Shelter Mountain (Virgin River #2)(30)

“He’s right, John,” Paige said. “It could be a mistake. You could get hurt.”

“I’m not getting hurt. No one’s getting hurt. Except, best-case scenario, him.”

“At least think about it, Preacher,” Jack said.

Preacher’s expression darkened and his eyes narrowed. “We’re doing this, Jack,” he said.

Jack took a breath. “Okay, Preach. Okay, whatever you want.”

Preacher sensed that Paige had a bad case of nerves, and he didn’t blame her. He blamed Jack. It was wrong of him to raise questions, put Paige on the defensive as he had. The very night of that discussion with Jack, right after Christopher was put to bed, while there were still a couple of guys at the bar, Paige quietly said, “I think we should reconsider this plan.”

“There’s no need to be afraid, Paige. There’s only one real danger—losing Christopher in the court. And I may be just a big dope, but I can’t see that happening. Not after what’s been done to you. He has a record, Paige. It’s not like it’s your word against his. They’d be putting Chris in danger. I can’t believe any judge would let that happen.”

“Jack’s right—you shouldn’t be getting yourself into this mess. We can still get away, me and Christopher. I can get to that address in Washington, get things in order. Get into that underground that gives women and children new identities…”

“Don’t be afraid,” he said again. “It’s going to be okay. I talked to Judge Forrest and he’s optimistic about working this out.”

“There are alternatives to taking this kind of chance, is all I’m saying….”

“Paige, if it comes to that, I’ll take you away myself. Stay with you until you get into some safe place.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I made a promise, Paige.”

“I’m not going to hold you to that.”

“I made a promise to myself.”

When Preacher proved intractable, Paige just said good-night and went up the back stairs. But, worried about her, after he closed the bar and locked the door, he crept up those stairs and tapped lightly at the door. When she opened it, he could see she’d been crying. Her eyes were red and her face pink from the tears.

The little suitcase was open on the bureau, clothes neatly folded inside.

“Aw, Paige,” he said, pulling on her hand, drawing her out of the room so that Christopher wouldn’t be awakened.

She leaned against him and wept onto his chest. He put his arms around her and held her for a little while, gently stroking her back. Finally he said, “Come on. Come with me.”

He took her downstairs, his arm around her shoulders, and led her into his room, leaving the door open so they could hear Christopher if he woke. Taking her hand, he directed her to the sofa in the living area, now crowded with the weight set he’d taken out of his old bedroom. He sat in the big leather chair at a right angle to her. He scooted forward and reached for her hands. Holding them, looking into her eyes, he asked, “Are you so scared you were going to run?”

She nodded, and he ran a finger along the line of her jaw.

“Let’s try to get through this,” he said.

“Even if it works, there’s no way I can ever repay you,” Paige said.

He just shook his head. “I don’t want anything from you, Paige. Except that no one ever hits you again. Ever.”

Paige just had to touch his face. She put her small palm against his cheek and whispered, “You are such an angel.”

“Naw. I’m just an average guy.” He laughed a little. “A below-average guy.”

She shook her head and a tear escaped and rolled down her cheek. Preacher carefully wiped it away. “It doesn’t make any sense to me,” he said. “If a man has a family like this—you and Christopher and a new baby coming—why? It seems like he’d do anything in the world to keep you safe, not hurt you. I wish…” He shook his head sadly.

“What do you wish, John?”

“You deserve to have a man who loves you and never lets you forget it. Someone who wants to raise Christopher into a solid and strong man, a good man who respects women.” He put his hand against her hair, grabbing a silky fistful. “If I had a woman like you, I’d be so careful,” he said in a whisper.

She looked into his tender eyes and smiled, but it was tinged with fear and sadness.

“Come here, let me hold you,” he said, pulling her to him. She slipped onto his lap, pulled up her legs and curled against him, her head on his shoulder, his arm around her back. She nestled like a little kitten against his broad chest.

Preacher leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes, his arms around her, holding her against him. All I have to offer is this, he thought. Help. Safety. We’ll get this bastard out of her life, she’ll grow strong and confident again. And then she’ll go. Somewhere down the line there will be a man—one who treats her right. But until then, sometimes she might need someone to hold her for a little while. And if it gets to be me, those few times, I’ll make the most of it.

He sat like that until the small clock on the wall said that it was midnight. Paige had not moved in hours; she slept in his arms. He could stay there until dawn, just feeling her small body against his. With a deep sigh, he kissed the top of her head. Then he stood, carefully lifting her in his arms. She roused briefly, looking up at his face. “Shh,” he said. “Let’s get you to bed. We have a big day tomorrow.”