A Virgin River Christmas (Virgin River #4)(64)

“You are a bad girl, the best bad girl that was ever born,” he said. “The meanest little carrottop on the playground. You’re the best thing that ever happened in my life, Marcie. I was dying—you knew that. You made a difference. It’s what you always intended to be—a difference.” He grinned. “Like Abigail.”

“Aw. That’s the nicest thing anyone ever said to me.”

He brushed her lips with his. “Am I crushing you?” he asked.

“No. And don’t move. I don’t want to lose the feeling of being part of you.”

He wanted to tell her she’d be a part of him for the rest of his life, but that might frighten her more than his roar. “I’d just like to spoil you for a little while, if that’s okay.”

“Sounds interesting. Just how will you spoil me, if I might ask?”

“Well, I’ll start by not digging us out of here too fast,” he said. “How does that sound?”

“Like heaven. Pure heaven.”

Ian and Marcie dressed somewhat reluctantly and headed outside to check out the snow and make a run to the outhouse. It was still coming down, softly, slowly, but not too deep on the ground yet.

She got her turn first, and she made it quick. Then Ian was allowed the facilities. When he came out, he found himself alone. She must have gone back to the warmth of the cabin in a hurry and he began to follow. Before he got five feet, a snowball hit him square in the face. He wiped it away to see her leaning out from behind a big tree, laughing. “Did I mention I was good in softball?” she asked through her laughter. “I pitched!”

The chase was on—Ian took after her with a roar that was answered by giggles. He was stronger and more sure in the snow, but she was agile and quick and managed to get off a few snowballs while he was in pursuit. She ran around trees, rounded the shed at least once, took a few snowballs in the back and retaliated. But the chase ended when she tripped on something under the snow and did a face-plant right into the soft white powder.

He rushed to her side, scared, and rolled her over to find her laughing and spitting snow. He just looked down at her in wonder—did nothing disturb her? Scare her? Panic or worry her? He covered her mouth with his for a long kiss, and when he let her go she said, “Before we go inside, we should make snow angels.”

“I’m not making snow angels,” he said. “What if Buck sees me? It would ruin my reputation forever.”

“Just one, then. Yours would be so big—like Gabriel, for sure.”

“Then will you go inside with me? No more screwing around?”

“Aw—I thought that was your favorite part?” she asked, taking a handful of snow and shoving it in his face.

With a growl, he got to his feet, lifted her off the ground and threw her over his shoulder, carrying her back to the cabin. He stood her in front of the door and brushed the snow off her before letting her enter, then did the same himself.

“You’ve forgotten how to play,” she accused him.

“You play around enough for both of us,” he said. Without shedding his jacket, he got water heating on the propane stove and the woodstove. “I’ll give you a little time alone while I shovel a path to the john and hook the plow blade onto the truck. Think you can manage these big pots on your own?”

“Are you going to dig us out so soon?” she asked, clearly disappointed.

He smiled at her. “Not exactly. I’m going to make a couple of passes at the road—but no one has to know about it. I just don’t want to get us too buried. Do me a favor? When you’re done with your bath—start my water cooking?”

“Sure, Ian,” she said. “And if you’re very nice—I’ll scrub your back.”

Winters had always been a huge burden to Ian—the shoveling and plowing a necessary evil to give him access to the road, the john. But not on this particular winter day—this time it was a godsend. He’d like to keep Marcie boarded up in his cabin for a couple of weeks, but in reality, a day and night would be all he could really afford.

After making sure there was a path to the outhouse, he fitted the plow onto the truck and loaded the bed with firewood to make the truck heavier. He covered the wood with a tarp and drove down his access road. A couple of feet of snow wasn’t a big deal and if he cleared it today, tomorrow wouldn’t be as bad.

There was an old guy a couple miles down who had neither a plow for his truck nor a working tractor. In fact, it didn’t appear the tractor had been in use since Ian migrated to this mountaintop. The old boy’s road to Highway 36 wasn’t real long and tomorrow Ian would check on him to make sure he had a clear road and food. They weren’t friends; they’d hardly spoken. But Ian had been aware of him for a long time and just couldn’t stand the thought of him freezing or starving to death, stranded. It was a small thing; he only had to make the short pilgrimage a couple of times a winter.

When he finally made his way back to the cabin, she said, “Well finally! I’ve been wondering if I should come out and lend a hand!”

He pulled off his gloves. “We’re clear to the road if we have to get out of here. But there’s no reason we have to. Is my water hot?”

“Yes, and if you’re nice, I’ll make you eggs before they spoil.”

He took his jacket off and draped it over a kitchen chair. “You going to read your book while I take my clothes off and wash up?”