Homecoming Ranch (29 page)

“It is,” Madeline agreed. She would not have thought it possible, but here they were, actually putting the reunion together.

“How was Denver, anyway?” Libby asked.

The question startled Madeline at first, as if she were giving off a vibe of having slept with Luke. But Libby was looking at her without judgment. “It was good,” she said. “Productive.” It was amazing, confusing, and so many things were on her mind that Madeline hadn’t heard half of what Libby had said on the way up to the ranch. She wanted to tell Libby about the valuation, about the realtor. But she knew from experience that it was better to come to the table with a fully prepared offer. That seemed especially important with Libby, and Madeline thought it might be the only way to dissuade her from the idea that they all band together and do the reunion business.

“Great!” Libby said. “Oh, by the way,” she added as she grabbed a bag from the backseat, “I spoke to Tyrone Johnson. He and his wife Linda are the two in charge of the family reunion. He said the Johnsons will begin arriving next Thursday.”

“Oh wow,” Madeline said. “I still need to negotiate a group rate for the rafting and horseback riding.”

“Already done,” Libby said proudly.

But that was Madeline’s task. Negotiation was kind of her thing.

“You weren’t here,” Libby said, as if she had guessed what Madeline was thinking. “The phone service was restored and I had time.” She laughed. “Our first phone call was from Jackson of course,” she said, shifting the bag to her hip as she began to walk toward the house. “But he had some amazing news. Apparently, he’s been contacted about using the ranch as a destination wedding venue later in the summer.”

“Oh wow, he really needs to take the website down,” Madeline said.

“Really?” Libby asked, pausing. “I thought it was a good sign. This place has great potential.”

Madeline felt a squeeze of irritation and disappointment. Maybe it was great for Libby, but it sure wasn’t great for her. “I just don’t see how this destination thing is going to happen. I mean Emma has already checked out—”

“Not entirely. I talked to her yesterday.”

“You did?” Madeline asked, surprised. “What did she say?”

Libby shrugged and walked into the kitchen, putting her bags down onto the little kitchen table.

“Libby?” Madeline prodded her.

Libby picked up a towel and began to wipe down the counter, making huge circles with her cloth, as if there was some horrible spill there. “She wanted to know what was going on, what we are doing with the reunion.”

“So is she coming to help?” Madeline asked.

“No,” Libby said. “We just talked.”

“That was nice of her to call,” Madeline said with not a little bit of sarcasm. “She’s obviously not interested in keeping this place. And I’m going back to Orlando. I just sold this really big house that opens up a lot of doors for me. So how exactly are we going to pull this off?”

“I’ll do it,” Libby said, looking slightly offended.

Madeline sighed. “Come on, Libby. This is not a one-person job.”

Libby didn’t say anything to that. Madeline sensed Libby knew she was right and didn’t want to admit it. But Madeline wanted away from this ranch,
especially
after last night’s brush with true, deep emotion. Emotion that, if left unchecked, if left to grow, could mortally wound her. Right now, she wanted nothing more than to finish off her list and get out of town, as far from Luke Kendrick as she could get. She wanted to go back to Orlando and finalize the DiNapoli deal. She wanted to get her movie guide from Stephen and make popcorn and stay socked away in her condo, and venture out only to the soccer field. Just… away from things that would hurt her.

“I know it won’t be easy, Madeline,” Libby said. “But I want to try and make it work. If nothing else, for Dad’s sake.”

Something about those words detonated inside of Madeline. Maybe it was the stress of having felt something so profound with Luke, or maybe just the notion that here she and Libby were, taking days and weeks from their lives to fix some colossal mess their father had made before he’d died, but Madeline exploded. “For
Dad’s
sake?” she loudly exclaimed. “We don’t owe
him
anything, Libby! He was a horrible father. He was absent, he was cheap, and he was self-centered. This isn’t a
gift,
it’s a burden, it’s another damn burden he’s heaped on me. He left me with nothing but the burden of my mother, who was no mother at all, and now
this?
This stupid ranch with this stupid reunion has taken us away from everyone we love just so we can fix it for
him.
What do you think will come from this, huh? I’ll tell you what—a lot of aggravation and hurt feelings and more misery,
that’s
what.”

Her chest was heaving, Madeline realized. She’d been shouting, too, and she suddenly realized what she’d just said.

All the blood had drained from Libby’s face. She was gaping at Madeline. “Wow,” she said. “Just go then, Madeline. No one is asking you to stay, least of all me.”

“Libby, I am sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“Don’t,” Libby said curtly. “Don’t apologize again. Please.” She whirled around and strode from the kitchen.

“Libby!” Madeline shouted after her, but it was no use. She sank down onto a barstool and buried her face in her hands. She hated herself
in that moment. She hated that she could hurt Libby and hurt Luke. That was not what she wanted, and she hated that she couldn’t seem to stop herself, either. There was a vortex of resentment in her, swirling around, faster and faster, sucking her into it, colliding with the tsunami of fear that was always,
always
cresting through her.

Madeline heard the sound of a car and sat up. She rushed into the living room just in time to see Libby’s little car bouncing over the road, away from Homecoming Ranch.

Great.

Madeline returned to the kitchen. Her belly rumbled with hunger. She looked around for something to eat, but it was all food that Libby had brought to the house. But there, on top of the fridge, was what was left of the bag of chips from that first meeting with Jackson. She took the bag down and opened it, ate a couple of chips. With the bag in hand, she walked into the dining room.

Libby had left some papers and the reunion file next to the phone. There was a pad of paper onto which she had made some notes. Just below those notes was another one that said
Emma,
with a phone number following it. Madeline ate a few more chips, pondering that number and debating. She ate a few more, dusted off her hands, and dialed the number.

It rang several times.

Madeline was about to hang up when Emma answered. “Hello?”

The raspy, hoarse voice sounded just like Madeline’s mother—rough and hungover. “Emma?” Madeline said, just to be sure.

“Who’s this?”

“Madeline.”

“
Who
?” Emma demanded.

“Madeline Pruett. Your, ah…”

“God, what now?” Emma groaned.

“Thanks,” Madeline said pertly at that warm reception. “I called to speak to you about the ranch problem.”

“Shit, first Jackson, then Libby, now you—”

“We inherited it, Emma,” Madeline reminded her.

“Yeah, I know. I was there, remember?”

“So we have to do something with it. Are you coming back? Libby wants to make this some reunion Mecca, but I need to get back to Orlando.”

“So go. Why is that my problem?” Emma asked.

Madeline could hear things like plates and glasses banging around in the background of the call now. Her pulse began to ratchet up. “Listen, Emma, I didn’t ask for this any more than you did. We have to come to some conclusion. Libby thinks you might want to keep the ranch, too.”

“Sometimes Libby hears what she wants to hear,” Emma said through a yawn.

“But what about you? Do you want to keep the ranch?”

The banging suddenly stopped. Emma said nothing for so long that Madeline thought maybe she’d lost the connection. But then she heard Emma sniff.

“Are you there?”

“I’m here,” Emma said. “Okay, listen, Madeline Pruett. I don’t give a
shit
what happens with that ranch. Can I be any clearer than that? I told Libby the same thing. You guys decide—sell it, keep it, I don’t care. Just don’t bother
me
with it. Okay?”

“Wow,” Madeline said, truly taken aback.

“Hey, don’t you try and read me!” Emma snapped. “You don’t know me at all. You have no idea what my life or Libby’s life has been like, and I don’t owe you any explanation.”

“I’m not asking for one,” Madeline shot back. “And you don’t know my life, either, Emma. All I want is to have this thing resolved. And since it appears as if neither of us wants to be here, it seems to me we should try and work together to get rid of it.”

“Libby wants it. Why not let her have it? What difference does it make to you?”

It seemed so very obvious to her, and Emma… Emma was crazy, that’s all there was to it.

“If Libby can’t turn a profit, then we sell it. But if she can, don’t sweat it. Just calm down and let people do what they want.”

“Now who is trying to read
who?
” Madeline said angrily.

“It’s not hard,” Emma said. “You’re a one-way street. I just can’t figure out what you’re so afraid of.”

“I am not afraid—”

“Whatever,” Emma said, cutting her off. “I gotta go.” And she hung up. Just like that, the line went dead.

Madeline gasped with outrage. She glared at the receiver in her hand, then slammed it down. That was the last-ever consideration Madeline was going to give her. If this was what being sisters was all about, Madeline would take a pass, thank you.

She marched into the kitchen, looked wildly about. Okay. She was out here on her own. Out of her element. Drifting on a life raft. First Luke, then Julie, then Libby and Emma—
What are you so afraid of?
Emma’s words echoed in her brain.

“Forget that,” she muttered. Busy. Be busy, that’s what she had to do. There was still quite a lot of work to do, starting with the erection of the big party tent. First things first, she needed to know if the spot she had in mind was big enough. She needed a tape measure. She’d seen one in the garage a couple of days ago.

Madeline marched out to the garage, sidestepping the dogs, who rushed out from under the porch to greet her, her hands up. “Garage!” she snapped, and all four of the dogs obediently fell in line behind her, trotting along as she rounded the corner and stepped into the dusty garage, where they fanned out to sniff things as she surveyed the workbench. She found the tape measure and as she was turning away from the bench, she saw the keys hanging on a hook on the wall.

Madeline looked at the Pontiac, which was covered with grime and a few boxes on its hood. She looked back at the keys. She put the tape measure down and grabbed the keys.

The door to the car was not locked. She put herself into the driver seat and looked around. The seat was pushed so far back that she could barely reach the pedals. The car was old; the console between the two front seats was enormous and the faux wood detailing was peeling around the radio dials. A dried-up Christmas tree air freshener dangled from the rearview mirror. Madeline fit the key into the ignition, scooted
up in her seat, and tried to start it. The car wheezed and coughed; from the corner of her eye she saw the dogs flee from the garage.

One of her mother’s boyfriends had been a mechanic, and he’d once told Madeline to prime her mother’s old car by pumping the accelerator a few times. Madeline tried that, then turned the ignition. The car started and began to shake, vibrating so badly that one of the boxes slid right off the hood. Madeline cried out with alarm and turned off the car and got out to pick up the box.

“Madeline!”

She cried out and whirled around, the box in her arms.

Luke was standing at the door of the garage, his legs braced apart, his hands on his hips. He looked so virile, so sexy… and so
angry.
Madeline instinctively backed up, knocking into the car.

“What the hell?” he snapped, and suddenly dropped his arms and came striding forward.

“You said I could use it!” she cried. “I wasn’t going anywhere, I swear it. I just wanted to see if it would start—”

He came to a halt before her, standing between her and the only exit out of this garage. “I don’t mean the goddamn car,” he said. He took the box from her hands and practically tossed it onto the bench.

“What’s wrong?” Madeline asked breathlessly.

“What’s
wrong
?” he echoed incredulously. “What the hell was that in town?” he asked gruffly, gesturing behind him.

Madeline looked to where he pointed.

“
Look
at me, woman,” he commanded her. “Look right here, right in my eyes.
Look
at me. You haven’t looked at me all day. I don’t know what’s the matter with you!”

“I don’t know what you mean—”

“The hell you don’t. You couldn’t wait to push me off on Julie. You couldn’t wait to run off. I can’t figure out what the hell you
want.
”

She could feel herself tensing, a vise squeezing around her chest.
I want you. You, you, you.
“I thought… I thought—”

She couldn’t explain the depths of her anxiety.

“I know what you thought,” he said, not quite as loudly. “You thought you would push me off on Julie and then you wouldn’t have to
deal with it. Thanks a lot, Madeline. I never felt so damn inconsequential in my life.”

He was standing so close, his gaze so intent. Madeline thought of those eyes last night, watching her, and felt a tremor deep inside. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for you to feel that way—”

He took her head in his hands, forcing her to look at him. “You know, I always thought I got women. I thought I understood what they needed, and I’ve always been there, good ol’ Luke, to pick up the pieces. That’s okay,” he said. “I have big shoulders. But I discovered this morning that I damn sure don’t like it when the pieces that need to be picked up are mine.”

“Oh Luke,” she said. “I never meant to leave you in pieces.”