When Libby Met the Fairies and her Whole Life Went Fae (30 page)

She ran outside—noticed Dean’s truck was in the driveway but didn’t stop— and ran around to the back of the house, panic clutching her chest.

And then she stopped. Paul hadn’t fallen from the ladder. He’d run up it.

To get away from Bo.

Paul didn’t care much for dogs.

Bo stood at the foot of the ladder, looking up. The campers were sitting where they’d been before, watching bemusedly.

Libby coughed. “It’s okay, Paul. That’s just Bo. Dean’s dog—my neighbor’s dog.”

“He shouldn’t be loose,” Paul snapped.

“He’s friendly.” And suddenly she was fighting herself to keep from smiling. After all, she could understand how Paul felt. Exactly how he felt. She’d been a bit nervous the day she met Bo, too.

“Monster got half my sandwich.” Paul looked hot and angry. “Where’s his owner?”

“C’mere, Bo.” Libby snapped her fingers and Bo turned his head to look at her, but he didn’t leave his post. “Bo!” She started toward him.

Then she heard the rattle of Dean’s extension ladder behind her as he rounded the corner of the house.

“Right here good?” he said, and leaned the ladder against the side of the house.

“Thanks. Bo startled Paul.”

“I see that. Bo c’mere.”

“You ought to train him not to do that.” Paul began backing down the ladder.

“Bo won’t hurt you, if you haven’t done anything wrong,” Dean said.

“He’s really friendly, actually,” one of the campers chimed in. “We see him all the time.”

“Shouldn’t you guys be airing out your sleeping bags or something?” Libby asked, then turned to Dean. “Thanks for the ladder.” Trying to change the subject.

He didn’t speak to her, though. He spoke to Paul. “You’ve got a big job, here. I could stick around for awhile and give you a hand.”

“No, we’re fine,” Libby said.

“Sure, if you’ve got nothing better to do,” Paul said at the same time. “We could use the help.”

“Be happy to,” Dean said.

“I’m going to get my sandwich,” Libby muttered unhappily. She didn’t like this turn of events. Not a bit.

Although . . . although . . .

She unscrewed the top of the mustard jar. Maybe, if Dean helped, they’d get this job done quicker. Maybe quick enough that Paul would be back in Rochester before Friday. Which would mean she wouldn’t have to bring up this sticky subject about the cable show interview . . .

She was due for a change of luck. Maybe this was it.

♦ ♦ ♦

“That’s what you looked like, you know,” Dean said in a low voice. “When Bo treed you.”

She wasn’t imagining things: every time she finished a section of clapboard, Dean would climb down from his ladder and move it so he’d be working near her again. Paul hadn’t seemed to notice, but Libby’s stomach was in knots about it.

“I did not look like that. Why are you following me around?”

He jiggled the ladder make sure it was nested securely on the ground. “Nah, you’re right. Your ass is a lot nicer.” He laughed.

She felt her face flush crimson. “Stop that,” she hissed through her teeth.

“Can’t. You’re too good for him, you know.”

“Stop it.”

At least the campers had gone. She glanced surreptitiously at Paul. He was wiping his face with a handkerchief and didn’t hear. Thank goodness. She waited until he was scraping again. “You need to lay off, Dean,” she whispered. “You need to stop interf—”

She hadn’t stopped herself in time, though. Dean laughed again, only mirthlessly this time. “So let me get this straight. I can only interfere if you say it’s okay?”

“I have to use the bathroom. Excuse me.”

“Hey, guys, guess who just phoned?” Gina called out through the downstairs bathroom window.

“The President,” Paul said.

Gina made a face. “Maisey.”

“Oh, how wonderful!” Libby avoided Dean’s eye.

“She and Tyler are back together, Libby, so that should make you happy.”

Her face felt even hotter.

“They’ve got an apartment in town. And they’ve invited us to dinner in their new place tonight. You too, Dean.”

Oh, great.

“They asked you to bring the vegetables, Farmer Libby,” Gina said.

42

“Guess I’ll go home and clean up,” Dean said.

They’d gotten about half the house scraped and ready for the primer. But it was hard work. Libby was exhausted.

“What time is it?” She wasn’t wearing a watch. Neither was Dean. Paul was, though.

“Quarter to five.”

“Yeah, we’d better call it a day. I need to go pick some zucchini to take.”

“I’ll go with you,” Paul said. Of course.

She heard Dean’s truck down on the road as Paul and she started up the hill. “You don’t have to come along,” she said. “Nothing happens when the campers are around.” She’d seen several head up toward the field about a half hour ago. And three more now rounded the house to join them.

Paul made a face. The campers were driving him crazy. So which was worse, she wondered. That his girlfriend was off her rocker or that he had to put up with a retinue of her followers?

When the campers caught up with them, one of them asked Libby if it was true, that she was turning the place into a retreat.

Paul snorted. For Libby’s benefit, she was sure.

“No, she’s selling it, is what I heard,” another of them said. “Libby, is it true you’re selling?”

“If I do, you’ll be the first to know,” she said.

Paul snorted again.

♦ ♦ ♦

Tyler and Maisey’s place was a second floor apartment on Main Street, over an insurance agent’s office. Narrow and dark and grubby, and you could tell they were as proud of it as if it were a palace.

“We’re having fondue for dessert!” Maisey grinned as she took the zucchini from Libby. “Chocolate. And Ty’s made his famous chicken taquitos.”

She linked her arm in Libby’s and pulled her aunt into the kitchen. “Thank you soooo much, Aunt Libby!” she said into her ear.

“What did I do?”

“You got Dean to talk to Ty, of course!”

Libby didn’t get a chance to answer, because right then Paul walked in. “What’s that burning smell?”

“He’s joking,” Libby said to Maisey. “Can I help you cut up the squash?”

♦ ♦ ♦

They didn’t have space to seat six, really, so they’d produced a folding card table, which they set up in the living room. Then they dragged in their bistro table and stools from the kitchen and set them up in the hall to the bedrooms. “Maise and I will sit here,” Ty said. He set pillar candles on both tables, lit them, and then flicked the light switch.

“The taquitos smell delicious, Ty,” Libby told him.

“I could use a drink.” Gina was on the couch.

Libby did a double take. Gina was running her eyes over Dean. Of course. Pineapple Boy was a long way away, and with Gina, it was always out of sight, out of mind, when it came to men.

“We aren’t 21, mom,” Maisey said. “If you want a drink—”

“There’s a liquor store across the street,” Dean said. “White wine okay?”

“That would be divine,” Gina said.

“Be right back.”

“Wow, he’s nice on the eyes,” she said to nobody in particular after Dean had gone.

“Maisey, can I help you set the tables?” Libby couldn’t stomach this. Because she could see what was coming.

You’ve picked Paul, she scolded herself fiercely as she followed Maisey to the kitchen. If Dean wants to . . .

But she couldn’t help wishing that if Dean did want to, it would be with someone else. Anyone but Gina

♦ ♦ ♦

Gina had shifted her chair so that her shoulders were angled toward Dean. She was laughing a lot, and it was fortunate Dean had come back from the liquor store with two bottles of Chardonnay because at the rate she was drinking, none of the rest of them wouldn’t be getting much more than a taste.

“So tell me, Mystery Man,” she said as she spooned some rice onto her plate. “What do you do, all by yourself out there in your cabin?”

It looked to Libby like Dean felt uncomfortable to be the target of such a direct question, but maybe she was just projecting. After all, just because she’d . . . it’s not like she really knew him
that
well. And in any case, he smiled slightly as he answered.

“For a living, you mean?”

“Oh, a living, or for fun.” Gina stroked her wine glass. “Alex says you’ve been living by yourself in that cabin for what, now, six, seven years?”

“Well, originally, my intention was esthetic, more or less,” Dean said. “There’s something esthetically pleasing about stripping life down to its essentials, don’t you think?”

“Assuming the essentials include pleasure, of course.”

Libby realized she’d cut her entire taquito up into bite-sized pieces. Like a mother might cut up a serving of meat for a child.

“But now,” Dean continued, “I’ve realized what I was actually doing was waiting.”

And he looked right at Libby as he said it.

“Hey, Libby, take it easy,” Paul said, rapping her on her back. “You need some water?”

“I’m okay,” she gasped. “Just swallowed wrong.”

“She never did learn to chew her food,” Gina said. “Is there anymore wine? Esthetics aside, Dean, what do you do for a living? Or are you one of those independently wealthy bachelors we women are always dreaming about?”

Dean reached for the wine bottle and refilled Gina’s glass. “I wouldn’t go so far as wealthy, but I am able to live off investments at this point.”

Paul was scooping another taquito onto his plate. “Day trader?”

Dean was still holding the bottle. “No. More wine?” He was asking Libby.

“I knew a guy who claimed he made a living day trading,” said Paul, chewing as he spoke. “Last time I saw him, he was standing at a bus stop downtown. Something must have happened to his BMW.” He laughed.

“So Dean, did you make it in tech stocks?” Gina asked.

“Kind of. You know, the tech bubble in the nineties, when all those companies went public, made a bunch of money but it was all on paper. The bubble burst, they went broke.”

“I was in California at the time,” Gina said. “It was insane.”

“Well, I was one of those companies. Image processing software, stuff that lets people email photos, post them to websites, that kind of thing. Only I got out before the crash.”

“Oooh. Smart.” Gina took another slug of wine.

“No. Lucky.” He’d set down the bottle and now picked up his fork and knife. “My partner and I had a disagreement—not work-related—so we parted ways.”

“So what happened to the partner, he take a bath?” Paul asked.

Dean shrugged. “He lost a bunch of money, I’m sure. But it didn’t matter, it was play money to him. Big oil family.”

“So what was the disagreement about?” Gina said.

“Gina!”

Her voice had come out louder than she’d expected and now everyone was looking at her and her face, already warm with wine and the spiciness of the food, felt even warmer. She cleared her throat. “Maybe Dean doesn’t want to talk about it?”

Gina laughed. “I guess if he doesn’t, he’ll say so, right, Dean?” She turned toward him, her flirty charm notched up even further. She had her hair in a French braid that night and Libby noticed how striking her sister’s face looked, in the candlelight, with her hair pulled back that way. One of those faces that make people think, “good bones.”

“No problem,” Dean said. “I don’t mind, really. It was over a woman—his sister.”

“Oh!” Maisey was listening from her table now. “The princess!”

Dean laughed.

“A princess!” Gina said. “And you were in love with her?”

“No, not a princess. Alex . . . Alex gets creative, sometimes.”

Libby dropped her gaze back to her plate again. She needn’t have worried. Dean wasn’t looking at her. “The family was Middle Eastern. Long story short, she loved me, but not as much as the traditions she was raised to. So, she had a chance to move back home and marry. And she took it.”

“When you said oil money, I figured Texans,” Paul said.
 

Libby forced herself to put another bite in her mouth. Chew. Swallow.

“So let me guess,” Gina said. “The brother found out you and his sister were lovers. He lost it. Threatened to kill you unless you broke it off . . .”

“I think I will have some more wine now, Paul,” Libby said. “Could you pass the wine?”

“You guys are going through that bottle pretty fast,” Maisey said. “Ty, I think they’re going to need the other bottle.”

“Actually, you’re way off,” Dean said to Gina as he handed the wine to Paul. “The brother wanted me to fight for her. He wanted her to stay here. If anything, he saw me as her ticket to stay in America—”