A Virgin River Christmas (Virgin River #4)(36)

Mel shook her head. “Lilly likes me to explain for her when I can.”

And then there were more women—ranchers’ wives, a woman who, along with her husband, owned a vineyard, a couple of women from a neighboring town. Of course they asked Marcie what had brought her to Virgin River. She tossed it out there, pure and simple. “Well, my husband was critically wounded in Iraq, he was a marine, and he died last year. I heard his best friend from the Corps lived around here and I came to find him. Deliver the news. Get to know him.”

“And did you?”

“I did,” she said with a smile. “He lives in a cabin on a mountaintop. He dropped me off in town today while he delivers firewood to some of his customers and will pick me up in another hour. He’s been…He is…I like this place,” she finally said. “I love your tree!”

“Mel, Paige and Brie came up with the idea. Even though these local marines are out of the action now, they still feel close to the men and women who serve,” someone said.

“We’ll fix you up a sample plate to take back to him,” someone else offered.

“Oh, you shouldn’t…”

“But he’d like that, wouldn’t he?” Mel asked her. “Because it would make the women feel good. Visit a while—I’ll supervise.” And that fast, Mel was gone, leaving Marcie on her own.

She only suffered a second of discomfort before there was someone beside her, chatting with her. They asked her about her hometown, her late husband, her job and family. It had been in her mind to ask the questions to keep them talking, but it didn’t work that way—she was the newcomer, and they were curious.

A large plastic plate covered in plastic was pressed into her hands—a collection from all the other plates in the room—Santas and trees and ornaments; lemon bars, chocolate crispies, brownies; thin slices of specialty breads, lots of assorted treats.

And then the room fell silent as a young woman entered the bar. She was tall with long reddish-gold hair; she carried a box of cookies and she was very pregnant. Her smile was shy and she looked down in the silence. Stepping into the room behind her was a very tall man. He was also shy, Marcie thought, noting the man seemed a little uncomfortable.

But in just a moment the awkward silence seemed to pass and the women in the room surrounded her, embracing her, kissing her cheeks. Mel had an arm around her and held her hand, bringing her into the room. Once she’d greeted everyone, she went about the business of offering her cookies and putting together a sampling of the others to take home to her family.

“That’s Vanessa,” a voice said.

Marcie turned and looked into Brie’s eyes.

“Her husband was killed in Iraq a couple of weeks ago. Her baby is due soon—another six weeks or so, I guess. She’s staying with her father and brother just out of town.”

Marcie swallowed. “And the man with her?”

“Paul Haggerty, her late husband’s best friend since childhood. He’s stayed on since the funeral because Vanessa asked him to. Wherever you see Vanessa, Paul will not be far away. He’s completely devoted to her through this difficult time.”

“That’s…so good of him,” Marcie said weakly. She felt a pang of longing.

“Paul’s one of Jack, Mike and Preacher’s oldest friends. These guys—they really hang tight. And they’re always close at hand for the family.”

“He looks very sad,” Marcie observed.

“There’s no question about that,” Brie said. “I’m sure his pain is equal to hers. He was best friends with Matt since about the eighth grade.” Then she took a breath. “Thank God that baby’s coming. What a blessing. Would you like to meet her?”

“Let her be with her friends,” Marcie said quickly. “It can’t have been easy for her to come out like this so soon after…”

“Okay. Then excuse me,” Brie said. “I need to go give her a squeeze. I’ll be back.”

“Sure,” Marcie said. “Please, take your time.”

But the women in the room were consumed with Vanessa while Paul stood patiently near the door, never far away. After about twenty minutes, Vanessa returned to Paul with her collection of cookies and he slipped an arm around her waist as they exited the bar.

Leaving her own cookies on the bar, Marcie followed them out. They were just at the bottom of the porch steps when Marcie cleared her throat and said, softly, “Excuse me…Vanessa?”

They both turned and Marcie forced herself to step forward. “I’m…ah…so sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you,” she said, smiling sweetly though her eyes were sad. Paul never let go of her. “I don’t know you, do I?”

“No. I’m just visiting. I’m also the widow of a marine,” she managed. “Happened about a year ago.”

“Oh!” Vanessa said, suddenly her emotions shifting from her own loss to Marcie’s. “I’m so sorry!”

“Thank you. My husband was critically wounded in Iraq four years ago and died last year. And when I heard…Vanessa, I remember when the grief was so fresh and painful. I wish I could say something that would help you now.”

She smiled so kindly, Marcie thought. Then Vanessa’s hand came out and touched Marcie’s red curls. “I think you just did. It was nice of you to say anything at all. I know you didn’t have to.”