A Virgin River Christmas (Virgin River #4)(61)

“It’s not a bad-looking tree,” Ian said.

“Thanks, but it’s going to be smaller next year. Mel’s set on a big tree like that, but you have no idea what a pain in the butt it was. Almost had to rent a flatbed to bring it home.”

Ian chuckled and took a sip of his drink. “What got you up here, Jack? To Virgin River?”

“After twenty in the Marines? I was just looking for some peace and quiet so I could catch my breath. And think.”

“That a fact? And here I thought it was an original idea.”

Jack laughed. “Well, then Melinda showed up, and now peace and quiet is a thing of the past.”

“That’s a rough spot you got yourself in,” Ian observed.

“Yeah,” Jack said. “Beautiful blonde in my bed every morning when I wake up. I’m telling you, the suffering just won’t end.” There was a quick flash of a grin, and before Ian could think of a comeback, Marcie was sitting up beside him.

“All’s well,” she reported. She took a slow sip of her brandy and made a sigh of pleasure. “Very nice, Jack.”

“I don’t know when you’re headed home, Marcie, but there’s a Christmas Eve thing going on here. Since there’s no church open in town and Preacher closes up on Christmas Day to have it with his family, on Christmas Eve the townsfolk are having a candlelight gathering around the tree.”

“Really? What time?”

“Won’t be a midnight mass, that’s for sure,” he laughed. “Mostly ranchers and farmers around here—they start early in the morning, even on Christmas. Last I heard it was scheduled for eight o’clock for about an hour. I’m taking the family to Sacramento for the holidays, so we’ll miss it. But if you’re still here, stop by.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said.





The brandy and schnapps didn’t keep them warm all the way home and when they arrived, Ian first stoked the fire, getting it going before walking Marcie out to the facilities. They both remained in jackets and boots until the cabin heated up a little. Marcie finally spread her sleeping bag over the couch. She took off her boots, but left her clothes on, wrapping herself up in her bag to try to generate some warmth. Ian was just unrolling his pallet and about to pull off his boots when she said, softly, “Thank you for a wonderful night, Ian. It’s the best night I’ve had in…years.” And then he heard her yawn.

He didn’t move; couldn’t breathe. There was an odd sensation filling his chest, a gathering of moisture in his eyes. He wanted to say, No, thank you! But he couldn’t trust himself to form the words. She had no idea how it changed him inside—in his head and heart—just to have someone to talk to, to laugh with. The scrappiest little girl on the playground, like an angel come to draw him out, made him feel for the first time in such a long time, as if he was living instead of merely existing. It was a gift he was sure he didn’t deserve, especially after sealing himself off from the world as he had. And after trying to scare her away.

Trouble was, he didn’t know if he could go back to his old, silent, anonymous ways. And yet, he didn’t have anything else. The reality was, he had this cabin and about a couple thousand dollars that would have to last all winter. There was no hidden bank account, no benefit checks, no retirement. He could put the property up for sale, but there probably wouldn’t be a buyer, maybe for years. He didn’t have things to sell or barter.

He could beg her to stay, but he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to even build her an indoor bathroom. He’d let himself get down to practically nothing, enjoying the deprivation on some screwed-up level. Then Marcie showed up and suddenly he felt like a rich man.

Just when he felt ready to open his mouth to say something like, No, Marcie—it was you who made it perfect, he heard a soft snore come from her side of the room. It made him shake his head and chuckle silently. She slept well on that lumpy sofa; she was at peace here when she should be annoyed by all the inconveniences.

They were alike in that way, he realized. She was as able to make do as he was, yet in Marcie’s life there was so much more—family, work, friends, real living.

Quietly he traded his jeans for sweats and got down on his pallet in front of the fire. But sleep was far away. All he could think about was how real his life had suddenly become, how vast and full of possibilities when just two weeks ago an unending sameness had stretched out in front of him. Forever. It had been so long since he’d even thought about what might come next for him, and sometimes it seemed there never would be a next.

Old habits die hard—he thought this might be a good time to ignore her, reject her, hope that he’d get beyond this emotion real fast. But he knew he wasn’t going to do that. No. He would allow this to happen to him for a little while. She’d fill him up with goodness before she left; he’d tackle what to do with all those feelings later. Ian decided he could think of her as a Christmas gift. A beautiful little glimpse of what life could have been.

It was a long while before he slept. Not long after he nodded off, he felt something and opened his eyes. She was beside him on the floor by the stove, wrapped in her sleeping bag, red hair all crazy from sleep. “I got cold, even with the sleeping bag,” she said.

“I’ll feed the fire,” Ian replied, sitting up and slipping a couple of logs into the stove. Then he lay back down, giving her room on the pallet beside him and, pulling her close, said, “Come here, little girl. Let me get you warm.”