She glanced down at herself. “Thanks. I’ve been cleaning out the barn for the last two days and I couldn’t take it any longer. I had to put on something that didn’t smell like horses or could be worn to ride or groom horses. And, you know, it’s my first party since Mountain View, so I wanted to make a big splash.” She winked.
Sam told himself to look elsewhere. He dropped his gaze to the water bottle and twisted the top off of it. “How’s Tony?”
“Tony? Tony D’Angelo? The guy you deposited at the ranch and then never came back to see? Tony is good. Tony is rebuilding my car, one screw at a time.”
“I told you he was good.”
“I was hoping he might speed things along. I need a car so I can go to town.”
Sam didn’t want to care why she needed to go to town. But he did. “Town, huh?” he asked, and casually drank his water.
“Yes, town, Lone Ranger,” Libby said. “In spite of what you are clearly thinking, I learned a funny thing while clearing out the barn—I need one of those big shop brooms.”
“Walmart,” Dani Boxer said as she sailed by in her signature Guayabera shirt and some chunky turquoise jewelry.
“See?” Libby said to Sam, gesturing to Dani’s back as she stepped inside. “I need to go to Walmart. So?”
“So . . . ?” he asked, confused.
“Sooo, are you going to come check on Tony, or are you going to leave him at the ranch forever?”
Sam had checked on Tony. Not a day went by that he didn’t check on Tony. He’d given him a disposable phone before he’d sent him up there, and had been diligent about calling. But he smiled at Libby now and asked, “Are you advocating checking on Tony? Because I was under the impression that you are adamantly opposed to checking.”
“I am opposed to people checking on me. I didn’t realize that meant you’d never return to Homecoming Ranch.”
“I’ve been busy,” Sam said.
Libby gave him a withering look. “Really? That’s your answer? I find it very curious that you are suddenly so busy, Sam Winters. Just a few days ago, you’d hardly let me go to the bathroom without coming around to issue some sort of warning. And then . . .” She stopped talking and arched a feathery brow.
Sam waited for her to say it.
Libby didn’t say it. Her brows sank into a V. “You know.”
Yes. He knew. But he was unwilling to talk about it.
“Okay, why the big no-show all of a sudden?” she demanded.
“I told you, I’ve been busy. I also told you that I’ve given you all the advice I have to give. It’s your life, Libby. You can do whatever the hell you want. You want to ignore a restraining order? Go ahead.”
“Wow,” Libby said, clearly startled by his tone.
So was Sam. “Excuse me,” he said, and turned around and walked into the house, looking for a place to dispose of his water bottle.
Everyone else, however, was moving outside, apparently ushered by Patti. Sam stepped around Greg and into the kitchen to grab another bottle of water, and stepped aside when Marisol and Javier came through. “She’s like a ship,” Javier said, which earned him some strongly worded Spanish as Javier helped to maneuver his wife around the scarred kitchen bar and out the door.
On the deck, a few people gathered around Marisol. Sherry’s hand went to Marisol’s belly. Someone—Bob, he thought—said something that prompted everyone to lift their beers and wineglasses and clink together. They were toasting the baby. Sam thought he should go out there, join the party, but instead, he slipped through the door into the small living area and leaned up against the wall, breathing in a moment, trying to erase a pair of eyes dancing around his mind’s eye.
He heard someone come into the kitchen, heard something being placed on the little kitchen bar. A moment later, Libby’s head suddenly appeared through the doorway. She stepped into the living room. “There you are.” She looked around. “What are you doing?”
Trying to stay away from you. “Taking a break,” he said.
“From what?” she asked curiously as she moved a little closer and peered up at him. “You’re acting weird, Sam.”
He shrugged. “Free country.”
Libby gasped indignantly at his use of her favorite rejoinder. “You know what I think?” she demanded, her hands finding her hips. “I think you’re standing in here so you don’t have to talk to me.”
“You’re right,” he agreed. “I’m off-duty.”
She gasped again. And then she took another step toward him. “Oh, I see what’s going on here,” she said, gesturing between the two of them. “You want to avoid the big elephant in the room.”
“Mention any elephant you want,” he said, but he really wished she wouldn’t. He could already feel himself responding, that silent drumbeat of want sending out a call to arms in all body parts. “What do you want, an apology?”