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.