Bring Me Home for Christmas (Virgin River #16)(52)

That made her almost gulp, thinking of what Doug had said and feeling angry all over again. “I might not have a job in San Diego, but my whole life is there.” She shook her head. “I don’t have anything here. I don’t have anyone but you.”

“You will have more good friends here,” he promised. “Everyone loves you. This is a great place, once you get to know it. It’s hard to explain, but everything is a team effort here. It gives a person an interesting kind of confidence, the way no one is ever left uncared for. If I needed something, I can name fifteen people who’d be right there lending a hand. And I can name twice as many people I’d be happy to help out. I’ve never had that before. It’s more family than my family was.”

“Oh,” she said weakly.

“If you could just try,” he repeated. “Give it a chance. Consider it. See if it works out as well for you as it has for me. I mean, works out for us…”

“Denny, we talked about what happened to you when your mom died, when we broke up and you went to Afghanistan, but we haven’t talked about what happened to me, and we should. It was horrible. I didn’t eat or sleep, I was depressed, my grades dropped and it was a struggle to graduate. I’m scared, Denny. What if I give this place a chance and you change your mind again? What if I leave everything I know and love to be here with you and you come up with some profound reason why it’s better for us to split up, like before?”

“Whoa, honey, I won’t, I swear to God. I always knew that was a stupid mistake. I regretted it right away. I learned from that. You can trust me. I love you so much.”

“I do trust you,” she said. “And I love you, too. But it’s going to take time for me to feel a little more secure about that. I want to go home. Think things through. Everything and everybody I love is there…everyone but you.”

“Okay,” he said. He said it quietly and smiled, but it was a weak smile. “Let’s plan next week, after I get Jilly’s farm caught up and you’re done with all the stuff you have planned with the women and the kids. You have your pageant practice on Saturday and some hen party on Sunday, right? I’ll get you home in plenty of time for Christmas. Will that work?”

“Thank you,” she said. But she was afraid to ask if he would stay.

Becca and Denny went to Jack’s for dinner and sat up at the bar. It was easier now that she could dangle her injured leg. As soon as they’d eaten, Denny started helping out behind the bar, in the kitchen, around the tables. The place was packed. Mel had kept her word and brought out the Christmas decorations. There were pine boughs heaped on the mantel and twinkling lights everywhere.

“I love that tree outside,” Jack told Becca. “But I probably shouldn’t have let Melinda talk me into it.”

“Why?” she asked.

“Look at this place,” he said. “Tuesday night and it’s standing room only. We never had crowds like this around the holidays until that tree started lighting their way into town. A lot of these folks have military backgrounds—they come to see the red-white-and-blue tree, leave unit patches to be added next year.”

She looked around. “They all look pretty happy. And it must be a few extra bucks in the Christmas kitty. Huh?”

“Can’t complain about the business,” he said. “Just the hours. We’ve got stuff to do. Like the Christmas baskets.”

“Ah. Would that include the ‘town turkeys’?”

“Huh?”

“One of the little girls in my homework group indicated her dad resented what he called the ‘town turkey.’ You probably know him—lost his arm in a logging accident?”

“Yeah, that’s Frank. He’s a real sourpuss. Too bad—he wasn’t before the accident. Used to be a sweetheart. Lots of fun. But now? Not so much. He’s just a young guy with a young family. I bet he’s thirty-two.”

“I think I saw him in here once. And I met his wife. Frankly, I thought she was a bit older.”

“We’d all be a bit older if we worked twelve-hour days in a truck stop,” Jack said. “Frank can resent the town turkey, as he calls it, all he wants, but I bet his kids don’t. He’ll be getting a real nice Christmas package.”

“Do you do a lot of that sort of thing?”

Jack shrugged. “We help out where we can. There’s enough to keep us all busy around here. But we only do the baskets at Thanksgiving and Christmas. We got together with Noah, the preacher, and started a list of people who needed a hand. No one is better equipped to put names on that list than the pastor, the town doctor and my wife.” He rubbed his chin. “Bothers me that there are probably more folks out there in need that we just don’t know about. I worry about the elderly. There are some folks around the mountains who have been here fifty years or more and most of ’em just don’t take to charity. If they get sick, they’ll just hunker down till they either feel better or drop dead.”

“Ew. What a creepy thought.”

He grinned at her. Then the grin faded. “And the children—I always worry about the kids. While the elderly won’t ask for help, the kids can’t. We keep our eyes open and do the best we can.”

She smiled and said, “And yet, even with all that, people seem to find this place enchanting.”