hopped out of the Bronco. He didn’t look back to see if she was coming, just strode in.
And then he took his own sweet time.
Madeline got out to stretch her legs. She called Jackson with a question about cots. “Hey!” Jackson said. “Libby is here. We’re just going over a few things. You want to join us?”
Madeline looked at the feedstore. “Let me see. I’ll call you back,” she said, and asked him to give her a few minutes before she clicked off.
“Madeline, right?”
Madeline whirled around and came face to face with Julie Daugherty. She was more beautiful than what Madeline remembered, with silky blond hair, a perfect figure. She was wearing a short skirt and heels, making her an inch or two taller than Madeline. “Hi,” Madeline said.
Julie looked at the Bronco.
“He’s inside,” Madeline blurted.
“What?” Julie asked, startled, and looked at Madeline again.
“Luke. He’s inside,” she said, gesturing to the store. “Dog food.”
“Oh, I… I wondered,” Julie said.
Just then, the door of the store opened and Luke walked out, a bag of dog food on his shoulder. His step slowed a little when he saw Julie and Madeline standing there together.
“Hey!” Madeline said brightly the moment she saw him. She felt like she was shaking with nervous energy. “Look who’s here!”
“I see,” he said. “Hey, Julie.” He walked around to the back of his Bronco, swung open the back gate, and dumped the bag of dog food into the bed. When he shut the gate, he said, “What’
s up?”
Madeline looked at Julie, who was blushing. “I was at the bank applying for a job, and I saw you guys pull up,” Julie said.
“A job?” Luke asked curiously.
Julie smiled and shrugged a little. “Desperate times and all that. I was going to grab some lunch. Do you guys want to join me?” she asked, but she wasn’t looking at Madeline. She was looking at Luke. “I thought I’d pop into the Grizzly.”
“Oh, not for me, thanks,” Madeline said quickly. “I have so much to do.”
“And I need to take her up to the ranch,” Luke added, just as quickly, his gaze on Madeline now. She could see the look of warning in his eyes. But it was her escape, and she was taking it.
“You know what, Luke?” Madeline said. “I was just talking to Jackson a minute ago and it turns out Libby came into town to get some stuff, and she’s in his office! I can get a ride with her.”
“You don’t need to do that—” Luke started, but Madeline was already backing away. “It’s no trouble! You two go ahead.” She darted to the passenger side of the Bronco and grabbed her bag. “This works out for everyone.”
“No, it doesn’t,” Luke said.
“Luke, thank you. For the ride, I mean, to Pine River. It was nice to see you again, Julie,” she said, already walking, already making her escape. “I’ll see you guys later?” She didn’t wait for anyone to answer, but put her head down and hurried off, her stomach in knots, the image of Luke with angry eyes and clenched jaw dancing in her mind’s eye.
Those images couldn’t stop her. They only made her anxiety worse. If anything, her escape had backfired—she felt more anxious and uncertain than ever.
TWENTY-THREE
Libby was all smiles when she and Madeline arrived back at the ranch. She pointed to the tent pads as they drove up to the house, the bulletin board on the fence. “It’s all coming together!”
“It is,” Madeline agreed. She would not have thought it possible, but here they were, actually putting the reunion together.
“How was Denver, anyway?” Libby asked.
The question startled Madeline at first, as if she were giving off a vibe of having slept with Luke. But Libby was looking at her without judgment. “It was good,” she said. “Productive.” It was amazing, confusing, and so many things were on her mind that Madeline hadn’t heard half of what Libby had said on the way up to the ranch. She wanted to tell Libby about the valuation, about the realtor. But she knew from experience that it was better to come to the table with a fully prepared offer. That seemed especially important with Libby, and Madeline thought it might be the only way to dissuade her from the idea that they all band together and do the reunion business.
“Great!” Libby said. “Oh, by the way,” she added as she grabbed a bag from the backseat, “I spoke to Tyrone Johnson. He and his wife Linda are the two in charge of the family reunion. He said the Johnsons will begin arriving next Thursday.”
“Oh wow,” Madeline said. “I still need to negotiate a group rate for the rafting and horseback riding.”
“Already done,” Libby said proudly.
But that was Madeline’s task. Negotiation was kind of her thing.
“You weren’t here,” Libby said, as if she had guessed what Madeline was thinking. “The phone service was restored and I had time.” She laughed. “Our first phone call was from Jackson of course,” she said, shifting the bag to her hip as she began to walk toward the house. “But he had some amazing news. Apparently, he’s been contacted about using the ranch as a destination wedding venue later in the summer.”
“Oh wow, he really needs to take the website down,” Madeline said.
“Really?” Libby asked, pausing. “I thought it was a good sign. This place has great potential.”
Madeline felt a squeeze of irritation and disappointment. Maybe it was great for Libby, but it sure wasn’t great for her. “I just don’t see how this destination thing is going to happen. I mean Emma has already checked out—”
“Not entirely. I talked to her yesterday.”
“You did?” Madeline asked, surprised. “What did she say?”
Libby shrugged and walked into the kitchen, putting her bags down onto the little kitchen table.
“Libby?” Madeline prodded her.
Libby picked up a towel and began to wipe down the counter, making huge circles with her cloth, as if there was some horrible spill there. “She wanted to know what was going on, what we are doing with the reunion.”
“So is she coming to help?” Madeline asked.
“No,” Libby said. “We just talked.”
“That was nice of her to call,” Madeline said with not a little bit of sarcasm. “She’s obviously not interested in keeping this place. And I’m going back to Orlando. I just sold this really big house that opens up a lot of doors for me. So how exactly are we going to pull this off?”
“I’ll do it,” Libby said, looking slightly offended.
Madeline sighed. “Come on, Libby. This is not a one-person job.”
Libby didn’t say anything to that. Madeline sensed Libby knew she was right and didn’t want to admit it. But Madeline wanted away from this ranch, especially after last night’s brush with true, deep emotion. Emotion that, if left unchecked, if left to grow, could mortally wound her. Right now, she wanted nothing more than to finish off her list and get out of town, as far from Luke Kendrick as she could get. She wanted to go back to Orlando and finalize the DiNapoli deal. She wanted to get her movie guide from Stephen and make popcorn and stay socked away in her condo, and venture out only to the soccer field. Just… away from things that would hurt her.
“I know it won’t be easy, Madeline,” Libby said. “But I want to try and make it work. If nothing else, for Dad’s sake.”
Something about those words detonated inside of Madeline. Maybe it was the stress of having felt something so profound with Luke, or maybe just the notion that here she and Libby were, taking days and weeks from their lives to fix some colossal mess their father had made before he’d died, but Madeline exploded. “For Dad’s sake?” she loudly exclaimed. “We don’t owe him anything, Libby! He was a horrible father. He was absent, he was cheap, and he was self-centered. This isn’t a gift, it’s a burden, it’s another damn burden he’s heaped on me. He left me with nothing but the burden of my mother, who was no mother at all, and now this? This stupid ranch with this stupid reunion has taken us away from everyone we love just so we can fix it for him. What do you think will come from this, huh? I’ll tell you what—a lot of aggravation and hurt feelings and more misery, that’s what.”
Her chest was heaving, Madeline realized. She’d been shouting, too, and she suddenly realized what she’d just said.
All the blood had drained from Libby’s face. She was gaping at Madeline. “Wow,” she said. “Just go then, Madeline. No one is asking you to stay, least of all me.”
“Libby, I am sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“Don’t,” Libby said curtly. “Don’t apologize again. Please.” She whirled around and strode from the kitchen.
“Libby!” Madeline shouted after her, but it was no use. She sank down onto a barstool and buried her face in her hands. She hated herself in that moment. She hated that she could hurt Libby and hurt Luke. That was not what she wanted, and she hated that she couldn’t seem to stop herself, either. There was a vortex of resentment in her, swirling around, faster and faster, sucking her into it, colliding with the tsunami of fear that was always, always cresting through her.
Madeline heard the sound of a car and sat up. She rushed into the living room just in time to see Libby’s little car bouncing over the road, away from Homecoming Ranch.
Great.
Madeline returned to the kitchen. Her belly rumbled with hunger. She looked around for something to eat, but it was all food that Libby had brought to the house. But there, on top of the fridge, was what was left of the bag of chips from that first meeting with Jackson. She took
the bag down and opened it, ate a couple of chips. With the bag in hand, she walked into the dining room.
Libby had left some papers and the reunion file next to the phone. There was a pad of paper onto which she had made some notes. Just below those notes was another one that said Emma, with a phone number following it. Madeline ate a few more chips, pondering that number and debating. She ate a few more, dusted off her hands, and dialed the number.
It rang several times.
Madeline was about to hang up when Emma answered. “Hello?”
The raspy, hoarse voice sounded just like Madeline’s mother—rough and hungover. “Emma?” Madeline said, just to be sure.
“Who’s this?”
“Madeline.”
“Who?” Emma demanded.
“Madeline Pruett. Your, ah…”
“God, what now?” Emma groaned.
“Thanks,” Madeline said pertly at that warm reception. “I called to speak to you about the ranch problem.”
“Shit, first Jackson, then Libby, now you—”
“We inherited it, Emma,” Madeline reminded her.
“Yeah, I know. I was there, remember?”
“So we have to do something with it. Are you coming back? Libby wants to make this some reunion Mecca, but I need to get back to Orlando.”
“So go. Why is that my problem?” Emma asked.
Madeline could hear things like plates and glasses banging around in the background of the call now. Her pulse began to ratchet up. “Listen, Emma, I didn’t ask for this any more than you did. We have to come to some conclusion. Libby thinks you might want to keep the ranch, too.”
“Sometimes Libby hears what she wants to hear,” Emma said through a yawn.
“But what about you? Do you want to keep the ranch?”
The banging suddenly stopped. Emma said nothing for so long that Madeline thought maybe she’d lost the connection. But then she heard Emma sniff.
“Are you there?”
“I’m here,” Emma said. “Okay, listen, Madeline Pruett. I don’t give a shit what happens with that ranch. Can I be any clearer than that? I told Libby the same thing. You guys decide—sell it, keep it, I don’t care. Just don’t bother me with it. Okay?”