My Kind of Christmas (Virgin River #20)(37)

“Nah, she won’t do that. But you better not tell her until you’re ready to part with all those presents. Hey, I think I’m Jake’s size....”

“Nice try—I didn’t buy those things for you.”

“But I’m coming for Christmas. You don’t have to get anything, but if you’re already loaded up… What electronics?”

“Stop,” she said, laughing. “Oh, Paddy, no one can bring me back to life like you can. What would I do without you? I love you so much. But I’ve already told you, you don’t have to come for Christmas.”

“Why the hell not? Aren’t you looking forward to seeing me again?”

“Patrick, of course, but you have family. Spend time with them while you can.”

“You’re my family. I promised Jake a long time ago that if anything ever happened to him, I’d take good care of you.”

“Oh, Paddy, if only you could give me what I need. I love you, and you’re my dearest friend, but we have to find a way to move on.” She sniffed loudly. “It’s hard right now, but we’ll do it. We’ll find a way to do it.”

“I’m coming,” he said. “My family has other plans.”

“Patrick,” she said. “You are pure gold.”

“No, I’m not—I already have my ticket. I’m reserved at the motel.”

“I’m just not sure this would be good for either one of us. I don’t want to depend on you too much.”

“It’ll be good,” he said. “I guarantee it.”

After a little more chat, they said goodbye and Patrick sat in his small living room and thought about her pain and loneliness. He had to be there for her and he would be. Maybe with a little more time he could convince her that together they could keep Jake alive and have a good life.

For the second time in twenty-four hours he made up his mind—the best thing would be to set Angie free to pursue her dreams while he went to Charleston by way of Oklahoma City and on to the next part of his life. He’d propose the idea to Marie—that they could do it together. Best friends forever. An excellent concept.

And then there was a light tapping at the cabin door. He opened it and there stood Angie, Christmas lights wrapped around her, twinkling. Her eyes were alive, her smile infectious.

“Oh, God,” he said. “What’s this?”

“I’m your Christmas present!” she said on a laugh. “Do you have any idea how big the battery pack has to be to do this?”

How do you turn down a Christmas present? He snatched her against him and went after her mouth with every ounce of passion he felt inside. He didn’t stop until they were both almost freezing from standing in the open doorway.

Chapter Eight

Patrick pulled Angie inside and held her on his lap in front of the fire, lights and all. “Tell me about your day, sweetheart. It’s bound to lead up to the lights.”

“I had a good, productive day. It started off with a conversation with Mel about Megan’s scar. Mel isn’t sure, but she thinks it could be a fairly simple correction. Still costly, still out of their reach, but… Well, let me start with this—I mentioned Dr. Temple, my neurosurgeon, didn’t I?”

“I think so.”

“I had a lot of doctors, techs, nurses and therapists after my accident. It was pretty easy to get close to some of them, but he was the one I loved. I think my shunt has his initials on it.” She smiled and absently touched that place on her head. “He spent much more time with me than seemed necessary. He was the one practitioner who was never in a hurry. I’ve even stayed in touch with him a little—emailed him a few times, called him twice or so. The most wonderful man.”

“You crushed on him,” Patrick said.

With an impish grin, she kissed him quick on the lips. Then she said, “I would have married him in a second. He was around sixty, however. But I loved him and today I learned something about him I didn’t know. I called him for advice about how I might help Megan and I found out he gives an average of a day of every week providing neurosurgery for people who couldn’t otherwise have it—that would include the underinsured, the poor who can’t get help from Medicaid, the people who make too much money to qualify for Medicaid but can’t afford both medical benefits and food. Megan and her family fall into the underinsured category. Dr. Temple said he’d be happy to work with me on that if I would be the point man. He’s not the guy to do it, but he offered to reach out to some plastic surgeons. He gave me a list of things he thought I should look into to get this process started.

“And guess what else? I told him about the peace corps or a similar organization and he thought it was a great idea. He said I’d learn more in humanitarian relief than anywhere else. He also said he didn’t think they’d resist my application because of a titanium rod or a shunt, as long as I’m in good health. And I’m in excellent health.”

“I can see that,” he said with a bright smile. “You’re all lit up.”

“Will you help me out of these lights? And my jacket? This fire is getting hot....”

“I’d be glad to help you out of all your clothes. Stand up,” he said. He pulled on the end of the string of lights, she twirled around in front of him and, in just a minute, the lights were off. She shrugged out of her jacket and he pulled her back down on his lap.