Shelter Mountain (Virgin River #2)(103)

“Absolutely,” Mike promised. “Every week.”

Preacher would have expected Paige to be at least somewhat relieved; there was no question Mike had delivered good news. But he found her to be sullen. Maybe a little depressed. When the day was at a close, their special time together, and he pulled her against him, he lifted her chin and asked, “Why aren’t you a little bit happy? Is it because you can’t trust him? Wes?”

“Oh, I can’t. We can’t. But it’s the idea that I might never be really free of him, and I brought this into your life. Insanity and trouble. Maybe even danger. Oh, John…What a bad deal you got with me.”

He smiled at her, touched her lips with his. “You can’t believe for one second that’s how I feel. Paige, I don’t care if you have an army of loaded Huns on your tail. The day you and Chris came into my life, that was the biggest miracle of my life. I wouldn’t trade you for anything.”

She tightened her arms around him. “Do you know you’re the sweetest man who ever lived?”

He laughed at her. “See, that’s the thing. Until you, I was just a fisherman and cook. Look at me now.” He grinned at her. “Now I’m not only the sweetest man alive, I’m like the world’s greatest lover.”

That was the beauty of John. He could turn her mood that fast, by simply speaking his mind. If there was one thing she understood about him—he said what he felt. “You think so, huh?” she asked, smiling back at him.

“Well, let’s see if I’m getting any better. How about that, huh?”

Joey had been the first to arrive when the baby, David, was only five days old. Then Grandpa Sam, who tried very hard not to impose but found that he couldn’t stay away. Mike, still parked out by Mel and Jack’s, took the sofa in the RV and gave Sam his bed. Then, one at a time, Jack’s sisters and a few nieces. Day after day, nearly every resident of Virgin River paid a call, bringing a covered dish or cake or plate of cookies. Weeks of visiting and celebrating seemed to pass quickly. The only member of Jack’s family who hadn’t yet arrived was Brie, who was in the middle of one of the biggest trials of her young career—a rape trial that had become a media circus.

May brought a bright sun and flowers and deer in the yard. And a baby who was held so often, he barely needed the sheets changed in the cradle. Jack was starting to wonder if other women had had babies before Mel, because he had never seen a transformation quite as startling. Quite as distracting. She dropped a lot of that baby fat quickly, thanks to the miracle diet of breast feeding. The first thing to happen—her beautiful face returned to its former oval shape with high cheekbones and she glowed with happiness. Everything about her seemed brighter. Although she complained that she had a long way to go to regain her figure, from his perspective, she’d never been sexier. He worshiped her body, especially after helping her deliver their son. Her belly slowly flattened out and her br**sts were full and high; her laugh was quick and contagious. And when she held and nursed his son, she seemed to shine as though there was a light within her. To Jack, she was a vision. He was dead in love.

Jack was dying. He was splitting a lot more logs and trying to avoid seeing Mel in the shower. She was having a terrible effect on him. Without that baby between them, he found himself longing for the days when he would swoop her off her feet, up into his arms, bear her quickly to the bed and fall on her, hungry. Starving. And have her meet that hunger with her own, which was impressive. He found himself fantasizing about being a little wilder, ready to revisit that heat and power they had in the beginning, before she began to swell with little David; before he felt he had to protect her from the strength of his desire.

When he kissed her these days, when she opened her mouth under his and let his tongue inside, he would groan with such depth that she knew. And she would whisper against his lips, “Soon, Jack. Very soon.”

Not nearly soon enough, was all he could think. It had turned him selfish and impatient. Then Brie’s trial ended and she arrived. She needed a rest to recover from the trial that had gone badly for her; she needed to bond with her brother, sister-in-law and new nephew. While Jack was always happy to see his sister, especially to see her recovering very well from a difficult and disappointing trial and regaining her own former confidence in life since her divorce, the one thought that came to his mind was, now it’s going to be at least another week.

Brie found that life had changed in her brother’s little cabin in many ways. Mel and Jack were keeping the baby next to their bed, and in the night and in the early mornings, she could hear him stir, fuss, and then the soft murmurings of her brother and sister-in-law. She should have known that Jack would be awake for every feeding, often getting up with David, changing him, taking him back to the bed to Mel.

Another new development was that RV in the clearing. In the predawn hours, she would stealthily sneak out of the cabin and sit in one of the Adirondack chairs on the porch and listen to the soft melody of the Spanish guitar that came from the open window across the yard. He didn’t know she was there, that she listened, that the music stirred her. His right hand was still a little tentative as he pressed down against the strings, but with his left he plucked and strummed with skill. He stopped often to start over. She imagined that once his strength was completely restored, his guitar music must be nothing short of magnificent.

Sometimes she would lean back, close her eyes and imagine that he played for her. Mike. She’d first met him years before in Sacramento during Jack’s last leave before he left for Iraq, Jack’s final assignment. Brie was newly married then. She had seen him again at Mel and Jack’s wedding—they almost qualified as old friends. His name was really Miguel—she knew that. Although born in the U.S., he had managed to stay close to his cultural roots, the romance of his country. You could hear it in the music. That sexy Spanish guitar.