“Me?” She’d eased back, as if leaning away from that question. “Truth is, I’ve been better.” She’d shrugged. “But I’m okay. Really.”
“Are you trying to convince me? Or yourself?”
With a soft sigh, Libby had looked down and rubbed her eyes. “Maybe trying to convince myself. Do you ever wonder what might have happened if you’d gone one way instead of the other? Like, what if you hadn’t gotten the job in the sheriff’s office? Where would you be now?”
Sam thought then what he thought now—that he’d probably be drunk in an alley somewhere. “I don’t know,” he’d said.
“I wonder . . . what if I hadn’t been in the office the day Ryan came in? I never would have known him. Poof, just like that, I would have had a different life. Maybe I would have moved. Maybe I’d have married someone. Maybe I’d be someone else right now, like a novelist or a singer.”
“Do you like to sing?” he’d asked.
“No,” she’d said with a funny little laugh. “I’m just saying, that but for one moment in time, your life could go down a completely different path.”
He could see where she was going. He’d gone there, too, in the last couple of years. But he’d had the benefit of looking at it from a long lens. “True,” he’d agreed with her. “But you can make yourself crazy imagining all the things you might have missed or avoided. There’s no point to it. Personally, I think it’s useless to look back.”
“What do you mean? You never look back?”
“I used to,” Sam had admitted. “I don’t anymore. There’s just too much water under too many bridges, and I can’t change anything that happened.”
“I hear you,” she’d said, but Sam had been fairly certain she hadn’t heard him at all. She’d looked at her wristwatch. “I’ve got to go.” She’d gathered her things. “Sorry to sip and run.” Her coffee looked untouched.
As she stood up, Sam had impulsively grabbed her hand and had said, sincerely, “Libby . . . take care of yourself.”
“You and my mother,” she’d said teasingly. “I will, Sam. I promised Mom I’d go to the doc and see if I can’t get something for the insomnia. I just need to sleep, that’s all. Then I’ll be right as rain.” She’d smiled as she’d pulled her hand free, but again, that smile seemed off to him. “I hope you have a stupendous day, Lone Ranger.”
“I hope the same for you.”
He’d sat at the table after she’d gone, thinking about what she’d said. When he heard the commotion outside, he hadn’t at first registered what it was, not until he heard the sound of breaking glass.
By the time he rushed outside, everyone was shouting, Gwen was shrieking, and Libby was swinging the golf club. He’d run across the street and pulled Ryan back before he could launch himself at Libby, then put himself between Ryan and Libby.
“Libby!” he’d shouted.
He would never forget the way she’d looked at him, wild-eyed. Not all there.
Sam had lifted his hand, palm up. “Think about what you’re doing. Put the club down.”
Her grip on the club tightened, and she looked at the truck. She had bashed in all the windows except the window vent on the driver’s side.
“This isn’t solving anything,” Sam had said quickly. “This is just adding to the problems you’re having and making them worse. Give me the club, and let’s talk about it. I’ll help you, Libby. I’ll help you any way I can.”
Libby had lifted her arms, club in hand, as if she intended to have a whack at the last window. But then she had suddenly dropped her arms.
Sam had grabbed the golf club from her hand, and Libby had sagged against him. “I am so tired,” she’d said hoarsely.
“Yeah, I know,” he’d said, and put his arm around her.
That had only been a few weeks ago. Libby had a long way to go. And still, he’d kissed her.
Worse, he’d kissed her like a teenager in heat. But damn it, she’d been standing there with her blue eyes glittering up at him, and her hair in funny little ponytails. When she opened her mouth, his composure had cracked, and his mouth was on hers, and he was kissing her. He hadn’t even realized it was in his mind. And now, all he could think of was all the other places of her body he’d like to touch.
This was the worst kind of trouble for a guy like him. First of all, Libby had some ghosts following her around, and Sam did not do well with women and their ghosts; he had a tendency to think he could fix things, to remove the ghosts, and he’d learned the hard way that he was no superman.