Midnight Kiss (Virgin River #12)(2)

When she confessed this to Annie, Annie had said, “Oh, darling, but you’re so young! Only twenty-five! The possibilities ahead are endless if you’re open to them!”

And Sunny had said, “I’m not upset because I didn’t make the cheerleading squad, Annie. My fiancé dumped me on our wedding day—and my age doesn’t matter a damn.”

THE TOWN WAS CARPETED in a fresh blanket of pretty white snow, the thirty-foot tree was lit and sparkling as gentle flakes continued to fall, and the porch at Jack’s Bar, strung with lights and garlands, was welcoming. There was a friendly curl of smoke rising from the chimney and light shone from the windows.

Nate, Annie and Sunny walked into the bar at 8:00 p.m. and found the place packed with locals. Jack, the owner, and Preacher, the cook, were behind the bar. There was a festive table set up along one whole wall of the room, covered with food, to which Annie added a big plate of her special deviled eggs and a dill-speckled salmon loaf surrounded by crackers.

“Hey, looks like the whole town is here,” Nate said.

“A good plenty,” Jack said. “But I hope you don’t see anyone here you want to kiss at midnight. Most of these folks won’t make it that long. We have a strong skeleton crew that will stay late, however. They’re busy getting all the kids settled back at Preacher’s house with a sitter—it’s going to be a dormitory. Vanessa and Paul’s two are bunking in with Preacher’s little Dana, my kids are sleeping in Preacher’s room, Cameron’s twins are in the guest room, Brie and Mike’s little one is borrowing Christopher’s room because he’s planning on sitting up until midnight with the sitter. Oh, and to be very clear, the sitter is there for all the little kids—not for Chris,” Jack added with a smile. “He’s eight now. All man.”

“Jack, Preach, meet my niece Sunny. Sunny, this is Jack and Preacher, the guys who run this place.”

She gave them a weak smile, a nod and a mumbled nice to meet you.

“Hop up here, you three. As soon as you contribute your New Year’s resolution, you get service,” Jack said. “The price of admission is a food item and a resolution.”

Sunny jumped up on a bar stool, hanging the strap of her large bag on the backrest. Jack leaned over the bar and eyed the big, leather shoulder bag. He peered at her with one brow lifted. “Going on a long trip right after the party?”

She laughed a little. “Camera equipment. I never leave it behind. Never know when I might need it.”

“Well, by all means, the first annual New Year’s Eve party is your canvas,” Jack said. He slid a piece of paper and pen toward her.

Sunny hovered over it as if giving it careful thought. She knew if she said her resolution was to get this over with as soon as possible, it would open up the conversation as to why she now and would forever more find New Year’s Eve the most reprehensible of holidays.

“Make it a good one, Sunny,” Jack said. “Keep it generic and don’t sign it—it’s anonymous. There’s a surprise coming right after midnight.”

Sunny glanced at her watch. God, she thought. At least four hours of this? I’ll never make it! She wrote on her slip of paper. “Give up men.”

DREW FOLEY WAS A SECOND-YEAR orthopedic resident at UCLA Medical and had somehow scored ten days off over Christmas, which he’d spent in Chico with his two sisters, Marcie and Erin, their guys Ian and Aiden and his new nephew. The three previous Christmases he’d spent with his family, and also his former fiancée, Penny. That somehow seemed so long ago.

When surgical residents get days off, they aren’t real days off. They’re merely days on which you’re not required in surgery, clinic, class, writing reports or being verbally beaten to death by senior residents and attending physicians. But there was still plenty of studying to do. He’d been hitting the books straight through Christmas even with the distraction of family all around, including Marcie’s new baby who was really starting to assert himself. With only a few days left before he had to head back to Southern California, he borrowed the family’s isolated cabin on the ridge near Virgin River so he could study without distraction. He’d managed to focus completely for a couple of days and had impressed himself with the amount of academic ground he’d covered. As he saw it, that bought him a New Year’s Eve beer or two and a few hours of satellite football on New Year’s Day. On January 2 he’d head back to Erin’s house in Chico, spend one more evening with the family, then throw himself back into the lion’s den at UCLA Medical.

He grabbed his jacket. It was New Year’s Eve and he’d spent enough time alone. He’d swing through town on his way to Fortuna to collect his beer, just to see what was going on. He’d be surprised if the only bar and grill in town was open, since Jack’s Bar wasn’t usually open late on holidays. In fact, the routine in Virgin River on regular days was that Jack’s shut down before nine, open till ten at the latest, and that was only if there were hunters or fishermen in the area. This was a town of mostly farmers, ranchers, laborers and small-business owners; they didn’t stay out late because farm chores and animals didn’t sleep in.

But to his surprise, once in town he found that the little bar was hopping. It made him smile—this was going to save him some serious mountain driving and he’d get to have a beer among people. When he walked into the packed bar he heard his name shouted. “Ho! Doc Foley! When did you hit town?”