But then Tony’s friend Justin left for a job down in Texas, and Tony seemed to sink. He told Sam he liked the work okay, he liked Ernest, and liked being around people and animals. But Tony also worried about his missing leg. He feared that no woman would ever want to take that on. Sam pointed out he’d had a bunch of women take it on, but Tony shook his head, said they all took off after they found out what was involved in taking care of the stump and the prosthesis.
“That might be the kind of woman you keep company with,” Sam said. “But there are lots of great women out there who wouldn’t care about a leg.”
“Like hell there is,” Tony said.
“At least you’ve got a place to stay,” Sam reminded him, but Tony just shrugged. “I don’t want to be a damn charity case. That’s all I am, a damn charity case.”
That simply wasn’t true. Sam assured Tony he was pulling his own weight around Homecoming Ranch and then some, but Tony wouldn’t hear it. Sam tried to convince Tony to call one of the military hotlines for mental health, but Tony scoffed at that. “So they can give me a pill and a Band-Aid? No thanks.”
Tony talked a lot about the desire to drink, about the struggle to keep from helping himself to Ernest’s beer. Sam understood that all too well, and he felt prepared to talk him through that, to make sure he attended his meetings and kept busy. Sam called Tony twice a day. He did everything he knew to do to support his sobriety.
But when Tony started to talk about killing himself, Sam felt out of his league.
He worried.
He worried about Libby, too, but it was a different sort of worry.
Libby was bubbly and happy, content in their new relationship. She made him happy. There was something to be said for ending a long day with a pair of shiny silvery blue eyes and a pretty smile. She was always happy to see him, throwing her arms around his neck with a happy kiss. “Hey!” she would say, “How was your day? Do you like lasagna? I hope so, because I made a huge batch of it.”
These days—busy and full, but easy—made Sam feel like he had finally reached the place he’d been searching for, a place he could relax. He felt safe in his new relationship.
But his time with Libby wasn’t without little niggles of worry here and there. She told him about her first fundraising committee meeting and the things she’d overheard in the bathroom at the Methodist church. She told him how awkward the meeting itself had been, and how no one seemed to want to hear what she had to say.
“You knew it would be tough,” he reminded her.
“But I thought that once they saw me and heard my ideas, they would understand that I am there just to help.” She frowned thoughtfully. “Do you think that Gwen is being spiteful?”
Sam didn’t think Gwen was the type, but then again, women had their own code of conduct that he didn’t understand. And it did seem to him that all the grunt work was falling to Libby. Somehow, she was the one running all the committee errands. “I have the time, you know, since I’m not working.”
As far as Sam knew, a couple of the women on that committee didn’t work, either, but it was Libby who took care of the printing, of picking up the silent auction items. Anything that needed to be done, Libby ended up doing. She had always been the type to raise her hand and volunteer first, and ask questions second.
Still, she was very determined in this particular venture, and Sam couldn’t help wondering if there was more going on than her desire to help Leo. He feared that perhaps Libby hadn’t let go of the Spanglers. It just seemed too easy after all she’d been through.
He was happy that at least she was putting her energy into a new direction for Homecoming Ranch. She had sworn him to secrecy about her plans. “I have to have the plan together before I tell Madeline. The more t’s that are crossed the better.” She’d laughed at that.
The days flew by, running together.
One night, when Sam came home from breaking up a fight at a Tanner Creek campsite, he walked in to the smell of sizzling steaks. He and Libby were not officially cohabiting, but they were spending most of their time together, either at his house, or at the ranch. He was getting used to the smell of actual food emanating from his kitchen. A bowl of salad was on the table, too, and a pie was cooling on the counter. “Wow,” he said as he took off his coat. “What’s the occasion?”
Libby was wearing an apron and a T-shirt that said “Pine River Chamber of Commerce” on the back. “You don’t know?”
“No clue,” Sam said and bent his head to kiss her.
“I’m a free woman, Lone Ranger. As in, no more restraining order. It expired today.” She did a little hop as she went back to the stove where something was cooking.
“That’s great,” he said. “Fantastic news. I’m so glad that’s behind you.”
“Me too!” she said cheerfully.
Over dinner, they talked about his work and the interesting things she’d read about veteran rehabilitation centers that afternoon.
Later, they were lying on Sam’s couch, watching the fire. Her head was on his shoulder, her leg draped over his. “What are you doing tomorrow?” he asked her.
“I’m driving up to Aspen to pick up a contribution to the auction. Deb Trimble said that Gwen asked her if I would. Gwen won’t ask me herself.”