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  “Coming!” Libby shouted back, a little too loudly, and with a glare for Sam—a decidedly hostile feminine glare—she marched out of the living room.

  Sam pushed his fingers through his hair, then reluctantly followed her out.

  He tried not to look at her bum as she marched down the steps to the table, but it was impossible to ignore it in those pants. He definitely tried to avoid watching her bend over Leo, or Leo struggle to lift a useless hand, which he still managed to slide over Libby’s waist and down her hip, that horny bastard.

  Sam pretended not to notice when Libby sat between Leo and Jackson and began to talk with great animation, her hands punctuating the air with the gestures she used to tell whatever she was spinning out for them.

  Sam tried so hard not to notice all those things that he definitely didn’t notice Madeline had taken a seat beside him until she nudged him and said, “Who are you eyeing? Michelle Catucci?” she asked, referring to one of the local bankers. “Don’t bother. She’s dating Ed Friedman.” She winked at him, but her gaze traveled to Libby before she turned back to him and said, “Can I ask you something?”

  “Of course.”

  “We need a favor,” she said, and began to talk, something to do with Homecoming Ranch. Sam tried to listen, he really did, but his thoughts were in an infuriating tailspin around Libby Tyler.

  “So?” Madeline said after a moment. “You haven’t said much. What do you think about the horses?”

  Horses. He really had no idea what she was talking about. But Sam hadn’t been out of the marriage game so long that he’d forgotten to feign listening to a woman when he actually hadn’t heard a word. He said, “Great.”

  Madeline smiled with delight. “Oh Sam, thank you! That’s such a great help. I can’t wait to tell Luke. He said it was a dumb idea to have a wedding in a barn, because what he knows about weddings is nothing.”

  “Yep,” Sam said. God, what had he agreed to?

  “I’m going to grab a drink. Can I get you anything?”

  What Sam wanted was a bottle of vodka. He wanted to drink vodka so it would numb the desire to put his hands and his mouth on one very nutty woman. Yes, Sam wanted a drink to wash away the wanting of all the things he could not have, such as a wife and children and a life that didn’t include walking a tightrope. He wanted to drink to fill up the holes in him that all that want had left behind.

  But to Madeline he said, “No thanks,” and held up a bottle of water.

  FOURTEEN

  Libby had to admire the way Patti could take the Kendrick kitchen and turn it into something not only useful, but pleasing to the eye. She had dragged two picnic tables together, had dressed them with a red-checkered paper tablecloth, and heavy-weight paper plates, and had served tea in Mason jars. The best part was the sunflowers she’d put in old Coke bottles to dress the table up.

  Maybe she ought to inquire if Patti had ever been to a barn wedding, see if she had a few pointers.

  Libby was seated next to Leo at the head of the table. While Leo was flirting with Michelle, Libby chatted with Jackson Crane about the ranch. She had no desire to talk about Homecoming Ranch at the moment, but if she didn’t talk, her fury with Sam would get the best of her.

  Libby liked Jackson. She’d known him since almost the day he’d shown up in Pine River more than a year ago. She knew there was a lot of speculation about him—he’d told people he got tired of big business lawyering and had come to the mountains to chill out. But the truth was that Jackson was gone a lot, and he kept to himself. He didn’t really date anyone in town, although Libby knew there were a few women in town who would definitely be interested. Sherry Stancliff, for one, judging by the way she kept trying to catch his eye.

  Jackson had been Libby’s father’s last financial manager—Grant tended to fire them when they advised against outrageous and foolhardy investments. Jackson had come in at the last possible moment, a few months before her father had died. He couldn’t stop the financial damage her father had begun—meaning, losing everything he’d ever had—but Jackson had managed to save Homecoming Ranch for Libby and her sisters.

  Now that her father was gone, and the ranch had been probated, Libby didn’t understand what Jackson did. He wasn’t being paid by the estate any longer, but he still tried to help her and Madeline manage it. Tonight, he was grilling her on the specifics of the Gary and Austin wedding, shaking his head as she described what they’d planned and what Gary and Austin had agreed to pay.

  “Where’s the profit? There’s no profit in that, Libby,” he scolded her.

  “There is some profit,” Libby argued. “I thought it would be better to get the business so we could say we’ve had the experience rather than make a lot of money at first.”

  “That’s not going to work,” Jackson argued. “Yes, you need the experience, but you also have to cover your operating costs. If you really want to turn Homecoming Ranch into an event destination, you’re going to have to figure out how to turn a profit. You need help, kid.”

  “I am painfully aware,” Libby snorted. “I could use a lot of help.”

  “What about Emma?” Jackson asked. “She’s an event planner, right?”

  What about Emma? Most of the time, Libby couldn’t get her on the phone, and when she did, Emma was elusive or, worse, bored. “Honestly, I don’t know what she does,” Libby said. “But she’s made it very clear, she’s not coming to Colorado. Not to help, not to visit.”

  Jackson nodded and looked thoughtfully at his plate. “Look, I’ll ask around, find someone we can talk to,” he said. He put his hand over hers and squeezed it. “Don’t worry, Libby,” he said kindly. “I know how much you need Homecoming Ranch. We’ll figure out something.”

  With that, he turned to talk to Greg on his left.

  Libby stared at his back. What did he mean, she needed Homecoming Ranch? She inadvertently glanced across the table, to where Sam was deep in conversation with Michelle.

  She instantly looked away and leaned back. She’d actually been a little excited when she saw Sam tonight, and more than a little curious as to what that kiss had meant to him. She hadn’t expected that perhaps it didn’t mean anything to him. He’d certainly made that abundantly clear.

  Free country. Libby rolled her eyes.

  And then again, what did she care? She had her hands full with the ranch and making nice with Ryan so that she could see Alice and Max. She didn’t need Sam’s kiss hanging over her head.

  She glanced at Sam, at his square jaw, and the way one dark strand of hair curved over his temple. A fluttery feeling shot through her, and she looked away . . . right into Leo’s eyes, who had shifted his chair around to face her. He smiled crookedly. “What are you thinking about, Libster?”

  “I’m thinking I’m really full.”

  “Liar. You know MND is like going blind, right? You can’t do as much stuff, but your powers of perception get like, super strong. Which means I am also very perceptive.”

  “You forgot modest.”

  He grinned. “I don’t have enough time left to be modest. So what’s up with the ranch?”

  “What do you mean?” she asked. “We’re meeting with Austin and Gary and Gary’s mom next week.”

  “Not that. I’m talking about the ranch. Everyone’s in a tizzy thinking that it’s going up in flames because you don’t have any anniversaries or retirement parties or bar mitzvahs lined up.”

  “Bar mitzvahs?” Libby said, trying to follow.

  “Just raising the possibility,” Leo said congenially. “What I mean is you’ve got folks worried that you don’t have anything lined up, and ergo, Homecoming Ranch is going into the toilet. That would not be good. Not good at all.”

  “I agree,” she said. “But right now, we have a lot on our plate in staging this civil ceremony. After it’s done, I’m going to develop a business plan. I’ve already talked to Michelle.”

  “Hmm,” Leo said, and frowned thoughtfully as much as he was able
. “Sounds like something you’d say to cover up the fact that you don’t have any ideas, Libs. Oh! I can see by your expression that I am right. Again! It’s amazing, isn’t it?”

  Libby gave Leo a dark look. “You know, I am getting tired of everyone thinking that I am the one who came up with the idea to turn Homecoming Ranch into a destination resort, because I am not that person. My father and your father had that idea, Leo. I’m just trying to keep it together. It’s not like I’ve ever done this before. I’m doing the best I know how to do and learning as I go.”

  “Point well taken,” he cheerfully agreed. “Hey, did you see that season of The Bachelor where the dude was down to the last two girls, and he picked the super cute girl, but then, at the ‘After the Final Rose’ ceremony, he said he made a mistake and went with the not-so-cute one?”

  Libby blinked. “What?” she asked, and shook her head. “What has that got to do with anything?”

  “Are you kidding? I am constantly amazed at the lack of intuition around me!” he called up to a pinkening sky. “Okay, check it out, Libby-rachi, the dude had two perfectly acceptable girls. I mean all girls are acceptable, but you know, some more than others, right? He liked them both, but he thought he was supposed to go with the pretty, shiny one, but then, once he’d hung out with her a couple of weeks, he realized he’d chosen the wrong chick, so he said, oops, and he retraced his steps and he chose the right chick. And they have a baby now.”

  “That makes absolutely no sense, Leo,” she said. “And it has nothing to do with the ranch.”

  “It has everything to do with the ranch. Just think about it. In the meantime, watch a pro at work,” he said, and suddenly backed up, then twisted around so quickly that he bumped into the table and glasses knocked together, startling everyone. Libby was certain he’d done it on purpose.

  “Oh hey, sorry. But now that I have your attention,” Leo said, as all eyes turned toward him, “I have an announcement to make.”

  “Leo—”

  “Dad, just let me get this out before you present the opposing viewpoint, okay?”

  “Are you really going to do this here, before the game?” Mr. Kendrick demanded gruffly from the other end of the table.

  “I can’t think of a better time, Pops. By the way, for those of you not following, Dad is unhappy because he takes great pride in old bread delivery trucks. But then again, he’s retired. What else is he going to do but work on old bread delivery trucks?”

  Libby could hear Mr. Kendrick muttering under his breath, and it didn’t sound very polite.

  “Okay, so here’s the deal. I have tickets to the Broncos-Patriots game on Christmas Eve, and I need a way to get there.”

  Several of the guests looked a few feet away, where Leo’s van was parked.

  “No, no, don’t look at that!” he said quickly. “I know it looks like a van, but trust me, it’s a bread delivery truck, and there’s a bunch of issues with it. I won’t bore you with the details, but it’s like, so not going to make a trip all the way to Denver. And we Kendricks don’t have the money to buy a new van, so I asked the Methodists if they could help us out.”

  “Oh,” Sherry Stancliff said, sitting up a little, as if the Methodists somehow legitimized whatever it was Leo was about to say.

  “And the Methodists were like, ‘Oh, we don’t know if we can raise money to buy you a van to take you to a football game,’ like a football game is the mouth of hell or something, so I had to improvise a little and remind them that the van is also going to get me to really important doctor appointments. Right, Dr. Levitt?”

  Dr. Levitt looked startled. He glanced around uncertainly. “Well, you need to go to your doctor appointments, yes.”

  “There, you see? So me and the Methodists, we came up with the great idea to form a committee to raise funds for my new van.”

  “Oh, what a great idea!” said Sherry. “Count me in.”

  “Me too!” Libby said enthusiastically. That sounded like something right up her alley, and she would love something other than Ryan, or the ranch, or deputies with bad attitudes, to think about.

  Leo acted as if he hadn’t heard her, which was impossible, because she was sitting right next to him. He launched into an explanation of what sort of van he wanted.

  Predictably, he wanted something that sounded a bit over the top. Apparently Luke thought so, too, because he began to slowly reel in his brother, proclaiming the van did not need leather bucket seats or a DVD player, and it damn sure didn’t need flame details on the side. By the time he’d managed to get Leo down to a van that sounded reasonable, it was time for the pre-game show.

  “Be thinking of fundraisers, people!” Leo called to everyone as they stood up from the table.

  Luke instructed them to take their plastic lawn chairs and move to the deck, where he and his dad had set up the big flat screen.

  As Libby stood from the table, she said, “I really would love to help, Leo. I’m really good at that sort of thing.”

  Leo wheeled about in his chair so that he was facing her. He looked up at her with eyes that were just like Luke’s—warm and blue and shining. “I know you are, Libby-rachi. You’re the best. Hey, you’re staying for the game, right?”

  “A little while,” she said. “I have a lot of work to do tomorrow.”

  “Work,” Leo said as he began to wheel himself toward the deck’s ramp. “Highly overrated!”

  Libby followed him up to the deck, carrying her chair, which she set next to the others. There were still a few minutes before the game. The other guests had brought the chairs to the deck and then left them spread haphazardly about. Libby took it upon herself to organize them so Patti wouldn’t have to.

  But as she neared the back of the deck with the last few chairs, a conversation from the lawn caught her attention. Someone—Sherry, she thought—mentioned Gwen.

  “Gwen will be a great chair,” she said.

  “But I don’t think she knows about Gwen.”

  That sounded like Michelle. Who was she? And Gwen would be the chair of what? Libby glanced around to the lawn. The women’s backs were to her.

  “What do you think she’ll do when she finds out? You don’t think she’d go off and, you know . . . do something?”

  They were talking about her. Libby started toward them, but a hand to her arm stopped her. It was Sam. He took a firm hold of Libby’s elbow and wheeled her about. “That was good brisket, wasn’t it?” he said as he started to move her along.

  “Hey! I was going to talk to Sherry and Michelle.”

  “Now is not a good time,” Sam said.

  “But they said—”

  “I heard them.”

  “Wait,” Libby said, and put her hand on his arm. “Sam, wait.”

  He paused and looked down at her, his eyes swimming with . . . with what— What was that, pity? Did he pity her? Libby’s heart lurched painfully. That was the last thing she wanted, the very last thing. She jerked her elbow from his grasp. “Please don’t look at me like you think I’m going to lose it. Just tell me, is Gwen heading up Leo’s committee?”

  “So I hear,” Sam said tightly.

  “From who?”

  He hesitated. “Leo.”

  A barrage of emotions began to cascade through Libby. She’d known Leo since they were children. He was like family; his brother was marrying her sister. Gwen would head his committee? Gwen Spangler, the cheater, the home wrecker? “That’s great,” she said, trying to be nonchalant in spite of the swell of anger she felt in her, the nebulous, indefinable rage at everything and everyone. “So I guess everyone thinks if I join the committee, I’ll come in with golf clubs blazing, huh?”

  Sam glanced to where everyone was making their way onto the deck to find their seats for the game. “I don’t know what they think.”

  He said it so gently that Libby blanched. “Like hell you don’t.”

  His gaze roamed over her face, as if he were debating what he would say. “I think it�
��s fair to say that people are a little apprehensive around you.”

  Libby knew people whispered behind her back, that her breakdown had been the talk of the town. But what had happened had been directed at Ryan—it had never occurred to her that other people would be afraid of her. She suddenly whirled around and walked away from him and into the house.

  Patti and Marisol were in the kitchen, tidying things up. “Game’s starting!” Patti said cheerfully.

  “Yep. I just need to, ah . . .” To hit something. A brick wall, a face, a truck. She gestured down the hall.

  “Bathroom on the right,” Marisol said, absently gesturing in that direction.

  Yes, a bathroom, with lots of tile to kick for someone who was about to unravel. Libby walked down the narrow hallway to the bathroom, seething. She had lived in this town most of her life, had been a part of it, making herself join activities just so that she could be part of it. She had always been optimistic and hopeful, ready to start again, to help again. What everyone had known of her was overshadowed by the events of this awful summer and a brief stay at Mountain View. It wasn’t fair. She could not be the only person in Pine River to have lost her composure.

  “Libby, for heaven’s sake. Couldn’t you have just called him a few names and been done with it? People don’t forget things like this,” her mother had said on the drive up to Mountain View. “I don’t know what’s come over you. You’ve always been so easy to get along with, but now, all of a sudden, you act like everything is about you, a personal affront to you.”

  Libby hadn’t been capable of a protracted discussion with her mom at that moment, but she recalled marveling at how her mother could possibly think that Ryan’s cheating on her could be anything but a personal affront to her.

  And once again, her mother had been right—people did not forget golf-club incidents.

  Libby walked inside the bathroom, shut the door behind her and locked it, and turned around, barely registering the towels hanging neatly on the towel bar, the toothbrush holder, the two razors on the sink, or the fact that someone had put out some pretty little soaps, as if that would mask the fact that this was a bathroom men shared.