Homecoming Ranch (32 page)

“I didn’t know I was looking for evidence,” Madeline said. But Trudi was right. Because of Stephen, she now had a pretty good ballpark of what the ranch was worth. She knew that the Kendricks had no real legal leg to stand on. And she knew that the broker, who specialized in ranch properties, already had a couple of clients who were interested in the ranch. The man said in a day or two he would have some concrete numbers for her to present to Libby and Emma, and then, of course, Luke. She tried to tell herself that she was giving Luke information he needed—that was, how much he’d need to buy the ranch back. But she was being less than honest with herself.

Just thinking of Luke made Madeline’s face heat. She had lied to him today when he’d asked if there was anything she wanted to tell him. And while Stephen was calling in his friends to help her, she was making love to Luke on the hammock in his mother’s garden, in the Pontiac, in his childhood bed. Madeline Pruett, who Trudi had labeled a Goody Two-shoes, had stepped out of so many bubbles she almost didn’t know herself anymore. She loved Luke. Why was she working so hard to sabotage it?

“I know Stephen is excited for you to come back,” Trudi continued blithely. “He said you guys had a long talk last week.”

Madeline would not have called it a long talk, but they did speak about the DiNapoli sale and what it meant for her career that morning in Denver. There had been lots of “taking over Orlando real estate, rah-rah” talk. “He’s been great,” she agreed weakly.

“Then call him and tell him you’ll be back in another week,” Trudi said.

Madeline looked out the window at the mountains. They looked blue in the late afternoon light. She’d noticed that they changed color throughout the day. Sometimes a gold yellow, sometimes rust, sometimes blue. The mountains were always the same, always different.

“Hello?”

“I’m here,” Madeline said.

“Have you heard from Clarissa?” Trudi asked.

Madeline had heard from her mother only once, and then it was to ask when Madeline would be getting the back child support. Madeline just let her think someone was looking into it—it was easier than arguing. “Not really. I’m a little worried about her. The last couple of times I spoke to her, she’s been talking about people I’ve never heard of, and she sounds drunk half the time.”

“So what else is new?”

“I’m not there to keep an eye on her, that’s what.”

“Mad, you’ve been gone a couple of weeks, that’s all. Do you hear how crazy that sounds? You’re a grown woman—you should be able to be away from your mother for a couple of weeks.”

Tension began to stiffen Madeline. She was very familiar with Trudi’s opinion of her mother, but that was her
mother
Trudi was dismissing, a woman who had no one but Madeline. “My mom isn’t like yours, Trudi,” she said quietly. “She needs constant—”

“Attention,” Trudi interrupted. “Don’t kid yourself, Mad—it’s all about her.”

Madeline’s belly twisted dully. She didn’t know who she was supposed to be anymore. “Listen, I have to go.”

“Come on, don’t be upset with me.”

“I’m not upset with you, Trudi. Really, I’m not.” That was true. Madeline was upset with herself, with the universe. She was upset that she’d lived so long by so many rules that when they began to snap like twigs around her, she didn’t know what to do. “I really have a lot to do.”

“Okay,” Trudi said. “Well… call me.”

Of course Madeline would call her. But not for a few days. She loved Trudi, but Madeline was beginning to think that maybe she didn’t need Trudi’s constant approval and advice.

But she wasn’t going to think about that. Right now, she was going to think about the dinner party at Luke’s house tonight.

Frankly, Madeline was a little nervous about the dinner. She didn’t want to discover anything about Luke or his family that would ruin the luster of this thing between them. She didn’t want to call this
“thing” a fling, because it seemed so much more than that when she was with him: exciting, thrilling, perfect. But when she was alone, her head overtook her heart. She second-guessed herself and the things she was feeling and began to fear it was superficial.

Yet she couldn’t let it go.

She decided on the yellow dress with blue cornflowers because it skimmed her body. Her hair was another issue. The air was so dry here that it wouldn’t hold the least bit of curl. She’d taken to wearing it loose and long, and tonight, she tied a scarf around her head as she’d seen Libby do, to hold all but her bangs away from her face.

The one thing she didn’t have was shoes. She was pulling on her hiking boots when Libby walked past her room.

“Cute!” Libby said.

“Thanks.” Madeline smiled sheepishly and stood up. “I don’t have the right shoes.”

“I have some sandals that would go perfectly with that,” Libby suggested, and Madeline was aware that it was the most Libby had said to her in a few days. “I’ll get them.”

“No, Libby, thanks, but—”

“I’ll be right back,” Libby said, and disappeared into the room she had been using. She returned a moment later with some fabulous sandals the same shade of blue as the cornflowers in Madeline’s dress. “Oh, wow, they’re perfect,” Madeline said, “but I shouldn’t.”

“Why not?” Libby asked, looking at the shoes.

“I would feel funny wearing your shoes.”

Libby sighed. “Man, you are tough, you know that? I can’t figure you out.”

Madeline sighed. “Honestly? I can’t figure me out, either.”

“Look, I know you don’t want sisters, or this ranch, or… anything. But Madeline, we
are
sisters whether you like it or not, and borrowing my shoes is not a big deal. It’s what sisters do,” she said, thrusting the shoes at Madeline.

Is that what Libby truly thought? If only she knew how ironic that was, because Madeline had wanted sisters all her life. But the words, like so many other words in the last two weeks, stuck in her throat.
Libby was right. She acted as if she couldn’t wait to get out of here. But was that really what she wanted? Could a person change so fundamentally in two weeks? She looked at Libby and smiled ruefully. “I’m sorry, Libby. I know I’m not very good at letting people in. You probably won’t believe this, but I’m trying.”

Libby looked at the shoes in her hand, then at Madeline. Her expression had softened. “Take the shoes,” she said. “Please.”

Madeline took the shoes. “Thank you,” she said, and smiled.

It seemed that with every day that passed, Madeline was drifting farther and farther away from all the things she thought she’d known about herself.

She wondered, as she tried on Libby’s shoes, if she could drift so far away that she might not find her way back to her safe harbor.

Libby and Madeline pulled up behind a sports car in front of a little green house on Elm Street where the Kendricks now lived. Madeline was surprised by how
tiny
the house was. Lights were blazing in every window, and she could see the forms of people moving around inside.

“How well do you know the Kendricks?” Madeline asked as Libby pulled down her visor and applied lipstick.

“Not that well. I was in the same grade as Leo, so I’ve seen them around.”

Libby opened the driver’s door and stepped out. Madeline juggled the flowers she’d brought, and climbed out a little less gracefully. She stood at the car a moment, looking at the green house. She thought of the stately ranch house high above town compared to this one. She knew how it felt to leave a comfortable home and move into something that was much less so. She was struck by a strong pang of guilt that the Kendricks had suffered it, too.

Libby had already walked through the gate and past the empty doghouse; Madeline hurried to catch up. She could hear laughter from inside, and her old nemesis, her fear of what people would think of her, began to get the best of her. Her stomach was in knots by the time she reached the porch.

Libby apparently had no such fears; she stepped up to the door and rapped loudly. A moment later, the door swung open. A woman with a short bob of gray hair and a barrel chest smiled out at them. “Well, Libby, I recognize
you
,” she said. “You still have that beautifully curly hair.”

“It’s good to see you again, Mrs. Compton,” Libby said politely.

The woman looked past Libby to Madeline. “And you must be Madeline. I’m the boys’ Aunt Patti. You girls can call me Patti,” she said, pushing open the screen door. “Now come on in.”

Libby went through without hesitation. Madeline held out her handmade bouquet to Patti Compton. “I, ah… I picked these from Mrs. Kendrick’s garden.”

Patti gasped and put a pudgy hand over her heart. “Well,” she said, “isn’t that sweet? Oh Lord, but Cathy had the greenest thumb. She would have loved these.” She smiled brightly at Madeline. “I’m Cathy’s sister. So, thank you, hon,” she said, and took the flowers from Madeline as she pushed the screen door open wider. When Madeline didn’t move, she put her hand on her shoulder. “Don’t be shy. You have to jump in with both feet when the Kendricks are together or risk getting run over. Especially if someone rings the dinner bell.”

Madeline hesitantly stepped across the threshold, standing just inside the door. There were so many people crammed into the tiny living room that she felt claustrophobic. Libby had already made her way through the room—Madeline could see her leaning up against the doorjamb, talking to someone in the next room.

“Now that’s my husband, Greg,” Patti said, pointing to a man with a very large belly. “And that’s my brother-in-law Bob—he’s the one who owned the ranch, you know. Of course you know Luke.”

Madeline had never been so grateful to see anyone in her life. Luke smiled, and she instantly felt lighter. He looked sexy in a gray button-up shirt tucked into black jeans. The shirt matched his eyes exactly. “Hi, Madeline,” he said, as if they had only just met. “You look great.”

“Thank you.” A blush of pleasure was rising in her cheeks, and her smile broadened.

“Ex-
cuse
me!” a man bellowed behind Luke. “What am I, a piece of the furniture?”

Luke smiled. “Madeline, I’d like you to meet my brother, Leo,” he said, and stepped aside.

Madeline froze. She hoped her face did not betray the utter shock she felt in seeing Leo, his body twisted unnaturally, his head cocked at a strange angle. Luke had said he had a muscular disease, which she’d interpreted to mean something like muscular dystrophy—nothing like this.

She realized she was staring. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “Hi, Leo.”

“Not to worry,” Leo said cheerfully. “You’re not the first to be caught off guard by my studly good looks. Wow. You really
do
have blue eyes.”

A woman stood up from the couch. She said something in Spanish to Leo that made him grin crookedly. “Hello, Madeline,” she said in an accented voice. “I am Marisol Fuentes. I am the zookeeper.”

“Marisol helps us keep up with Leo,” Luke said beside her. “You met my aunt and uncle, and you’ve met my dad,” he said.

Madeline said hello to them, exchanging small pleasantries.

“And you know Jackson.”

Jackson was sitting in the corner, looking dapper in his skinny jeans and leather jacket. He smiled, tilted his beer bottle at her. “Hey, Madeline!”

“Where’s Libby?” Leo called out. “Where’d she get away to? Hey Libby, sweetcakes, I’ve been dying to talk to you probably as much as you’ve been dying to talk to me!”

“Leo has illusions,” Luke said with a fond smile. “Want to give me a hand in the kitchen?”

“Sure.” Madeline followed him into the kitchen. It was even smaller than the living area, and Luke had to inch in between the fridge and the little kitchen bar to open the fridge. He pulled out two beers, popped the tops, and handed her one. A shout of laughter went up in the front room.

“I didn’t know,” Madeline said. “When you told me that Leo had a muscular disease, I had no idea—”

“Yeah,” Luke said, and looked down to rub his nape. “It’s motor neuron disease. He’s slowly turning into a vegetable.” He tipped the beer bottle back and took a long drink. “Never seems to be a good time to say, hey, by the way, my brother is in a chair. And besides that,” he leaned forward, glanced to the doorway. “We don’t do a lot of talking.” He stole a kiss from her.

Madeline jumped back. “
Don’t
,” she whispered, a tiny moment before Luke’s aunt and uncle came tromping through the kitchen and out the back door.

“You look fantastic,” he said, his gaze skirting over her. “Gorgeous.”

Madeline blushed again. “Thank you.”

Luke stepped away from her and opened the fridge. “We’re going to eat outside,” he said, and took a big bowl of salad from the fridge, kicked it closed, put the bowl on a tiny little breakfast bar and grabbed some tongs to toss it.

“How long has he been like that?” Madeline asked.

“Five or six years,” Luke said. “He was playing football for the Colorado School of Mines and started to notice that he couldn’t grip a ball with his left hand. It took about a year before they finally figured out what was going on, and then, things started happening pretty fast. He’s been in a chair for about three years now.”

Madeline could not imagine the devastation for Leo, for his family. The wasted potential was heartbreaking. “What will happen to him?”

She saw the hitch in Luke’s shoulders. He turned partially away from her to grab salt and pepper and said, “Eventually, he won’t be able to breathe or swallow. Nothing will work.”

He didn’t need to say more than that. Madeline could feel tears building in her. “Luke… I am so sorry.”

“Thank you,” he said. He turned back to her, composed, but distant.

Madeline could not fathom it. She’d never endured anything so painful. And to think his mother’s cancer had come in the midst of it! How did one family find the strength to go on every day? How did Luke hold them together?

“May I do something to help?” she asked.

“No, you sit back and relax,” he said, and began to toss the salad.

Madeline didn’t know how she was supposed to sit back and relax. In the living room, she could hear Marisol’s lilting accent and Libby’s laugh. The back door suddenly banged open, and Patti came in. “Excuse me, hon,” she said, and squeezed her ample hips past Madeline into the kitchen, next to Luke. She bent over at the oven, bumping Luke aside, and brought out two pans of lasagna, stacking them on the stovetop.