Temptation Ridge (Virgin River #6)(29)

“And he likes me. He hates that he likes me—Uncle Walt has him scared to death. And you know what? I love that in spite of that he can’t resist. Do you have any idea what that means to someone like me?”

Vanni was quiet for a long moment. Finally, she said, “What can I do?”

“Let’s have that talk. It would be nice to have someone to talk to about this. About where it’s going, which I think I’m pretty clear about. Can you do that without telling Paul all my personal business?”

“Sure,” Vanni said with a smile. “Men don’t care about these things anyway. Where should we start?”

“Why don’t we start with you telling me about your first experiences with this,” Shelby suggested.

“Well,” Vanni said, looking into her lap for a second. “First of all—I wasn’t shy in high school. Or in college. Or while I worked with the airline….”

Shelby giggled. “Oh God, this is going to be delicious! I can’t wait!”

Luke was up early the next morning, as was usual for him. But this morning he had a mission in cabin six. He got out the bread, mayonnaise and mustard, bologna and cheese and made a half-dozen sandwiches. He wrapped them, put them in a sack and grabbed a big bag of chips and two canned sodas. The sun was just coming up when he pushed open the cabin door.

The man was curled up on a broken-down sofa in the corner in a big, chubby ball, sleeping, his jacket spread over his body. He rested his head on an arm. Luke crouched down beside him, but the guy didn’t move a muscle. He was pretty filthy; Luke wondered how long he’d been homeless. He gave his shoulder a little shake and the man’s small eyes opened slowly.

He rolled slightly, rubbed his eyes and scrambled into a sitting position.

“How long have you been sleeping in here?” Luke asked.

He shrugged. He yawned. “A couple nights,” he said. “I’ll go.”

“I brought you something to eat,” Luke said, handing him the bag.

“I don’t have any more money,” he said.

“It’s free. It’s from my kitchen and I’m sharing with you. What’s your name?”

“Art,” he said, opening the bag and digging out a sandwich. He nearly stuffed the whole thing into his mouth.

“Slow down,” Luke said and laughed. “Who hit you, buddy?”

“He din’t mean it,” he said, chewing and gulping. “He said he din’t mean it.”

The guy was starving. “Who didn’t mean it?” Luke asked.

“Stan,” he said. He made a final gulp and reached into the bag for another. “My boss at the grocery.”

“Hmm. Where are you from?”

“Eureka,” he said, unwrapping another sandwich. “I came through the big trees. I like ’em. The big trees.”

“The redwoods. You walked all that way?”

He shrugged and swallowed. “I hitched some. You’re not supposed to hitch, you know. Then I walked through the big trees.”

“Through the grove, huh?” Luke said. “Yeah, they’re nice. How old are you?”

“Thirty. My birthday is in November. Then I’m thirty.” He dived into another sandwich.

“Your parents live in Eureka?”

He shook his head. “My mom’s gone now. I have a group home, but if I stay there I have to work at the grocery. For Stan.”

Luke was still crouched, sitting on the heel of his boot. He’d only known one kid with Down’s while growing up—a neighbor kid. He’d been younger—his brother Sean’s age—and Luke and his brothers all looked out for him. No one dared give him any trouble—they’d have to answer to the scrappy Irish Riordan boys. He was the sweetest kid on earth; Luke had learned they had a reputation for being the gentlest-natured people alive. But this guy’s boss had slugged him in the face. Now, why would a person do something like that? So Art is on the run from an abuser. Wouldn’t his caretaker be onto that? Make that right? Unless the caretaker was also abusive…

Luke thought about calling someone, get this guy some help. But he only thought about it for five seconds. He couldn’t have some agency toss this guy back into a group home where he was mistreated. “You need a job where nobody hits, buddy?”

He shrugged and chewed.

“I could use some help. Maybe if I let you have a place to sleep while I’m working around here, you could do some chores for food and clothes and stuff. Any interest in that?” Art nodded without making eye contact. “Can you count?”

Art looked up, swallowed and said, “’Course I can count. I’m not stupid.”

That made Luke smile. “’Course you’re not. Okay. I can let you sleep in the trailer a few nights till we get a cabin straight for you. There’s some plumbing that works in the trailer. I’ll find you a sleeping bag and something clean to wear. How’s that?”

He gulped down the last of his sandwich. “What’s your name?”

“Luke,” he said, standing up.

“Okay. Luke.”

“When you’re done eating there, go down to the camper and wash up. The water’s not real hot, but I’ll get you a bar of soap and a couple of towels. I’ll meet you down there in a little while, how’s that?”