Angel's Peak (Virgin River #10)(80)

All those flutters and possibilities were gone minutes after he picked her up. “Have you been to Ferndale, Maureen?” he asked her.

“I haven’t been much of anywhere around here.”

“Good!” George boomed. “Actually, I didn’t mean it was good you haven’t seen the sights, just good that I get to show you some of them. It’s a beautiful little town. The restored and renovated Victorian houses and buildings are wonderful. There are plenty of shops, and just outside of town there’s an amazing cemetery built straight up a hill. It’s old and interesting. One of the big old churches in town has been remodeled into a large bed-and-breakfast. I thought we’d walk the town and poke into the shops. I put a picnic basket and cooler in the trunk—if the weather holds and the sun stays out, we can sit at the top of the hill, above the river, and have crackers, wine, cheese and fruit. There’s a blanket in the back. It’ll be brisk, but not too cold.”

“That sounds so nice,” she said. Perfect, she thought—not too fancy.

“Will that hold you? Not much of a lunch, but I’ll take you to get dessert afterward if you like. There’s a wonderful old Victorian hotel with a restaurant in town.”

“I think you’ve given this a lot of thought,” she said. “Do you date a lot?”

“I suppose you could say I do,” he answered. “There are women I’m friendly with and we share certain interests. There’s a neighbor woman I’ve known for years who is a food critic for the newspaper, and sometimes she invites me along to restaurants she’s reviewing—what an opportunity! She doesn’t listen to a word I say about the food, but I love the whole experience. I have a colleague I can invite to those college parties I’m forced to attend—she’s single and doesn’t usually have a date, either. Mainly I have a number of friends who happen to be women, and if I’m looking for something to do, I might give one of them a call.” He turned and looked toward her. “Maureen, I don’t have anything romantic going on with anyone. Ridiculous as it might be to think a man my age could be a playboy, I promise you, I am not.”

“I didn’t mean—”

He grinned and grabbed her hand. “Of course you did, and not only am I encouraged, I’m flattered!”

“Well, don’t be,” she said. “I didn’t mean that.”

And then he laughed at her.

George drove toward Ferndale, but went past the exit and took a back road that wound up a hill. He pulled off the road across from a corral that held four nice-looking horses. “The first time I passed by this spot, what came to mind was that it was a perfect picnic site. I know it’s a little brisk for a picnic. Will you be comfortable? I have an extra jacket in the backseat.”

“I think it’s a great idea,” she said. “I love being outside.”

“Good, come with me. You take the basket and blanket and I’ll take the cooler. Let’s go up this path a little bit, just until we can get a view.”

Maureen followed him for a while, then when he stopped she turned around and sighed. The hill sloped down sharply and the river and valley spread out beneath them. “That’s beautiful,” she said.

“Isn’t it?” he agreed. He put down the cooler, spread the blanket, got down on his knees and began to unpack the things he’d brought along. He had an aged Gouda, some soft Brie, cheddar and Muenster. He put out two small boxes of crackers and, using the cooler lid as a table, spread out grapes, apples, some sliced kiwi from a Baggie and a small plastic container of melon balls.

“George, you went to some trouble,” she said. “You very nearly cooked!”

“I’m not a bad cook, either. Will you have a glass of merlot? Or a soda or a bottled water?”

She chose the wine and toasted him. “I’m glad you’re persistent,” she said. “This is wonderful.”

During the course of their leisurely picnic, they learned about each other. How it was he had never had children. “I wanted them, but my first wife and I didn’t have children, and my second wife had a couple from a first marriage and, given her age, wasn’t keen on more. My first wife remarried and had a son, so I suspect it was my physiological problem that prevented pregnancy. God has always saved my butt in the clinches. It was a terrible relationship.”

George wanted to know what it was like raising five sons. “Like war,” she answered. “My husband was a good father, but he worked long hours and plenty of overtime. I learned early that I’d better make sure they understood my word was law, or I was doomed. I know they called me the Enforcer behind my back. God knows what they call me now!”

They talked about their friends, their hobbies, their favorite foods and books, trips they’d like to take, their homes and what they liked about them. They talked about their community service—he liked the soup kitchen and food drives, she moderated a grief group at church and was drafted for every fundraiser they had. Eventually they talked about their spouses and their deaths. Maureen’s husband had developed congestive heart failure and, although he was being treated, he didn’t live long after the diagnosis. “I guess he tried to ignore his symptoms too long and, though I hounded him, he wouldn’t see the doctor. Men don’t, you know. And good wives don’t want to aggravate them by nagging. If I had to do it over, I’d have had him abducted and taken off to the doctor for a full exam.”