Return to Homecoming Ranch (Pine River) (22 page)

TWENTY-FIVE

If there was a lesson Sam had learned in his years of recovery and sobriety, it was that you could never take anything for granted. And that there was no rhyme or reason to why an addict or alcoholic would return to drinking or drugs.

He’d known a guy once who had been sober for six years. His name was Rick, and he was solid, he had it beat. Rick worked as an accountant, dated a beautiful, sexy woman, and liked golf. To Sam, he moved through life with ease. Rick had told Sam more than once that his addiction wasn’t a problem, that once he’d turned away from the Oxycontin, that was it—there was no turning back.

He said, like Tony had said the other night, he’d turned the page.

But then one fall the Colorado Rockies baseball team blew a pennant race, and Rick turned another page. Only he went in the wrong direction and took a bunch of pills, and just like that—like
that—
he fell off his sobriety.

It could happen in the blink of an eye.

Sam worried for Tony. To an outsider, it would seem that things were looking up for Tony. At Homecoming Ranch, he’d struck up a friendship with Ernest Delgado, and was doing some odd jobs around the place. Luke told him that Tony had been helping make some repairs and that he was pretty handy with a hammer. Just like Libby, Luke told Tony he could stay as long as he needed. They’d even try and pay him a little something.

But then Tony’s friend Justin left for a job down in Texas, and Tony seemed to sink. He told Sam he liked the work okay, he liked Ernest, and liked being around people and animals. But Tony also worried about his missing leg. He feared that no woman would ever want to take that on. Sam pointed out he’d had a bunch of women take it on, but Tony shook his head, said they all took off after they found out what was involved in taking care of the stump and the prosthesis.

“That might be the kind of woman you keep company with,” Sam said. “But there are lots of great women out there who wouldn’t care about a leg.”

“Like hell there is,” Tony said.

“At least you’ve got a place to stay,” Sam reminded him, but Tony just shrugged. “I don’t want to be a damn charity case. That’s all I am, a damn charity case.”

That simply wasn’t true. Sam assured Tony he was pulling his own weight around Homecoming Ranch and then some, but Tony wouldn’t hear it. Sam tried to convince Tony to call one of the military hotlines for mental health, but Tony scoffed at that. “So they can give me a pill and a Band-Aid? No thanks.”

Tony talked a lot about the desire to drink, about the struggle to keep from helping himself to Ernest’s beer. Sam understood that all too well, and he felt prepared to talk him through that, to make sure he attended his meetings and kept busy. Sam called Tony twice a day. He did everything he knew to do to support his sobriety.

But when Tony started to talk about killing himself, Sam felt out of his league.

He worried.

He worried about Libby, too, but it was a different sort of worry.

Libby was bubbly and happy, content in their new relationship. She made him happy. There was something to be said for ending a long day with a pair of shiny silvery blue eyes and a pretty smile. She was always happy to see him, throwing her arms around his neck with a happy kiss. “Hey!” she would say, “How was your day? Do you like lasagna? I hope so, because I made a huge batch of it.”

These days—busy and full, but easy—made Sam feel like he had finally reached the place he’d been searching for, a place he could relax. He felt safe in his new relationship.

But his time with Libby wasn’t without little niggles of worry here and there. She told him about her first fundraising committee meeting and the things she’d overheard in the bathroom at the Methodist church. She told him how awkward the meeting itself had been, and how no one seemed to want to hear what she had to say.

“You knew it would be tough,” he reminded her.

“But I thought that once they saw me and heard my ideas, they would understand that I am there just to help.” She frowned thoughtfully. “Do you think that Gwen is being spiteful?”

Sam didn’t think Gwen was the type, but then again, women had their own code of conduct that he didn’t understand. And it did seem to him that all the grunt work was falling to Libby. Somehow, she was the one running all the committee errands. “I have the time, you know, since I’m not working.”

As far as Sam knew, a couple of the women on that committee didn’t work, either, but it was Libby who took care of the printing, of picking up the silent auction items. Anything that needed to be done, Libby ended up doing. She had always been the type to raise her hand and volunteer first, and ask questions second.

Still, she was very determined in this particular venture, and Sam couldn’t help wondering if there was more going on than her desire to help Leo. He feared that perhaps Libby hadn’t let go of the Spanglers. It just seemed too easy after all she’d been through.

He was happy that at least she was putting her energy into a new direction for Homecoming Ranch. She had sworn him to secrecy about her plans. “I have to have the plan together before I tell Madeline. The more t’s that are crossed the better.” She’d laughed at that.

The days flew by, running together.

One night, when Sam came home from breaking up a fight at a Tanner Creek campsite, he walked in to the smell of sizzling steaks. He and Libby were not officially cohabiting, but they were spending most of their time together, either at his house, or at the ranch. He was getting used to the smell of actual food emanating from his kitchen. A bowl of salad was on the table, too, and a pie was cooling on the counter. “Wow,” he said as he took off his coat. “What’s the occasion?”

Libby was wearing an apron and a T-shirt that said “Pine River Chamber of Commerce” on the back. “You don’t know?”

“No clue,” Sam said and bent his head to kiss her.

“I’m a free woman, Lone Ranger. As in, no more restraining order. It expired today.” She did a little hop as she went back to the stove where something was cooking.

“That’s great,” he said. “Fantastic news. I’m so glad that’s behind you.”

“Me too!” she said cheerfully.

Over dinner, they talked about his work and the interesting things she’d read about veteran rehabilitation centers that afternoon.

Later, they were lying on Sam’s couch, watching the fire. Her head was on his shoulder, her leg draped over his. “What are you doing tomorrow?” he asked her.

“I’m driving up to Aspen to pick up a contribution to the auction. Deb Trimble said that Gwen asked her if I would. Gwen won’t ask me herself.”

“She’s probably a little leery of you.”

“She shouldn’t be. I’ve done nothing but work my tail off for that committee.”

Sam stroked Libby’s hair and brushed the end of one long tress against his cheek. “Maybe she wonders about it like I do,” he said.

“About what?”

“About your dedication to that committee.”

He felt Libby’s body stiffen. She slowly pushed up and twisted around to face him. “Why would you say that?”

“Because of the proximity to Gwen.” He shrugged. “I guess I wonder if you are really over that part of your life. If you have turned the page, so to speak.”

She looked surprised. “Sam . . . of course I have. Isn’t it obvious?”

“It’s obvious that you want to,” he said sincerely. “But it’s a big turnaround in just a few weeks.”

Libby leaned back. “Don’t you trust me?”

He didn’t know how to answer that. He wanted to trust her. He wanted more than anything to trust her completely. He
needed
to trust her. “Yeah,” he said. “I do.”

And that’s what scared him.

Libby pulled herself up and kissed him. “Good. Because you have nothing to worry about. Even if I saw the kids, I wouldn’t do anything.”

She kissed him again, but something in her statement registered in Sam’s mind. And as Libby’s mouth began to move down his body, her fingers following the wet trail, he knew something was off in that statement. But his thoughts were lost in a haze of flesh and kisses, of fragrant skin and soft, dark hair, and it wasn’t until the next morning he realized what it was that bothered him.
Even if I saw the kids, I wouldn’t do anything . . .

Sam had not mentioned the kids. Libby had. And that statement sounded as if she had thought about seeing those children.

He tried to give her the benefit of the doubt. To his dismay, he couldn’t do that completely.

Sam was also worried that Libby’s sister Emma was going to disappoint her. That she’d been in contact with the elusive Emma was a surprise to everyone. One evening as they had dinner with Luke and Madeline, Libby announced that Emma was coming to help her.

Madeline had almost spilled her wine when Libby said it. “
What
?
”

“I called her,” Libby said. “I really want this race to be a success, and Emma knows how to organize them.”

“You called her and asked her to come help you and she said yes? Just like that?” Madeline asked.

“I know, I was surprised, too,” Libby said. “I thought it was worth a shot—”

“I mean, we’ve been
struggling
here, needing her help, and out of the clear blue, she decides to come help with the race?” Madeline continued incredulously. “That is . . . so wrong.”

“It’s a fundraiser for Leo’s van,” Libby reminded her.

“That’s great, Libby,” Luke said, and looked meaningfully at Madeline.

“I know, but . . . but we have needed her and she couldn’t care less.”

Madeline seemed bothered by it all night.

Later, when Sam drove Libby back to his house, he asked, “So what’s going on with Emma? Why is Madeline upset?”

“Oh,” Libby said, with a flick of her wrist. “Emma is . . . Emma. She and Madeline didn’t exactly hit it off when they first met.” She smiled ruefully. “She’s a very hard woman to understand, so I don’t blame Madeline for that. But I don’t take it as personally as Madeline.”

Libby’s attitude was short-lived. As the days piled on top of one another, and Libby couldn’t get Emma on the phone to firm up her plans to come, Libby began to take it personally, too. Emma’s silence was hurtful, and while she didn’t say it, Sam could see that Libby was bewildered by it.

He hesitated to ask about the race, but finally asked one night as they were cleaning the kitchen at the ranch. “How is the race shaping up?” he asked.

“Ugh,” she said with a shake of her head. “It’s harder than I thought it would be. I could really use some help.” She tossed down the rag she was using to wash dishes. “I don’t understand why Emma won’t call me back.”

“You might have to accept that she’s not coming,” Sam suggested, but the moment the words left his mouth, he saw the flash of emotion across Libby’s face.

“She’ll come,” she said. “Maybe I wasn’t clear enough about the time line.”

“Is there some way I can help?” he asked.

“Really?” Libby asked hopefully. “I really need to do this, Sam. They think I can’t. They think that I’m nuts.” She pressed her lips together and shook her head. “It’s a great idea, right? And I think it’s the only thing we’ve got to raise enough money in a short amount of time.”

“It’s a great idea,” he agreed, wrapping her in his arms.

Sam wanted to make things better for Libby. But in some ways he felt powerless. Her issues seemed as complex as his own, scars that were formed over time, that ran too deep to clear up with simple encouragement. His heart warned him, told him that she wasn’t ready for this relationship, but Sam’s heart had already split open, had already let her in, growing new from the inside out.

Libby had said once that no one let her in. Well, he had let her in.

He had fallen in love with the curly-haired, blue-eyed woman. She’d brought a lightness to his life that he had desperately needed. Libby was his daily dose of effervescent happiness. She teased him, cajoled him, made love to him. She made him feel alive in a way he couldn’t remember ever feeling. Their connection felt as if it were on an elementally cellular level.

On the eve of the silent auction, Libby was more distracted. There were dozens of little details that seemed to fall to her. Sam had seen some of the silent auction items and thought the group would be lucky to raise ten thousand dollars.

“How about I drive you in tomorrow? We’ll swing by the city offices and get a permit for the race.” That was something he could do to help her, pull some strings with people he knew at the city.

“Don’t you have to work?” she asked.

“Yep. But I’m going out to Trace Canyon to talk to a man who might be hiring ranch hands. See if he wants to take on Tony.”

“I thought Tony was going to help Ernest rebuild a fence.”

Sam laughed. “How long do you think it takes to build a fence?”

“I don’t know. It would take me a year, and that’s if I had a clue what I was doing. Maybe I should take my own car, Sam. We have a lot to do tomorrow before the silent auction and I don’t know how long I will be.”

He caught her by the waist, pulling her into his chest. “I thought you
liked
riding with me,” he said, and kissed her.

“Just seems a little convenient, deputy,” Libby said, dropping her head to one side so he could kiss her neck. “I think you might want to take advantage of me. Or make sure I stay out of trouble.”

“I know you’re going to stay out of trouble,” he said. “Because you’ll have me to answer to if you don’t.” He put his hands on her waist and lifted her up; Libby wrapped her legs around his waist.

“That doesn’t scare me,” she said, smiling.

He turned around, put her on the edge of his bed and filled his hands with her breasts. “Don’t tempt me.”

Libby grinned and put her arms around his neck. “I love it when you get all stern.”

“I’m about to get very stern,” he said, and dipped his hand into the waist of her jeans and nudged her back, crawling over her, his body already thumping with want. Libby closed her eyes and sighed, and as usual, Sam forgot his niggling worries, let them float off to that place all worries went when he was making love to Libby.