The Perfect Homecoming (Pine River) (13 page)

Emma’s eyes narrowed. She looked away, but Cooper caught her hand and held it. “I know when I’m being played, Emma. And you’re playing me. You must have some secrets to hide.”

She tried to pull her hand free. “You’re annoying the shit out of me now.”

“And you’re starting to fascinate me.” Even though he found her behavior objectionable and reprehensible—stealing was something he couldn’t tolerate in anyone—he still found her oddly intriguing. What made a woman like her do the things she did? Say the things she did? “If I’m wrong, then explain to me why you’re working for Leo Kendrick.”

She smiled with amusement, and he noticed she no longer tried to free her hand of his. “
That’s
your burning question?”

“It’s not even remotely close to event planning.”

“No, it’s not,” she agreed.

“So?”

“So, his nurse is on maternity leave. He needed someone to hang out with him during the day so his dad can take care of other things. And I needed—” She abruptly stopped midsentence and seemed to think better of what she was about to say. “I was happy to do it,” she said, averting her gaze. “I
wanted
to do it.”

That seemed oddly out of character from what Cooper knew. Happy to do it.
Wanting
to do it. That was not the Emma who was currently residing in his head, whose hand was currently held in his. “Why?” he asked curiously.

“Why?” she echoed. “Because I love Leo.”

Cooper didn’t know exactly what she meant by that. He’d been surprised to find the man behind the flaming van was living in a chair, his body twisted and useless. “What’s wrong with him?”

There was a slight, but noticeable change in Emma’s careful expression. A sliver of concern slipping through, and then a sharper glance of pain. “He
. . .
he has Motor Neuron Disease. Like Lou Gehrig’s disease. It destroys the muscles and they atrophy until he can’t talk. Or eat.” She looked down at her glass. “Or breathe.”

Cooper felt a flush of guilt and sympathy under his skin, that rush of relief that by the grace of God, he wasn’t afflicted with something so horrible. Emma’s expression had gone placid again. Any sign of emotion had disappeared, replaced by a look of impatience.

“Well! On that cheerful note,” she said, sliding off her stool and pulling her hand free of his, “I’m done.” She hooked her purse over her shoulder and smiled, leaned in, her gaze on his mouth, stirring his blood, making him think of things that had nothing to do with Carl’s medal. “This has been oodles of fun, but just so we’re clear? Don’t bother me again, Cooper.” She brushed against his thigh as she squeezed out from between the barstools and walked away.

He didn’t try and stop her. He watched her walk to the front of the bar until she disappeared into the main dining area.

He turned back to his drink. The bartender was standing there, his thick hands braced against the bar. “Another drink, buddy?”

“Yeah,” Cooper said. “A double.” He drained his bourbon and slid the empty glass across to the bartender.

NINE

“Scoot over, bitches,” Emma said when she reached the booth her sisters had just taken.

“Emma!”
Libby cried with surprise.

“What, you didn’t think I’d come?” Emma asked, and waved a hand at her, indicating she should move over.

“Well, your text wasn’t exactly encouraging. I mean, when someone texts
maybe
it doesn’t actually mean yes,” Libby said, seeming genuinely happy to see Emma. She scooted across the bench.

“Wow, you
did
come,” Madeline said, nodding approvingly as Emma slipped in beside Libby. “I guess I owe you five bucks, Libs.”

Emma smiled wryly. Madeline did not approve of her, but that didn’t bother Emma; she figured Madeline was right to be wary of her. “I had to come, sweetie,” Emma said with false lightness. “I couldn’t risk missing out on the minutiae of your wedding plans, could I? We’ll be reviewing them in detail again tonight, I assume.”

“Every last one,” Madeline said, and actually laughed. She seemed to be in an unusually jovial mood tonight, because she winked at Emma. “Even
you
can’t bring me down.”

Emma smiled. “I wouldn’t dream of it. I hope the wedding is everything you ever wanted and more.”

Madeline paused, waiting for a punch line.

There was no punch line—Emma did wish that for her. “Just because I don’t want to hear about it every waking moment doesn’t mean I don’t wish you the best.”

“Yeah, well, it doesn’t necessarily mean you do, either,” Madeline cheerfully pointed out. “Okay,
so?
” she chirped, leaning forward. “What’s going on with the hunk who appeared from thin air?”

Emma looked between the two women. “You realize that you sound like a fourteen-year-old girl,” she said, sinking back into the seat cushions.

“I can’t help that I’m excited that someone interesting has come into town for
you
.”

“I think I’m vaguely insulted,” Emma said, and twisted around. “Where the hell is the waiter? Why does it always take two mules and a cart to get a drink in this town?”

“Emma,” Madeline said, tapping her hand. “Are you going to tell us?”

There would be no escaping it, apparently. Emma supposed she’d known that the moment she’d spotted them in the booth, engrossed in conversation, their dark heads leaning across the table toward each other as she sauntered over to them. She’d had a prickly feeling that they were talking about her.

But she wasn’t ready to talk just yet, at least not before she had a drink, and even then she didn’t know what she’d tell them. “What is it about everyone in this town?” she complained with a flick of her wrist. “Is it possible for a man and woman to exchange a few words without everyone trying to put a ring on it? It’s ridiculous.”

“Avoiding the question!” Madeline called out, pointing at her like a courtroom attorney. “No one is trying to put a ring on it. We just want to know who he is. I mean, it’s not like total strangers show up at Homecoming Ranch every day.”

“What are you talking about? Total strangers show up all the time. We do destination events, remember? We run a veterans’ rehab center.”

“Okay, they don’t show up for you,” Madeline amended.

“Fine,” Emma said, giving in. “He thinks I have something that belongs to a guy we both know. He had to come to Colorado for something or other, I don’t know, and he stopped by to ask about it.” She lifted her palms up to indicate that was all there was.

“That’s it? That’s the reason he came all the way out to Homecoming Ranch? Why didn’t he just call you? If he knew you were there, he must have had your number.”

“I don’t know,” Emma said, squirming a bit. “What are you, a detective?”

“He’s so
hot
,” Libby enthusiastically continued, nudging Emma. “I mean, I’m totally in love with Sam, but I think that
guy is freaking
hot
.”

Inexplicably, that annoyed Emma even more. “Jesus, is sex all you guys think about?”

“It’s not
all
we think about,” Madeline said.

Emma groaned with exasperation. “I would really like to speak to a waiter.” She looked back over her shoulder. “I could have downed two drinks by now.”

“Wait, I’m confused,” Libby said. “Who’s the guy you and Cooper both know? And what does he think you have?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know? You mean that totally hot Cooper came all the way out to the ranch, without calling, to ask for something back from that guy and you don’t know what he was asking for? Something doesn’t smell right,” Madeline pressed. “Like, why
you
, why he came here, why didn’t the other guy come himself, what he thinks you have—”

“A medal, okay?” Emma said, interrupting Madeline. She managed to catch the waiter’s eye; he started for their table.

“A
medal
!” Libby exclaimed loudly, as if she’d never heard the word before. “What kind of medal?”

“I don’t know, Libby, a medal. How should I know? A glass of cabernet,” she said to the waiter, who appeared tableside.

Madeline and Libby ordered drinks, and Libby ordered an appetizer. “I don’t know why, but I am so hungry all the time,” she said sheepishly.

“Maybe you’re pregnant,” Emma suggested. “You should get a pregnancy test on the way home.”

Libby’s eyes rounded.
“No!”
she said, and laughed nervously. “No, I can’t be.”

“She’s not pregnant,” Madeline said.

“How do you know?” Libby demanded, but Madeline waved her off and fixed her gaze on Emma again.

Emma picked up the menu and began to peruse it.

“I think it would be nice if you invited Hot Guy for dinner.”

Emma lowered her menu and pinned Madeline with a look of annoyance. “Do you, Madeline? And why would that be nice of me? Would it be nice to invite everyone in town who happens to be from California?”

“
No
,” Madeline drawled. “But it would be nice of you to invite someone you know, who happens to be in town alone. It’s called hospitality.”

“It’s called manipulation,” Emma said. “And you’re very good at it.”

“Don’t think of it as a date, because I know that’s what you’re thinking,” Madeline doggedly continued, unruffled by Emma’s remark. “We’ll be there, won’t we, Libs?”

“Of course!”

“Do either of you realize how aggressive you’re being right now?” Emma blurted, searching for anything to get them to stop. “It may be
your
main goal in life to get a man, but it’s not mine. It’s none of your business if I know Cooper or not. And anyway, I don’t like him, okay? Don’t. Like. Him. It’s not my problem if he’s a stranger in town, and honestly, I couldn’t care less. And finally, Madeline, you of all people should know I’m really not hospitable.”

Madeline laughed. “Oh, I know,” she agreed. “But I would love to see you untwist a little.”

“Yeah, well,
that’s
not going to happen,” Emma said, and lifted her menu again.

“But
. . .”
Libby squirmed in her seat.

“Don’t you start,” Emma warned her.

“No, no, I’m not starting. You don’t like him, fine. But don’t you ever
. . .
don’t you ever just want to
. . . you
know.”

“Have sex,” Madeline said flatly. “It’s not a dirty word.”

There was no way to explain to these women that she didn’t want to have sex. Wait—that wasn’t entirely accurate. Her body wanted sex—
real
sex, good sex—not the sex she generally had. And if she were going to have really good sex, it would be with someone like Cooper. Okay, it would be with Cooper. And that was definitely outside the realm of possibilities. It was all too complicated in her head. “I’m good.”

“Okay,” Libby said with a shrug. “It’s your life. I’m just surprised, that’s all, because you don’t seem the type to be celibate
at all
. Madeline, maybe, but not you.”

“Hey!” Madeline protested.

Emma smiled. “What makes you think I’m celibate?”

“You just said—”

“No,
you
just said. I’m not celibate. Anything but,” she added, and felt a funny little flip of her gut.

“Really?” Madeline leaned forward. “Here’s a question. How many guys have you been with?”

“Well,
that’s
awfully personal,” Libby said, clearly appalled.

“I know,” Madeline said cheerfully. “But we’re sisters, aren’t we? Seems like something sisters would ask each other. Wouldn’t they? If we’d known each other all our lives instead of a few months, would we not have asked this very question along the way?”

“Are you
drunk
?” Libby whispered loudly.

“No! Okay, I’ll go first,” Madeline offered. She looked around to see if anyone might overhear, then said low, “I’ve been with four.”

“Congratulations,” Emma said drily.

“You’ve been with
four
?” Libby exclaimed, as surprised as Emma was unimpressed.

“What? Is that too few or too many? Did you think Luke was my first?”

“Sort of,” Libby admitted, which made Emma laugh with delight.

“Are you kidding? I’m thirty, Libby!” Madeline exclaimed as the waiter arrived with their drinks and deposited them on the table. When he’d gone, Madeline asked Libby, “How many have
you
been with?”

“Oh gosh.” Libby squinted at the ceiling, her lips moving as she counted. “Five,” she said. “Including Sam, of course. That sounds like a lot, doesn’t it? I’m really not a slut. I mean, I always thought I’d marry my first.”

That earned her a pair of looks from Emma and Madeline.

“Okay, all right, I’m old-fashioned that way,” Libby said, waving her hand, clearly embarrassed now. “What about you, Emma? How many?”

“Too many to count,” Emma said honestly.

“No, seriously,” Libby said, nudging her. “How many?”

“I
am
serious. Too many to count.” She didn’t know if that was entirely accurate—she fooled around more than she had sex, really—but Emma was almost twenty-eight years old, and the last few years had not been good. She wasn’t going to count, afraid of what she might discover.

“So you’re a slut?” Madeline asked with a snort.

“Basically.”

Madeline wasn’t buying it, judging by the exaggerated roll of her eyes. “Okay, so don’t play our little game. What about this—have you slept with anyone famous?”

Emma thought about that for a moment. “Fame is such a subjective thing—”

“Nope, no way. You’re not going to turn a very simple question into philosophical bullshit and avoid answering. It’s very simple, Emma. Anyone famous, yes or no?”

“Yes,” Emma said. “Val Kilmer.”

Madeline and Libby gasped at the same time. “The
actor
?” Libby asked in a bit of a squeal.

“No, the pizza delivery guy,” Emma said. “Of course the actor.”

“You
slept
with him?” Madeline whispered.

“Wasn’t that the question?”

Madeline and Libby looked at each other and simultaneously burst into laughter. “Emma! You’ve been holding out on us!” Madeline cried.

“I have not! I didn’t even know you until this spring, remember? I didn’t realize I was supposed to arrive with my sexual dossier all typed up and ready to be handed out.”

“That would have been awesome,” Madeline said.

“You definitely should have told us if you slept with
Val Kilmer
!” Libby cried, and punched Emma in the shoulder. “That’s big news!
So
? What was he like?”

Emma smiled. “Like all the rest of them,” she said, and picked up her menu. Except that he wasn’t fat. But he was older. “Nothing to write home about. What are you eating?”

Libby pressed for more details, but Emma stubbornly ignored her. She really didn’t remember much about that night. She’d drunk too much at a party, and had ended up in his hotel room. Unfortunately, he’d had an early flight and was gone by the time she awoke the next day, taking a little piece of her with him in exchange for nothing but a raging headache.

When Libby and Madeline realized they’d get no more information from her, the talk turned to Madeline’s wedding. It was to be held New Year’s Eve in the barn at the ranch, the same place they’d hosted Thanksgiving. Emma didn’t understand Libby’s and Madeline’s fascination with that barn, but she supposed it was at least something useful to come out of Homecoming Ranch.

To Emma’s thinking, they had inherited Grant’s problem—a run-down ranch that owed more than it took in.
Thanks again, Dad
. At first, Emma had been so angry about it.
That
was his dying apology to her? To give her another problem she didn’t need? But Libby had seen that ranch as a new beginning and had desperately clung to it, even when Madeline and Emma wanted nothing to do with it.

So Emma did what she was apparently good at doing—she left. She left the problem with Libby, figuring if Libby wanted that ranch so badly, she could have it. She’d disappeared into her life in LA and had assumed Madeline would go back to hers in Orlando. She’d assumed everything would go back to the way it was before Grant had died. But then Madeline had begun to see something in that ranch, too, and had left Orlando behind for it.

Emma still had wanted nothing to do with the ranch, and God knew she wouldn’t be here now had the candlestick thing not happened. But here she was, and she had to admit to herself, she was impressed with Libby’s vision for it. Libby had smartly started a reintegration program for armed forces veterans who were struggling with PTSD and needed help learning how to reenter their lives after the wars of the last decade. She’d secured some grant funding, and they’d renovated the bunkhouse for them. Ernest Delgado, Homecoming Ranch’s longtime ranch hand, was something of a den mother to the five men who were currently in the program. In addition to participating in some donated therapy programs, the men did odd jobs around the ranch.