Return to Homecoming Ranch (Pine River) (25 page)

Madeline folded her arms. “I think you mean I’m still being responsible.”

“Nope. That’s not what I meant,” Emma said.

“Wait,” Libby said, throwing up her hands before Emma and Madeline could begin to argue. “Emma, why are you here?”

“
Why?
I told you I’d come help you.”

“But that was more than a month ago!”

Emma shrugged. “I had some things to do. So when am I going to meet the guy who needs all this fundraising?”

“Who, Leo?” Madeline asked, looking a little horrified.

“Yes, Leo.” Something wasn’t quite right with Emma. She seemed far too casual, and yet, she kept glancing past Libby and out the front windows as if she expected to see someone coming up the drive. “Is he around?”

“No,” Libby said. “He lives in Pine River.”

Emma looked around the room. “Well then, do you have anything to eat?” she asked, and pressed a hand against her concave belly. “It’s a long drive from Los Angeles.”

“You drove from Los Angeles without eating,” Madeline said, her voice full of disbelief.

“I’ll make you something,” Libby said.

“Libby!” Madeline cried. “Emma just waltzes in here without a word and you’re going to cook for her?”

“I didn’t waltz in without a word,” Emma said. “I told Libby I was going to come and help her. So I’m here to help. Try not to get your panties in a wad because, apparently, we’re going to be stuck here together for a little while.”

“Oh no,” Madeline said.

“Oh yes,” Emma said.

Emma chose the room at the end of the hall with a view of the forest. It had been a study at one point, and was as far from the rest of the house as one could possibly get. Libby helped bring her things in while Madeline hightailed it into town to be with Luke.

Emma’s things consisted of the tote bag she would not let out of her sight, and a small suitcase, which she pointed to for Libby to carry. “So Madeline’s really going to marry Luke Kendrick, huh?” Emma asked as she examined herself in a faded mirror. “He’s hot.”

Libby hoped Emma wasn’t one of those women who stole boyfriends and husbands. She certainly had the looks to pull something like that off if she wanted. That was the thing about Emma—even though she and Libby had known each other for years, Libby didn’t really know her at all.

Emma suddenly swung around and looked at Libby. “What about you? Where’s
your
boyfriend?”

“Who, Ryan? The one who dumped me?”

“No, not him,” Emma scoffed. “He’s a dick. If you’re still with him, no wonder everyone thinks you’re batshit crazy.”

“Please don’t sugarcoat your opinions on my account,” Libby said drily.

“Okay, so who is the guy that has you all sad looking?”

“God, is it so obvious?” Libby asked, pressing her hands to her cheeks.

“It’s always a guy who takes the sparkle out of us,” Emma said. “Just zaps it right out,” she said with a snap of her fingers, then whirled around and fell backward on the bed. “So tell me.”

Libby told her. She told her about Ryan, and how Sam had been there for her, saving her from herself more than once. She told Emma what had happened the last night she’d seen Sam. She told her how she’d been moping around for the last couple of weeks, seeing a therapist, making plans, working the race, but feeling numb and empty and missing him, missing him so deeply.

When she finished, Emma sighed, stacked her hands behind her head and said, “Far be it from me to ever tell another woman how to do her business, but for shit’s sake, Libby, go
talk
to him. At least tell him you’re sorry. He’s probably in some bar drinking right now because he misses you so.”

“I don’t think so—he’s a recovering alcoholic.”

“Oh great, it just gets better,” Emma said. “Then maybe he’s hoeing weeds, I don’t know. Just go
talk
to him.”

“It’s not that simple,” Libby said.

“Why not?”

“Because he won’t return my phone calls,” Libby said. “And I don’t want to push him into a confrontation. Especially since that worked so well with Ryan.”

Emma waved a hand at her. “You have to. Men are notorious for not wanting to talk about feelings. You have to push them up against the wall sometimes.”

“But if I push too hard, I could lose him,” Libby argued.

“Sounds to me like maybe you already have. And if you haven’t, and he gets all bent out of shape and weepy about it, then who cares? You don’t need a fragile little flower as a life mate.”

She had a point. The next morning, Libby drove to Sam’s house.

THIRTY

Sam knew the sound of Libby’s car—he’d heard it a few times over the last couple of weeks, motoring down the road into town, and back up to the ranch again. Every time he heard it, he wondered if she would stop.

Every time, he hoped she wouldn’t, a hope that was quickly followed by a contradicting hope that she would stop. Sam was clearly and annoyingly conflicted. He missed Libby so much, but his apprehension about her was powerful.

After the near-disaster with Tony, Sam had been badly shaken. He’d thought he had a grip on Tony, that Tony was getting better. He’d worried that Tony would drink—but to take those pills? Sam had been caught off guard by it. He’d thought they were past that.

When he’d found Tony that night, he’d grabbed up the empty pill bottle, had somehow gotten Tony to stand, then had driven recklessly back to Pine River, where he’d paced the halls, every step just one away from a drink to dull his fear, until the doctor told him Tony was going to make it.

Sam wasn’t angry with Libby for what had happened to Tony. Sam understood better than most how things could happen that made a man want to drink, and that was what happened to Tony. Sam was angry with Libby for being unpredictable in her emotions, and for letting emotion cloud her judgment.

He recognized that was an impossible standard to put on anyone. He understood he needed too much from her. It didn’t make losing her any less painful.

After that night of so many near-misses, Sam slid back into his solitary existence, keeping his distance from others. But Libby dominated his thoughts. The ache of missing her, of wanting her, would not go away, no matter what he did. At least at home, he was safe. He needed sameness. He needed black and white. He couldn’t risk her, not now.

He had meant to tell her this, to explain why he was breaking it off. At first, he’d been too angry to speak to her. And as each day passed, it became a little easier to ease away from the love he’d had and simply turn his back. Too easy. He was surprised that he, of all people, who valued integrity and honesty above all else, could just walk away.

So when he heard her car slow and turn on the road that led up to his house, he groaned. That was the thing about mountain valleys—one could hear people coming literally from miles away. Sam could have stopped what he was doing, cleaned up, met her out front and turned her away, but instead, he kept working on his latest creation—a birdhouse made like a Japanese pagoda.

Libby’s car stopped. He heard her knocking on his door. A moment later, he heard her walking around his house, her feet on his deck, coming closer to his work shed.

He knew she was at the door, standing behind him, and still, he didn’t turn around.

“You’ve come this far, you may as well come in,” he said.

“Thank you,” she said, and her voice slid over him like warm honey. He felt her step in deeper, could feel her presence fill up his shed.

“What are you making?” she asked.

“Japanese pagoda.” He took a breath, put down his tools, and turned around to face her. His heart caught, midbeat, at the sight of her, the curly black hair framing her face, the jeans hugging her body and tucked into rain boots. She wore a tight sweater, and it seemed to him that she’d lost a little weight. Her eyes were two little shimmering pools.

“How are you?” he asked.

“Ah . . . okay, I guess,” she said, and nervously shoved her hands into her back pockets. “How are you?”

“Okay.”

“You don’t pick up your phone these days.”

“I’ve been busy.”
Busy missing you.

She nodded, pressed her lips together. “Well, I guess I should just say what I came to say,” she said, sounding resigned. “I came to apologize, Sam. I have tried to think of the right words that would convey just how sorry I am for everything, but I can’t seem to find them. Nothing seems adequate. Sorry
doesn’t begin to cut it, I know it, but that’s all I have. So I’m sorry
,
” she said, and her eyes began to glisten with tears. “From the bottom of my heart, from the depth of my soul, I am deeply, truly, sorry.”

That apology broke his heart. “I know you are, baby,” he said quietly, and Libby’s eyes welled even more.

“I’ve started seeing a therapist,” she said. “She’s helping me a lot. She likes windmills, and she says that we should let life carry us . . .” She paused, gave her head a slight shake. “She’s really helped me to understand what I did was wrong, and better yet, to understand why I do things like that.”

“That’s great,” he said. He could feel his chest constricting around his heart, squeezing it. This was not what he wanted—what he wanted was to wrap his arms around her, feel her breath in his ear, her body warm and soft against his.

“Since you won’t return my calls, I came up here to tell you this. It’s important to me that you know how sorry I am, and how . . . how much I love you, Sam.”

Sam couldn’t help himself; he reached out and stroked her wild hair, recalling the feel of it on his face when they made love. His heart squeezed again, and he dropped his hand.

She mistook that caress for encouragement. “Things are better now,” she said. “I’ve been working on a plan for the ranch, I’m working on the race. I think I am finally to a place where I can manage my . . .” She made a gesture at herself. “My anger and disappointment. The past is not important to me anymore.
You’re
important.”

He pushed his hand through his hair. “I’m glad to hear it. But I can’t be with you, Libby. Not because I’m mad or disappointed, but because I’m an alcoholic,” he said, and pressed his hand to his chest. “I told you once that I walk a tightrope every single day of my life. It’s the truth. The only difference between me and Tony is that, somehow, I managed not to pick up a bottle again. And when you . . . when you took those kids,” he said, swallowing down the bitter reminder of that evening, “I felt an urge to drink that I haven’t felt in a very long time. I felt myself inching closer to a drink, to drown the anxiety. And because I went into the bar to get you, to rescue you again, I didn’t get to Tony in time. Maybe if I had, I could have helped him. I might have at least stopped him from picking up the booze and the pills.”

“Don’t say that,” Libby whispered, her voice breaking.

“But it’s true, Libby. I let Tony down, I let myself down. I know what I need. I need an even keel. I can’t rush to everyone’s rescue anymore. I can’t save every soldier who wrestles with demons. The only thing I can do is save myself, one day at a time.”

“You didn’t have to save me,” Libby said. “You don’t ever have to save me. You could have let me take the fall for once instead of coming to my rescue.”

“What, and let you be arrested? Let that man talk you into going home and doing God knows what?” he asked skeptically.

“Maybe,” she said with a shrug. “Actions have consequences, but you didn’t allow me to have them.”

Sam laughed with surprise. “Next time, I’ll be sure and let you have them.”

“You’re missing the point,” she said. “Sometimes, people need to fall on their faces so that they can get back up. They need to lie on the floor of Mountain View and try to peel their shoulders up. It’s not your fault that Tony tried to take his own life. It’s not your fault that I took Alice to get her costume or tried to talk to Ryan.”

“I know that, Libby,” he said patiently. “But this is a matter of trust between us. Of stability. Do you understand that?”

A tear slipped from her eye, and Sam couldn’t help himself; he stepped forward, cupped her face in his hands. “Look, I’m not asking you to change or to be something you’re not. But I can’t be with someone who is impetuous, because
I
can’t survive it. I know that about me.”

She grabbed his wrist and wrapped her fingers tightly around it. “Maybe I am impetuous from time to time, but I’m just me, living my life as best as I know how. Sometimes I make mistakes. Sometimes I fall. It’s called life, Sam.”

But it wasn’t his life.

“I love you, I do, I love you,” she said earnestly. “I was numb before I met you, Sam. I wasn’t really breathing until I met you. You helped me find my way, to feel as if I was living again, really living. I still love you, I miss you every moment, and I want to be with you.”

Sam kissed her forehead, then freed himself from her hold. “I can’t, Libby. I’ve worked too hard and struggled too long to risk it.”

He stepped back, turned to his Japanese pagoda. He waited for her tearful promises, or at least the sound of her retreat.

But Libby said, “So this is the old
It’s not you, it’s me
speech, huh?” she said, her voice low and shaking. “You know what, Sam? These last two weeks, I’ve been so worried about how disappointed you must be. But I suddenly get it—you’re just a coward.”

Sam’s pulse leapt. He slowly turned around. “What did you say?”

“You heard me,” she said angrily. “You’re a
coward
. You’re so afraid of disappointment, of being hurt, of
living
that you hide up here with your birdhouses and pretend that you’re doing some noble thing!”

Her outburst stunned Sam. “Are you really going to stand there and lecture
me
?”

“Yes! At least I
own
my weaknesses. At least I
try
and face them. But you don’t even do that! Yes, you’re sober. Yes, you’ve fought a long, hard battle, and you have to keep fighting for the rest of your life. I get that, I admire that. But you know what, Sam? You hide behind it!” She lurched forward, her gaze piercing his. “Because
you
are a coward,” she said, poking him hard in the chest with each word.

He caught her finger in his fist. “You have no idea what I’m talking about.”

“Yes I do,” she said, jerking her hand free. “We’ve both made mistakes. We’ve both paid huge prices for them. But I’m not afraid to try again, Sam. What I’m afraid of is
not
trying, of ending up in some tiny little shed making birdhouses for the rest of my life instead of finding love and happiness and discovering what it is I’ve been stumbling around and looking for. But you? You will hide in here and occasionally go out to check on people who are far more damaged than you, so that you can keep patting yourself on the back, telling yourself you’re doing the right thing by
hiding
! Well guess what, you’re in luck!” she cried, casting her arms wide. “You don’t have to check on me ever again, because I don’t have any use for cowards.” She fled then, running across his deck.

Sam stood where she’d left him, trying to find his breath. He felt as if she’d just rammed a fist into his gut, had knocked his feet out from beneath him. He slowly turned back to his pagoda. He took a deep breath. And then another. And then he picked up the hammer and smashed his pagoda to pieces.