by Julia London
But the tin didn’t have the same appeal to him as it normally did. His mind was elsewhere, his thoughts jumbled. He hadn’t been able to erase the image of Libby’s hopeful face as she’d stood outside his truck. He could even hear her voice.
It may be possible that Ryan and I will agree to some happy medium.
That statement had made Sam profoundly and irrationally angry.
That he cared enough for it to make him angry made him angrier still. He didn’t care what Libby Tyler did with her life. It was not up to him to set her on the right course. Then why the hell didn’t he just let it go? Let her do whatever she wanted, let the chips fall where they may! What difference could it possibly make to him?
There it was again, that feeling of something old and battered trying to dig out from underneath his rubble. He didn’t like the feeling at all, and suddenly lost interest in the birdhouses. He put down his hammer, swiped up his coffee cup, and stalked out of his work shed.
The sun was coming up, and with it rose the chatter of the magpies and blue jays greeting their day. Sam stood very still, his eyes closed, taking in the morning.
Sometimes, when there was something going on up at Homecoming Ranch, and the mornings were this still, he could hear a little bit of laughter or voices drifting down to him. He was always glad to hear it, too—the place had been so silent and forlorn after Mrs. Kendrick had died from cancer. Sam had been sorry when Mr. Kendrick and Leo abandoned the ranch for Pine River and sold the place to Grant Tyler.
He worried about Homecoming Ranch. Libby’s intentions were good, but her ideas were such a gamble. Sam’s thinking had been confirmed one day when he’d run into Jackson Crane, who had been Grant Tyler’s financial guy. Jackson mentioned that the sisters would have to book a wedding every weekend to make it a go, and Sam was pretty sure that wasn’t anywhere close to happening.
Still, Libby was pretty goddamn tenacious, and had as good a shot as anyone at turning the ranch around. She’d always been a go-getter, the first one in line to volunteer for whatever needed doing. A few years ago when the wildfires had come close to Pine River, he remembered Libby with a stain of ash on her face, tirelessly working to bundle up food, shoes, and water for evacuees. She was at the annual road race for bikers at the start of the summer, manning the rest stops. She’d been active in her church, had worked with the Chamber of Commerce, and had lobbied the city council for funding for pedestrian-friendly walkways and had won.
She was tenacious all right, so much so that he was pissed off all over again.
He opened his eyes and gazed out at the valley. Forget it. She’s not your problem.
He lifted his coffee cup to his lips—and sloshed it down his bare chest when the ring of the telephone jarred him. Cursing under his breath and wiping away the spill, he walked inside, picked up his phone and looked at the display.
Terri. His ex-wife. Sam put the phone down and walked away from it. The last time she’d called, she’d been looking for money. He’d told her not to call him again. He couldn’t bear the idea of her piercing the armor he’d erected around his heart and his memories again.
The phone stopped ringing, and a moment later, it started again. Terri again.
Sam turned off his ringer. He felt a swell of bitterness rise up in him, the sort he used to tamp down with drink. Four years ago, he would have opened a bottle. Today, he would take a shower and hope to God it erased the tension he felt.
He’d met Terri in a college government class all those years ago. She’d been the girl with straight red hair and dancing blue eyes. She was full of purpose and the desire to make a difference in the world. Sam had been caught up in the swirl of her energy, had fallen madly in love with her. Let’s join the peace corps, she’d said. Let’s go help people.
He had never wanted to help people so much in his life.
But even then, as young and idealistic as they were, there had been warning signs. Terri loved to party, for one, and Sam had been easy to pull along. She also had a volatile temper that was made worse with a couple of drinks.
Whether Sam had been too naïve to understand what was happening to her and to him, or too blinded by love, he didn’t know. But he’d ignored those signs, every last one.
Sam and Terri married in a little church in Taos, New Mexico, the summer after he graduated. Terri, a year behind him, dropped out of school. They’re part of the establishment. They don’t get it, she’d said. That was the reason, she claimed, that her grades were falling. Them, they, the unseen faces of injustice that seemed to shadow her everywhere she went.
Sam and Terri moved around for a couple of years. They lived in Santa Monica in a rent house with a bunch of hippies who talked a lot about bringing peace to the world but did little more than surf. They made their way to Portland when Terri had the idea to own a coffee shop. We’ll have poetry readings, she’d said brightly. They’d lasted three months.
Eventually, the need for money had driven them to Colorado Springs. Terri had big plans to take a job with the Forest Department, but took a job working for an insurance agent—still helping people, as she saw it. Sam joined the police force. After a couple of years, the opportunity to work for the Pinero County Sheriff’s Office had cropped up. It had been a good couple of years for Sam—he’d done well, rising quickly through the ranks. The sheriff had liked him, and had taken Sam under his wing. Sam was the guy everyone assumed would run for office when the sheriff retired.
Many times, Sam had tried to pinpoint when it had all begun to get out of hand. When it was, exactly, that Terri had gone from a vivacious college girl to a woman who got into verbal altercations with people around town about ridiculous things and drank straight from a vodka bottle. When it was that everything had unraveled into frayed ends, when the shadows had begun to close in around Terri, when he found the answer to all his troubles in the same vodka bottle Terri favored. When had they become this couple?
It bothered Sam when he saw shadows around Libby, too. Libby’s shadows were vastly different than Terri’s had been, but still. He didn’t think Libby was crazy, like he heard Mrs. Miller say at the Grizzly Café one morning. Or that she had some heretofore undiagnosed mental health issue that had suddenly manifested itself. He thought it was probably true what she’d said—she’d had a breakdown. He didn’t believe she was gripped by anything more than a need to belong—to someone, to something. And in rapid succession, she had lost all her places to belong, and all the people who had mattered to her. That was enough to send anyone down the path Libby had traveled.
He knew what that felt like, that wanting to belong to someone. Sometimes, Sam could feel it slipping around in his marrow, tugging at his conscious thoughts. He could feel the ache of wanting children settling into the crevasses of his heart.
As for Libby . . .
He couldn’t even define what it was that he felt about her. Frustration. Sympathy. More. Whatever more was, he didn’t want to look too close. No good could come of his worry or his growing infatuation for her. The last thing he needed was to complicate his life with a woman like her. It was best for him stay up on the mountain with his birdhouses and devote himself to helping those who were in a spot he’d once been in. Like Tony D’Angelo. If he could keep Tony from falling off the wagon, if that was the only thing Sam did with his life, he’d be happy.
That’s what he told himself.
NINE
It was one of those early fall days when the sun began to sit lower in the sky and cast a gold light over the earth. It was perfectly still, not a breath of a breeze, and all across the meadow that stretched in front of the house, Libby could see dragonflies flitting across the empty tent pads, the sun glinting off their transparent wings.
She was sitting on the porch steps Luke had repaired. She had dressed in a cotton skirt and canvas shoes, and a long-sleeved Henley shirt. She’d pulled her unruly hair into a pair of low tails behind her ears. Below her, under the steps, the four dogs were lounging, wai
ting and watching for a sign that something would happen.
Maybe today something would happen. Maybe today, Ryan would find a way to properly apologize to her. Maybe they would agree to start thinking about how to get on with life in the new reality. Libby was aware that meant forgiving his affair with Gwen, and all the lying. And while she wasn’t quite ready to forgive Ryan for anything, she was acutely aware that it meant having Alice and Max back in her life. It meant having a family again. That Ryan had apologized for anything was a positive step, and it had put Libby in a very good mood. She felt buoyant and hopeful for the first time in weeks. She relished the beauty of the day, the dogs lying beneath her, the dragonflies, the sun—everything.
Her host of problems didn’t seem to loom quite as large today.
And yet, nothing had changed. Her plans for Homecoming Ranch were looking impossible. She’d met Michelle Catucci, a banker, and had explained the obstacles she’d encountered in getting Homecoming Ranch Events off the ground.
“Okay,” Michelle said. “What sort of business plan do you have?”
“That’s it,” Libby said. “Making it an event destination.”
“No, I mean a business plan,” Michelle had said. “With goals and benchmarks and some cost estimates we could look at. We can’t loan money without some sort of idea of what you’ll be bringing in.”
“It’s kind of a catch-22, isn’t it?” Libby had pointed out to Michelle. “I mean, I can’t pay back the loan until I get some business. But I can’t get business without a loan.” She’d laughed a little, as if the conundrums of a business like hers were shared by all businesses.
“Come back with a business plan,” Michelle had said as she’d put her Chanel-clad arm around Libby’s shoulders and shown her out. “And your bank records. Get all that together, and we’ll talk about this again. I want to help you, Libby, but the plan has to be truly feasible.”
Libby had been too embarrassed to admit to Michelle that she really didn’t know exactly what went into a business plan. But not nearly as embarrassed as she would have been if Michelle had seen her bank records.
“Hey, Libs.”
She glanced over her shoulder as Luke sauntered out onto the porch, dressed in jeans and a plain white T-shirt.
Luke smiled at her, his teeth awfully white against the dark beard he was growing along with his hair, which he was wearing in a little tail tied at his nape. “What’s up?”
“Not much.”
He walked down the steps and leaned down, tugging on the dog ear of her hair. “You okay?”
Luke and Madeline were always asking her that since she’d come back from Mountain View. “I’m okay,” she said. “Isn’t it a gorgeous day? What are you two up to?”
“Pottery,” he said with a roll of his eyes. “Don’t ask.”
“Hey!”
Madeline had emerged from the house in hiking pants, a halter-top, and a floppy sun hat, under which her sleek black hair hung down her back in a ponytail. At the sound of her voice, the beasts below the stairs began to rouse, coming out from their shade, stretching long, and yawning. Madeline was their favorite now, probably because she took long walks with them up the trails behind the house. Libby used to do that, but, well . . . things hadn’t been the same lately.
“I’m waiting on a guy to come and fix my car,” Libby said.
“Oh, good.” Madeline maneuvered her way between Libby and Luke, placing a hand on the top of Libby’s head to balance as she passed. “Luke, did you tell her about Sunday?”
“Right. Dad has invited some people to dinner on Sunday. The Broncos are playing their first regular season game, and in the Kendrick household, that’s what’s known as a Big Deal.”
Madeline paused in her progress down the steps and looked back at Libby. “You’ll come, won’t you? I think you should get out,” she said, before Libby could answer. “Don’t you think you should get out more? I worry about you sitting up here, night after night.”
“But I—”
“Sam’s coming.”
Libby was so startled that she couldn’t speak for a moment. “Okay,” she said slowly. “And why are you telling me that? Is he going to do something special? Whip out a guitar and sing a few tunes?”
“I just thought you’d want to know,” Madeline said with a shrug. “I thought you were friends.” She looked pointedly at Libby.
“Maddie,” Luke said, tangling his fingers with Madeline’s. “Leave her alone.”
“Okay,” Madeline said. “But will you come, Libby?”
There was hardly anything Libby wanted to do less, but she knew if she declined, Madeline and Luke would stop everything, sit on the step with her, and look at her gravely while they asked if she was really okay. “Yes,” Libby said. “Wouldn’t miss it. Is there anything I can bring?”
“No,” Luke said. “Dad’s going to grill, I think. Aunt Patti has the rest of it covered.”
“I can make a cake,” Libby offered. “Leo loves cake.”
“For Leo, cake batter is better,” Luke said. “The swallowing thing isn’t going so well,” he said, gesturing to his throat as he cast his eyes to the ground. “I’m sure Leo would love to drink cake batter through a straw, but I don’t think Marisol will allow it.”
Luke rarely talked about Leo’s condition, but everyone in Pine River knew that Leo was a ticking clock, every second counting down on what was left of his young life.
The sound of a vehicle on the road caused them all to look up. Sam’s patrol truck appeared and barreled up the dirt road.
“Oh no,” Madeline said, and looked back at Libby. “Did something happen?”
“God, Madeline. One minute you’re trying to hook us up, and the next you’re worried he’s coming to arrest me. Nothing happened,” Libby said, and stood up. “He found a guy to work on my car, that’s all.”
“Oh yeah?” Luke said, sounding interested. “Nothing like getting under a hood on a day like this.” He walked down to the drive as Sam’s patrol truck rolled to a stop.
But Madeline was still looking at Libby with very intent dark-blue eyes. Dad’s eyes, Libby thought, although she would never say that to Madeline. Madeline had never known their dad, and what she did know, she didn’t like. “That was nice of Sam,” she said. “So . . . you guys are kind of chummy, huh?”
“Because he is helping me out?”
“Well? Luke knows everyone in town. He could have found someone to work on your car a month ago. How does Sam even know your car needs work?”
Libby looked at Sam, who was shaking Luke’s hand at that moment. She stepped past her sister. “There is nothing going on between us, Madeline, trust me. He knows a guy who is a vet and who needs some work. And he knows my car is crap because I told him. Nothing more to it than that.”
Madeline nodded, but she was still studying Libby. She had a bad habit of doing that, of looking Libby up and down as if she was scoping for clues to some big mystery. “Good, then. I am glad you’re getting your car fixed. By the way, Gary’s mother called. She and the happy couple are coming early next week to check out the barn.”
“Great!” Libby said. “We’ll be ready.” She had learned in the last few weeks that if she just kept smiling, and smiled long and hard enough, everyone calmed down and didn’t stand around, waiting for her to break down again.
“Will we?” Madeline asked, wincing a little. “Because it really stinks in there.”
“It does now, but we’ll move the horses out of there. Not to worry.”
“I hope not, because we have no backup plan,” Madeline said, as if Libby needed reminding.
“You worry too much, Madeline,” Libby said.
Madeline sighed. “I know I do. I try not to, but old habits die hard.”
“Don’t worry about this. We’re in good shape,” Libby said. “I better go see about my car.” She continued down the steps before Madeline could voice any other concerns about the wedding, walking onto the drive where Luke,
Sam, and Tony were standing.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hey,” Tony said when he saw her. “Where’s the clunker?”
“It’s in the garage with the other clunker,” she responded, referring to Luke’s late mother’s Buick. She glanced at Sam, but he was squatting down, his attention on the dogs.
“I’ll show you where it is,” she said.
“Yep. Got some tools in the back of the truck,” Tony said, and walked lopsidedly to the back of Sam’s truck.
Sam stood up, his gaze barely meeting Libby’s. “Hello, Libby,” he said, and then he shifted his gaze to the back of the truck and called out, “Okay, Tony, I’ll pick you up in a couple of hours!”
Libby waited for him to say more than hi. But he turned to Luke and said, “What kind of engine do you have in the Bronco?”
“Hemi,” Luke said proudly. “Come take a look.” The two of them walked away from her.
Libby blinked with surprise at Sam’s broad back. All right, he didn’t believe that she and Ryan could find a way to get along, but he didn’t have to be rude about it. She found his aloofness unsettling—she was used to the Lone Ranger hovering around her.
“Okay, see you, Libby!” Madeline called out to her, throwing a tote bag over her shoulder and then lifting a hand. She walked up to where Luke was standing and slipped in under his arm.
A swell of jealousy and hope filled Libby. She wanted that sort of affection and love in her life and always had. She wanted to be wanted and needed. Funny how she kept ending up with people who didn’t want her or need her.
“So . . . which way to the car?” Tony asked, having hoisted a rusted toolbox from the bed of Sam’s truck.
“This way,” Libby said, and turned her back on the happy couple and Sam.
Her car was parked next to Mrs. Kendrick’s old Buick, which they kept around for emergency transportation when one of their cars was in the shop, as Libby’s had been frequently the last few months. But lately, Libby had not been able to get that one to start, either.