Shelter Mountain (Virgin River #2)(106)

“Shh. Just show me.”

Mike hadn’t asked that the wine be packed in the picnic to get Brie relaxed or talking. He’d just thought it would be a nice touch, since he was pretty sure they wouldn’t be fishing. And he was right about that. Instead, they drove through a redwood grove and down to the lower, more shallow, end of the river where the bank was wide and peppered with large rocks. He spread a blanket against a huge boulder near the river’s edge, under the canopy of tall trees. And there wasn’t much to do on a picnic besides talk, and at her insistence, attempt the guitar. His music was so rusty, he hated subjecting her to it, but she seemed not to notice his many mistakes. She leaned back against the boulder and closed her eyes, her lips curved in a half smile, listening to him play. In years gone by, Mike would’ve had her down on the blanket by now—but those were years gone by.

It was hard to imagine this tiny, young-looking woman as one of the toughest prosecutors in the Sacramento Valley. She was a little thing in slim jeans and moccasins, a light blue chambray shirt tied at the waist. Her hair was loose, a thick, light-brown mane that fell down her back almost to her waist. She had the most flawless ivory skin that would feel like silk under a man’s hands. As he played, she let her warm brown eyes drift closed; her rosy lips tilted in appreciation.

Brie shivered in the breeze and Mike put aside the guitar. He went back to the car and got his jacket out of the backseat. He took it to her, spreading it over her shoulders, and watched, his eyes warming, as she pulled it tighter around her. Then he saw her sniff the collar and he grew weak. He did not think of her as a sister.

“Judging by your music, the arm is almost fully recovered,” she said.

“Almost back,” he said, sitting on the blanket again. “I think I’m going to recover one hundred percent, or damn close.”

“And everything else is healed, right?”

“Not everything,” he surprised himself by saying. “Every once in a while I have trouble getting the right word and I worry about my brain—but I notice that more than anyone else, so I could be overreacting. And I was shot in the groin. Bad spot.”

“Oh,” she said. He could tell she didn’t want to ask.

“Nothing life-threatening,” he said. Nothing for you to worry about, he wanted to add. You don’t have to go to Jack and ask if they shot it off.

“And you’re thinking of staying here?”

“Why not?” he said with a shrug. “My friends are here. It’s quiet and peaceful. There’s no pressure.” He laughed a little. “I’ve had enough of that. I’ve lived in your world. When I was on the job, I worked with a lot of D.A.’s. You’re what—thirty? Thirty-one? And locking people up for a living?”

“As many as possible. And I’m thirty. Thirty and already married and divorced.”

“Hey, that’s not exactly a scar on your face, Brie. The way Jack tells it, it didn’t have anything to do with you.”

“How does Jack tell it?” she asked him.

Mike looked down. Blunder number two, he thought. First, the shot to the groin, then the divorce tales. He raised his eyes. “Jack said that Brad wanted the divorce. That you were devastated.”

“Brad cheated on me with my best friend,” she said. “He left me and moved in with her and I pay him alimony. Her husband pays her alimony and child support. I gave him a big check for his half of the house and you know what he said? He said, ‘Brie, I hope we can be friends.’” She gave a little laugh that carried all the weight of her anger.

“Ah, Dios,” he said. “I’m so sorry that happened. Tu no mereces esto. You don’t deserve that,” he translated.

“What is it with some men?” she asked him angrily. “Why would a guy do something like that?”

He laughed ruefully. “At least I never did that,” he said, mostly to himself. And then he wondered how he had managed to escape that indiscretion.

“I’m sure you have a multitude of things to be forgiven for,” she said.

“You know what, Brie? I made so many mistakes, I can’t even count ’em. And I know better than to think I’ll ever be forgiven. If I made a million mistakes, I had at least that many excuses. Brad might end up like me—really sorry. And really too late.”

“Cops,” she said with some disgust. “You guys.”

“Aw, come on—it’s not just cops. Although, I’ll grant you, a lot of guys with slick uniforms and a gun can make it with the girls pretty easy. But if that’s the kind of guy he turned out to be, you’re better off.”

“Are your ex-wives better off without you?”

“You have no idea,” he answered with an embarrassed shake of his head.

“Small comfort,” she said.

“Brie, you’re beautiful and brilliant and strong. A man who would cheat on someone like you, just flat-ass doesn’t deserve you.” He reached out and covered her hand with his. “You are too valuable, Brie, to be stuck with a man like that.”

She pulled her hand out from under his. “And what did you do to screw up your marriages?”

“I was completely irresponsible,” he said. “I knew how to be a lover, not how to love. Men take such a long time to become men, I think. Women have it easier—you at least grow up before you’re old.”