My Kind of Christmas (Virgin River #20)(71)

“I’m a little irritated, yeah.”

“Well, put me down. I want to tell you something.” When she’d landed on her feet on the porch and stood looking up at him, she said, “I want to meet them. I know it doesn’t really mean anything, but still, I want to. Even though we’re going off in different directions. I want to see the green-eyed family. I want to spend some more time with your mother—Jilly says everyone adores her. Your mother must really be something....”

“She can be a real pain in the ass.”

“Then there’s my mother,” she said with a laugh. “You’ve met her, but I’d love you to meet my dad. He’s a very nice guy. And my sisters—they’re growing into interesting young women, if a little high maintenance. Wait till you see how little we’re alike. And, oh, Paddy—my grandfather is the most wonderful man. You shouldn’t miss out on meeting him.”

His anger began to flee as he looked into her eyes with tenderness. “Ange,” he said softly. “I don’t want this to be harder than it has to be. We should be alone. We shouldn’t get too involved with each other’s families.”

She tilted her head and smiled. “How do you think you’ll make it any easier? Patrick, you know I love you. Yes, you do,” she said to the shaking of his head. “But on the morning of the twenty-third you’re going to drive out of here as you promised you would do and I have no idea what will come after that. I don’t know if you’ll write or call. I don’t know if you’ll think about me sometimes or if I’ll just be out of sight, out of mind. But it’s almost Christmas and, before you go, I just want to enjoy the holiday spirit. I want us to help deliver the Christmas boxes, go to a couple of parties, sing around the tree, eat some great food and—” she smiled into his eyes “—and make love all night long. I don’t know if you’ll store up the memories, but dammit, I will.”

* * *

They spent Saturday night at the cabin, such a brief space of time. On Sunday, they went to church where they spotted a couple of the Riordans—Sean, Franci and Rosie, George and Maureen. There were plenty of Sheridans present and a great reunion took place between the sisters. Angie was right—they were incredibly different. Jenna was as tall as her mother, slim and auburn haired, Beth just average height and slightly rounder with dark hair.

Sam, over six feet with thick silver hair, grinned and took Patrick’s hand in a hearty shake. “Well, son, so good to meet you—I’ve heard a lot about you!”

Patrick cast a glance at Angie.

“Not from her.” Sam laughed. “Jack was telling me all about you. My daughter, Donna, was impressed with your goodwill and I thank you for helping her with her car.”

“It was nothing.”

“There aren’t many people who would bother,” Sam said.

And just like that, Patrick’s mother and George joined them, Sean’s family were added, introductions were made along with plans for those present to go over to the bar for breakfast. Tables were pushed together, omelets were ordered, laughter filled the bar. Once everyone was served, Jack joined them and it seemed he had a story about every person at the table.

“Sean here—he ran into his old girlfriend in Arcata and, to his surprise, found out she had a little girl with his green eyes.”

Franci gasped. “Do we really have to tell that story?”

“That’s one of the good ones. Wait till you meet Aiden, Dad,” he said to Sam. “He had the distinction of knocking out his future wife before he could properly meet her.”

“Quite the caveman, is he?” Sam asked.

“Jack shouldn’t have opened this door,” Donna said. “The Sheridans have no shortage of stories on him.”

“Not in my house,” Jack said fiercely.

“I think it would be fun to get the Riordans and what we have of the Sheridans gathered in the same room,” Maureen suggested.

“It would have to be a damn big room,” Patrick muttered, not really into this idea.

“The bar won’t work after dark,” Jack said. “Too many out-of-towners head up this way because of the tree.”

“We have the Victorian,” Sean said.

“We’re not limited to after-hours—we can come up with daylight diversion,” George suggested. “Anyone up for a good, old-fashioned hayride? Or would that be sleigh ride? Jack?”

“Buck Anderson hauls kids around on the back of his hay wagon every year. He pulls it with a tractor. It’s nice and big.”

“Will you call him, Jack?”

“Hey!” Patrick protested. “Does anyone care if Angie and I have plans?”

Everyone looked between one another, then expressed a unified “No.”

Angie grabbed Patrick’s hand under the table and said, “I think it sounds wonderful. I’m in.”

* * *

By the end of breakfast, and after a lot of suggestions and plans, a couple of ideas began to take shape. An afternoon hayride if Buck Anderson could be convinced and an evening at the Victorian, gathering the whole crowd. When the group was breaking up—some to help deliver Christmas boxes and others on their way to visit with friends and family, Donna separated Angie from the crowd. Off in a far corner in the back of the bar Donna asked, “How are you doing, sweetheart?”