“I could give you a ride,” Sam said. “How about Thursday?”
Thursday. A tic of panic erupted in Libby. Thursdays, Alice had dance classes. Libby wasn’t sure why that mattered—it wasn’t as if she was going to go to Alice’s dance class, because that would be idiotic in light of the restraining order.
Libby could feel Sam staring at her, waiting. So was Tony, but his gaze was more of dispassionate curiosity. Sam’s gaze, on the other hand, was burning a hole through the side of her skull, almost as if he could see her thoughts. “Sure,” she said quickly. “Thursday would be great.”
Tony nodded, dropped his cigarette, and casually ground it out with the heel of his prosthesis.
“Great,” Sam said, and Libby had the mental image of him checking off a box. Get the vet a job. Check.
Sam and Tony chatted about some things for a moment, but Libby didn’t pay much attention to their conversation—her mind was whirling in that frenetic way it did when she thought of Alice and Max, of the reason she couldn’t schedule a mechanic around a dance class that she couldn’t attend. And really, what had happened with Ryan today?
She was staring at her feet, lost in thought, when Sam touched her elbow. “Are you ready?”
She was ready, all right, ready for Ryan to really, truly apologize so she could finally put this ordeal behind her. “I am.” She smiled at the vet. “Thanks, Tony. I appreciate all the help I can get.”
“Not all,” Sam muttered.
“I said help,” she muttered back. “Not interference.”
Tony touched two fingers to his forehead in a sort of semi-salute. Libby responded with a wave before getting back into Sam’s truck.
On the way back to town, Sam chatted about the end-of-summer music festival in Pine River, his gaze wandering over to her, watching her. Libby responded to the many questions he put to her, but her thoughts were jumbled.
When they pulled into the little grocery parking lot, Sam parked his truck, got out, and came around to open the door for her.
Libby picked up her bag of melted ice creams and slid off the passenger seat onto the pavement. Sam was standing before her, one arm propped on the open door. She was aware of him physically, of how big he was, of how his body dwarfed hers. She risked a look at his eyes.
He gave her a charming, lopsided bit of a smile.
She smiled, too. “Thanks for showing me everyone in Pinero County who is down on their luck,” she said.
“You’re welcome. And thanks for the ice cream.”
Libby felt a little fluttery-buttery again, standing so close to him. “Sure. Okay, well . . . I gotta go,” she said, and moved to step around him.
But Sam stopped her with a hand to her arm, and Libby felt that touch wave through her like a tsunami. She looked down at the big, rough hand, and the sudden image of it on her breast flashed through her mind’s eye. Wait, what? It went deep, and Libby was suddenly reminded of another time she’d felt that sensation, another time with Sam. They were dancing on a Halloween night, and she’d felt something wave through her, just like this.
“Do me a favor?” Sam asked. “Stay away from Ryan. No driving through Vista Ridge. No showing up at the soccer fields.”
The fluttery feeling began to dissipate. “I am staying away from him,” Libby said, and stepped back, so that his hand fell from her arm. Stay away from Ryan. What did Sam think that she would do after hearing him apologize? She wasn’t going to do anything. Except maybe seek clarification on her role with Alice and Max. And only because she believed that Ryan had opened a door.
But as usual, Sam seemed to be reading her thoughts. His eyes narrowed and he leaned forward, so that she could see the flecks of brown and green in his eyes. “I mean it, Libby. Because I will put you in jail if I have to.”
“Sam—you don’t have to worry!”
He didn’t look as if he believed her. He actually looked a little worried. But he started back to the driver’s side of his truck.
As Libby watched him walk away, a shadow that had been lurking on the edge of her thoughts suddenly emerged, leaping into focus. “Hey!” she said.
He turned partially toward her.
“Who else do you check on?”
“What?”
“You said you had one or two more people you had to check on. Millie, Tony, and who else?”
Sam said nothing.
“Who else, Sam?” she demanded, her pulse beginning to ratchet up. She moved closer to him, wanting to see his face when he said it. “What other crazy do you need to check on?”
“First of all, no one is crazy—”
“Who?” she persisted.
He frowned. “You know who.”