Homecoming Ranch Page 12

  “Yes, God yes,” Madeline said, yawning.

  “And?”

  “And…” She absently scratched her thigh. “And they are nothing like what I thought they would be.”

  “Okay. Tell me everything,” Trudi said.

  “I’m not sure what there is to say. Libby is cute. She has this really curly dark hair, and she’s nice. But she’s kind of unrealistic. And Emma is… well, she’s beautiful. She has long blond hair and dresses like a fashionista. And she’s so thin.” She paused, thinking about how thin Emma was. “I think she might be an alcoholic.”

  “Wow, really? Did you smell it on her?”

  “No,” Madeline said. “I actually never saw her take a drink. But she kept talking about wanting one.”

  “No offense, but I think I might want more than one in that situation. So what did you guys do? Did they bring pictures? Are they married? Kids?”

  “I don’t know, really,” Madeline said. “We met and then basically, we argued about what to do with the ranch.”

  “No way! Why would you do that? Why didn’t you talk first?”

  Now Madeline wished she had. “There was a lot going on. It’s really weird doing the get-to-know-you thing when you’re sitting on a huge ranch you’ve supposedly inherited. My mind was elsewhere.” Madeline closed her eyes. The moment she did, an image of Luke’s gray eyes and slightly lopsided smile began to swim in her mind’s eye. She quickly opened her eyes. “It’s so damn complicated, Trudi,” Madeline said wearily, and told her best friend everything she could remember about the meeting at the ranch—with Trudi interrupting often, demanding details of what the ranch looked like, a description of the house, the details of the women she insisted on calling Madeline’s sisters, down to what they were wearing.

  When Madeline had filled her in on everything she could possibly think of, including running into Luke at the Stakeout the night before, Trudi let out a low whistle. “Wow. What are you going to do?”

  What was she going to do? That was the million-dollar question. Madeline didn’t like this feeling of not knowing what to do, or whom to do it with. She wanted to be somewhere where she knew the rules and what the day would hold. Where she dined on chicken, not buffalo, and her shoes were perfect for running around town. “Come home, I guess.”

  The words had fallen off her tongue the moment they’d popped into her head.

  “Are you crazy?” Trudi shouted. “What’s the matter with you? Madeline, it is an enormous opportunity for you. First, it’s the closest thing to paternal heritage as you’ve ever had. Second, has it occurred to you that they might need someone just like you to sort it all out?”

  “Third, have you forgotten that I have a job?”

  “You have a job where others can fill in for you for days. You have a savings account that could float the national debt. When’s the last time you took a vacation, anyway?” Trudi demanded. “Don’t think, I’ll tell you—it’s been three years. Three years, Madeline. What is one week going to do to your life? What is one week going to do to the DiNapoli listing, which I promise you isn’t moving any quicker than when you left? What’s one week to your mother, for Chrissakes? If you aren’t there next week she’ll find a new boyfriend and move on.”

  “Hey!” Madeline said. “Thanks a lot! You make it sound as if I’m not necessary for anyone or anything.”

  “You are very necessary to me. You are necessary to your office and to a couple of other people. But you are also someone who lives in a bubble—”

  “God, not the bubble again,” Madeline groaned.

  “Yes, the bubble!” Trudi snapped. “You live in it, and you will die in it if you’re not careful! You’ve had something really extraordinary happen and you ought to at least hang around for more than twenty-four hours before you run. Promise me you will stay outside that goddamn bubble for one week, Madeline. Stay long enough to at least know if your sister is an alcoholic or if the other one is as young and dumb as she sounds.”

  “You aren’t giving me any credit, Trudi,” Madeline snapped back. “I’ve checked it out. There is nothing for me here but a phantom dad, two women I don’t know, and a huge mess of an inheritance. That’s not something you can box up and put on the shelf in a couple of days. No,” she said quickly when Trudi tried to argue. “I know what I’m doing.”

  Trudi sighed with resignation. “You always do this, Mad. You always run away.”

  “I am not running away!”

  “Yeah, you are. You would rather let something like that ranch—which sounds gorgeous by the way—slip through your fingers than deal with the people involved because you are so afraid of rejection.”

  “Ohmigod!” Madeline cried. “Will you please stop psychoanalyzing me? I am not afraid of rejection. I am being practical!”

  “Whatever,” Trudi said dismissively. “I have to go. I don’t have time to fix your life, I’ve got my own. Oh, before I forget—Stephen called Rick to talk about you. He really likes you, Madeline, and he doesn’t understand why you stopped liking him. He said he’s been talking to that lawyer friend in Denver and has some information for you. Call him!”

  “Leave it alone, Trudi.”

  “No, I will not leave it alone. I love you that much, Madeline Pruett, I love you like a sister, and I am not afraid of rejection. I’ll talk to you later.” She hung up.

  Madeline stared at her phone and muttered a few choice words about Trudi Feinstein’s bossiness under her breath. She was not afraid of rejection, for Pete’s sake. She was seventy-five percent sure she wasn’t.

  She called her mother to report in. Her mother was probably on pins and needles wanting to know what had happened.…

  No one answered.

  She frowned; she could hear Trudi’s voice in her head saying, I told you so.

  Madeline tossed the cell phone onto the bed and padded across the bearskin rug to the drapes. She opened them to a bright, clear day. She had to admit, the sky was a different, richer shade of blue than in Orlando.

  Below her, people were milling about on the main street, and Madeline’s stomach growled. She would grab a bite in the café downstairs and then head out to the ranch to try and come to some agreement with Libby and Emma.

  When Madeline made her way downstairs, she was surprised to see that Dani was not wearing a Guayabera shirt today, but rather, a sweatshirt that said Pine River Eagles.

  “Hello!” Dani sang out as Madeline entered the small café. “I’d about given you up for dead. How’s your head?”

  “Better, thanks.”

  “You keep taking those aspirin and drink lots of water. You’ll adjust to the altitude in a couple of days. Want something to eat before you head back out to Homecoming today?”

  Madeline had been about to say she wouldn’t be here in a couple of days, but was drawn up short by the fact that Dani knew where she was going. Dani laughed at her look of surprise. “I’ll just bet you think I’m one of those small-town busybodies you read about in beach novels. Well, I’m not. It so happens that Jackson Crane was in for breakfast.”

  “Oh.”

  “Just take a seat where you like, sweetie,” Dani said. “I’ll be right back to take your order.

  “Thanks,” Madeline said, and turned around—and almost collided with a table inhabited by Luke and an older man.

  She gasped; Luke glanced at his wristwatch. “Sleep in?”

  “Wow, Luke, this is the fourth coincidental meeting in less than forty-eight hours. Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”

  “I’m having lunch with my dad. Dad, this is Maddie Pruett,” he said as he reached into his back pocket for his wallet.

  “Madeline,” she said curtly.

  “Madeline,” he said with a polite incline of his head. “This is Bob Kendrick.”

  “Pleasure to meet you, Miss Pruett.” He was an older version of Luke—his hair had grayed and dark circles shadowed his eyes, but they were the same gray, thick-lashed eyes as Luke’s, the same stro
ng chin, the same broad shoulders. “I don’t know about the other meetings, but this is my favorite breakfast joint.”

  She eyed Luke suspiciously. “How did you know I was staying here?”

  Luke smiled as he slowly stood up, towering over her, standing so close that she could see the pearl in the buttons of his shirt. He fished a couple of bills out of his pocket and tossed them down on the table. “I didn’t. It’s lunchtime. My dad and I came for lunch. Try the Cobb salad; it’s the best thing on the menu. Dad, are you ready?”

  “I am,” he said, and stood up, too, also towering over Madeline. He fit a cowboy hat on his head and gave Madeline a nod as he walked out.

  Behind him, Luke leaned in and whispered, “Pine River is a small town, Blue Eyes. People run into each other.” He walked on. At the entrance to the café, he paused to pick up a toothpick. “Thanks, Dani!” he called toward the kitchen, and went out without looking back at Madeline.

  Madeline watched him leave—okay, watched his hips leave—and feeling fluttery again, she sat heavily at a table next to the one he and his father had just vacated. As she tried to sort out his angle this time, she absently ordered the Cobb salad.

  Luke was right. It was excellent.

  On her way to Homecoming Ranch, Madeline tried her mother again, catching her on the third ring. “Mom! It’s Madeline!”

  “Hi honey,” her mother said. “What’s up?”

  “I thought you’d want to hear about Colorado.”

  “Who?”

  “Colorado! You know, the ranch I inherited?”

  “Oh, that’s right,” her mother said. “Hey, that reminds me, I’ve been meaning to ask you about that. Did you ask them about the child support?”

  Madeline’s improving mood took a turn south. “No,” she said. “We barely got past the fact that we had inherited the ranch. I met the sisters.”

  “Oh yeah?” her mother said, sounding less interested.

  “They seem okay.”

  “I guess they’re happy about the inheritance,” her mother said with a slightly bitter tone.

  Funny, but Madeline didn’t know how they felt. “I don’t really know. So far, we’ve only discussed the logistics.”

  “Well, you need to discuss with someone the fact that Grant Tyler never paid me more than a few bucks of child support. There has to be someone you can ask.”

  Mom made it sound like there was a bucket of money and all Madeline had to do was ask the keeper of the bucket for it. “Okay, Mom,” Madeline said. She was coming up on the road to the ranch. “Listen, I have to go. I’m going to lose you in a minute.”

  “Well call me when you hear something.”

  “Bye Mom,” Madeline said, and clicked off the phone, but she didn’t let go of it. She continued to hold it. Tight. So tight that her hand began to ache. She wanted to crush that damn phone and hurl it out the window. But she settled it for throwing it in the passenger seat.

  Why did she bother? It was always that way with her mother—it was never about Madeline, it was about Clarissa. It had been that way forever, and Madeline wasn’t foolish enough to think her mother would ever change. Sometimes, she wished she could be free of her mother. Just… free. But the wish always disappeared in the reality of her situation, and the guilt would creep in. If Madeline was gone, who would take care of Clarissa? Who would go by and clean her house and make sure she hadn’t drunk herself into some stupor, or know that she’d gone off with some man and worry about her?

  Her mother’s indifference was intolerable.

  She stewed about it all the way out to the ranch.

  At the house again, Madeline saw only one car in the drive. She got out, looked up at the blue sky and took a deep breath of pine-scented air. It was so fresh, so clean. So unlike Orlando.

  With a sigh, she dipped into the backseat to grab her bag. When she emerged, she saw the dogs. They were coming out from beneath the porch, stretching long, shaking off their coats, as if they’d been waiting for her to arrive.

  The biggest one, a black dog with an enormous square head, was the first to advance, wandering over, his snout in the air. Madeline stood very still, hoping he’d walk past. But he didn’t—he stopped to have a good sniff of her shoes and trousers. “Nice doggy,” she murmured.

  The dog behind the big one began to wag his tail when she spoke, and trotted over, nosing in beside the larger one. The other two followed a moment later, and all four of them sniffed her, crowding her. “All of you. All of you are nice doggies, very nice doggies,” Madeline said, backing up against the car as the dogs closed in. The smallest of them sat up and put his paws on her thigh, and the big one had the audacity to stick his snout in her crotch.

  “Okay, okay,” she said, stiffening. “That’s it. Shoo. Shoo, shoo, shoo—”

  “Hey! Get back to the garage!” she heard Libby shout.

  Madeline’s head jerked up along with the dogs’ heads. Four tails began to wag, and the dogs bounded around to the corner of the garage, where Libby had just emerged, carrying a plastic bucket and a mop. She was dressed in cutoff jeans and a Grateful Dead T-shirt. Her hair was piled on top of her head, and she’d parked a pair of sunglasses there, too, as if she’d only just arrived and had rushed to the garage to get the mop.

  “Go, get!” she said sternly, and the dogs loped off, their tails high.

  Libby smiled sympathetically at Madeline, who was still plastered up against her car. “Their bark is worse than their bite, you know. You really don’t need to be afraid of them.”

  “I’m not afraid,” Madeline said, although it was apparent that she was. She relaxed a little, leaned down to brush dog slobber off her trousers. It didn’t brush off. She glanced at the bucket and mop Libby held. “Was there an accident or something?”

  “Huh?” Libby asked, and then looked down. She laughed. “No. I’m just helping out.” To Madeline’s puzzled look she added, “I told Jackson I would clean up. You know, for the Johnson reunion. That house hasn’t been cleaned in I don’t know how long.”

  “Can’t he get someone to come and clean it?”

  “I don’t mind,” Libby said, and started for the house.

  “Are you by yourself?” Madeline called after her.

  “Just me!” Libby said airily, and bounded up the stairs, disappearing inside.

  Madeline looked around. Where was everyone?

  She followed Libby into the house and found her in the kitchen. The tiled bar was covered with white plastic bags. Madeline peeked into one—it was full of cleaning supplies. From the look of it, Libby was preparing for a full-scale scrub down. Madeline knew all about that—she’d had to do it to her mother’s house more than once. “Wow,” she said. “When you clean, you clean.”

  At the sink, where she was filling a bucket, Libby merely smiled at Madeline’s comment. Her sunglasses were on the counter beside her now, and next to them, a folded apron. When Libby had enough water in the bucket, she picked up the apron and wrapped it around her waist.

  “This seems like a lot of work for one person,” Madeline said. “Wouldn’t you rather wait until we, you know… decide something?”

  Libby’s hands suddenly went to her hips. “I’ve decided. I’m staying.”

  Madeline wasn’t sure what she meant. “In Pine River?”

  “No, here. At this house.” Libby looked at Madeline as if she expected her to argue. “I’ve made my decision just like you’ve made yours. Not that yours is wrong, Madeline. I am sure you are doing what is best for you. But I am doing what is best for me.” She began to dig through the plastic bags as if she were searching for something.

  “You’re going to stay out here? Alone?” Madeline echoed incredulously. “How? Wait,” she said, her anxiety kicking into gear. “Did you guys decide without me? Where is Emma?” she asked, glancing around, almost expecting her to slink in through some door with a highball glass in hand.

  “On her way to L.A.” Libby ducked the mop into the bucket.


  “What? What do you mean? What about all of this?” Madeline cried, gesturing to the house.

  “She called me late last night and told me she’d see me later. Her boyfriend was waiting for her in Durango and he wanted to get out of there.” Libby did not seem particularly disturbed about it.

  But it made no sense to Madeline. “That’s crazy! And irresponsible!” she exclaimed.

  “That’s also Emma for you.”

  “What does that even mean? Why would anyone be so—insensitive?”

  Libby thought about that for a moment. “I don’t know. Maybe she’s had too many disappointments in her life.”

  “We’ve all had disappointments,” Madeline pointed out.

  Libby shrugged. “I just mean that things haven’t always turned out like Emma thought they would, and she puts up walls.”

  Madeline snorted, ignoring the niggling thought that she did the same thing. “Do things turn out for anyone like they thought they would?”

  For some reason, Libby laughed at that. “God no.” She wrung the mop free of excess water, clearly all right with Emma having decamped.

  “So have you two always been close?” Madeline asked curiously.

  “Who, me and Emma?” Libby snorted at that. “Not at all. She’s in California and I’m here.…” Her voice trailed off as if that was explanation enough.

  “What does she do?” Madeline asked.

  “She’s an event planner or something like it.”

  “An event planner! But that’s great,” Madeline said. “She could handle the Johnson—”

  “No, she’s not going to do it,” Libby said firmly. “She’s not coming back.”

  “But… but we agreed to meet with Jackson at one o’clock—”

  “Oh, I forgot. Jackson had an emergency in Denver,” Libby said, avoiding Madeline’s gaze.

  “Does no one call?” Madeline asked. “What are we supposed to do, clean the damn house for Jackson? I am sorry, but this is not how people act! You don’t just take off and not show up without at least some warning.”

  “You’re losing your temper,” Libby said, as if Madeline hadn’t figured that out.