Homecoming Ranch by Julia London Page B

put too fine a point on it…” Luke said, “but this is my family’s home. This is where I grew up.”
    Madeline suddenly smiled. “Well then, great! That solves our problem, doesn’t it? You can buy it back.”
    Luke clenched his jaw. “Can’t buy it yet,” he said tightly and stared into Madeline’s blue eyes. She held his gaze, but her expression went from hopeful to stoic. She understood. She was a realtor, a negotiator, she was used to this. And Luke guessed she was not the type to be swayed by sentimentality.
    “Well!” Jackson said brightly. “Like I said, lots to sort out.”
    “For God’s sake,” Emma said, and got up, sauntering off with a Diet Coke in hand, apparently in search of bourbon.

TEN
    It was almost dusk when Madeline made her way back to Pine River. She was exhausted, light-headed, her head pounding and her stomach rumbling with hunger almost to the point of nausea.
    It was true that she did not deal well with stress. Not her own, anyway. She was great at talking Trudi off a ledge, and soothing little girls who felt slighted on the soccer field. But her own stress was a different matter entirely. She tended to internalize it.
    She usually avoided it with careful planning. It was Madeline’s experience that when things were planned, when events unfolded according to schedule, that expectations were managed. Yes, it was all about managing expectations, and Jackson sucked at it. For example, this day would have gone a
lot
smoother if he’d just put some thought into how to present the issues. But between his glib attempts to appease them, and Libby’s enthusiasm for that damn reunion, and Emma’s cool indifference, Madeline had felt like she was treading water.
    At some point, they’d agreed to take a break—Emma was determined to find some booze in that house. Madeline had sat on the porch, rubbing her temples, and Luke had come to sit next to her. God, but that man was good-looking. He looked like he’d jumped right out of an ad for Dinty Moore stew. He sat closely, his leg lightlytouching hers. Madeline was fixated on his leg. Thick and powerful, dwarfing hers, and oh, so sexy.
    He’d bent his head to look at her. “Are you okay?”
    Beside the fact that her head was exploding, her feet were numb, and she couldn’t shake the feeling of fatigue or chill, she was perfectly fine. “I’m good,” she’d said, and forced a smile.
    He’d nodded, squinted out over the landscape and had said, “I gather this is a little like having a tornado touch down in your life.”
    “
Yes
,” she’d said, relieved that someone understood. “Yours too?”
    “A little,” he agreed.
    “Who was it who said, life is what happens to you when you’re making other plans?” She smiled brightly, even though she was cringing inwardly. Not only did she
never
say things like that, she didn’t believe it for a minute. Life happened when she
made
plans.
    Neither did Luke believe it, because he’d smiled wryly in a way that had made his gray eyes shine, and he’d put his hand on her arm. His strong, big hand on her arm. It was a workingman’s hand, with the little nicks and marks of his life. “John Lennon, I think. Hang in there, Madeline. Today is probably the worst of it.” He’d squeezed her arm and let go.
    Madeline had appreciated his assurance, she had, but she couldn’t help but wonder if he knew what two hundred Johnsons would look like. Madeline knew—she’d worked enough of the office client appreciation days to have an idea.
    What was very clear to Madeline at the end of the torturous day was that this situation would not be neatly resolved in one or two meetings.
    She walked into the lobby of the Grizzly Lodge, with its rustic furniture carved from enormous tree trunks, a fire blazing in a cavernous hearth, and, naturally, the bearskin rugs. Yesterday, when she’d finally rolled into town, it was the only place she could find to stay. When she’d checked in, the proprietor of