Shelter Mountain (Virgin River #2)(31)

He carried her up the back stairs and into his old room. Preacher lowered her to the bed, next to her son, and brushed the hair away from her brow. “Thank you, John,” she whispered.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he said. “I’m doing what I want to do.”

Jack was splitting logs at 7:00 a.m. when Preacher came out of the back door of his living quarters and walked toward him. Jack leaned the ax against the tree stump and turned toward his friend. Then, noting the menacing look on Preacher’s face, tipped his head slightly and frowned, wondering what was wrong.

Before he could wonder for long, Preacher landed a shattering blow to Jack’s face, knocking him backward about three feet and flat on his ass. It felt like a bomb going off in his head. “Jesus—”

“What the hell are you thinking, making her feel like she’s doing something wrong?” Preacher demanded. “You oughta have more brains in your head than that!”

“Whoa” was all Jack could say. He stayed where he was, a hand pressed to his jaw. He didn’t dare get back on his feet until he was ready to fight the man. And when Preacher was this pissed, that seemed a stupid idea.

“The girl’s already scared to death and doesn’t think she deserves any help, and I got you questioning me. What the hell’s the matter with you?”

“Uh, Preacher…”

“I would’ve expected more out of you, Jack. It’s not like you haven’t been there. Mel came up here with some shit on her back—not the same shit, but shit just the same. And if I’d told you, right in front of her, that you shouldn’t be getting involved, you would have taken me out on the spot!”

“Yeah,” he said slowly. He moved his jaw back and forth with his hand. Not broken. He said, “Yeah. Okay.” He touched his cheek right below his eye. Now, that might be broken.

“I thought I could count on you to step up. You could always count on me!”

“Okay, so the girl’s gotten real important to you…” he said carefully.

“That’s not what this is about! I’m just trying to help out—I don’t expect anything. But I sure didn’t expect you to try to back end me out of helping her.”

“You’re right,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“I never do anything I don’t want to do!”

“I know. Boy, do I get that.” He started to get up and Preacher put out his hand. Jack took the assist only to find himself shoved back onto the ground.

“If you can’t help, then at least shut the f**k up!”

And with that Preacher turned and stomped back into his quarters.

Jack stayed down another minute. He drew up his knees and circled them with his arms. He tried shaking the cobwebs out of his head. Whoa, he thought. Damn.

He got slowly to his feet and decided the log-splitting could wait. He was seeing a few stars. He meandered over to Doc’s and walked in. Mel was not yet in town but Doc was in the kitchen making coffee. He turned as Jack came in and squinted at him. “How’s the other guy look?” Doc asked.

“I think I might’ve stepped on Preacher’s little toes,” he said. “Have an ice pack?”

A half hour later the front door opened and Mel came in. She left her medical bag in the reception area and went to the kitchen for coffee, where she found Jack sitting at the table, an ice pack held to his eye. Something about this seemed not to surprise her terribly. She leisurely poured herself a mug and sat down at the table. “Let me guess,” she said, wearing a very superior expression. “You felt the need to give advice.”

“Why don’t I listen to you?” he asked, lowering the ice pack to reveal a bruised cheek and black eye that was threatening to swell shut. She shook her head in disgust.

“As it turns out, Preacher does know what hit him,” Jack said.

“Toldja,” she said, leaning her chin into her hand, elbow on the tabletop.

“He took some exception to my advice that he might want to give serious thought to getting involved in this mess.”

She tsked so that he would know she found him stupid without coming right out and saying so.

“Okay, I said I was sorry. That he was right and I’m sorry.”

“After he cleaned your clock, I assume….”

“Well, yeah. After.”

“Men.”

“We’re usually on the same team,” he pointed out.

“When there’s not a woman between you.”

“I’m getting that.”

“You know, there’s this little rule about opinions. They’re only good when someone actually asks you for them.”

“He did say something about how I could just shut the f**k up.”

“There you go. Who’d figure Preacher for sage advice?”

He made a face at her and put the ice back against his face. He winced.

“Hurts, huh?”

“Damn, that boy’s got an arm.”

“You’re welcome to sit over here and hide out for as long as you want, but sooner or later you’re going to have to kiss and make up. Aren’t you at the bar today so he can go over to see the judge?”

“Yeah. But I was going to give him time to cool down a little. I’m going to need at least one eye to see out of.”