Author: Robyn Carr
She found herself wondering what it would feel like to be enfolded in those big arms, to feel his lips on her neck. She couldn’t remember last feeling desire. She would have thought that being in his company for so many continuous hours each day, at least some minor faults would be revealed, but she couldn’t find one. He could be so sweet and tender with her, but then at other times—like when they were with her family in L.A.—he was every bit her champion. Now and then she’d ask herself, was she turning a blind eye to his true character? Was he somehow fooling her, reeling her in? But no—there wasn’t an unchivalrous bone in his body. And it wasn’t just her opinion—his closest friends and the entire town trusted him implicitly.
She was falling in love with him. She couldn’t remember being in love. The delusion of love she’d experienced in the early days with Wes didn’t even come to mind.
Sometimes she asked herself if she should brave rejection and tell him. I want to stay right here with you forever. But she was terrified that he’d get a stricken look on his face and explain, in his patient and direct way, that he thought of her as a good friend, that he was just doing the right thing.
After Chris’s bath in the evening, she went down to the kitchen and said, “John, did you want to read tonight, or should I go ahead?”
“I’ll do it,” he said. “I look forward to it. Is he ready?”
“Squeaky-clean,” she said.
When John went upstairs, she went into the bar to find Jack wiping down the bar, putting up his glasses for the next day. As she entered, the last two customers went out, giving Jack a wave and thank-you as they left.
“Preacher reading?” Jack asked.
“Yup. If you want to take off, I’ll keep an eye on things. He’ll be down in a few minutes.”
“Thanks. You feel okay with that? Down here by yourself?”
She smiled at him. “I’ll lock the door. How long do you think it would take John to get downstairs if I yelled?”
“I guess you’re in good hands. It’s wet out there tonight. I sent Rick home a half hour ago.”
“Go visit with your wife,” she invited.
She stayed in the bar and it wasn’t long before John joined her there. “He was asleep before we finished. I guess he was just knocked out.” He took down a glass. “Feel like something tonight?”
“No, thanks.”
“You’re a little quiet. Have been the last couple of days,” he said.
She leaned her elbow on the bar, her chin in her hand. “I’ve been thinking a lot. I’m going to be divorced soon. That’s eerie. Though I have no idea what’s coming next.”
He poured himself his nighttime drink. “I have something that might perk you up,” he said. “Sit tight.” He went back to his apartment and was quickly back with a long white envelope. He handed it to her. “I took a chance on this. If it doesn’t work out for you, no big deal.”
She opened it up and found two round-trip plane tickets to Portland. “What’s this?”
“You’ve got a lot on your mind,” he said. “I figured you were probably worrying about what’s ahead for you. Might be a good time to visit that old girlfriend—check on that beauty shop of hers. Just in case…”
“In case?”
“In case you decide to get back to that kind of work.…”
She put the envelope on the bar. When she said she didn’t know what was coming next, she had meant from Wes. Not what she would do, where she would go. She was right where she wanted to be. “John, tell me the truth—are you about ready for me and Chris to move on? The truth, John.”
His expression was stunned. “No!” he said emphatically. “I didn’t get you the tickets because I want you to leave. Hey, they’re round trip! I just thought—I know you miss her. And I know that eventually…” His voice trailed off, incomplete.
She bit her lower lip and looked up at his face. “I should know what you’re thinking. What does eventually mean to you?”
“Paige, I don’t kid myself. I know you can’t be happy here for long. I mean, once you get your life back, get on your feet…”
Tell him, she challenged herself. Tell him the only thing in the world that would make you happy is to be here forever! “Right now I can’t think of anything I’d rather do.”
“That’s why I got you the tickets, for you and Chris. For a visit. You should have options. I didn’t call her and ask, by the way. And it’s over the Thanksgiving holiday, so I got them refundable. If you have to change dates…”
She thought for a second. “Maybe I will have something to drink. How about a little red wine? You have something open back there?”
He looked under the bar and pulled out a bottle of cabernet, showing it to her. She nodded and he poured. After a sip, she picked up the envelope again. “This was very nice of you. Very expensive of you.”
“Think of it as a Christmas present, if you want. Has Chris ever been on an airplane?”
She shook her head. “What if I go to Portland and love everything? How would you feel about that?”
He smiled sweetly, then leaned across the bar and pressed his lips against her forehead. “Nobody I know deserves to be happy more than you,” he said, his voice soft.
Preacher wanted her to be free to choose, that’s why he’d done it. He wasn’t stupid, he could tell she enjoyed herself in his kitchen, in this little town. It made her feel safe and protected, her son was happy. But she should know if there was something better for her. He didn’t want her to stay because it was the path of least resistance—it had to be her ultimate desire.
If she left, he was going to lose his mind. If she stayed, he was going to lose his mind.
She hemmed and hawed about the trip, but in the end she went. She drove herself over to Eureka, left her car at the airport and flew with Chris to her friend. She called when she got there, called a couple of days later to say the city was lovely and Jeannie’s shop was great. They had a dog, a big, friendly Lab, and Chris was in love.
Preacher concentrated on planning Thanksgiving dinner, a custom at the bar. He was grateful to have a big cooking job ahead to take his mind off things. He was making his lists, getting out his recipes. And he stopped shaving his head the day she left. Within four days a cap of short black hair covered his dome.
“What’s going on with this?” Mel laughed, reaching up and rubbing a hand over his bristly, dark head.
“Head’s cold,” he said.
“I like it. Do you grow it in every winter?”
“Head hasn’t been this cold on other winters,” he said. And he hadn’t been infatuated with a woman who had cut hair for a living other winters, either.
“Have you told Paige you have hair on your head?”
“Why would I do that?” he asked her.
She shrugged. “I guess things that pass as news to women are not quite as interesting to men,” she said. “Have you heard from her this week?” she asked.
“She called. She says they’re having a nice visit. Her friend has a dog and Chris is crazy about the dog.” He wiped down the counter. “You think a dog would get in the way around here?”
She laughed at him. “Preacher, what’s that matter? You just miss them so much?”
“Nah, it’s all good,” he said. “Paige hasn’t seen her friend in years.”
“He’s killing me,” Mel told Jack. “Look at him—he’s miserable. He’s so in love with her he can’t think. But will he say anything? To anyone? And seeing him without that little blond angel riding his shoulders is kind of like seeing him with an amputation. He needs to call her—tell her he misses her.”
Jack lifted an eyebrow and peered at his wife. “You don’t want to get into that,” he said. “He might try to break your jaw.”
At night, after Jack had gone home and the last customer of the night had left, Preacher went up to Paige’s bedroom above the bar and went inside. That she had left so many of her things behind, including Christopher’s toys, did not encourage him. He couldn’t believe she’d come back here. To him. If she returned at all, it would probably only be for her things. He didn’t think he had anything to offer her beyond a safe harbor. Probably Jeannie and her husband could give her that, and more.
Her nightie was tossed on her bed and he lifted it to his nose. He inhaled the fresh scent of her. It brought tears to his eyes.
A major cooking event always helped Preacher take his mind off things. It would be just a small Virgin River crowd—but not a small meal. Besides Jack, Mel and Doc, there would be Hope McCrea, Connie and Ron and Liz, Rick and his grandmother, Lydie, Joy and Bruce.
On Thanksgiving Day Mel and Jack were at the bar by noon to help with the cooking. Mel rolled dough for Preacher’s pies and peeled potatoes while Jack cleaned up cooking pots. They talked about Christmas with his family in Sacramento, about next Christmas with a baby. Preacher was silent, doing his work. He had his recipe books propped up, stuffed a twenty-five-pound bird, whipped cream, filled pie shells and put them in the oven, all the while glum. When he went into the bar to put out plates and utensils, Jack said, “What’s up with Preacher? He coming down with something?”
“Yeah, he’s coming down with something!” Mel whispered back. “Paige and Chris, that’s what. It’s like he thinks she’s never coming back.”
“She’s due back Monday, right?”
“Of course! He bought her the tickets, told her to go, and it’s killing him. He looks so handsome with hair, I wish she could see him. He did it for her, I’m sure of it. Who knew there was more to his face than that big, bald head and bushy brows?”
Since Preacher was never a force of personality, his dour mood was only noticed by his best friends. When people started to arrive for dinner, the tables were pushed together into a long one, places set, and Jack started setting up drinks and glasses of wine. Preacher brought out a couple of trays of hors d’oeuvres, put the bread in the warmer and had the turkey out of the oven to sit a minute before carving. Great smells filled the bar and the fire in the hearth was bright and cozy.
Preacher found himself wishing this were over with so he could be alone. He looked forward to everyone leaving; he’d take his time with the cleanup, have a shot of whiskey and go to bed. Hopefully he would sleep.
It was minutes before five, about time to carve, when the door to the bar opened, and there, in the frame, stood Paige. She held Christopher’s hand and looked into the room, scanning the faces until she found Preacher. When she spotted him behind the bar, her eyes lit up so much, they glittered. As for that big man, shock settled over his features; his mouth actually gaped, obviously shocked.
There might as well have been no one else in the room. As she walked toward the bar, he came around it. “I’m sorry I didn’t get here in time to help,” she said.
Preacher stooped to pick up Christopher, who put his arms around his neck first, then rubbed his head. “You din’t shabe it,” he said.
Preacher kissed the little boy on the cheek. “My head was cold,” he said.
Paige wrapped her arms around his waist and, looking up at him, said, “I hope you have room for two more.”
“What are you doing here?” he asked softly.
She shrugged. “I changed the tickets. I wanted to be here. With you. I hope you missed me a little bit.”
“A little bit,” he said. And then he smiled and put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close.
The Thanksgiving party broke up a little earlier than planned, everyone in the room being aware of the hot gazes that Paige was sending Preacher and Preacher was clearly receiving even if he didn’t seem to be successfully interpreting them. The women all helped with the dishes, quickly, so that the couple could finally be alone.
