A Virgin River Christmas (Virgin River #4)(51)

“Really!” Erin said, stiffening.

“You’re goddamn right, really!” Marcie sat again and pulled on her boots. By the time she accomplished this, Ian was coming in the door.

He filled the frame. His eyes narrowed. Marcie heard her sister’s sharp intake of breath.

Marcie knew it was Erin’s presence in the cabin that made his dirty tan jacket look shabbier, his beard wilder. His eyes glittered. He wasn’t happy. “The sister, I presume,” he said.

Erin stretched her neck proudly and put out a hand. “Erin Foley, how do you do?”

“Doin’ just fine, thanks. You?” he said, ignoring the hand.

“Well, thank you. It’s nice to meet you. I was just coming for Marcie…”

“I see,” he said.

“But I’m not quite ready to go,” Marcie said. “Erin just wanted to meet you before she leaves. I didn’t call her to come, Ian.”

“Don’t know how you could,” he said, putting his sack of groceries on his small table. “Smoke signals, I guess.”

“All right, listen the two of you,” Erin said. “I didn’t like this idea from the start, Marcie coming up here alone in search of you, especially now—this time of year, the holidays, and almost exactly a year since Bobby’s—”

“Erin!”

She cleared her throat. “Well, as you’ve no doubt discovered, my younger sister is very stubborn and will have her way.”

“Can’t hardly miss that,” he said.

“Finding you and talking to you was one thing—but this is beyond the pale. She can’t stay here, Mr. Buchanan. There’s only one room, nowhere for sleeping, no indoor facilities, and it appears she’s not entirely well. She’s sick and burned and…It was very good of you to put her up, take care of her, et cetera, but enough is enough. Marcie should come home to her family. It’s almost Christmas. We’ve all been through enough.” She looked pointedly at her sister. “Marcie, really, it’s not just me who’s anxious to have you home—the Sullivan family is worried about you, too. Maybe you and Mr. Buchanan can stay in touch, meet again after Christmas, somewhere where there’s a phone and an indoor—”

“Erin!” If possible, Marcie’s face got a little redder.

“Your sister’s right,” Ian said. “You should be with your family now. We’ll be in touch sometime down the road.”

“If I’d been ready to go, I would have left! If I’d been determined to leave, I would’ve hitchhiked—I could have done that,” she said firmly. “I was planning to stay as long as you—We were just getting to know each other!”

“You’ve been here long enough,” he said. “And I’m not used to having people around. Good that she’s here. You can’t get out of here in your car, anyway.”

“But, Ian—”

“She’s right. Enough is enough. Get your things together.”

“But, Ian,” she said, taking a step toward him, a pleading expression on her face, “I thought—”

“I think we did just fine together, trapped here by your flu and all. But now she’s here to take you home, and I’m ready to have my house back. I’m not used to so many people. You know that.” He took a breath. “You’ll be in good hands with your sister. She looks extremely…” He gave Erin a glance that was an impolite once-over. “Competent.”

“Good,” Erin said, rubbing her hands together. “Shall we?”

Marcie looked up into his eyes. Hers were soft and pleading; his were hard. “You don’t mean that,” she said. “Are you saying you want me to go?”

“You should go with your sister, Marcie. She’s right. You don’t want to worry the family. Sometime later we’ll meet up again if you want. But I’m a hermit. And I like it that way.”

“You’re not a hermit. You sell wood, go to truck stops, churches, the library…I don’t believe you want me to go,” she said in a near whisper.

“Yeah. You do. But I’m glad you found me. And I’m sorry about Bobby.” He dropped his chin. “You’ll never know how sorry…” Then he lifted his eyes and met hers. “Go on now. Go home. Where you belong.”

“I was starting to feel like I belonged here,” she said. He held silent while their eyes were locked. Finally, beaten, she turned from him and gathered up her things. It didn’t take long—she kept her clothes in her duffel, along with a few things like shampoo and makeup. In her backpack were maps and notes, and the baseball cards she hadn’t yet given him. And she had a purse. She rolled up her sleeping bag. In no time at all, she was done and began to fold the quilt that had kept her warm on the couch.

“I’ll take care of that,” Ian said.

But she continued. When it was in a nice little square, she stacked her library books on the table. “I didn’t finish,” she said. “I was just getting to the good part, too. The page is marked. Thanks for everything. I mean, you’ve done so much for me.”

“I didn’t do hardly anything at all,” he said. “I didn’t change anything.”

“Yeah, you did. You cooked for me, took care of me, gave me medicine, protected me…But, well, I know I’ve been a lot of trouble…”