Shelter Mountain (Virgin River #2)(55)

Paige asked John to use his apartment to place a long-distance call, but this one was not to one of the girlfriends. She told Brie what she’d learned.

“I don’t trust this for a second,” Paige said.

“You shouldn’t. Here are some facts—we have no idea how he’s doing in treatment. There’s no way to find out if he’s committed to recovery or one of their problem children. Also, if I were his lawyer, I’d advise him to be repentant, cooperative, ashamed and docile. I’d tell him if he could cry at his trial and blame the drugs for everything, it would go down a lot better than getting his back up about how bad he’s getting screwed by the woman he knocked into the middle of next week.”

“Lovely,” Paige said.

“Lawyers aren’t all bad. Advice like that often puts the defendant in that mind-set—he has to change his awful ways, be sorry, be nice. It doesn’t always work that way, but often. He can’t get what he wants if he has an attitude with the court. And we might not know what’s happening with him in treatment, but him not getting released with a good report after thirty days is an indication he hasn’t exactly given himself over to the gospel. Two months isn’t bad. He hasn’t screwed himself up yet.”

“But it’s his third battery offense,” Paige said. “It’s automatic prison. Right?”

“Aah,” Brie began. “Sentencing requirements vary. He can be charged, tried and convicted, and his sentence can still be less than you’re hoping for. He’s got a good lawyer. It could be light—short time, lots of probation. It’s still a sentence, still a conviction. The judge has the power of discretion as long as he’s within the law. My advice? Deny the visitation and go after this divorce like a bulldog. If he really does clean up, he can revisit the custody issue when he’s proved himself. That’ll take years.

“Meanwhile,” Brie said, “watch your back. Stay alert. Remember who this guy is. You know him better than anyone.”

“Oh, Jesus, is he going to get out of treatment and show up here again?” Paige said in near panic.

“He could. But my guess is, he’s going to honor the conditions of his bail to stay out of jail, go with this trial and try to get out of the felony convictions. Or at least plead them down. Freedom, Paige—that’s the big carrot right now. And the trial can come soon, maybe early in the new year.”

“I’ll be completely gray by then,” she answered.

Paige brooded a little bit, hoping it didn’t show too much. Strangely, it wasn’t Wes or the divorce that occupied her thoughts, but John. November came in rainy and cold and she’d been in Virgin River more than two months. There were times she could become lost in the present moment—oddly satisfied with the day-to-day simplicity of her life, content to work alongside him in the kitchen. They were in sync, and it wasn’t rehearsed; he would chop the scallions, she would scrape them into the bowl. He would shred the cheese, she would clean the grater. She’d beat the eggs, he’d make the omelet. He’d mix the dough, she’d roll the piecrust. She loved watching John—his movements so slow and steady, confident. And to talk with him in the evening after closing, even for a while, was like a reward. The sound of his voice as he read to her son, kind of raspy and soft, comforted her as much as it did Chris.

She found herself wondering what it would feel like to be enfolded in those big arms, to feel his lips on her neck. She couldn’t remember last feeling desire. She would have thought that being in his company for so many continuous hours each day, at least some minor faults would be revealed, but she couldn’t find one. He could be so sweet and tender with her, but then at other times—like when they were with her family in L.A.—he was every bit her champion. Now and then she’d ask herself, was she turning a blind eye to his true character? Was he somehow fooling her, reeling her in? But no—there wasn’t an unchivalrous bone in his body. And it wasn’t just her opinion—his closest friends and the entire town trusted him implicitly.

She was falling in love with him. She couldn’t remember being in love. The delusion of love she’d experienced in the early days with Wes didn’t even come to mind.

Sometimes she asked herself if she should brave rejection and tell him. I want to stay right here with you forever. But she was terrified that he’d get a stricken look on his face and explain, in his patient and direct way, that he thought of her as a good friend, that he was just doing the right thing.

After Chris’s bath in the evening, she went down to the kitchen and said, “John, did you want to read tonight, or should I go ahead?”

“I’ll do it,” he said. “I look forward to it. Is he ready?”

“Squeaky-clean,” she said.

When John went upstairs, she went into the bar to find Jack wiping down the bar, putting up his glasses for the next day. As she entered, the last two customers went out, giving Jack a wave and thank-you as they left.

“Preacher reading?” Jack asked.

“Yup. If you want to take off, I’ll keep an eye on things. He’ll be down in a few minutes.”

“Thanks. You feel okay with that? Down here by yourself?”

She smiled at him. “I’ll lock the door. How long do you think it would take John to get downstairs if I yelled?”