My Kind of Christmas (Virgin River #20)(19)

“Her sweater was in my hand and her bra was draped over the lampshade. They came home early....”

She laughed happily. “More,” she demanded.

“I peed on the side of a highway patrolman’s car.”

“Awww, well, little boys sometimes have lapses in judgment like that.”

“I was twenty-five. And had been out with my brothers. I blame them.”

“It sounds like they taught you everything you know. I was wondering about when you were much younger.”

“It’s not good stuff. I was the last one to give up a binky, the slowest to potty train, was lost several times—once requiring police intervention—and my mother thought I’d be taking my blanket with me to football camp. It suggests I liked being the baby. I didn’t pay attention in school until my football and basketball careers were on the line, which started in junior high. But I was always very nice.”

“What do you mean by that? Nice?”

“As my mother said, I knew where to butter my bread. Luke said I was a little con artist, Colin called me the family phony, Sean said I was an ass kisser, but Aiden always liked me and found me sincere. Aiden was the only one who was wrong. I was definitely a kiss ass.”

This made her laugh and, since he liked the sound, he went on. “By the time I was ten, Luke had enlisted. When I was twelve, Colin went in, both of them Army warrant officers who flew helicopters. When I was fourteen Sean had an Air Force Academy slot with a pipeline to a flying job—you can only get jets if you go to an Academy these days, you can’t enlist and sign up for flight school. Then Aiden headed for college on a Navy scholarship—he’s a doctor. It was down to me. In my mind, the only choice left was deciding which branch of the military I’d join. I got an appointment to the Naval Academy. I went to the same senator Sean had gotten his recommendation from—you can’t get into an Academy without serious political juice.”

She sat back on his sofa, shock on her face. She took a drink of her Sam Adams and then continued to stare.

“What?” he asked.

“How’d you do in the Academy?” She wanted to know.

“I did fine.”

“How fine?”

“Well. I did well. I graduated second in the class. Got a couple of awards.”

“And flight school?”

He narrowed his eyes. First in his class. Every class. “Well,” he said.

“You little pisser, teasing me about my nubile brain. You were an overachiever.”

“Who spent about four years in diapers…”

“With a binky in your mouth. There isn’t a single prescription for brainiacs, except it sounds like growing up with four older brothers might have put you in want of a brotherhood and the Academy. Flight school and a military career would fit right into your pattern. And apparently you were a lot more social than I was.”

“Do you know everything?”

“I read.”

“I read, too. But not about stuff like that.”

“I know. You’re reading weapons systems, math, aerospace, combat strategy, et cetera. I’m a science major who loves psychology. My degrees are in biology and chemistry with a minor in psych. I’m kind of drawn to the study of genetics, statistics, environmental science, DNA studies, that sort of thing.” She shrugged and said, “That’s how I relax. Reading that stuff.”

She was scary! “Your childhood,” he said. “Come on.”

“I’m the oldest, a completely different dynamic. I had slaves—two younger sisters who did whatever I told them to. And apparently I was a real load to raise, but I like to think I was only curious. I liked to take things apart. You know.”

“Toys?”

“Well…when I was two. When I was ten I took apart a VCR, an old jukebox, a pool table and a computer.”

“A pool table?”

“At my grandpa’s house. I got the legs to fall off. It took my dad and grandpa all day to stand it back up because they wouldn’t let me help. But I also liked to mix things for taste and to see the chemical reactions—like the time I figured out that baking soda in cola could make a volcano. This wasn’t a problem all the time—I came up with some interesting concoctions out of the refrigerator. But when I got under the sink, we sometimes had trouble. My sister had to be rushed to the hospital because she got a whiff of the fumes from one of my experiments and it burned all the cilia in her nose, throat and lungs. She wheezed for hours. I was grounded forever.”

“Jesus,” he said. “You’re not planning to reproduce, are you?”

“Actually, I hope to one day.” Then she smiled and said, “You know what cilia is.”

“It’s a commonly known word.”

“It isn’t,” she argued. “Do you have a Scrabble game around here?”

“I hope not. Why?”

“You could actually give me some trouble.” Then she laughed.

Something told Patrick he’d be wise to spoon some chili into her and get her out of here, but that was far from what happened. Instead, they took their time with lots of talking and laughing before they even got to the chili. They went through the teenage and college years, jobs they’d had, trouble they’d been in, glorious moments, disappointments, dates—the good and the terrible. He’d had many more dates than she. Instead of sitting at the table, they finally ate in front of the fire and, afterward, Angie found them a Scrabble game online to play on his laptop.