“Pleasure,” Jack said. “What can I get you?”
“Beer?”
“Bottle or tap?”
“Whatever’s on tap,” Ian said.
Jack drew the beer and said to Marcie, “Help yourself to the phone, Marcie. Preacher’s back there.” Then, she skipped away and Jack put the beer in front of Ian.
Ian picked it up and migrated down to the corner of the bar he’d staked out. Then he watched with interest for several moments as Jack made a few drinks, polished some glasses, exchanged friendly banter with a couple of customers, arranged some bottles, took a tub of dirty glasses to the kitchen, and seemed to completely ignore Ian, the old doctor, and the other lone drinker at the opposite end of the bar. It was probably ten minutes—Marcie must be having a very interesting conversation with her sister. How is she explaining me? he wondered to himself.
“How’s that beer?” Jack asked, dishtowel in hand, eyeing the nearly empty glass.
“I’m good,” Ian said.
“Just let me know,” he said, turning away.
“Ah,” Ian said, getting his attention but not exactly calling him back.
Jack turned, lifted an eyebrow. Silent.
“She tell you to leave me alone?”
A small huff of laughter escaped Jack. “Pal, the first thing you learn when you open a bar—talk if they talk, shut up if they don’t.”
Ian tilted his head. Maybe he could stand this place once in a while. “She tried to explain me to the librarian in Eureka as an idiot savant.” Jack smiled and Ian felt an odd sensation—it was a funny story; he liked sharing a funny story. He used to make the guys laugh when he wasn’t making them work. “She tell you she was looking for me?”
“She did.”
For some reason unclear even to him, Ian did something he hadn’t done since finding himself in these mountains—he pushed on it a little bit. “She tell you anything about me?”
“Couple of things.”
“Like?”
“Like, you and me—we were in Fallujah about the same time.”
“Should’ve known. You have that jarhead look about you. Just so you’re clear—I don’t talk about that time.”
Jack smiled lazily. “Just so you’re clear, neither do I.”
“Hi, Erin,” Marcie said into the phone. “I’m just checking in.”
“Marcie, good God, where have you been?” she asked.
Marcie could just imagine Erin beginning to pace with the phone in her hand, something she did whenever she was stressed and not quite in control. “You know where I am. Right here, in Virgin River. I’m staying not far from here. Didn’t you get my messages? I talked to Drew and Mel Sheridan said she talked to you—”
“Some woman I’ve never heard of and don’t know called, yes,” she said. “She says you’re staying with him? You’re actually staying with him? Someplace without even a phone?”
Marcie sighed deeply. “Calm down—he doesn’t need a phone. He lives in a perfectly comfortable cabin on a ridge with an incredible view and he sort of…invited me to stay if I wanted to…”
“Sort of? If you wanted to? Marcie, what the hell’s going on?”
“I want you to listen to me, Erin. Listen and stop commanding. I found him, I want to get to know him, I want to understand him. Everything. I want to understand everything. And that takes time. And there’s no place I have to be right now.”
“This is making me nuts! My little sister, with some crazy stranger on an isolated mountain—”
“He is not crazy! He’s a good man! He’s been very generous with me! I’m completely safe, and there’s nothing about this to make you concerned. He goes to work every day and in the evenings when he’s back at the cabin, we talk a little bit. We’re just getting to know each other. Today we went to church and to the library. Stop hovering—you knew I was going to do this!”
“Let me talk to him,” Erin said. “Put him on the phone. I have a few questions.”
“No,” she said in a panicked gasp. “He can’t come to the phone—he’s out in the…the…restaurant. I’m an adult, and he doesn’t need your permission to invite me to stay in his cabin. You’re going to have to trust me!”
“It’s not trust and you know it—it’s him! I don’t know him, I only know that when you were up to your neck taking care of Bobby and Ian Buchanan was out of the Corps, he never even called to ask—”
“He saved Bobby’s life,” Marcie shot back. “He risked his life to save my husband. What more do I need to know? I want to thank him, I want to—”
“Saying thank you should take about five minutes,” Erin interrupted.
“I’m not talking about this anymore. I’ll call you in a few days—and work on calming down in the meantime. Erin, do not mess this up for me!” She disconnected the line with an angry poke of one finger.
And looked up into those dark, brooding eyes of Preacher’s. Beneath the scowl was a lift of his lips. “Well,” Preacher said. “That’s a new twist to the story. He saved your husband’s life? Hoorah.”
“I thought you knew,” she said.
“All I knew was you’re widowed,” he said. “How about this guy? He seem an okay guy?”
She took a breath. “Wild animals will eat out of his hand.”
“That a fact?” Preacher said. “I trust wild animals more than a lot of tame men. You should stay for dinner.”
“I was hoping to, but why?” she asked, thinking hard on the previous comment.
“It’s meat loaf night,” he said simply. “It’s the best ever.”
“Oh.”
“And it’s a special night. Mel, Jack’s wife, she found the perfect topper for that tree and now we can finally return the cherry picker. Half the town’s turning out for the lighting. Should’ve come a lot sooner, but we couldn’t do it until she was okay with the topper. The woman looked at every angel and sparkle-ball and star in three counties and rejected them all. But now she has it—so we’re going to fire it up. Next year, we’ll get it done earlier.”
“Cool.” Marcie smiled. “What time on the tree?”
He looked at his watch. “About an hour from now.”
Nine
M arcie joined Ian at the bar and sat up beside him. Jack was there instantly. “What can I get you?” he asked with a wipe of the bar in front of her.
“I think—I’d like a glass of wine. How about a nice merlot? And two meat loaf dinners. And whatever you do, do not let this guy get the check—I invited him, and it’s my treat. My turn. He’s been feeding me since I got here.”
“You bet,” Jack said.
Ian turned toward her. “I’m not sure about staying long…”
“If you have an anxiety attack, we can go. But if you can hang in there a little while, I bet the meat loaf will amaze you. This cook, Preacher? He’s unbelievable. I had some of his venison chili when I first got to town and it almost made me pass out, it was so good.”
His lips curved in a smile. “You ate venison, Marcie?”
“I didn’t have a relationship with the deer,” she explained.
“You don’t have a relationship with my deer either,” he pointed out.
“Yeah, but I have a relationship with you—you’ve seen me in my underwear. And you have a relationship with the deer. If you fed him to me, it would be like you shot and fed me your friend. Or something.”
Ian just drained his beer and smiled at her enough to show his teeth. “I wouldn’t shoot that particular buck,” he admitted. “But if I had a freezer, I’d shoot his brother.”
“There’s something off about that,” she said, just as Jack placed her wine in front of her. “Wouldn’t it be more logical if hunters didn’t get involved with their prey? Or their families? Oh, never mind—I can’t think about this before eating my meat loaf. Who knows who’s in it?”
Ian chuckled at her. “You’re right about one thing. Not a bad little bar here. I never checked it out before.”
“Toldja,” she said, sipping her wine. “What would you like to talk about?”
“We’ve talked all day. I haven’t talked this much in four years. I think I might be losing my voice.”
“I haven’t talked this little…”
“I kind of assumed that…”
Just then Jack delivered two steaming plates that he held with towels. He reached beneath the bar and produced a couple of sets of utensils wrapped in napkins and asked, “Another beer?”
“Why not?” Ian said in what was an unmistakably friendly voice. “The lady’s buying.” And then he put his napkin on his thigh.
Marcie stared at that thigh for a long moment. This was the sort of thing that had her confused. He looked a little crazy, till you got used to him. He could act as if he had needs barely above the animal kingdom, taking roughing it to the next level. When he was in his working clothes, he looked as if he barely subsisted. He could growl and snarl like a lunatic. But he had intelligent diction, good table manners, and while he might not be terribly social and on the quiet side, he had no trouble being around people. He was perfectly cordial.
She had expected a man completely screwed up by his past, by his war experiences, someone hard to reach and nearly impossible to change—a difficult situation, but easy to understand. Instead, what she found was someone pretty normal. It left her with many more questions than answers.
“You’re right about the food,” he said with a hum and a napkin to his lips and beard.
“Hmm,” she agreed, letting her eyes fall closed as she enjoyed mashed potatoes so creamy and wonderful, they were like ambrosia.
Ian finished quickly, sitting back and giving his belly a satisfied rub. Marcie just gave up, pushing her plate toward Ian. “I’m done. Go ahead. Help yourself.”
His eyes widened. “You sure?”
“Wait,” she said suddenly. She dipped her fork into the mashed potatoes and lifted it to his lips. “Try this.”
He lifted his brows, then let her put the fork into his mouth. He savored it. Then he said, “I think you got better potatoes.” And he smiled.
“Help yourself, Ian. I’m going to explode if I eat any more,” she said.
“Maybe a bite,” he said, dipping his fork a couple of times before he, too, had to admit defeat. They sat in silence for a few appreciative moments, finishing their drinks, satisfied. Happy. It occurred to her—they were happy.
The contentment was interrupted abruptly. Mel came into the bar with a baby on her hip. Marcie knew she was pregnant, but had no idea there was also a baby under a year old. The baby was all stropped up in a snowsuit, encased from his head to his toes in blue bunting. The smile on her face was brilliant. “Jack! Everyone! It’s time. Tell Preach to turn off the stove and get Christopher and come on! Come on, don’t make us wait!”
Ian’s eyes narrowed as he quizzed Marcie wordlessly. “They’re going to light the tree,” she said. “I’d love to see it.”
“Whatever jingles your bells,” he said.
“You’re not coming?”
“I’m pretty comfortable right here.”
She leveled him with her gaze. “Suit yourself,” she finally said. And she got off her stool to follow the people in the bar as they headed outside.
There was a formidable gathering there—cars and trucks double-parked all up and down the street. People were murmuring, laughing, greeting each other. There were lots of excited children running around.
