Shelter Mountain (Virgin River #2)(94)

“This is where you should be,” she said, covering his hand with both of hers.

Four days later, Mel stood in the doorway of the second bedroom of that little cabin and looked at a room painted yellow, trimmed in blue, papered with tiny hand and foot imprints. A white crib and bureau changing table stood ready to catch the next Sheridan and all the little blankets, onesies, outfits, socks and miscellany had been laundered and lovingly folded away. While she was admiring the room, Jack came into the cabin carrying the most beautiful rocking chair—it seemed to match the cradle given to her by Sam.

She ran a hand along the edges and arms. She couldn’t wait to rock their baby in this chair.

The first week in March, Paige received a check for one hundred twenty-some thousand dollars—the balance left after the sale of a three-million-dollar home, the liquidation of 401(k)s and modest liquid cash, minus debts and fees. “I almost can’t touch it,” she told Preacher.

Preacher stared at the number and thought how pathetic that a man who managed to earn enough to live in a small mansion, put pretax dollars toward retirement and smoke or shoot a lot of white powder could have a net worth so low. Probably the white powder. “Put it aside for a while, but don’t lose track of it,” he said. “After the shock settles, I can help you find some kind of trust for Chris. You really don’t need it.”

“I hate even having it. All I wanted from that marriage since the honeymoon was out.”

“I understand that. But someday you’ll be practical and see how you can make something good out of it. Use it to help your kids or something.”

She handed it to him. “You keep track of it, then. If I ever get over this, we can make a decision.”

It wasn’t long after that conversation that it happened—what they’d been trying to prepare themselves for, but which was inevitable. Wes Lassiter was released from his jail sentence. The district attorney called and reported that he’d returned to LosAngeles to begin his required Addicts Anonymous meetings, probation reports and community service. But the community service hadn’t been selected and approved by the court, the probation meetings hadn’t begun and AA wasn’t likely to cooperate with anyone inquiring about whether he was turning up for meetings.

“We’ll watch closely,” Preacher said. “It’ll be neighborhood watch around here, don’t you worry. This is one nosy town.”

But Paige got tears in her eyes, ran to their bedroom and cried.

When Rick came in for work, Preacher was leaning on his work counter, staring down at nothing. “Hey,” Rick said. “Where’s the little guy?”

“Nap,” Preacher said shortly.

Rick’s head lifted, listening. Paige’s sobbing could be heard, though muffled. “Everything okay?” Rick asked.

“It’ll be fine,” Preacher said.

When Rick got into the bar he found Jack behind the counter with his clipboard, marking things off, and Mike up at the bar, giving him some grief about his unwillingness to let Preacher put inventories and receipts on the computer. He walked up next to Jack. “Something’s wrong in the kitchen,” he said. “Preacher’s pissed off and Paige is crying. You can hear her. Like maybe they had a big fight or something.”

Jack and Mike exchanged glances briefly, then got up and went to the kitchen. They’d also been counting the days. Rick followed.

“What’s up, man?” Jack asked Preacher.

Preacher kept his voice low. “He’s out. They say he went back to L.A., but there’s no way to check. Paige’s scared. Upset. I’m not sure what to do.”

“Get ready for anything,” Jack said. “Isn’t that what we were trained to do?”

“Yeah, but, there’s Chris. We gotta be so careful how we do that. I don’t want him scared, you know. And I don’t want him thinking it’s about his dad.”

“We can work with that,” Jack said. “We won’t keep a loaded gun under the bar or anything. If there was a robbery the next town over, we could carry sidearms for a while, till it looked like things are cool. Sidearms around here—not even interesting. Chris, he should stick real close—because there was a robbery the next town over, huh?”

Preacher was shaking his head. “I don’t want him scared.”

“I know,” Mike said. “But a little nervous is better than a little abducted. We need to play it smart, Preach.”

“I think Paige is going crazy right now,” Preacher said.

“You should go in there,” Jack said, giving his chin a jut in the direction of Preacher’s quarters. “Tell her we’re going to keep a gun or two, but there won’t ever be one set down where a kid could touch it. We’ll do that till it feels better around here, right?”

“How long’s that, you think?”

“I don’t know,” Jack said. “I could do it a year without feeling the strain. Can you cook with a sidearm? Just because there was some trouble the next town over?”

He was shaking his head again, but not in denial so much as frustration.

“I was gonna go to L.A. for a week to see the family, but I can stay,” Mike said. “I can see them later.”

“No, go,” Preacher said quickly. “Maybe you have a contact or two that can tell us if he’s there, doing what he was ordered to do. That might help.”