Shelter Mountain (Virgin River #2)(8)

At seven-thirty Preacher fixed up a tray with some cereal in bowls, toast, coffee, orange juice and milk. He went up the back stairs and gently tapped on the door. It opened immediately. Paige had showered and dressed. She wore the same jeans and a long-sleeved chambray shirt. A little black-and-blue spot peeked out from the opened collar and Preacher immediately felt steamed up, but he tried to keep it from showing on his face. Instead, he focused on her eyes, which were a deep emerald-green, and her damp hair, which fell in curly tendrils to her shoulders. “Morning,” he said, trying to keep his voice quiet and soft, like Jack would.

“Hey,” she said. “You’re up early.”

“I’ve been up forever,” he said.

“Mom?” came a voice from behind her. He looked past her and saw the little kid, Christopher, sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed.

She opened the door for Preacher and he came in, putting the tray on the bureau just inside the door. He stayed by the door and gave the kid a nod. He tried to relax his features into softness, but wasn’t sure how to do that. “Hey, little buddy. You want some breakfast?”

The kid shrugged, but his round eyes were wide and focused on Preacher.

“He’s not so good with men,” Paige whispered softly. “Shy.”

“Yeah?” Preacher asked. “Me, too. Don’t worry—I’ll stay back.”

He looked at the child and tried out a smile. Then the kid pointed at Preacher’s head and said, “You hafta shabe that?”

It made Preacher laugh. “Yeah. Wanna feel?” he asked. He approached the bed slowly, carefully, bending his bald head toward the kid. He felt a small hand rub over his dome and it made him laugh again. He raised his head and said, “Cool, huh?” And the kid nodded.

Preacher went back to Paige. “My buddy’s wife, Melinda, she’s coming to Doc’s this morning and I wanna take you over there. Let her have a look at the kid, make sure he’s okay, and if he needs medicine or anything, she’ll fix you right up.”

“She’s a nurse, you say?”

“Yeah. A special nurse. A midwife. She delivers babies and that.”

“Oh,” Paige said, a little more interested. “That’s probably a good idea. But I don’t have much money—”

He laughed. “We don’t worry about things like that around here, if someone could use a little help. It’ll be fine.”

“If you’re sure…”

“It’s all good. Come on downstairs when you’re ready. Mel will be over there about eight, but take your time. Not too many people get sick around here and they’re not usually busy.”

“Okay. Then we’ll press on….”

“Um, if you need to, you can stay a couple of days. I mean, if he’s not feeling so well. Or, if you’re tired from driving.”

“I’ll probably just get back on the road.”

“Where you headed?” he asked. “You never mentioned.”

“Just a little farther. I have a friend…We’re going to visit a friend.”

“Ah,” he said, but if it had been just a little farther, she’d have kept going. “Well, you think about it. Open offer.”

While Christopher sat cross-legged on the bed to eat cereal, Paige leaned toward the mirror, dabbing makeup on her purple cheek, covering it as best she could. It had at least lightened somewhat. But there was nothing she could do about the split lip, which was scabbing over. Christopher would touch it and say, “Mommy’s owie.”

Her mind wandered back to that last beating. The part that still shook her was not being able to remember what had really started it. Something about Christopher’s toys being strewn all over the family room, and then Wes’s suit not back from the dry cleaners. He wasn’t happy about what she’d made for dinner. Or was it what she had said about the toys? “Jesus, Wes, he has toys—he plays with them. Just give me a minute…” Had he slapped her then? No, right after that, when she muttered, under her breath, “Don’t get excited, don’t get mean, just let me do it….”

How could she not know that he’d react like that? Because she never knew how he would react. They’d had months of no violence. But she had seen it in his eyes when he came home from the office. It was already there—eyes that said, I’m going to hit you and hit you and hit you some more and neither of us will know exactly why. As usual, by the time she zoned in on that dangerous gleam, it was too late.

She had started spotting then, in danger of losing the baby—the new baby that she’d recently told him about. Big surprise—since he had kicked her. So she dragged herself out of the bed and went to pick up Christopher at day care. The girl behind the desk, Debbie, had gasped when she saw Paige’s face. Then she stammered, “M-Mr. Lassiter asked us to call him if you came for Christopher.”

“Look at me, Debbie. Maybe you could forget to call him. Just this once. Maybe for a while.”

“I don’t know…”

“He’s not going to hit you,” she had said boldly.

“Mrs. Lassiter, maybe you should call the police or something?”

And Paige had laughed hollowly. Right. “I guess you think I haven’t.”