My Kind of Christmas (Virgin River #20)(42)

Brie thought for a moment about her own heartaches, long ago and far away. The professor, the slimeball; her ex-husband who had an affair with her best friend, the unfaithful turd. And then came Mike, who she would never have found but for the series of catastrophes she’d had to survive first.

“I don’t want her to hurt,” Brie said.

“Me, either,” Mel agreed.

“Donna’s going to flip,” Brie added.

“She better not. That would be the kiss of death. At some point she’s going to have to give up.”

“Ninety percent of the time Donna and Angie have a great relationship, but hoo boy, that ten percent! Do all mothers and daughters go through this?” Brie asked.

“Did you?”

“My mother passed away quite a while ago, but I went through it with Donna in her place!”

“Listen, I know you sympathize with Angie,” Mel said. “So do I. I just want to ask that you remember Donna’s burden isn’t light. She wants to protect her daughter just like she probably wanted to protect you. And I bet she takes a lot of heat for trying. Strong women can be so underappreciated unless you’re screaming for their help.”

* * *

Angie’s plan was to go home to the cabin, light the fire, grab a shower and call Patrick. They hadn’t made plans but she was willing to bet he was flexible. She had no idea what he did during the day while she was busy at the clinic, but she took great comfort in the fact that his plane ticket home wasn’t until the twenty-third.

When she pulled into the cabin’s clearing, her heart leaped. His Jeep was parked there. He’d decorated the cabin! The eaves were adorned with colored Christmas lights. There was a wreath on the door. A curl of smoke rose from the chimney and there were lights on inside. When she opened the door her senses were tempted by a wonderful aroma. He sat on the sofa, feet up on the coffee table trunk, and smiled at her.

“Well, my favorite B and E man,” she said.

“I didn’t have to break in. The door was unlocked. Come here, you delicious little thing.”

She dove to the couch, right into his arms. “Cooking?”

“Sort of. A frozen lasagna, bread, a salad from the deli in Fortuna. Hungry?”

“I am. It was my plan to get a quick shower and then call you....”

“I can help with that,” he said.

“It’s a very small shower.”

“We aren’t going to need a lot of room for what I have in mind.”

* * *

I’m getting too old for this, Jack thought. The stress of this whole tree thing was driving him into the ground. People started arriving at five, about the time the sun was going down. He’d had to light the heaters on the porch because the size of the crowd meant there’d be a long wait for a table. But standing around outside and enjoying the tree didn’t seem to bother anyone. And they stayed late—the bar was busy until after ten.

This year he and Preacher had to suspend the early breakfast four days a week to compensate for staying open later. Friday through Monday they didn’t open until nine in the morning, even though typically, especially during the fall hunting season, they had the fires lit by six.

On this particular night, Jack left the bar at nine-thirty even though there were still quite a few people there. Denny offered to take over for him, and the kid was amazing—he could handle anything. Denny was a partner out at Jilly Farms and the month of December was nothing but greenhouse work, snow removal and relatively easy days. But the bar was hopping, so Denny took the opportunity to put in more hours. His young wife, Becca, was busy with the Christmas pageant at the church and the Christmas program at the elementary school (where she was director, teacher, treasurer and custodian), so if he was late getting home, it was no big deal. Besides, all that work at the bar brought in extra cash, and Denny and Becca were saving for a house of their own.

Jack was anxious to get home to his own wife. By now the kids would be asleep and Mel would probably still be up, reading or something. It was his favorite time of day.

Even so, he drove out to Angie’s cabin instead. He hadn’t seen her all day—she’d gone to Brie’s for lunch and turned down an invitation to the bar for dinner. Who could blame her, it was a zoo. But to be sure she was eating well, he had Preacher pack up some brisket, some mashed potatoes and gravy, green beans and a cherry pie made from preserves from Jilly. To prove he wasn’t such an old stick in the mud, he’d grabbed a bottle of sauvignon blanc, too, her brew of choice as far as he could remember.

When he pulled up to the cabin he found the lights out, smoke coming from the fireplace and Patrick Riordan’s Jeep parked next to Angie’s SUV.

I am so an old stick in the mud, he thought.

He backed out and went home. He left his take-out dinner and the wine in the kitchen, took his boots off by the back door, dropped his shirt and socks on the washer—he smelled like grease and beer—and followed the light to the bedroom.

Mel was sitting cross-legged on the bed, her laptop balanced on her lap. She looked up at him, smiling as she closed the laptop. “Hi, darling…”

But he was frowning. “Tell me the truth,” he said. “Did you know?”

“Know what?”

“I took a sack of takeout and bottle of wine out to my niece and guess what? Paddy’s Jeep is parked out there and the lights are out.”