Return to Homecoming Ranch (Pine River)

by Julia London

  “I’m good,” Libby said airily. She slipped her hand behind his head, pulling it down so that she could kiss him.

  Sam couldn’t resist her. He put his hand around her waist, pulled her into his chest and kissed her a little more deeply. He lifted his head. “Be good,” he warned her.

  Libby laughed, the sound of it warm and light in that shed. “Don’t ask for the impossible.”

  A tiny bell of warning clanged somewhere in Sam’s head again but he ignored it, and left Libby standing in his private sanctuary.

  TWENTY-ONE

  When Sam dropped Libby off at the ranch that afternoon, Libby wasn’t sure who was more eager to greet her, the dogs or Madeline.

  “Hey, Sam,” Madeline said, smiling coyly, her gaze sweeping over him.

  “Madeline,” Sam said. “Hi, Tony,” he added, looking over Madeline’s shoulder.

  Madeline didn’t turn around. Her laser-sharp gaze had shifted and was drilling a hole right through Libby.

  “Sorry about the car, Libby,” Tony said. “It’s probably the belt. Those old cars, the belts can go like that,” he said, and ran both hands over his crown, lacing his fingers behind his neck. “I should have taken a closer look.”

  “It’s no big deal, buddy,” Sam said. “Come on, let’s go to town and check it out.”

  Libby didn’t care why her car hadn’t started. If it had started, Sam never would have made her get into his truck. Her life would be vastly different this morning, and not in a good way. She couldn’t help but smile at that.

  Sam said to Madeline, “I’ll be back to pick up the horses this evening.”

  “Great. Thank you, Sam,” Madeline said, her gaze still on Libby.

  Sam put his hand on Tony’s shoulder and started him toward his truck.

  Libby watched him walk away. But when she turned toward the house, Madeline’s close proximity startled her.

  “Oh. Sorry,” Libby said and tried to step around Madeline, intending to walk up the porch steps to the house.

  But Madeline put her hand on Libby’s arm. “Not so fast, Libby Tyler. You sure are smiling a lot for someone whose car broke down in the middle of a freak blizzard. So where were you last night? At the Grizzly? Or in jail?”

  “Geez, Madeline, you’re worse than my mother,” Libby said, and jogged up the stairs to the house.

  “What do you expect? You come home wearing a shirt way too big for you and a big fat smile on your face!” Madeline shouted after her, and jogged up the steps after Libby, with the dogs on her heels.

  Libby looked down at the long-sleeved T-shirt she’d borrowed from Sam. “Oh. Right.” She walked into the house and let the screen door bang behind her.

  “So what’s the big secret?” Madeline said, following her with the army of dogs. “Why can’t you tell me where you were or why you’re so happy all of a sudden?”

  “Am I?”

  “Yes!” Madeline insisted. “You’ve stomped around here since you came back from Mountain View, and today, you’re all smiles and giggles.”

  “You’d stomp around, too, after a week at Mountain View, trust me. I don’t know why I’m happy, Madeline. I guess the first snow of the season does that to me. I love it. Don’t you love it? All that time in hot and humid Florida, don’t you love the first big snow?”

  Madeline’s eyes narrowed. “It’s my first big snow,” she said. “And it’s very cool. Unfortunately for me, Luke ruined it by reminding me that we have a ceremony to stage in a few short days and it will be muddy.”

  The ceremony. Libby groaned—she hadn’t thought of it in the last twenty-four hours. “Not to worry,” she said. “We can spread straw around. And the horses are going down to Sam’s tonight, right? We’ll have it cleaned up in no time at all.”

  Madeline cocked her head to one side. “What about you? Going to Sam’s tonight?” She arched a brow.

  Libby smiled. “You should really consider a career in police interrogations. We were stranded by the snow, just like you.”

  “So obviously you were stranded at Sam’s house,” Madeline said, folding her arms. “Instead of, say, the Grizzly. Because that would make more sense, you know. Your car broke down in town, not at Sam’s.”

  Libby suddenly burst into laughter. “Okay, so what if I was at Sam’s last night? You’ve been telling me to move on, haven’t you?”

  Madeline’s eyes widened. And then her face broke into a wreath of smiles as she abruptly grabbed Libby by the shoulders and swung her around. “Libby! You and Sam? Really?”

  “Me and Sam,” Libby said, happy to share some news with Madeline for once that wasn’t bad. “Ohmigod, I’m giggling.”

  “That’s fantastic!” Madeline cried, flinging her arms wide. “We love Sam!”

  “We? Who’s we?”

  “Me and Luke, of course. And Leo and Bob. And Dani, for that matter. We’ve all been rooting for him.”

  “Wait, what?” Libby asked, her smile fading a little.

  Madeline clucked her tongue. “It’s obvious that Sam has a thing for you—”

  “A thing for me!” Libby exclaimed.

  “Oh come on, you know that,” Madeline happily scoffed.

  “No, I—I didn’t think it was a thing,” Libby said uncertainly, but suddenly things were beginning to make sense.

  “Oh, sure,” Madeline said. “I don’t know. I noticed it when I first moved to Pine River. Remember that night we were in town for First Tuesdays?”

  Libby thought back to that night. Madeline had just moved to Pine River to be with Luke, so she and Libby, in an effort to form a sisterly bond, had gone to take a look at some of the crafts that were sold in town on the first Tuesday of every month through the tourist season. Libby remembered that night very well, but not because of Sam. That night, she’d seen Ryan and the kids with Gwen. She’d been surprised by it, and had assumed it was a visitation agreement. She remembered how agitated Ryan had been when she’d approached them to say hello to the kids.

  “Sam was there, remember?” Madeline said.

  “He was?” Libby asked absently. Another memory began to come back to her. A smile, a black collared shirt. “Right . . . I remember now,” she said. “He was talking to you, asking about your move from Orlando.”

  Madeline laughed. “He may have been asking about me, but the whole time he was looking at you. But you were obsessed with Ryan. I am so glad you are over him. You are, right?”

  Something hitched inside Libby. She was over Ryan. She’d been over him a long time now, and had allowed herself to believe that, for the sake of Alice and Max, she could possibly reconcile with him if necessary to have them in her life. But last night with Sam had been so incredible that Libby couldn’t imagine how she’d ever believed that.

  Madeline was still watching her, still smiling. Libby groaned. “Try not to take flight with joy, or you’ll hit your head on the ceiling. And geez, stop smiling like that. Seriously, stop,” she said, giggling at Madeline’s goofy grin. “Who knows where this will go?”

  “Okay, okay,” Madeline said gleefully. “I’m sorry. I’m acting just like my friend Trudi, and she drives me nuts. I’m just really happy for you.”

  Libby felt another hitch inside her. It felt as if this wasn’t the first time Madeline had expressed these feelings about her—just not to her.

  “Oh, by the way, I’m making chili!” Madeline announced. “I’m going to ask Sam if he wants to stick around for it, if that’s okay with you.”

  “Madeline!” Libby lightly protested.

  Madeline giggled and passed Libby on her way to the kitchen. “He’s already going to be here, Libby! He’ll be hungry after they load the horses. Don’t worry, I promise I won’t be a nuisance.”

  Libby had her doubts about that.

  The chili dinner turned out to be something of a party. Madeline invited everyone—Ernest and Tony, Luke and Sam. She’d even decided to assign seats at the dining room table. A first at Homecoming Ranch, and Libby k
new exactly what her sister was up to—she was orchestrating a date for Libby and Sam. That was Madeline for you, assuming that things weren’t being done correctly if she wasn’t the one doing them.

  Madeline’s chili was good, surprisingly so. Over dinner, Libby and Madeline told the guys about the plans for Gary and Austin’s civil ceremony. The talk then turned to people around town.

  “Luke, how’s Leo?” Sam asked. “I heard yesterday that he’d had another seizure.”

  Luke sighed and shook his head. “We thought we had that under control with a new combination of medicines. While we were in Montrose, they found he had some fluid on his lungs.”

  “Oh no,” Libby said. “Is he home?”

  “Not yet. He’s due to be released tomorrow if all goes well.”

  The news about Leo was never good. This summer he’d suffered from uncontrollable seizures, and Libby had heard Bob Kendrick say he would need a feeding tube before long. “I can’t wait to get started on the fundraising for him,” she said, more to herself than to anyone in particular.

  That was followed by a bit of an awkward silence. Ernest and Tony seemed to be more interested in their food. But Madeline, Luke, and Sam looked anywhere but at her. “What is it?” Libby asked, looking around at the three of them.

  Madeline and Luke, she noticed, exchanged a look, and Luke’s jaw tightened, as if he were biting back words. She looked to Sam for help understanding what everyone was so quiet about.

  “I think,” he said, looking at Madeline and Luke, “there is a slight concern about your participation on that committee since Gwen Spangler is heading it.”

  Libby ignored the little catch in her heart. “Good for Gwen,” she said, a tad too dismissively. “Just out of curiosity . . .” She picked up her spoon and dipped it into her bowl, “Why is Gwen chairing it?”

  “She wants to help,” Luke said. “The Methodists have a ladies group that chooses a cause every year, and this year, Leo is their cause.”

  “Well, I like a good cause, too, and I can’t think of a better one than Leo. This means that Gwen and I are on the same page.”

  “But still,” Madeline said, “Maybe it’s not a good idea, given everything that’s happened.”

  Libby spooned some chili. “Okay, everyone, lighten up, will you? I get it, I understand your concern. But nothing is going to happen. I’ve known Leo all my life, and this isn’t about anything but helping him.” To their skeptical looks, she said, “I swear it.”

  “What’s the big deal?” Tony asked casually.

  No one looked as if they wanted to answer that. Madeline said, “Libby’s had some issues with a couple of people in town.” She waved her hand as if it were a trifling thing, but her voice belied that gesture.

  Tony snorted. “You wouldn’t believe how many issues I’ve had in Pine River. This is what you do,” he said, pointing his spoon at Libby. “You fall down, then you get back on the saddle and you move the hell on. Am I right, Sam?”

  “Yep,” Sam said.

  “That’s what you do,” Tony said to everyone else.

  “I agree, Tony,” Libby said. “And that’s exactly what I am trying to do.”

  “You turn the page,” Tony continued. “Turn the page and go on. I had this friend,” he continued. “We called him Frick, because he was always hanging out with this dude named Franken, something like. Frick and Frank, right? We were all stationed in Afghanistan together, the Helmand Province, and Frick and I, we were wounded by the same IED. Killed Franken,” he added casually, as if Franken had caught a bad cold instead of losing his life. “Anyway, we come back to the States, me missing a leg and Frick missing both arms below the elbow, and he finds out his wife has moved on. Only she forgot to tell him.”

  “Oh my God,” Madeline said. “How awful.”

  Libby couldn’t imagine surviving a bomb, losing limbs, only to find out that everything had exploded at home, too.

  “Well old Frick, he was stubborn, and he tried to get her back but she wouldn’t come. She didn’t like him without his arms, you know? Like that changed the man or something.” Tony made a sound of disgust and shook his head. “Let me tell you, Frick took that shit hard. I said, buddy, turn the page. Life goes on.”

  No one spoke. They waited for Tony to continue, but Tony shrugged and leaned over his chili.

  “So?” Libby said. “What happened?”

  “Huh?” Tony looked up. “Oh, he killed himself,” he said. “Had his toe on the trigger.”

  Libby gasped and exchanged a look of shared horror with Madeline.

  “It wasn’t just his wife, you know,” Tony said. “He might have gotten over that. But it was the no arm thing, too. No job, no woman—that can really get to a man.” He helped himself to more chili. “I would have helped him, but at the time, I was sleeping on my mom’s couch.”

  He ate his chili and looked around the table, realizing only then what a rapt audience he had. “Oh, hey,” he said. “I didn’t mean to bring you all down. Shit happens. There’s just not enough places for guys like us. It’s not like anyone comes back from war in good shape, you know?”

  “We get the horses now?” Ernest said to Luke, and both Luke and Sam were more than happy to have an excuse to leave the table. Even Tony, shoveling in a few more bites as he came to his feet, wanted to help. “This thing works like a charm on the snow,” he said proudly, patting his prosthesis, and walked out behind the other men.

  Libby helped Madeline clean the kitchen; by the time they’d finished, the men had loaded the horses into the trailer. Sam met Libby on the porch, his hands deep in his pockets against the chill. Everyone else had disappeared inside.

  “I should go before the roads ice,” he said, and put his arms around her. “You’re shivering.”

  “I don’t want you to go,” she said into his coat.

  “The horses need to be fed. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

  “Okay,” she said, and lifted her face to his. He kissed her, his hand cupping her face, his tongue and lips teasing hers, warming her up. When he let go of her, the cold air sank into the space where he’d just been.

  He walked down the steps, but paused on the bottom and glanced back up at her. “Are you sure about the committee, Libby? Madeline has a point.”

  Libby sighed. “Sam . . . I’m sure. It’s like Tony said—I’ve turned the page.”

  She didn’t like the doubtful way Sam looked at her.

  TWENTY-TWO

  You’ve probably heard by now that I had another seizure, first one in about two months. I don’t remember it. One minute I was watching Biggest Loser and rooting for the cute chick, and the next minute, I woke up in the hospital. I was pissed. I don’t have time for hospitals; I have a van to acquire.

  The only good thing about hospitals is the hot nurses. It’s like bellying up to a buffet of women. But get this—this time, I woke up to a guy nurse. Yes! A guy! I said, “No offense, dude, but I am getting you reassigned. I don’t pay to look at a guy’s mug while I’m in here.”

  The nurse said he understood, but he was putting a catheter in while he was talking and that made our little chat sort of awkward. Ruined my whole trip, if you want to know the truth.

  But the good news is, I ran into Dante. Dante is a seventeen-, eighteen-year-old kid who has cancer. We usually run into each other when he’s doing chemo and I’m having some doctor tell me I need a feeding tube and after that, probably a breathing machine, and other crap that I don’t listen to unless Dad gets upset about it. Which he does, a lot. He’s getting soft in his old age. I tried to get him to watch the WWE with me, but he said he didn’t like wrestling. Who doesn’t like wrestling, I ask you? Chicks and old men, that’s who. Give me some six-year-old boys or some thirty-year-old men, and it’s a party when the WWE is on.

  Originally when I met Dante and they had said maybe he didn’t have that long, he and I were going to use his trip from Make-A-Wish Foundation to go to the Broncos game. But Dante totall
y blew that by going into remission. He said he was super sorry, that he wanted to go as much as me, but I have my doubts about that. I told him not to sweat it, that I would work my magic to get us the tickets. You know all about that already, so I won’t bore you with the riveting details of my genius this time.

  Yes, Marisol is right, I like to hear myself talk, especially if it’s about me. But in my defense, there’s nothing very interesting going on in Pine River. I mean, I’m it.

  Anyway, I’m back in Montrose with a guy nurse, and I saw Dante walking around with an IV, and I said, “Hey, what are you doing back here, trying to get a date?” Turns out, Dante’s cancer is back, and that sucks. But on the other hand—and this may sound selfish—the only time I get to see him is when he and I are both in Montrose, him getting chemo, me getting some nurse eye candy.

  I am happy to report that Dante is feeling pretty good and he is totally stoked about the game. I told him about the van we’re going to get—red, with twenty-inch chrome wheels, and some kick-ass flames painted on the side. But Dad was sitting there, and as he is the King of Wet Blankets, he tried to tell Dante that we weren’t painting flames on the van. I winked at Dante and told him later that Dad doesn’t know I’ve already got that lined up from a buddy I went to school with. Dad thinks it’s weird to drive me around in a red van with flames on it, but he’s, like, fifty- or sixty-something and is out of touch with sexy.

  Anyway, I could see I was getting Dante’s hopes up with this talk of the van, and he said, “Dude, you’re going to be like the sickest wheelchair in the nation!” He didn’t mean sick like MND sick, he meant sick as in totally cool. So now, I have to deliver, and I’ll be honest, I’m a little worried about it because the Methodist ladies are a little slow on the uptake.

  They started off by selling raffle tickets for things like dinner and a movie. It doesn’t take a genius to know they’re never going to get me a van like that, right?