Return to Homecoming Ranch (Pine River)

by Julia London

  Marisol exaggerates. In her defense, she was probably going into labor that very minute, because she kept going on about her contractions, and, sure enough, about ten hours later, she gave birth to a baby girl. Between you and me, I was hoping for a boy, because the last thing Pine River needs is two hot-tempered Latinas giving me a sponge bath. Don’t think for a minute Marisol is going to leave that little stinker home when she comes back to work. That stinker just better keep her tiny mitts off my new game, Starbenders.

  So back to Emma. I don’t think every woman wants me, but come on, I’m not so chairbound that I don’t know my own magnetism. And I haven’t had every muscle atrophy, if you know what I mean, and I know when a chick digs me. Emma Tyler digs me. She’s always smiling and touching me. I told Luke and he said that the MND was apparently creeping into my brain and making it seize because there was no way Emma Tyler was hot for me.

  I told Luke he should go and get married already and get out of my face, and then he threw me a curve ball and said he is getting married. On New Year’s Eve. Great, there go all my party plans.

  Anyway, Emma is helping Libby pull together the race, and she knows what she’s doing because she’s like an official Event Planner, and it’s obvious that every red-blooded male in town will come out just to see Emma put on some skimpy running shorts and bounce down the street. You should see Jackson Crane practically drool in her presence. Every guy in town is into Emma.

  Everyone but Sam Winters, who is still moping over Libby.

  Sam dropped by the other day, and I said, “Dude, do yourself a favor and go and talk to Libby. She’s doing great on the race.”

  Sam said, “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” but he was looking the other way when he said it, and I couldn’t tell what he was thinking, and I assumed he was being stubborn. Maybe as stubborn as Libby can be, which makes them a perfect match. And that reminded me of Dad’s mule.

  So I said, “Hey, Dad, do you remember that old mule you used to keep up at the ranch?”

  Dad was whittling something, and he looked like he just realized at exactly that moment that Sam and I were on the deck with him and said, “What? Yeah, I remember. Molly was her name.”

  I said to Sam, “Dad loved that old mule so much,” and Dad snorted and said, “I didn’t love her. But I liked her well enough.”

  And I said, “He loved her like his first love until she kicked him in the ribs.”

  “That was that,” Dad said, and went back to whittling.

  I grinned at Sam, who was looking at me weird, like he couldn’t make out the message in the mule story. He was probably thinking he was the mule. He was, but there were two mules in this story, and naturally, I had to spell it out to him.

  “He still loves her,” I said. “But she kicked him, and it made him mad, so now he acts like he didn’t love her so much.”

  “She was a goddamn mule, Leo,” Dad said, like he was insulted I would imply he could love a mule. But he did. Every night at supper he’d chuckle when he told us what old Molly had done that day. Mom once told him to go sleep with Molly if he liked her so much.

  “My point is, don’t do what Dad did. Get over your mad and go see Libby. You don’t want to turn her into glue.”

  Dad got pissed at the reminder of what happened to Molly and said, “What the hell is the matter with you, Leo?” And I said, “I have MND,” and Dad stomped off. But Sam laughed.

  Anyway, that’s all I said to Sam, because who should come walking up just then? If you guessed Emma Tyler, you’d be right. She was wearing these killer tight pants and sweater, and I’ll just say this, I’m glad Marisol wasn’t there, because in the last month of her pregnancy, I think she would have scratched Emma’s eyes out. Emma was bringing me some chocolate pudding and Sam was suddenly much less interesting to me. He got up to go and I said, “Hey, don’t forget the race! We gotta make this happen, because I am running out of time!”

  Sam really looked startled, and I said, “Not that time. I mean, yeah, I’m running out of that time, but I meant time to get a van before the game.”

  “We’ll make it happen,” Emma said, and I wasn’t sure she was even talking about the race, so I had to explain to her that Methodists are great, but they aren’t that flush in the pockets, and then I had this great idea to call a family meeting to review where we are with the funds, and Emma was hanging on my every word, and when I looked up, Sam was gone.

  Just like that old mule, Molly.

  THIRTY-THREE

  Sam knew that she ran at the high school track every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. She generally ran alone, and she ran if it rained or snowed.

  Libby Tyler was on a mission.

  At first, Sam just drove by, watching her jog around the track. After a couple of times of that, he started to pull over. He knew that she saw him but she wouldn’t look at him. She just ran by.

  One day, he got out of his truck, hopped over the fence, and ran behind her. He kept his distance, twenty yards behind her. Libby looked back once, and picked up her pace.

  So did Sam.

  He came Wednesday and did the same thing. She turned around once and shouted, “Whatever it is you’re doing? It won’t work!”

  “Free country!” he shouted back at her.

  Sam came back again on Friday. He had no idea what he was doing, really, but he liked running behind her. He liked the way her butt bounced, the way she held her form, her torso upright, her arms tight at her side. He liked just being in the same vicinity as her.

  “You’re crazy!” she shouted at him. “A stalker! I could call the cops!”

  “So call them!” he shouted back at her.

  Sam had heard around town that the Turkey Trot was already a success, that a thousand people had signed up to run, double what she’d hoped. After the city personnel and permits were paid, the race would clear more than enough to get Leo the van. Everything else was going to Homecoming Ranch, which was in the process of being converted to a military veteran’s rehabilitation ranch.

  This, Sam had heard from Tony, who had been invited to serve on the board of directors.

  “You must be feeling better,” Sam said when Tony told him the news.

  Tony had smiled as he lit a cigarette. “I have my moments, I won’t lie. But I’ve got a couple of guys around me now to help. And, you know, Cindy has been coming around.”

  Sam knew Cindy and figured she’d last about five minutes. But it was a sign of progress, and baby steps were necessary for Tony.

  He really admired Libby for what she was doing—taking giant, leaping strides. She’d had a really bad summer, but somehow, she had turned it around and had become the town’s little twinkling star with this race and the new plans for the ranch. That was what he called the turn of the page.

  But that wasn’t what had brought Sam to this track for the last two weeks. He had thought of little else than what she’d said that day in his shed. Libby was right—he was a coward. He had turned a blind eye to how he was walling himself off from the world, a little more every day. He had thought that as long as he was dragging other drunks to AA, he was doing what he needed to do. But somewhere along the line, he’d stopped living. The only time in the last two years he’d felt alive, like he was a fully functioning man again, was with Libby. And he’d pushed her out the moment it got a little messy.

  He’d felt the void of her in his chest, in his bed, in his life. He didn’t know what he was doing, running around behind her on the track, but he wanted her back, and this time, he wasn’t going to let fear of falling stop him.

  The following Monday, a week before Thanksgiving, he was sitting in the bleachers when she appeared. A front had come through, and it was freezing. He blew on his fingers as she slowly jogged by, warming up. She looked up at him, and from where he sat, he heard her muttering to herself.

  Sam watched her do one full turn around the track. When she passed the second time, he walked down on the track and started running after h
er. Halfway around the track, Libby stopped and whirled around. “Why are you doing this? Why won’t you leave me alone?”

  “Why do you think?”

  “Whatever,” she snapped, and turned, started running.

  So did Sam.

  A quarter around the track, she stopped again and turned around. “You’re wasting your time, Sam. Don’t you have birdhouses to build? Old ladies to feed?”

  He deserved that. “I’m not wasting my time. I love you, Libby. I should have run after you the day you called me a coward.”

  Libby stood there uncertainly, as if she didn’t know what to do with him, as if she didn’t believe him. “You what?” she shouted.

  “I said, I love you!” he shouted back at her.

  He didn’t know what he expected, but he didn’t expect her to run. That she did, suddenly sprinting away, across the interior field. She was fleeing.

  Sam intercepted her midfield.

  But Libby pushed him, and tried to escape. So Sam tackled her, bringing them both to the hard ground, landing on his back with her on top, and then quickly rolling over, trapping her beneath him.

  “Get off me,” she said, kicking at him.

  “Not until you listen to me.”

  She shoved at his chest. “I don’t want to hear it!”

  “You were right, do you want to hear that? You were right, Libby Tyler, I am a coward. I was afraid of loving you, afraid of giving all to you and being disappointed. And, by God, I’m still afraid of that, but I’m a helluva lot more afraid of missing out on the happiness I had with you if I don’t at least try. I’ve thought a lot about what you said, and you were right.”

  She stopped struggling and glared up at him. “I was right . . . but? There’s a but, isn’t there? Some rule I have to follow.”

  “No buts,” he said. “I just love you, Libby. And I’ve missed you so damn much.”

  “I don’t believe you! How do I know you won’t decide I’m too impetuous, or too much trouble, or too unpredictable for your carefully crafted life? How do I know that if I get mad at someone, you won’t break it off? How can I trust you?”

  “The same way I’m going to trust you, one day at a time. I’m going to believe that you have learned from the things that happened to you this summer and you’ve moved on. I’m going to believe that you see a future in us, and you are going to work to make it happen, just like you’ve made the race happen, just like you’ve made Homecoming Ranch happen.”

  “That’s too easy, Sam!” she said angrily. “You can’t pretend everything is suddenly okay! You can’t sweep it all under a rug!”

  “I am not pretending everything is okay, baby. But I’ve thought a lot about what you mean to me. I have thought even more about what happened between us, and I realize, I love you too much to let you go because I have issues. I love you too much to hide behind a birdhouse anymore, okay? I want to move on. I want to be us again.”

  “Maybe I don’t,” she said, shoving against him. “Maybe I don’t know how I will ever believe that you won’t reject me if the going gets tough.”

  Sam sighed, realizing that his fear of disappointment was matched only by her fear of rejection. He pushed back loose tendrils from her face. “We’re a pair, aren’t we? So much crap to overcome.” He rolled off of her and sat up, looping his arms around his knees. “You’re right, Libby. It’s a gamble for us both. I guess trust is not something that can be promised, it has to be earned. But I know that I’m willing to do whatever it takes to earn yours.”

  Libby pushed herself up, too, and sat beside him. A wind swept through the field, and Libby leaned over, rested her head against his shoulder. Sam put his arm around her and pulled her into his side.

  “I’m not saying I’m on board with that,” she said. “Because I’m not. I’m pretty mad at you.”

  “I know.”

  “But if I were to get on board, and I said that I would do whatever it took to earn your trust, too, how exactly would I do that? What would happen?” She looked up at him. “Where do we go from here?”

  “We start over,” Sam said. “But without the restraining order.”

  “Or the birdhouses.”

  He smiled. “Deal.”

  She nestled closer to him. “I don’t really want you to give up making birdhouses. But maybe you could bring one or two up to the ranch?”

  He could feel the tide turning, could feel Libby turning back to him. “Sure,” he said. “Maybe I’ll teach those guys how to make them.”

  “Perfect. They can squeeze in birdhouse construction between yoga and equine therapy.” She laughed. “I’m kidding. Sort of.” She looked at him again, her gaze searching his. “Do you really think we could start over? Do you really think we could squash all the little demons that seem to dance around us?”

  “I do,” he said, and pulled her onto his lap to straddle him. “It won’t be easy, and I think we have to be smart about it. But I at least want to try, Libby. More than anything I have ever wanted in my life, I want to try and make it with you. Do you?”

  Libby sighed and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Me too. More than anything, Sam. More than you could possibly imagine. But not until I’m through being mad at you.”

  “I’ll make it up to you,” he said, and kissed her, his tongue meeting hers, his hands going around her, pressing her warmth to him.

  “Show me.”

  That was it for Sam. He rolled again, putting her once more on her back in the middle of the field. He kissed her deeply, with all the longing that had kept him awake and eaten away at him this last month. His hands moved down the body he’d missed in his bed, slipping under her hoodie and up to her breast.

  Libby giggled into his mouth. “We’re on the high school track. Won’t we get in trouble?”

  “Who cares?”

  “Well, I do,” she said. “I’ve turned over a new leaf and I’m trying very hard to stay out of trouble.”

  “Impossible,” he said against her neck. But he stood up, helped her up, and with his arm around her waist, they ran for his truck.

  They made it as far as the backseat, the heavily tinted windows hiding them from the world. And as Sam slid into her, he knew it was right, that his life had never been so right. For the first time in a couple of long, hard years, he wasn’t worried. He wasn’t afraid. He was filled with happiness and relief.

  THIRTY-FOUR

  On Thanksgiving Day, Libby, Sam, and Luke completed the 5k Turkey Trot. Libby’s event did indeed raise more than enough to buy Leo’s van, as well as provide some starting funds for the Homecoming Ranch Veteran’s Rehabilitation Center. It was truly a day of thanks and celebration.

  They rushed back to the ranch to prepare for the feast. Bob Kendrick was already there with Leo, who was in the living room, expounding on what his van would look like.

  Libby and Madeline had made a turkey and all the Thanksgiving trimmings. They were a long way from the uneasy place where they had started out as newly discovered sisters. There were still a few bumps in the road, but on that day, Libby felt as if she and Madeline could have been doing this all their lives. Madeline felt like a sister.

  It was a cold and gloomy day, but Luke and Tony had made sure the heaters were going in the barn, where they intended to dine.

  Emma was not impressed with the idea. “So country,” she said.

  “It’s fun,” Libby reminded her.

  “If you like hoedowns and rodeos, maybe,” Emma had said, and had wandered into the living room to sit next to Leo.

  When the meal was ready, Libby instructed everyone to grab a dish and head for the barn. Bob Kendrick took Leo down to the barn. They were followed by Jackson Crane, Dani, Libby’s mother and her family, Patti and Greg Kendrick, Marisol and Javier and their newborn, Tony and the three vets who were living up at the ranch now, and, of course, Emma, Libby, and Madeline. Only Ernest was missing, having gone to Albuquerque to spend the holiday with his mother.

  Libby stood t
o one side in the barn, watching them all put the food on the table and argue over who sat where.

  This is it, she thought, happily. This was the thing she had sought all her life. A family, big and extended, all hers. She’d found that place to belong.

  She’d had that feeling about Homecoming Ranch from the moment she’d learned of it, that it was hers. Even though she didn’t understand all the reasons she’d needed to fight for it, she’d always understood she had to fight. She was fighting for more than a ranch. She was fighting to heal, to grow, to move on with her life, and she’d never felt more content than she did that Thanksgiving Day.

  “What are you doing?”

  Sam stepped up behind her, put his arms around her middle, and kissed her temple. He was the big reason for Libby’s sense of contentment. They’d begun slowly on this second time around, taking things one day at a time, and it was working. “I’m just being thankful,” she said, and twisted about in his arms. She went up on her tiptoes to kiss him.

  “What’s that for?” he asked.

  “Because I love you. And to thank you for looking out for me when I wasn’t looking out for myself. I don’t know where I’d be without you, Sam.”

  He laughed. “In jail,” he said.

  They stood together and watched Bob maneuver Leo to the end of the table and set up his liquid food with the silly straw. Everyone was finding their seats, filling wineglasses.

  “This is where we belong, Sam,” she said. “You and me with all these people. I hope we fill it to the rafters with love.”

  Sam kissed her, then took her hand in his. “There will be more love here than you’ll be able to handle, Crazy Pants. Come on, let’s go carve a turkey. And I don’t mean Leo.”

  Libby laughed, and with her hand in Sam’s, she went to find her place at the table—right in the middle of all those smiling faces.