Shelter Mountain (Virgin River #2)(53)

He didn’t. He was putting her up in a room above a country bar—a bedroom with no amenities. In a little town with no school. “Nah, I don’t need to see any more. I’ll wait out here and keep Christopher with me.”

When she opened the door with her key and went inside, Preacher leaned against the truck and thought, what must it be like for someone like Wes to lose all this—the woman, the kid, the big, fancy house? Would it ever cross his mind that if he’d treated this with care, it might still be his?

Paige filled four small, soft canvas bags with clothing for herself and Christopher. She packed up some toys and books. As an afterthought, she threw his Big Wheel tricycle in the back of the truck and Preacher drove them out of town. They were a couple of hours out of L.A. when she reached over to Preacher and put her hand over his. “God, that’s a relief. I hope I never have to walk in that front door again.”

“It’s too bad, to have all that and lose it. That’s like the American dream. What every man thinks is the perfect life. A family, success, stuff.”

“Is that your idea of the big dream, John?”

He laughed. “My idea is a lot smaller.”

She stared at his profile for a long moment. Then very quietly she said, “I bet it’s not really smaller. But maybe a lot less complicated.”

And he thought, not anymore. His idea of the perfect life, the best he could have in the universe, was sitting right next to him. So close, yet so far out of his reach.

Rick had lived in Virgin River his whole life, had gone to school with the same kids for years, and he enjoyed popularity among his peers. He was a senior, on the home stretch, when his high school experience made a drastic detour. Now, every morning, he was picking up a pregnant girl and taking her to school with him.

Liz was barely recognizable as the girl who had spent a couple of months in Virgin River the year before. In fact, the pregnant sophomore looked younger than the freshman girl in the short skirts and high-heeled boots of the year before. Lizzie had seemed much more worldly then. She was no longer strutting her stuff; she was shy, self-conscious and vulnerable. She was just a little pregnant girl, and totally dependent on Rick.

Rick stayed as close as he could, trying to get her to classes. He couldn’t leave her to fend for herself, alone, making her way through the snickering girls, half of whom would’ve done anything for a date with Rick. Sometimes he was late for class because he’d been getting Liz to hers. His teachers weren’t real sympathetic. He didn’t pretend this was some fling or second cousin—he straightened his spine and claimed her. His girl and his baby. He wished he didn’t have to, but he had to. She had no one else.

It didn’t take too long for him to get into a fight. A loudmouthed, dimwitted junior by the name of Jordan Whitley made a crack about Rick “gettin’him some every night” and it just tipped him over the edge. Rick shoved Whitley up against the lockers and slugged him. Whitley got one off on Rick before teachers pulled them apart, so when Rick went to work that afternoon at the bar, he brought a shiner with him.

“What the hell happened to you?” Preacher asked.

“Nothing,” he said. “Some ass**le had an opinion about my love life.”

“That right? And you felt you had to get your face bashed in?” Preacher said.

“No, Preach. I decked him. He never should’ve gotten up. I guess I didn’t hit him hard enough.”

“Man. Feeling a little out of control?”

Rick shrugged. Truthfully, he hated that little punk and had secretly wanted to hit him for at least a year. “He has a real mouth on him. Maybe he’ll keep it shut now.”

As far as his love life went, it was pretty bleak. Oh, it was true, he was having sex.

He couldn’t deny that it scratched a certain itch, but it was beyond strange. Liz needed to be touched, to be loved, but the girl who so softly curved to him now was worlds away from the hot little number that squirmed wildly on his lap last year. And not only did these brief sessions often end with her in tears, he could sometimes feel his baby move while he held her, loved her. When she cried, he’d just collect her against him and soothe her, tell her it would be all right, that they’d figure it out. He said that, doubting it constantly.

And here they were, having a baby and expected to act like grown-ups, with Aunt Connie watching them like a hawk, making sure they weren’t doing anything adult. The only time he could get with her was by taking a detour on the drive home from school to park for a little while, an action that got him all worked up even as he felt guilty about it. Even with everything that had happened between them, they weren’t allowed to lie down on a bed together. God forbid! What if Liz got pregnant or something?

She wanted to run away and get married. Fifteen and seventeen, holy Jesus. And when they’d made this little error in judgment, they’d been only fourteen and sixteen. It was a real wake-up call. He was holding her back, holding her off, telling her he’d never abandon her, but he didn’t think they should do anything as drastic as marriage—it was too soon to make that leap. The leap they’d made was terrifying enough. Most days he thought he had her convinced they should wait at least until they decided what to do about the baby.

Doing the right thing, knowing what the right thing was, just seemed to get more confusing all the time. Around Liz, he tried not to let that show. She was having a hard enough time without Rick letting on that he didn’t know what he felt, didn’t know what to do.