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  ALSO BY JULIA LONDON

  HISTORICALS

  The Devil’s Love

  Wicked Angel

  The Rogues of Regent Street

  The Dangerous Gentleman

  The Ruthless Charmer

  The Beautiful Stranger

  The Secret Lover

  Highland Lockhart Family

  Highlander Unbound

  Highlander in Disguise

  Highlander in Love

  The Desperate Debutantes

  The Hazards of Hunting a Duke

  The Perils of Pursuing a Prince

  The Dangers of Deceiving a Viscount

  The School for Heiresses (Anthology): “The Merchant’s Gift”

  The Scandalous Series

  The Book of Scandal

  Highland Scandal

  A Courtesan’s Scandal

  Snowy Night with a Stranger (Anthology): “Snowy Night with a Highlander”

  The Secrets of Hadley Green

  The Year of Living Scandalously

  The Christmas Secret (novella)

  The Revenge of Lord Eberlin

  The Seduction of Lady X

  The Last Debutante

  CONTEMPORARY ROMANCE AND WOMEN’S FICTION

  Pine River

  Homecoming Ranch

  The Fancy Lives of the Lear Sisters

  Material Girl

  Beauty Queen

  Miss Fortune

  Over the Edge (previously available as Thrillseekers Anonymous series)

  All I Need Is You (previously available as Wedding Survivor)

  One More Night (previously available as Extreme Bachelor)

  Fall Into Me (previously available as American Diva)

  Cedar Springs

  Summer of Two Wishes

  One Season of Sunshine

  A Light at Winter’s End

  SPECIAL PROJECTS

  Guiding Light: Jonathan’s Story, tie-in to The Guiding Light

  ANTHOLOGIES

  Talk of the Ton (Anthology): “The Vicar’s Widow”

  Hot Ticket (Anthology): “Lucky Charm”

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Text copyright © 2014 Dinah Dinwiddie

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Montlake Romance, Seattle

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Montlake Romance are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  ISBN-13: 9781477823057

  ISBN-10: 1477823050

  Cover design by Laura Klynstra

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2014900812

  Dedicated to anyone who has ever felt the urge to take a baseball bat to a car window.

  CONTENTS

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  TWENTY-SIX

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  TWENTY-NINE

  THIRTY

  THIRTY-ONE

  THIRTY-TWO

  THIRTY-THREE

  THIRTY-FOUR

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  ONE

  When something goes down in Pine River, I know about it, because I have one of those faces that makes people want to tell me their life stories. You know, super handsome with movie star eyes. Plus, I’m in a chair, which makes people think I’m trustworthy. I’m not that trustworthy, because if I hear something good, I’m definitely going to pass it on. Anyway, I’ve heard a lot of amazing stuff about people in Pine River. Not amazing like wow, amazing! But more like, who-does-that? amazing.

  You’re probably wondering where I get my news, seeing as how I’m not exactly mobile. Here’s the God’s honest truth: I get a lot of my best information from the Methodists.

  I know, right?

  I know what you’re thinking: Leo Kendrick, that’s not nice. But, see, the Methodist’s Women’s Group get together to do good Christian works, like make quilts and give them to really old people. There are about fifteen church ladies in that group and they are awesome. Not only will they tell me things, but they take me out for walks and they bring stuff like the socks they knit and homemade apple pies. And now, they’re batting around ideas for getting me a new van. I sort of planted the idea with them because I’ve got a date with the Denver Broncos and I need wheels, man. Besides, that’s what I do, I think up genius ideas. Ask anyone.

  Marisol doesn’t have much use for the Methodists. She’s the warden in the Kendrick monkey camp, the one who hoses me down and WD-40’s my chair when it gets squeaky and talks to my brother Luke about his wedding stuff (seriously, Luke, get married already!), and helps Dad figure out the DVD player (come on, Dad, how can you still not get it after we’ve shown you like five hundred times?).

  Yeah, Marisol gets testy about the Methodists. Just the other day she said, “What do you promise them? They come every day, those church ladies, and they talk, talk, talk.” She sounded like a chicken when she said that.

  I said, “How do you think I found out Fred Heizer was caught in the park bathroom with some guy from the gym? I don’t remember you asking me to pipe down when I told you that one.”

  But Marisol was not impressed, because she’s been like super pregnant for about fourteen years and very cranky.

  Anyway, Deb Trimble is the church lady who showed up on Elm Street with a big batch of bean soup one day and told me what Libby Tyler had done (side note: I didn’t have the heart to tell Deb that the last thing anyone needs to give three guys in a tiny house is a big batch of bean soup, but Dad was like, “Great! I don’t have to cook now,” and then he pulverized it to put into my feedbag).

  So Deb was dying to tell me, but she couldn’t come over just to gossip, because Methodists don’t think they do that, even though they are the worst. Between us turkeys, I think she dug that soup out of the back of her fridge, and trotted over (well, maybe she didn’t trot. Deb’s a little on the hefty side) and she said it in a big whisper, even though we were watching Jeopardy, and everyone knows the rule is no talking during Jeop. We all know that.

  She said, “Did you hear about Libby Tyler?”

  Listen, I’ve heard plenty about Libby Tyler. I’ve known Libby since we were six, and I’ll be honest, I always had a thing for her hair. It’s black, and super curly, and bouncy. And it goes great with her pale blue eyes. Hair aside, I’ve heard a lot about her recently, but I hadn’t heard she’d taken a golf club to Ryan Spangler’s truck and bashed out the windows, right there on Main Street in front of everyone.

  Ryan was totally pissed off, and he got a restraining order, and now Libby can’t go anywhere near him. Which kind of sucks when you think about it, because he has these two kids that Libby is really attached to. But I can see Ryan’s point, because it is an awesome truck, an F-350, which is about as big and bad as you can get in a p
ickup.

  Deb told me the story and she said, “What do think?”

  And I was like, “What is crazy, Alex?” which of course Deb didn’t get because she’s not that into Jeopardy. I remember thinking that usually nothing surprises me—I mean, I’ve been through a lot and I also watch Duck Dynasty—but I was surprised. I did not expect that from Libby. Sure, I’d heard reports she was driving around Ryan’s house and acting weird. But Ryan dumped her out of the blue, and you know, people do crazy things when they find out the guy they thought they were going to spend the rest of their life with was actually banging his ex-wife. Talk about salt on the wound.

  Still, I never thought Libby Tyler would be one to pick up a golf club and go to town on Ryan’s truck. She’s got that really tight T-shirt that has a big flowery peace sign, and I thought she bought into that whole thing. Peace, I mean. And I never thought Libby would end up in the hospital. Not like my hospital, with a lot of IVs and catheters and nurses who are constantly sticking something into you, but a quiet hospital where they pipe in Yanni and you sit around and talk about your feelings and rest a lot.

  She was only there a week, but in Pine River, any walk through the funny farm is Big News.

  I’ve had time to think about this, and here’s the truth: Libby Tyler is not crazy, no matter what you think you’ve heard. Sure, she’s had some crazy moments, but you would, too, if you’d walked in Libby’s shoes. Everyone has always loved Libby. Everyone. She joins everything, always wanting to help out, always wanting to do good. She’s bubbly, she’s always had this super positive outlook even when things were not looking so great to the rest of us, she’s cute as hell, and she’s got a great butt. Not that I’ve been ogling it or anything.

  Libby went through some stuff is all I’m saying. Some people go through stuff and they bite down and shake it off, and then do something like make off with all your investments years later. Some people just reach that point where they can’t take it anymore and they bash in a few windows with golf clubs, and then they’re over it. That’s Libby. I mean, would Sam Winters have a flaming torch for her if she was truly crazy? No way. So don’t listen to the Methodists about Libby. Listen to me.

  Oh, by the way, I’m Leo Kendrick. I have motor neuron disease, which makes me a genius, because the famous physicist Stephen Hawking has it, too, and I’ve never met anyone with MND who wasn’t totally brilliant. I’m not bragging about it, I’m just letting you know that I’m right most of the time. It can be annoying to lesser mortals, but if you’re a genius, you learn to live with a little disgruntled envy coming your way.

  Anyway, there’s a lot more about Libby and Homecoming Ranch you’re going to want to know, so let’s get this party started.

  TWO

  Two Years Ago

  On the last Sunday in June, the Pine River Colorado Church League held its final softball tournament. It had become such a major event in town that the officials had moved it from the municipal fields out to Pioneer Park on the old Aspen Highway. A cottage industry of junk food and bouncy castles had grown up along with the tournament, and even if a person wasn’t terribly interested in church league softball, there was enough for a family to do on a Sunday afternoon.

  Sam Winters, a deputy sheriff, had been back in town only a month after several months away. He hadn’t been on vacation. He hadn’t even been anywhere fun. He’d spent three months at a treatment facility in Denver for alcoholism, then another six months in a halfway house working construction while he tested the new, wobbly legs of his sobriety.

  It was still difficult for Sam to say it, even at the AA meetings he attended each week: he was an alcoholic. A recovering alcoholic, thank God, but an alcoholic all the same. It had cost him everything—his job, his marriage, the best years of his life.

  Sam had come back to Pine River and a new position at the sheriff’s office. He’d once been on track to be the chief deputy with an eye toward running for sheriff one day. Not anymore. He was fortunate that the sheriff had let him back on the force in any position.

  Since coming back, Sam didn’t get out much. Sobriety was still something he was learning to live with, and he felt safest away from the temptation of life up at his house up in the mountains. It was a lonely place to be, but it was necessary. Women, friends—there were too many opportunities to drink, too many reasons to convince himself he could have just one. Sam couldn’t have just one. He’d come back from the depths of his own personal hell and he never wanted to be there again.

  Still, it was a beautiful afternoon, and Sam liked softball. A church tournament sounded innocuous, and he decided to venture out.

  Sam dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. He pulled a ball cap down low over his eyes—an old habit that he used to believe kept people from noticing that he’d been drinking—and drove down to Pioneer Park.

  He arrived about thirty minutes before the start of the championship game and took a seat at the end of the bleachers, a bottle of water dangling from his fingers, a bag of peanuts by his side. He saw a few people he knew, and although he waved and dipped his head in greeting to a couple of them, he made no move to walk over and talk to anyone. He still felt raw and unfinished, a loaf of half-baked bread. He hadn’t found his sea legs quite yet.

  He passed the time waiting for the game to start by watching Leo Kendrick—on crutches now—throwing a football to some little boys who had crowded around him. He was sad to see that Leo’s dexterity had eroded a lot in the time Sam had been gone, and his toss was a little wobbly. The boys didn’t care; they were tumbling over each other, laughing as they wrestled for the ball, and then happily racing back to Leo, who had advice for the best way to tackle each other.

  Once the game started, Sam felt more at ease.

  The two teams vying for the annual crown were the Presbyterians and the Methodists, and it was a hard fought battle. Just as dusk began to creep in under the sun, the Presbyterians closed it out for the win, the second year in a row.

  It had been a good game, a perfect diversion on that sunny afternoon.

  Sam was ready to leave then, to head back up to his place and feed his horses, but the lady sitting next to him said that The Bricklayers, a local band, was going to play. Sam used to listen to the band when he hung out at the Rocky Creek Tavern. He liked them. It might be the only time he would ever have the opportunity to hear the band outside of a bar.

  Sam kept his seat on the bleachers, nursing his bottle of water, waiting for the band to come onto the temporary stage. The scent of barbequed meat filled the air, making his stomach growl. People were milling about, claiming space with blankets and picnic baskets for the band’s performance.

  Down on the field, Sam spotted Libby Tyler. It took him a minute to realize it was her. She was wearing a ball cap over her curly locks and a summer dress with a sweater. Sam and Libby had worked at the sheriff’s office together before he’d gone away. He’d always liked her. Libby was pretty, with silvery pale-blue eyes. More important, she was nice. She had never failed to have a smile for him, even during his darkest moments.

  She’d hooked up with Ryan Spangler a couple of years ago, and right now, she was playing a game with Ryan’s two little kids. Alice and Max, Sam remembered—Libby used to bring them into the office sometimes. Cute kids. What were they now, five or six? Sam smiled as he watched her chase the children, then pretend to run from them, letting them catch her and tumble her to the ground. But then she would pop up and grab one, lift them in the air and swing them around.

  They looked happy, the three of them, like they’d skipped right out of a holiday commercial. Sam didn’t see where Ryan was, and guessed he was manning a barbeque pit somewhere. Libby and the children scampered off toward the bouncy castles, and Sam lost sight of them.

  He didn’t like to acknowledge it, but seeing a family like that made him feel a little sad. Sam had always imagined that sort of life for himself, but he’d lost sight of starting his own family in a bottle somewhere. The disappointme
nt with himself, with what could have been, cut deep. It made him feel older than his thirty-two years.

  A little later, the lights of the temporary stage came on, and Sam stretched his legs out long. The sun was beginning to sink behind the mountains. He was hungry, and figured he’d listen to a couple of songs then head home. A shadow or something caught his eye, and he turned toward it.

  Libby Tyler was approaching him, carrying a plate laden with food. She was smiling warmly, as if she was actually glad to see him. When people around town said hello to him, they didn’t smile at him like this.

  Libby climbed up the few steps to where he was sitting. “Hey, Sam Winters!” she said cheerfully. “You’re back, huh?”

  “I’m back.” He could feel a smile curving the corners of his mouth. “How are you, Libby Tyler?”

  “I’m great,” she said. “Couldn’t be better. But the more important question is, how are you?”

  “I’m good,” Sam said, and was aware that for the first time in a long time, he meant it.

  “I am so glad to hear it. I’ve thought about you, you know. I’d hoped things were working out for you.”

  “Thanks,” he said. That word seemed inadequate for what that meant to him. Just to know that someone as pretty and warm as Libby was hoping for him made him feel like he had done something worthwhile.

  “I brought you some food,” she said, holding the plate out.

  “For me?”

  “Yes, for you.” She grinned as he took the plate. “I saw you sitting over here by yourself, and you looked kind of hungry, so . . .” She shrugged playfully. “Seriously, you’ve been sitting up here all afternoon. You’ve got to be hungry. And this is excellent brisket.”

  Sam was as surprised as he was appreciative. Touched, too. He missed having someone in his life to care about him. “Can’t say no to excellent brisket. Thank you.” He took the plate and picked up the plastic fork, taking a generous bite of the potato salad.