“No!” she exclaimed. “I just . . . maybe we should acknowledge that it happened, and agree it shouldn’t have happened, no harm no foul, and promise that it’s not going to happen again, right? Because, you know . . . there can’t be anything between us, right?”
Well if that wasn’t rich, Crazy Pants telling him that she couldn’t be with him. “Whoa,” he said, throwing up a hand. “Did I say anything to give you the impression I thought there was something between us?”
“Well . . . no,” she said, looking confused now. “But generally, a guy doesn’t kiss a girl if—”
“Listen,” he said before she could launch into any ridiculous theories about why men kissed women. They kissed women because sex was always on the forefront of their mind. That was it, no ulterior motive. “It happened. And it shouldn’t have. And it definitely will not happen again.”
“You don’t have to be that adamant about it.”
“Yes, I do. I have learned that with you, the clearer and more adamant I am, the better chance I have that maybe you will listen. So let me reiterate—we’ve acknowledged it. We’ve agreed it won’t happen again. And now, you may go back to stalking people, and I can go back to law enforcement.”
“Hey!”
“Sam? Libby? Are you guys in here? It’s time to eat!” Patti sang through the back door.
“Coming!” Libby shouted back, a little too loudly, and with a glare for Sam—a decidedly hostile feminine glare—she marched out of the living room.
Sam pushed his fingers through his hair, then reluctantly followed her out.
He tried not to look at her bum as she marched down the steps to the table, but it was impossible to ignore it in those pants. He definitely tried to avoid watching her bend over Leo, or Leo struggle to lift a useless hand, which he still managed to slide over Libby’s waist and down her hip, that horny bastard.
Sam pretended not to notice when Libby sat between Leo and Jackson and began to talk with great animation, her hands punctuating the air with the gestures she used to tell whatever she was spinning out for them.
Sam tried so hard not to notice all those things that he definitely didn’t notice Madeline had taken a seat beside him until she nudged him and said, “Who are you eyeing? Michelle Catucci?” she asked, referring to one of the local bankers. “Don’t bother. She’s dating Ed Friedman.” She winked at him, but her gaze traveled to Libby before she turned back to him and said, “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“We need a favor,” she said, and began to talk, something to do with Homecoming Ranch. Sam tried to listen, he really did, but his thoughts were in an infuriating tailspin around Libby Tyler.
“So?” Madeline said after a moment. “You haven’t said much. What do you think about the horses?”
Horses. He really had no idea what she was talking about. But Sam hadn’t been out of the marriage game so long that he’d forgotten to feign listening to a woman when he actually hadn’t heard a word. He said, “Great.”
Madeline smiled with delight. “Oh Sam, thank you! That’s such a great help. I can’t wait to tell Luke. He said it was a dumb idea to have a wedding in a barn, because what he knows about weddings is nothing.”
“Yep,” Sam said. God, what had he agreed to?
“I’m going to grab a drink. Can I get you anything?”
What Sam wanted was a bottle of vodka. He wanted to drink vodka so it would numb the desire to put his hands and his mouth on one very nutty woman. Yes, Sam wanted a drink to wash away the wanting of all the things he could not have, such as a wife and children and a life that didn’t include walking a tightrope. He wanted to drink to fill up the holes in him that all that want had left behind.
But to Madeline he said, “No thanks,” and held up a bottle of water.
FOURTEEN
Libby had to admire the way Patti could take the Kendrick kitchen and turn it into something not only useful, but pleasing to the eye. She had dragged two picnic tables together, had dressed them with a red-checkered paper tablecloth, and heavy-weight paper plates, and had served tea in Mason jars. The best part was the sunflowers she’d put in old Coke bottles to dress the table up.
Maybe she ought to inquire if Patti had ever been to a barn wedding, see if she had a few pointers.
Libby was seated next to Leo at the head of the table. While Leo was flirting with Michelle, Libby chatted with Jackson Crane about the ranch. She had no desire to talk about Homecoming Ranch at the moment, but if she didn’t talk, her fury with Sam would get the best of her.