“It’s okay, Vanni. You’re a young woman in your prime. Paul’s a fine young man, despite the fact that he’s fathering the nation…”
“Daddy…”
“Nah, he’s a good man. His incident aside.”
She leaned toward him. “You’re not losing me,” she said again. “But I packed a bag this morning. I’m going home with him, Dad. Just for a few days. We’ll be back before the weekend.”
“That doesn’t surprise me a bit. I’m surprised you didn’t take off in the dark of night.”
Then she asked softly, “Did I disturb your sleep last night?”
He shook his head. “I suppose we’re an odd family,” he said. “Not quite the stiff and upright family I had always thought we were, but the facts of our lives have changed all that. Relaxed our expectations…At least mine.” He looked down. “I heard you, yes. It wasn’t too disturbing. In fact, those are happy sounds.” He lifted his eyes. “There were other nights I heard you—and your brother. Nights of crying over loved ones lost. Your mother. Your husband. And I don’t doubt there were nights young Tom, at only fourteen, wondered what to do about a tough old three-star crying in his bed over his wife’s death.”
“Oh, Daddy…”
“Vanni—life is rough. It can’t help but be, especially for military families like ours. But we have to soldier on, be strong, do the best we can. If you tell me you’re happy with Paul…”
“Oh, Dad, I love him so much. I loved him before I fell in love with him, if that makes sense. He loves me. And—he loves you.”
“Any man who would do all he did after his best friend’s death—this is a man who deserves my respect.”
“Thank you, Daddy. We still have plenty of time before Tom’s graduation and his exit to basic training, even if I spend a little time in Grants Pass.” She laughed. “Tom may have trouble fitting us in, anyway—I know Brenda is on high priority right now.”
“Leaving is hard for him, too. But he’ll be swept up in it in no time. There’s something about being with those boys, competing, trying to prove yourself. He won’t have time to miss anyone.” He laughed a little. “The girl. He’ll miss the girl. He’s not a eunuch, after all.”
She smiled but didn’t say anything. Her father—he’d looked at so many young faces over his career—his read was solid.
“Paul’s hoping to do some building here. We’ll live down here as much as work provides.”
Walt’s eyes widened. “Did you insist on that?”
“No,” she said. “He loves this place. He has good friends here. He loves coming to meet the boys. He’d like to build us a house here.”
“Vanni,” he said, touched. “That would be wonderful. I can let you go if it’s what you want but, selfishly, I’d be so happy to have you nearby.”
“He’ll have details to work out. And there’s that other matter—”
Before she could continue, Paul walked into the kitchen. “Good morning, sir,” he said, heading to the coffeepot.
Walt stood. “Vanni tells me you’re considering working here.”
“Yes, sir. But don’t get ahead of me—I have to talk to the family. When we get up to Oregon for a few days, Vanni can do some grandparent time with Carol and Lance, meet my family, and I can run this proposition by my dad and brothers. I hope you’re okay about me taking Vanni home with me for a few days. We’ll be back before the weekend.”
“Good. That’s good.” Walt stuck out his hand to Paul. “You should go away together for a while,” he said. “So I can get some sleep.” And then he walked out of the kitchen.
Paul could feel subtle changes in himself after just twenty-four hours. A confrontation with Vanessa followed by one night in her arms had taught him a few things about her. And himself. She was a strong woman—she needed a man of equal or greater strength. One who was sturdy, determined, not someone who would defer or shy away. She liked power, and she didn’t crave it for herself, but rather wanted to align herself with it; she was a formidable partner and required a man who wasn’t the least bit nervous about that. If Vanessa felt overpowered, she wouldn’t cower, she’d fight. But if she felt considerably stronger than her man, she’d fight even harder. She could only team up with confidence, passion and conviction. All that brought out the best in him—his self-assurance and competence. She was raised by a general—she appreciated brawn and nerve. Courage.
She liked his gentle side, but only in contrast. She’d been forced to shoulder so much pain and loss and had had to be tough; she couldn’t partner with a man who would take her strength for granted; she needed a man she could lean on sometimes. She had a temper; she was feisty and bossy, sometimes difficult. But she was fair and just with a love that was deep and enduring. She had both a growl and a purr; Paul was committed to bringing out and adoring both.
She was perfect for him. And he realized with some surprise that he was her match. It was an incomparable feeling. The pride it fed in him honed his strength, deepened his love.
While Paul drove them to his home, to Oregon, with the baby tucked into his car seat in the back of the extended cab truck, Vanni slept as much as Mattie did. The trepidation that had kept him from speaking up earlier, that had once kept him from approaching her from across a crowded bar and sitting down beside her a few years ago, was gone. He was possessive, sure of himself, serene. He couldn’t keep his hands off her, constantly reaching for her, touching her knee, circling her shoulders with his arm. He’d been inside her body, made her tremble with pleasure and beg for more, branded her, made her his. She didn’t scare him anymore.
When they were nearly to Grants Pass, Vanni asked when they should see Paul’s family or the Rutledges. “We’re not even going to call them until tomorrow afternoon,” he said. “We’ll stop off at the grocery, get what we need and have a night alone, just the three of us. Monday is soon enough to get in touch with them.” When Vanni started making noises of cooking him an elaborate dinner to show off some of her skills, he stopped her. “We’re not spending all our time in the kitchen tonight. There’s plenty of time for that,” he said. Into the cart went diapers, formula for the baby, cereal, eggs, milk, sandwich and salad makings and an already-roasted chicken and vegetables.
Vanessa had seen some of Paul’s work before—Mel and Jack’s house, which was Joe’s design and Paul’s construction expertise. But he showed her his house in Grants Pass with pride. It was a masterpiece. Large oak double doors led into a spacious foyer with white marble floors. There were a few steps down into a sunken great room with thick, light beige carpet and a large fireplace of beautiful slate. A long row of windows with French panes looked out onto a manicured lawn, and the ceilings were high and beamed. There were two bedrooms, spacious, and throughout the house were stunning built-in bookcases and cabinets and even a gorgeous built-in breakfront in the dining room, so large it took up most of one wall. Off the kitchen and dining room was a long deck with a barbecue and redwood furniture. Paul had done most of the interior work himself—he had a complete workshop in the third bay of his three-car garage; he was a master carpenter. The kitchen was a showplace—hardwood floors, white granite countertops flecked with gold, cupboards with glass doors. And it was immaculate to the point of being sterile.
“This is magnificent,” she said in a breath. “I would give anything for such a house,” she said.
“I’ll build you whatever you want,” he said.
Paul set up the baby’s port-a-crib in the second bedroom while Vanni nursed him in the great room. He made a tray of snacks, poured Vanni a glass of wine and himself a beer. Then there was a little playtime before Mattie started to yawn. Paul took the baby to his bed to put him down for a nap and when he got back, he found Vanni in the kitchen, rinsing off their dishes.
He wanted to tell her things about how his life had changed in a day, but the words eluded him. It would be nice to explain that he’d been with women before, but never like this. He’d had sex. Good sex. In fact, the worst sex he’d ever had was pretty damn good. But no woman before her had taken him in with the kind of intimacy and intensity that Vanni had; he was sure he’d never been able to draw the kind of response from anyone that Vanessa had given back to him. The second his lips touched her neck or his hand glided over her soft body, she was in motion. Hotter than fire. The passion she unleashed was unbelievable. Unimaginable. The way her hips moved against him, it made him weak to even think about it. It gave him a kind of power and mastery he didn’t know he had. When she was in his arms he became the world’s greatest lover. There was nothing in the universe that could stroke a man’s pride more than lighting up a woman with such ease; to bring her complete, exhausting satisfaction like that, over and over. She was amazing and he felt as if his heart would explode. And clearly, the most remarkable and wondrous part was that she left him without a shred of doubt—she was his. Completely his.
But instead of trying to explain how she made him feel, he came up behind her, put his arms around her and kissed her neck. He shut off the running water and turned her around. He lifted her into his arms and whispered against her parted lips, “I can’t believe I can take you to my bed and love every piece of you.”
She trembled and answered, “I can’t believe you’re not getting me there faster.”
And then it began again…
Muriel St. Claire figured Sunday afternoon was a good time to check out the town of Virgin River. Everything was very quiet and she knew she could poke around without creating a huge stir. The house she’d recently bought was just outside of town and she’d never had time to do more than drive down the main street. The place was small and compact with what looked to be one very low-key restaurant and no other businesses on the main street.
The Open sign was on in the window of the restaurant, so she parked her truck and went inside. Muriel looked around appreciatively. This was a perfect little country bar and grill—everything polished to a high sheen, embers glittering in the hearth, two little old ladies sharing a table near the fire, fishing and hunting trophies on the walls. Behind the bar was a good-looking, grinning bartender polishing glasses.
She felt a little overdressed in her tailored pants, ostrich boots and fitted leather blazer over a cream-colored silk blouse. But, no worries, she’d know for next time.
The elderly women immediately started to whisper and twitter, glancing at her, then whispering some more. Well, that was quick; they might be senior citizens but they knew who she was. The bartender tilted his head and gave her a welcoming smile.
She walked up to the bar. “Nice little place,” she said.
“Thanks. We’re kind of proud of it. What can I get you?”
“How about a cola? Diet.”
“You got it.” He fixed her up with a drink and asked, “Passing through?”
“No, actually. I just moved here. Well—” she laughed “—I was born not far from here and always intended to come back.”
“You look kind of familiar,” Jack said. He shook his head. “I had a little déjà vu. You kind of reminded me of my wife for a second there. First time she walked in this place, I figured she was lost. Classy blonde in my bar? Couldn’t be happening.”
“I guess you did the right thing and married her.”
“What was I gonna do?” Jack asked with a laugh. He put out his hand. “Jack Sheridan.”
“Muriel,” she said, accepting the hand.
