Return to Homecoming Ranch (Pine River)

by Julia London

  “You’re part of us now,” she said. “So you have to come back, Tony. Besides, I have big plans for us.”

  “Another wedding?”

  “Nope. No more weddings. Something more useful than that.” She told Tony her idea to create a safe place for vets like him. A therapeutic place where vets could come and get help while they prepared to reenter their lives. “You’d be a critical part of it. I can’t do it without you.”

  Tony looked at her with dull eyes. “I don’t know. I’m not much use to anyone.”

  “That’s not true. You’re a big help to Ernest, and that’s just the start.”

  He slid a look to her. “Has he hung that broken barn door yet?”

  “No,” Libby said. “He needs help and Luke has been too busy to help him.”

  Tony shifted his gaze back to the window. “I’ll think about it.”

  When the nurse came with some meds and some food, Libby put her hand on the stump of his leg. “I’ll be back in a couple of days, okay?”

  “Tell Ernest not to try and hang that door by himself, just to hold on,” Tony said.

  Libby smiled. “I will.”

  On her way out, she stopped by the office. Rosie, the receptionist was sitting behind her desk. “Oh . . . hi,” Rosie said. “It’s Libby, right?”

  “Yes . . . Libby. Is Dr. Huber in?”

  It happened that Dr. Huber was in, and she was happy to spare a few minutes to see Libby.

  Dr. Huber smiled sympathetically when Libby told her what had happened since leaving Mountain View. “Take your meds, Libby, and give my friend Linda a call,” she said, jotting down the name of a therapist who lived near Pine River.

  As luck would have it, Linda Walker had time to see Libby the next afternoon. She had a warm smile and piercing blue eyes. Her office was decorated with windmills—pictures, paintings, and one replica on her desk.

  Libby explained her life to Linda, glossing over some details, stumbling over others. Linda’s smile remained steady, and when Libby finished, she said, “I think I can help you. Shall we start on Tuesday?”

  “I don’t have a lot of money,” Libby said apologetically.

  “That’s okay. We’ll work it out.”

  Libby thanked her. On her way out, she asked about the windmills.

  “Oh, those,” Linda said, looking around the walls. “I don’t know, I just like them. They spin with the wind. I sort of like that idea, spinning with the wind, letting life carry us along instead of trying to carry life on our backs, you know?”

  Yes, Libby knew all about that, and thought she and Linda would be a good match.

  Tony was released from Mountain View a couple of weeks later with a new bag of meds and a slightly more positive outlook than he’d had prior to arriving at the facility. Libby made the drive to get Tony and bring him home. When she arrived to pick him up, he introduced her to two other war vets, Jason and Doug. Doug had also been a patient at Mountain View. Jason was merely homeless. Libby brought all three men back to Homecoming Ranch.

  “What are we doing here?” Madeline whispered as Ernest showed the men around. “Are we starting a camp for veterans?”

  “We could do worse things,” Libby said. “Like weddings.”

  Madeline blinked. And then she laughed. “There will be at least one more,” she said. “Luke and I are setting a date, and we have so much to do!”

  Madeline wasn’t kidding—now that she and Luke had decided to make their relationship official, she was engrossed in the planning for it. Libby was just as busy, getting ready for the 5k race, which would be held Thanksgiving morning. She was waiting on some information from the Veteran’s Administration—once she had that, she’d be ready to talk to Madeline about her ideas for Homecoming Ranch.

  Funny how these things worked out, Libby thought. At night, she could see the lights on in the bunkhouse and could imagine the three men under Ernest’s watchful eye, who, surprisingly, had taken a liking to his role as a sort of den mother. The three men liked to keep busy during the day, and Ernest put them to work finishing a third cabin.

  The rhythm returned to their days, and while Libby kept busy working on her plan and the race, Sam never left her thoughts. He consumed her, filling her up with worry and regret. She missed him, missed his smile, his easy manner. She missed the way he made her feel—attractive, special . . . like he’d never let her go. She mourned the bond they’d shared, that deep connection to someone in this life who understood the private hell she’d suffered. Libby’s disappointment in herself sickened her—with one single lapse of judgment she had jeopardized the best thing to happen to her. It was real this time, and she’d blown it. She had let him down in the worst way, and in doing so, had let herself down.

  Had it not been for Linda Walker, she might have submerged herself in her disappointment and lost herself again. But it was worse than that, so much worse—she couldn’t imagine the depth of Sam’s disappointment. He had been the one to believe in her when no one else would. He had been there for her, propping her up, loving her, and she had let him down. She would never forgive herself if she had somehow compromised his recovery. She wanted to apologize to him, to make him understand how much he meant to her, if that was even possible.

  She debated going to see him, but honestly, Libby didn’t know if she could bear to see the disappointment in his eyes. Or worse, that dark, cold look he’d given her the night of the auction. And then again, she feared she would never see him again if she didn’t.

  With no clear solution, she just kept working and brooding, and seeing Dr. Walker, looking and hoping for the right answer.

  One afternoon, Libby was in the dining room reviewing the information the Veteran’s Administration had sent her about potential grant opportunities when the sound of a vehicle drew her attention. Libby’s heart leapt with hope as it did every time she heard an unfamiliar vehicle on the road: Sam.

  She jumped up and hurried to the door. Madeline appeared from the kitchen. “Who’s that?” she asked.

  The car that pulled into the drive was not Sam. It was not a car Libby recognized. The driver’s door opened and from it emerged a very thin woman with long, sleek, blond hair. She stepped out of the car and tossed a leather tote bag over her shoulder, and marched around the car and up the stairs. She opened the door to the house and walked in.

  “I’m back, bitches,” she said, and moved past a stunned Libby and Madeline into the living room.

  Madeline shot an accusing look at Libby. “Am I hallucinating? Or is that Emma?”

  “It’s Emma,” Libby said, and followed Emma into the living room. “Emma?”

  “What?” Emma said, and flopped down on the couch.

  “Don’t you call?” Libby asked. “You just show up without a word of warning?”

  Emma’s green-eyed gaze flicked over Libby. “You look like hell. They still calling you crazy in town?”

  “How do you know that?” Madeline asked.

  “Libby told me,” Emma said, and shifted her gaze to Madeline, giving her the once-over. “For someone who couldn’t wait to get the hell out of Dodge, you’re still hanging around, I see.”

  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 l
ives 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.”