My Kind of Christmas (Virgin River #20)(23)

“I highly doubt it,” Patrick said. “But making sure Marie is taken care of, that’s important to me. Very important.”

“Patrick, don’t you think you should be in love before you marry someone?” Angie asked incredulously.

“It probably makes more sense not to be. It’s about compatibility, Angie. Finding the kind of person who fits, you know what I mean? Even if you have to make some compromises—like the fact that she absolutely wants to live in Oklahoma, and there’s no Navy fighter squadron in Oklahoma....”

She was quiet for a moment, just thinking. “You older men and your ‘practical thinking’ are a little strange.”

“You’re probably right,” he said with a laugh. She remained quiet and he sensed he might have gone too far. He decided to say goodbye before he revealed any more damning information—though after this, he wasn’t sure there were worse secrets left to tell. “Time for lights out, Tinker Bell. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, I’m sure.”

* * *

On the other side of the mountain, in Jack and Mel’s cabin, Angie laid on the couch, the phone still on her ear long after Paddy signed off, eyes wide and mouth open slightly. I’m going to marry Marie, but I’ll see you tomorrow. Really?

A regular girl would be angry. Jealous. Insulted. But Angie wasn’t a regular girl—she was different and she knew it. She saw right through his plan. He was responsible; he put duty first. And he was so lonely, in so much pain, he had a plan to marry his best friend’s widow because it was safe. She couldn’t imagine the magnitude of such a mistake. She also knew that simply telling him that would never work.

Imagining how he might feel inside made her heart hurt for him.

Chapter Five

Angie spent Sunday morning feeding her fire, reading a dangerously romantic novel and staying under the quilt. Every now and then she’d let her eyes drift closed and pretend the characters were Patrick Riordan and Angela LaCroix. It wasn’t until about three in the afternoon that she emerged, showered, put on clean clothes and ventured into town. Tonight would bring the lighting of the tree.

By the time she arrived, Jack was putting the final touches on the strings of lights and hooking up extension cords, Mike was hanging on to Ness and people had already begun to gather around, lending a hand here and there. Angie gave a wave to the people she knew and then made her way to the bar. There she found her aunt Brie behind the bar. “Hey,” she said, smiling. “You’ve been pressed into duty?”

“I think the guys are worried about getting everything done in time to light it up at about seven. Cocoa? Soda? What’s your pleasure?”

“Cocoa sounds great.”

Brie poured and asked, “And how was your night with the youngest Riordan?”

“You knew?”

“Not till this morning,” she said. “Mel didn’t think you’d mind if I knew. Did you have a nice evening?”

“Mmm-hmm,” she said, sipping her cocoa. “He made chili. Then I beat him at Scrabble.” And then he confessed he was probably going to marry another woman even though he flirted with me. She thought about telling, though she had promised she was good at keeping secrets. Was Brie the kind of person who would know what a girl was supposed to do with information like that?

“Sounds pretty tame.”

“Very tame,” Angie said.

“You like him?” Brie asked.

“He’s very nice,” Angie said.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

Angie put down her cup. “He says he’s too old for me.”

“Oh. Is that so? Well, do you agree?”

Angie took a breath. “Age seems pretty irrelevant. And I might have a crush....”

“Really?”

She nodded, dropping her head into her palms. “As in, world-class. And it would appear to be completely futile. Hopeless. Possibly ridiculous. He’d never be interested in someone like me.” No matter how he acted.

“And why is that?”

“I think there might be a million reasons, and age is just the first of them. And then there’s the fact that I’m not the kind of girl men like Patrick end up with. You have to remember—I’m a student, a nerdy student. And he’s a hero. A fighter pilot. A stud.”

“Stud?”

“Figuratively,” she added.

“I see,” Brie answered, laughing. “And his type is…?”

His best friend’s widow? “I’m not sure,” she answered. “Someone a lot more sophisticated, I would think.”

“This brings back bittersweet memories,” Brie said. “When I was a law student, about your age, actually, I was in love with a professor. We were about twelve years apart in age, but God I loved him. Or thought I did.”

“I said crush,” Angie reminded her.

“World-class crush, you said. So, I loved the beautiful young professor, loved his voice and his gorgeous face and sense of humor and amazing body. And his brain— Oh, God, what a brain. I would have crawled across a sea of cut glass for a kiss, even though it was the worst idea in the world. I didn’t care. I was young and romantic. Young, romantic, hormonal women do the most unbelievable things....”

“You’re suggesting this is hormones?” Angie asked, affronted.