Shelter Mountain (Virgin River #2)(35)

“But he won’t,” Paige said.

Mel tried to cheer her up, lure her out. “Have you been outside in the past three days?” she asked Paige.

Paige leaned close. “I’m fighting the urge to load Chris in the car and run for cover.”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Mel said. “With any luck, the lawyers will battle this out quickly and settle.”

“That would be a miracle.”

“I’m going to walk across the street and watch the afternoon soap with Connie and Joy. Come with me—laugh a little.”

“I don’t know…”

“Paige, you haven’t seen the sky in three days. Come on. It’s just across the street. We’ll look both ways.”

Preacher, overprotective, walked out onto the porch at the bar and watched them cross, noting nothing out of the ordinary on the quiet main street. But when the soap was over and the women were returning, Paige’s worst fear was waiting for her, right in broad daylight, right on the street. Parked alongside of the bar was an SUV, and leaning against it was a man. Mel didn’t even notice. She was chattering about the older women’s running commentary on the soap opera when Paige stopped walking.

“Oh, God,” she said in a breath. She tugged at Mel’s sleeve, stopping her in the middle of the street.

He was positioned between them and the bar, one leg lazily crossed in front of the other, hands in his pockets as he watched them, a satisfied smile shaping his lips.

“No,” Paige whispered.

“Is it him?” Mel asked.

“It is,” she said, drawing a fearful breath.

He pushed himself off the car and walked toward them, slowly and leisurely. Mel instantly put herself between Paige and the man. “You can’t be here,” Mel said. “There’s a restraining order.”

He pulled a large, folded document out of his back pocket, kept coming and said, “There’s also a court order for Paige to return my son to Los Angeles for a custody hearing. I’m here to pick him up. Paige,” he said, “who do you think you’re screwing with, huh? Come on, we’re going home!”

“Jack!” Mel yelled, shielding Paige from his approach. “Jesus. Jack!”

“No—” Paige said in a near cry.

As Paige continued to back slowly away, moving in the direction of the store, Mel held her ground. While the man approached, although he had a sinister twist to his mouth, he was clearly no match for the men waiting just inside the bar, waiting to protect Paige. This preppy man in his pleated pants and Florsheim Chester loafers was not like the big Virgin River men. How could he inflict so much power, so much damage? He was smaller than Jack; so much smaller than Preacher. Goodness, he was about Rick’s size! Not quite six feet with short, moussed, spiky brown hair. A pretty boy from the city. He was going to be very surprised.

Mel caught a glimpse of Jack coming onto the bar porch just as Paige turned and broke into a run. Wes Lassiter shoved Mel roughly out of his way to give chase. Mel stumbled backward and fell. Her fleeting thought was, Oh, Jack will have seen that. She could hear Jack’s heavy tread into the street before she could refocus and watch his running approach. She glanced over her shoulder to see that he wasn’t fast enough to save Paige. Lassiter caught up with Paige, grabbed her by the hair on the back of her head and threw her to the ground. In a blur of unreality, Mel watched as he drew back his foot and kicked her, shouting, “What the f**k do you think you’re gonna do, huh? Leave me?”

Jack glanced down at Mel and she glanced up at him briefly as he ran on to Paige’s rescue.

Just as Lassiter drew his foot back to deliver another kick to Paige’s stomach, Jack hooked an arm around his neck, lifted him clear off the ground and away from Paige. He whirled him and threw him from his victim; he landed a few feet away.

Preacher, who had no doubt been in the kitchen when Mel screamed, was the next one out of the bar, Rick on his heels. A glance at Paige found her struggling to sit up, a hand covering her face, her nose bleeding from her head-first plunge onto the ground. Mel crawled the short distance toward Paige as Jack was trying to help her sit up, when Preacher came running into the street.

Preacher saw that Mel and Jack were with Paige and he went directly to Lassiter, who was still down. Preacher bent at the waist, grabbed the man under his arms and lifted him straight up, clear off the ground. They were face-to-face, Lassiter’s feet swinging in the air. For a moment, a look of sheer terror showed on Lassiter’s face as he stared into Preacher’s enraged eyes.

“I could hit you one time, jag-off, and you’d never get up,” Preacher snarled into the man’s face.

“John!” Paige cried. “John!”

Preacher felt Jack’s hand on one of his arms. “Preach, go get Paige.”

He looked over his shoulder at her, sitting up, crying, her hand pressed over her nose and blood running down her chin. He held Lassiter off the ground effortlessly; he wanted to pummel him till he cried. He looked back at Lassiter’s shocked face, staring into his frightened eyes for a second, and thought, I can’t do violence in front of her. She might think I’m like him. I’m not like him. Preacher dropped the man to the ground. He bent his face close to Lassiter’s and said, “Do not get up.” Then he straightened, whirled and went to Paige a few feet away.