A Virgin River Christmas (Virgin River #4)(52)

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he said.

“Beer.”

“Coming right up.”

He poured a draft and greeted Erin. “Hello again. I guess you found the place, no problem.”

“Thank God,” she said. “Do you have any idea of the living conditions out there?”

He chuckled. “I’m sure it’s not that unusual for the mountains. I lived pretty lean while I was building the bar.”

“There’s no indoor bathroom!”

“Also not too unusual. You have to redig that outhouse every few years, too. And I suppose you know—we don’t have sewer lines that reach that far up and out. It would have to be a septic system, but a man all alone might just brave the cold in winter. Same with cable and electric—you need a satellite dish and generator. There are probably hundreds of cabins just like that out there.”

“Then what’s the point?”

“Oh, if you’d looked around, you wouldn’t ask.”

The door opened and Mel came into the bar, David on her hip. She jumped up beside Marcie and passed the baby across the bar to her husband. Then she gave him a little kiss and turned a smile to Marcie. She jumped in surprise.

“I got a little burn,” Marcie said.

“Boy howdy. What are you putting on it?”

“Some kind of horse liniment Ian had. It relieved it immediately.”

“Ah. Methylsulphonymethane. People around here use it for damn near everything. It’s famous for cell repair. I guess Doc’s right—you’re in good hands.”

“Well, not anymore. Mel, meet my sister, Erin. Erin, meet Mel Sheridan. I believe you spoke.”

“Yes, of course. How do you do. Nice of you to call for Marcie.”

“It was my pleasure. I’ve enjoyed getting to know your sister.”

“And you tended her while she had the flu?”

“With Doc, yes. She seems to be doing just fine—don’t worry about that.”

Jack had situated David in his backpack so he could serve and handle his son at the same time. Preacher brought out a rack of clean flatware to place under the bar, nodded hello to everyone, lifted curious brows toward Marcie, but then disappeared. Mike Valenzuela came in the back door, went behind the bar to help himself to a draft and was introduced to Erin. When he looked at Marcie, his face froze in surprise.

“The propane stove,” she explained wearily. “I turned on the gas first, lit the match second.”

“Bet you get that in the right order next time,” he said, taking a drink of his beer before going back to the kitchen.

Mel happened to glance down and noted Erin’s boots. “Holy smoke, I used to own a pair of those,” she said. “I kind of miss them, too. I killed them the first spring I was in this town, traipsing around the ranches and vineyards.”

“Is that so?” Erin asked.

“This is rough country. Man’s country, I guess, much as it kills me to call it that. I wasn’t quite ready for it.”

“Well, the men in here are very…”

“I know,” Mel said, laughing. “Very pretty, aren’t they? But dangerous. Watch out.”

“Dangerous?” Erin questioned, wide-eyed.

Mel leaned close. “They shoot deer, play poker, smoke big nasty cigars. And as it turns out—have pretty high sperm counts. You can trust me—I’m the local midwife…”

Jack chuckled, drawing a glance from Erin.

“Where are you from?” Erin asked Mel.

“Most recently, Los Angeles,” Mel said. “I was looking for a change.”

“A change?” Erin asked, stunned.

Mel smiled sweetly. “It snuck up on me. The power of this beauty, the natural phenomenon of unspoiled landscape. What I saw on my first morning—trees that touched the sky, eagles soaring, deer in the yard…Then there are the people here—they’re just plain decent folk. I fell in love.” She gave her tummy a rub. “Then I fell in love with Jack, who is entirely too fertile for my taste, but still…he has his good points.”

“Mel,” Marcie said. “I need a lift back to Ian’s.”

Both women turned to look at her. “Marcie, I won’t let you do this!” Erin insisted. “It’s primitive! He’s primitive! He looks like a total nutcase. A wild man.”

“He’s actually very docile. Kind.”

“There are no beds!”

“I slept on a pallet on the floor for two years while I was remodeling this bar,” Jack put in. He scratched his chin. “Didn’t shave much either. Used Doc’s shower about once every three days or so. We’re kind of homespun around here.”

“But…But we’re not,” Erin said.

“Jack,” Marcie said. “Call the sheriff. I’m being kidnapped.”

“That wild-man look,” Jack told Erin. “Not unusual around here. Lotta farmers, loggers and ranchers don’t shave in winter. And they don’t usually wear Sunday best to chop wood or feed sheep. Ian Buchanan fits right in, and seems like a civil man. I wouldn’t worry.”

Marcie put her hand over Erin’s. “I’m going back and I want you to go home. I’ll call and check in, I promise. But I was just barely over being sick, just barely getting him to talk. I’m not done here.”