Shelter Mountain (Virgin River #2)(50)

One of the kids ran through—a little girl about seven or eight. She had a wild look in her eyes. She grabbed a fistful of chips, her father barked at her to go play and she was gone.

Paige talked a little more about the area, about the redwoods, the people, the simple lifestyle. Bud got up and got two more beers, and when he put one in front of Preacher, Preacher said, “I’m good.” But Bud left the beer in front of him.

Chris reached for a chip, tentatively, and Bud said, “Those are for the grown-ups, son.” And Chris yanked his hand back as though he’d touched fire. Preacher tried not to glare at Bud, but pulled the bowl closer to himself and Chris and said, “He might be hungry.” He took a chip out of the bowl and handed it to Chris and noticed out of the corner of his eye that Paige watched this action with the slightest smile on her face. He also noticed that Dolores and Gin weren’t talking much and partaking of the hors d’oeuvres, such as they were, sparingly. Cautiously.

Another kid ran through—another girl—scruffy, her hair wild, her shoes untied. Whatever was going on in the playroom got the kids as gamey as an afternoon outdoors on the playground. She grabbed at the chips, got yelled at to go play and disappeared. Now Preacher might manage a bar and hang out with men primarily, but he was unaccustomed to fathers who pushed their children out of sight. Rudely, at that. In his crowd, families were appreciated. Most of his friends were married with children, and the children were a part of everything. The women were nearly worshiped.

He was starting to know things were not kind and respectful here. He was already unhappy with the way Bud regarded Paige. Preacher was real close to saying, “This meeting is over.” Then a child started to cry, from the playroom, presumably, and Bud’s wife, Gin, jumped up and ran. A few minutes later she carried a child of about two into the kitchen. This beautiful child had short blond curls and streaks of tears on her chafed cheeks.

Bud turned to Preacher and asked him what he did.

“Me? I’m a cook. My buddy bought a bar. I went up there for some fishing, and stayed.”

They talked a little about the bar and Preacher was trying. This guy wasn’t his cup of tea, but he didn’t have to love everyone. He thought it was a good idea to get along if he could, for Paige’s sake. This was family; sometimes you’re stuck with family. He was sure good old Bud had his fine points. He wasn’t sure he’d come in touch with them tonight, however. But they landed on a conversation about how much fishing and hunting there was to do up there, and Bud loved that. He might just come up, check it out. Bud would do a lot more of that, if he didn’t have to work so goddamn hard all the time, but with three kids…Three kids almost never seen, Preacher thought. But, Preacher talked more than he usually did, because he wanted Paige to know he was giving it his best shot. He could be cordial. Friendly.

During this time, Gin, holding her youngest daughter on her lap, cajoled Chris over to her and acquainted them. Chris was not intimidated by a child younger than he and they began to get friendly. The child came off Gin’s lap and with a little push of her hands, she sent both children off to the playroom.

“So, what did you do before being a cook?” Bud asked.

“I was in the Marines about twelve years.”

“Marines!” Bud said. “Should’ve known. Ever been to war?”

Preacher gave a solemn nod. “Couple of times,” he said. “No fun.”

“So, you’re the cook,” he said, laughing. “Looks more like you should be a bouncer.”

“We don’t usually need a bouncer.”

“Speaking of cooking, how’s that salad coming?”

Paige’s mother and sister-in-law got up from the table and instantly went to the kitchen. Paige rose, too, asking if she could help, but Bud directed her back to her chair, saying, “They’ll do it.” And she sat.

Plates were brought out—five of them. Preacher counted twice. “What about the kids?” he asked.

“Gin’ll give ’em something in the playroom. She’s got some dogs, some beans. They love it. Kids. I like to have some grown-up time, sometimes.”

The salads appeared, as well as another beer each. “You’re slowing down there, my friend,” Bud said. “You’re going to have to catch up!”

Preacher had his ear tuned in to the “playroom.” Just as he was sharpening his listening and they were starting on their salads, Bud looked at Paige and said, “What’s going to happen to Wes?”

She lifted her eyes steadily to her brother’s, but she didn’t answer at once. “I don’t know. He’s admitted himself into a drug treatment program.”

“Why?” Bud asked.

Again she paused. “For drug treatment. It’s not unusual for some of those traders to get hooked on…You know…Uppers?” It was stated as a question. And Preacher thought, it was meth. It wasn’t a little bitty innocent drug.

“And you couldn’t do anything about that?”

“Like what, Bud?” she returned.

“I don’t know. Like help him with that. I mean, what did you have to do?”

Paige put down her fork and glared into her brother’s eyes. “No, Bud. I couldn’t help with that. It was completely beyond my control.”

Bud tilted his eyes toward his lettuce, stabbed a piece with his fork and muttered, “Maybe you could’ve kept your stupid mouth shut.”