Return to Homecoming Ranch (Pine River)

by Julia London

  “Morning, Ms. Bagley.”

  “Who is that?” she said, eyeing Libby, who reluctantly had come out of the truck.

  “It’s me, Ms. Bagley—Libby Tyler. Remember me?”

  “Libby Tyler!” she said. “Why’d you bring her up here?” she asked of Sam as she took Libby in from the top of her curls to the canvas sneakers she was wearing.

  “She’s helping me today. I brought you a few things.”

  Millie’s gaze shifted back to Sam. “I don’t need nothing, I told you I don’t. I told you to stay off my property. What’d you bring?”

  He hadn’t brought much: canned beans, bread, and the like. “I thought maybe you and the cats were hungry, so I brought out a few groceries. I’m going to get it out of the truck. And while I’m getting the things, I want you to promise me you’re not going anywhere near that shotgun.”

  “I got a right to bear arms,” she said defensively.

  “But you don’t have a right to wave it at a law enforcement officer.” Libby, he noticed, had inched much closer to him. He could have reached out and put his arm around her.

  Millie flicked her wrist at him. “Ack, you’re always talking. And I don’t need your goddamn charity.”

  “Well, I’m going to leave a few things all the same. If you don’t want them, you can pass them on. Libby, will you help me?” He turned to look at Libby, but she was already scurrying for the back of the truck.

  “You ain’t nothing but a two-bit sheriff’s officer out here in the middle of nowhere cuz no one else will take you!” Millie snapped.

  Whether Millie knew that for a fact or had somehow managed to blindly hit a nerve, the truth in her accusation stung Sam. Because he’d once been more than a two-bit deputy. And now, the only post he could get was this one.

  He opened the gate of his truck and handed a bag of cat food to Libby.

  “Told you. Mean as a snake,” Libby whispered.

  He picked up the box of canned goods and walked around the truck, Libby just behind him.

  “I didn’t ask you to bring me nothing,” Millie continued to complain, her gaze locked on the food.

  Sam put the box down on the bottom porch step, and Libby put the bag of cat food beside it. A few of the cats rose up, stretching long before wandering over to sniff the bag.

  “And don’t think you can bring that crazy bitch girlfriend of yours around me,” Millie added for good measure, gesturing to Libby.

  Libby gasped. “I’m not his girlfriend. And I’m not crazy!”

  “Then what the hell are you doing up here with him?”

  “I told you, Ms. Bagley, she’s a friend,” Sam said calmly. “Now look, you know winter’s coming. If you like, I could come out and chop some wood for you and make sure you don’t have any cracks that will let the wind in,” he suggested.

  “Maybe you’re the crazy one,” Libby whispered.

  “I don’t want you coming out here! Next time you come, I’ll just shoot you and your tramp. How many times do I got to tell you, you ain’t welcome on my property?”

  The cats were beginning to circle around Sam and Libby, their tails high, rubbing against his leg. Sam had seen a lot in his time, but if there was one thing that gave him the creeps, it was these cats. “I was just offering,” he said. “Have a good day, Ms. Bagley. I’ll be back to check on you in a couple of weeks.”

  “Don’t come back!” She reached down to pick up a cat. “You come out here again and, by God, I will shoot you! I do all right on my own!”

  Sam put his hand to Libby’s waist, nudging her toward his truck.

  “Good-bye, Ms. Bagley,” Libby said.

  “Oh for shit’s sake, girl, just go on,” Millie said disdainfully, and dropped her cat, bending over to pick up the box of canned goods. “I don’t want your type anywhere near me. They should have kept you locked up if you ask me. No telling when you’ll go off again.”

  Libby halted and turned back to Millie Bagley.

  “Come on, Libby,” Sam said. “Don’t give her the satisfaction.”

  But Libby didn’t move.

  “What?” Millie demanded. “You got something to say, Libby? I always knew you was a loon. I’m just glad they got you before you did any more harm. You keep taking your medicine now.”

  “I’m curious, Ms. Bagley. Did you think I was a loon before or after I delivered your meals twice a week? Because I don’t remember you thinking there was anything wrong with me then.”

  “Come on,” Sam said, and took her by the elbow, forcing her to walk as Millie cursed at her from the porch.

  He opened the door of his truck and helped her inside, then walked around to the front, giving Ms. Bagley a cold look as he did. Not that it mattered—she had her food and was cooing to one of her cats now.

  Libby was already buckled in before Sam could get into the truck. He turned the ignition and headed down the pitted drive.

  When they had cleared the house and were on the paved road again, he pulled over and looked at Libby. “I’m sorry about that,” he said. “I had no idea she knew about you other than from Meals On Wheels.”

  Libby responded with a flick of her wrist. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Libby, I—”

  “No, really,” she said. “Do you think I don’t know what people say about me, Sam? I have lived in Pine River all my life. I know all these people, and I know how they talk. I know what they think of people who have nervous breakdowns, and it’s not good. Half the people in that town think there’s no burden you shouldn’t be able to bear, that what doesn’t kill you should make you stronger, and that God never ever hands us more than we can handle. They have no use for people like me, and I know it. The only difference between everyone else and Ms. Bagley is that she has the guts to say it to my face. So . . . it’s okay.”

  Sam was in no position to argue with Libby, because she was right. Like her, he knew how talk circulated in this town. How someone could smile and ask about you, and offer to help in some way, but then sit at the bar an hour later repeating what they’d heard, how you looked, inventing signs of trouble.

  Libby smiled a little. “But she really is one crazy old bat.”

  Sam chuckled. “I won’t argue with that. But she’s had her share of problems. Sometimes, life has a way of making people hard.”

  Which is what he feared would happen to Libby if she didn’t get some ballast into her life.

  “Are you taking me back to my car now?” Libby asked. “I’ve done my penance, haven’t I?”

  “Nope. Got one more while we’re out this way,” he said. “Tony’s a little more laid back than Millie.” Then again, entire militant nations were more laid back than Millie. The truth was that Tony was a walking, ticking time bomb of self-destruction. But Sam still held out hope for him.

  “Hopefully someone who is just a little more receptive to me, if you please. Is it just me, or is something else going on here today?” Libby asked. “I have this funny feeling that you’re trying to tell me something.”

  There was something else going on here, but Sam couldn’t say what it was as he took in the spill of curls framing her face, the eyes intent on him, her very lush, pursed mouth. If he said it, he’d have to face it, and it was best just to let some things lie deep and still. “When did you get so paranoid?” he asked casually. “I’m just trying to keep you out of trouble, one day at a time.”

  “Hmm,” Libby said, her gaze still zeroed in on him. “I don’t trust you, Sam Winters. Not one bit.”

  He laughed and said with a wink, “The feeling is entirely mutual, Libby Tyler.”

  SEVEN

  Libby wouldn’t admit it to Sam, but she’d forgotten just how mean Millie Bagley could be. Libby had been shocked by Millie’s in-your-face reminder of her collapse.

  But not as shocked as Sam, judging by his appalled expression.

  She looked curiously at Sam as he pulled the truck out onto the main road and headed in the opposite direction of
Pine River. Why did he care so much, anyway? About Millie, about this Tony guy, and most of all, about her? He didn’t have to care, he didn’t have to do anything but enforce the law. So why didn’t he do just that instead of driving around with a bunch of groceries in his car?

  Even though she had been called a Good Samaritan from time to time, she was suspicious of them. At least she knew why she did it. It made her feel like her life had meaning. Is that why Sam did it? She couldn’t imagine going to see Millie Bagley on a regular basis, much less taking groceries to that old bag of bones. She could imagine being doubly sure to never drive down Millie’s road, and if she did, to do it in an armored vehicle.

  Sam was squinting at the road ahead of them beneath his Ray-Bans. He didn’t have classic good looks, no, but he was handsome in a rugged way. He was a big man, but trim, with a lot of muscles everywhere. He looked rugged, like someone you would easily believe lived by himself on the side of a mountain and drove a big truck over bigger rocks, just like in the truck commercials. She remembered the first time she’d met him, back when they both worked out of Corita City. He came to work with an infectious smile and always seemed eager to get to work. She never would have guessed at the trouble brewing inside him. Looks were deceiving that way—they masked the history in everyone. No one knew what trouble had been lurking inside her, either.

  Least of all, her.

  If there was one thing about Sam that Libby would have found knee-bendingly attractive, it was his eyes. She had never seen eyes like that on a man, the color of them reminiscent of an Irish sea. Or, at least what she imagined an Irish sea to look like. They were knowing eyes, too—Sam had a way of looking at her that made her feel he could see in her, knew what she was on the inside, knew the thoughts that went through her mind.

  He must have felt her looking at him, because he glanced at her as he propped his fist against the wheel. “Something wrong?”

  “You’re a nice guy. A do-gooder.”

  He looked surprised and smiled a little. “Is there something wrong with that?”

  “No,” she said. “Someone has to be the good guy. Is it really part of your job to go and see Millie Bagley?”

  He shrugged. “I guess it depends on your interpretation. I like to think it falls within the guidelines for community policing. I’m just trying to head off a problem before it happens.”

  Too late for that, Libby thought. “So . . . how many people do you check on?”

  “Ah . . . just a few,” he said vaguely, shifting his gaze out the window. “We’re going to see Tony next.”

  A few miles up, he turned off the main road onto a little two-lane county road, which Libby knew led into Elk Valley. She saw Tony’s place on the side of the hill long before they reached it—it was a double-wide trailer perched up on a narrow patch of land. A clutter of car parts, lawn chairs, and a grill filled the small lawn below the decking attached to the house.

  As they drove up the drive, a slight man emerged from the trailer and walked unevenly out onto the deck. He lazily lifted one hand as Sam pulled the truck into the trip of leveling before the house. Sam opened his truck door, and it knocked against one of the decking posts. “Watch your step getting out,” he said to Libby.

  When she opened her door, she saw the reason for his caution—she had about a foot of caliche-covered drive before a drop-off into steep terrain. She walked carefully around the back of the truck and smiled hesitantly at the man on the porch decking. He was young, probably no older than Libby’s twenty-six years, but somehow, he also managed to look twice as old as she was. He had pale blue eyes that he fixed on Libby. His eyes looked sad. Deeply sad.

  He nodded to her and moved toward them in an uneven gait. When he reached the steps, Libby saw why—he had a prosthetic limb from the knee down, visible because he had cut the leg from his camouflage cargo pants. At the end of his prosthesis was a clunky black shoe. His other foot was bare.

  “Hey, Tony,” Sam said congenially. “I’d like you to meet a friend of mine, Libby Tyler.”

  “Hi,” Tony responded.

  “How are things?” Sam asked.

  “Okay, I guess.” Tony scratched his cheek. “Been flying solo.”

  “Oh yeah?” Sam said. “Tess hasn’t been out?”

  “Nah, man,” Tony said. “We had a big fight and she took off. Somebody down at the Rocky Creek Tavern told her they’d seen me in there with that chick Diane from Pine River.”

  “You mean Dana?”

  “Yeah, Dana,” Tony said, and reached into his pocket for a pack of cigarettes. “You know me, Sam.” He tapped one out. “I don’t get out. I ain’t seen Diana, Dana, in over a year. But Tess, man, she blew up.”

  “Sorry to hear that,” Sam said, but he didn’t sound the least bit sorry about it.

  “Don’t be,” Tony said, pausing to light his cigarette. “She likes to create drama. You know how that is.”

  “Yes, I know all about that,” Sam agreed.

  Libby glanced curiously at Sam. How did he know all about that? It occurred to her that she didn’t really know when or how his marriage had ended.

  “This your woman?” Tony asked, startling Libby back to the here and now.

  “Woman!” Libby sputtered, surprised he would ask that question in that manner. “No,” she said quickly. She could feel Sam’s gaze shift to her, and she felt a little contrite for speaking so quickly and firmly. It was out of the realm of possibility, yes, but not because of anything to do with Sam.

  Nevertheless, Sam shot her a look.

  “Libby’s just helping me out today,” he said, focusing on Tony again. “And I was hoping maybe you could help her.”

  Tony took a long draw off his cigarette, then exhaled skyward. “Don’t know how I’d do that.”

  “Libby’s got a car that needs some work,” Sam said. “You know cars. I thought maybe you could help.”

  “What’s wrong with it?”

  The two men looked at Libby for an answer. She blinked. How the hell should she know? It was a car, and it wasn’t working properly—what more was there to be said? “I don’t know,” she said. “It doesn’t run sometimes.”

  “Do you feel it jump sometimes? Maybe feel it trying to give out while you’re driving?”

  “I don’t . . . I don’t know,” she stammered.

  “See anything out the exhaust pipes? Smell anything?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Tony’s gaze narrowed suspiciously, as if he suspected Libby of withholding valuable information. “All right. I’ll take a look.”

  “I don’t have much money,” Libby quickly added.

  Tony shrugged. “Neither do I.”

  “And . . . and I’m not sure I could get all the way out here in my car. I live north of Pine River.”

  Tony took another long drag from his cigarette as he studied Libby. “That’s a problem,” he agreed. “I’m not exactly driving these days.”

  “I could give you a ride,” Sam said. “How about Thursday?”

  Thursday. A tic of panic erupted in Libby. Thursdays, Alice had dance classes. Libby wasn’t sure why that mattered—it wasn’t as if she was going to go to Alice’s dance class, because that would be idiotic in light of the restraining order.

  Libby could feel Sam staring at her, waiting. So was Tony, but his gaze was more of dispassionate curiosity. Sam’s gaze, on the other hand, was burning a hole through the side of her skull, almost as if he could see her thoughts. “Sure,” she said quickly. “Thursday would be great.”

  Tony nodded, dropped his cigarette, and casually ground it out with the heel of his prosthesis.

  “Great,” Sam said, and Libby had the mental image of him checking off a box. Get the vet a job. Check.

  Sam and Tony chatted about some things for a moment, but Libby didn’t pay much attention to their conversation—her mind was whirling in that frenetic way it did when she thought of Alice and Max, of the reason she couldn’t schedule a mechanic ar
ound a dance class that she couldn’t attend. And really, what had happened with Ryan today?

  She was staring at her feet, lost in thought, when Sam touched her elbow. “Are you ready?”

  She was ready, all right, ready for Ryan to really, truly apologize so she could finally put this ordeal behind her. “I am.” She smiled at the vet. “Thanks, Tony. I appreciate all the help I can get.”

  “Not all,” Sam muttered.

  “I said help,” she muttered back. “Not interference.”

  Tony touched two fingers to his forehead in a sort of semi-salute. Libby responded with a wave before getting back into Sam’s truck.

  On the way back to town, Sam chatted about the end-of-summer music festival in Pine River, his gaze wandering over to her, watching her. Libby responded to the many questions he put to her, but her thoughts were jumbled.

  When they pulled into the little grocery parking lot, Sam parked his truck, got out, and came around to open the door for her.

  Libby picked up her bag of melted ice creams and slid off the passenger seat onto the pavement. Sam was standing before her, one arm propped on the open door. She was aware of him physically, of how big he was, of how his body dwarfed hers. She risked a look at his eyes.

  He gave her a charming, lopsided bit of a smile.

  She smiled, too. “Thanks for showing me everyone in Pinero County who is down on their luck,” she said.

  “You’re welcome. And thanks for the ice cream.”

  Libby felt a little fluttery-buttery again, standing so close to him. “Sure. Okay, well . . . I gotta go,” she said, and moved to step around him.

  But Sam stopped her with a hand to her arm, and Libby felt that touch wave through her like a tsunami. She looked down at the big, rough hand, and the sudden image of it on her breast flashed through her mind’s eye. Wait, what? It went deep, and Libby was suddenly reminded of another time she’d felt that sensation, another time with Sam. They were dancing on a Halloween night, and she’d felt something wave through her, just like this.

  “Do me a favor?” Sam asked. “Stay away from Ryan. No driving through Vista Ridge. No showing up at the soccer fields.”