Angel's Peak (Virgin River #10)(36)

She immediately remembered what that house was like when she had lived in it. She was thirty years old before she found her way out, but the memory flooded back to her. It had smelled so bad, for one thing. She couldn’t remember when it had ever been properly cleaned and her now-deceased mother had woofed down two packs a day so there had been a perpetual smoky cloud in the air. There had been so many gaps in the doors and windows that it was always cold through the winter no matter how high they turned the heat. She’d gotten used to things like ripped linoleum, missing bathroom tiles, cupboards without doors, nicotine stains on the windows and walls.

But today she looked at a pristine little house. The wood floors shone, the walls were textured and painted bright colors, the lighting fixtures were new. She walked into the kitchen—it was very small, but it was a masterpiece of wood, glass, granite and stainless-steel appliances.

The only furniture Dan had in the house were some bar stools pushed up to the newly constructed breakfast bar, bedroom furniture and one La-Z-Boy recliner in the bedroom—his reading chair. Sometimes his sleeping chair.

“Incredible,” she whispered. “Just amazing. You are so gifted. I can’t wait to see what you do on our house.”

He shrugged. “I had some help, you know. And I like to build. I was born into the trade.”

She pushed open the bathroom door—it was unrecognizable. Gone was the big sloppy shower and old pedestal sink and chain-flush toilet. In their place was a Whirlpool tub, separate glass shower, marble interior tile, sink and countertop. Dan had had to borrow one of Luke Riordan’s cabins for ten days while he gutted the bathroom and rebuilt it. Paul helped him wire it, Jack helped him plumb it, Preacher helped him cart in the tub, sink and toilet and install them. The four of them together installed and finished the cabinetry in one day.

That was the best part of the whole project—Dan now had friends, when a year or two ago he’d had no one.

And Cheryl’s support system through AA had grown and spread beyond that tight circle. After six months as a waitress she was now working at the community college in the cafeteria. She was taking two courses with the hope of one day getting her degree. Cheryl had moved out of her group home a couple of months ago and was renting a small apartment in a big old Victorian house that had been divided into three apartments. Her newfound independence was giving her confidence she didn’t know she had.

She turned full circle, looking around at the impressive remodel. While she’d lived here with her parents, her bedroom was little more than a shed pushed up against the house. Dan had poured a foundation, framed and rebuilt the room, complete with large windows. The washer and dryer had occupied a spot on the back porch; now that porch was framed, enclosed and had become a sunroom with a small, separate laundry closet at the far end. The nasty, dirty, falling-down heap of a house Cheryl remembered was a charming, beautiful little home.

“I can’t ever possibly repay you for this,” she said.

Dan pulled her into his arms and kissed her. It started out as an affectionate kiss that, as usual for them, deepened and became more passionate. “Aren’t you lucky? You don’t have to.”

She looped her arms around his neck. “Now what?”

“We get the Realtor to put up a sign. Chances are pretty good it won’t sell right away, especially this time of year. When it does, I’ll find something small to rent. When you’re ready—if you’re ready—we’ll start building something we can get old in.”

“Together,” she said. “When it’s time, I’ll be ready.”

Dan sometimes spent the night with Cheryl if he was invited, but they had no plans to move in together anytime soon. Long-range plans included getting engaged, finishing a small but perfect house on a nice lot, eventually getting married. Slow moves worked best for Cheryl, and Dan constantly reassured her that he wasn’t going anywhere.

“Want to have lunch at Jack’s?” he asked her.

“Maybe eventually,” she said. “One thing at a time, okay?”

“No rush, baby,” he said. “You have friends here whenever you’re ready.”

“I know. I don’t deserve any of them, but I sure appreciate them.”

“Lucky for you,” he said again. “You don’t have to deserve them. Let’s go find food. Seeing you happy makes me want to celebrate.”

This Sunday afternoon for Vivian Duncan turned out to be a lot less relaxing than she’d counted on. She had planned to give herself a home-spa day—manicure, pedicure, facial, several hours lost in a good novel while she fluffed and buffed—followed by a nap! But the events of Sunday morning had been wildly illuminating and relaxation went right out the window. She recalled walking into Franci’s house that morning, with Rosie in tow, to come face-to-face with Rosie’s father. He was as handsome as she remembered, despite the bruise on his face. He’d been standing in the kitchen, shirtless, in only jeans and bare feet, looking for all the world like a Calvin Klein ad. Clearly he’d spent the night.

She had rushed Rosie out of there fast, giving the kids a chance to talk, but the second the coast was clear, she went back. She and Franci had had to speak cryptically and quietly in the kitchen; Rosie was in her bedroom with Harry, putting on her play princess gown and dressing Harry in a tutu.

“He’s back?” Vivian asked in a whisper.