“Now is not the time,” Sam said curtly, and went to help Bob get Leo inside the wheelchair-resistant Grizzly Lodge, with Marisol walking behind, huffing and puffing with one hand on her belly, one hand carrying a black bag of the medicines and things Leo would need for an evening away from home.
When they finally had Leo situated—just inside the door of the banquet hall so that he could greet people as they entered and encourage them to bid as only Leo could do—Sam walked outside for some air. He wished he had some aspirin. His head was pounding, his throat dry.
He hesitated when he saw Libby pacing the sidewalk. She stopped when Sam walked out, her legs braced apart, her hands on her waist. “You didn’t believe me,” she said flatly. “I could see it on your face—you thought I had done something.”
He didn’t answer her; he feared the torrent that would come out of his mouth if he did.
She gaped at him. “You don’t trust me.” Her eyes widened and she took a step back. “Wow. You’re just like everyone else in this town—you don’t trust me.”
He looked at her mouth, at her body that had quickly become almost as familiar to him as his own. He looked into the pale blue eyes that had captivated him so long ago. He didn’t know what he thought or felt. He only knew that the inability to trust her was his kryptonite. He’d tried to make her understand that he’d worked hard to distance himself from the things that made him drink. He didn’t understand exactly how it all worked in his head, he only knew that misplaced trust had always been an issue with him. If he couldn’t trust he was in the right place with the right person, if he couldn’t trust his own instincts, he was prone to numbing his doubts with alcohol. It didn’t matter that he could reason through it. It didn’t matter that it didn’t make sense to him. The only thing that mattered was that reason did not subdue the desire to numb the mistrust.
It was a high wire he walked, and Sam would never jeopardize his sobriety. Not even for her.
“Should I believe it is only coincidence that once again, you have inserted yourself in the middle of the Spanglers’ lives without invitation?”
She looked as surprised as if he’d struck her. She took another step back. “I can’t believe this. I trusted you, Sam. I opened up to you, told you everything. I told you the truth. But you’re going to believe Gwen Spangler instead of me.”
“I don’t have to believe Gwen. You took the kids, Libby. There’s no debate in that. And you had no right.”
Libby stared at him, her hand clenching and unclenching. She suddenly turned around, started walking.
“Where are you going?” he called out to her.
She quickened her step, going as fast away from him as she could.
Sam resisted the urge to go after her. Right now, he needed to think, to find his bearings. He’d made a commitment to this fundraiser, and he wasn’t going to let Leo down because Libby had let him down. He made himself turn around and walk back inside to the silent auction with his pulse pounding angrily in his ears. He heard a phone ring, but it took him a moment to realize it was his. By the time Sam dug it out of his pocket, the call from Tony had rolled to voice mail.
Sam tucked the phone back into his pocket. He couldn’t talk to Tony right now. He had to think, to calm down. He would call Tony later when he’d cooled off.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Libby walked blindly into the Stake Out. She didn’t know where she was going, other than away from Sam, and found herself at the bar, still seeing Sam’s cold and distrusting expression before her. It was the worst sort of feeling—as if someone had pummeled her heart and left it bleeding.
“What can I get you?” the bartender asked.
“Water, thanks.”
The bartender walked down to the other end of the bar to get it.
Libby picked up a coaster and began to twirl it through her fingers. She was angry. With Gwen, for one. After all this time working on the committee, Gwen couldn’t possibly believe Libby would steal her children. And just what did Gwen think she would do? Run with them? Harm them? It was infuriating.
Libby was also angry with herself, for having taken Alice and Max to get the costume. It was a dumb thing to do, and even though Libby hated to see Alice upset or disappointed, it was not her place to soothe Alice’s wounds. It was not her place.
It was so painful to admit that to herself. Libby had believed that she’d come to terms with it, but today had proved to her she hadn’t at all. She had jumped at the chance to be with them. She had been so happy to be the one to fix things. She hadn’t come to terms with anything.
But what made her so angry that she could not keep from taking tiny little gasps to calm her racing heart was that Sam didn’t trust her. She’d made a mistake. Okay, another one. But how could he not understand what was in her heart?
“Here you go,” the bartender said, putting a glass of water before her. He slid a shot glass in beside it.
“What’s that?” Libby asked.
“The guy down there sent it. Said to tell you it would cure what ails you.”
Libby looked down the bar at the man. He lifted his beer bottle to her.