A Virgin River Christmas (Virgin River #4)(68)

“You—are—amazing.”

“You could come home with me, Ian. For Christmas.”

He was quiet for a moment. “No. I couldn’t do that.”

“Why not? Will the good people from the towns around here be without firewood? Would the cabin get snowed in?”

He smiled at her. “Baby, I’m not going to kid you—you changed my life, and all in ten days, but not enough to clean me up and take me back to Chico. Listen to me,” he said gently. “This is nice, you and me. But I think it’s a tryst that might never be anything more. This thing that happened between us—it wasn’t supposed to.”

“But you’re not sorry,” she said.

“You know I’m not sorry. I’m grateful.”

“I think if I stayed a little longer…”

“What? You’d get through to me? Transform me into some other kind of guy? Pluck me out of my run-down cabin and make a civilized man out of me?”

She shook her head. “Nothing like that ever occurred to me. You’re more civilized than most of the men I know. But lately I’ve been thinking if I stayed longer you’d laugh more. You’d sing to people instead of just to wildlife. You’d probably ask that librarian out for drinks.”

“Yeah,” he laughed. “After I found a way to convince her I’m not an idiot savant.”

“If I came back here to see you, would you lock me out and make me sleep in my car?”

He laughed and shook his head. “No.” But he thought, she might come back once, maybe even twice. Then it would stop, because he and this place wouldn’t change much. And he didn’t deserve her; she should have so much more than some beat-up old marine with issues who’d stuck himself in the woods.

“Since you won’t come back with me, I’m staying till Christmas Eve. I won’t leave at the crack of dawn, but I’ll get home in time for dinner. It’s just a few hours away.”

“Erin isn’t going to like that,” he said. “She’s ready for you right now.”

“She’ll have to wait. I’m doing the best I can. I don’t want to leave you. Ever.”

Instead of talking about it anymore, he asked her, “Is it too soon to make love again?”

“No,” she said, smiling.

He pulled her against him. It was better this way, he thought, that he not add the words I love you to the mix. This was hard enough on her. Instead, he kissed her as well as he could, his hands running over her body in a way that promised more loving.

In the morning when she woke, he had gone. He left a note. “Sweetheart. Selling wood, plowing some roads. I won’t be too long. Ian.”

“Sweetheart,” she whispered to herself. She folded it in half and quarters and found a safe place in her wallet to preserve it. Forever.





Fourteen



I an unloaded his entire supply of firewood in short order and took delivery orders for three more half cords, which would take him another day to load, deliver and unload, giving people their cozy fires for Christmas. And his supply of cut and cure wood was running low, which was the plan. He’d cut and split and cured all spring, summer and fall and then, with luck, sell off his wood in a matter of weeks.

He was in Virgin River before noon. He parked by the bar, but he didn’t go in. Instead he walked up to that huge tree, taking a closer look at some of the unit badges. He looked around; he was alone. Then he pulled a few things out of his pocket. He’d fixed them up with short wires so they’d hook onto the branches. His unit badge—the same as Bobby’s. A Purple Heart and a Bronze Star—medals awarded for the highest bravery and valor. He fixed them onto the tree. It took him just a few moments. “I’ll see those get back to you,” a voice said.

He whirled around and found himself facing Mel Sheridan. Her coat was pulled tight against the cold and occasional snow flurries, her hands plunged in her pockets. “I won’t be here at Christmas—we’re going to Jack’s family. But I can tell Paige—Preacher’s wife—to make sure when she rescues some of the badges that she holds on to your medals. It wouldn’t do to lose them. They’re important.”

“I’m not worried about what happens to them. I don’t have much use for them now.”

She laughed a little. “I’ve heard that before.”

“Oh?”

“My husband, for one. You guys, you’re peculiar in that way. You train to do the things that bring awards, then won’t display them. Jack—he was going to get rid of his until his father confiscated them to keep them safe. Jack said it wasn’t the medals, it was the men. So—if you can remember the men with the medals, good enough. I’ll see you get them back.”

“Thanks,” he said weakly. “I think they’re better off here.”

“For now,” Mel said. “I guess Marcie will have to head home, but in case you’re around Christmas Eve…”

“I heard,” he said. “A town thing. I don’t know…”

“Well, the town’s kind of easy—no RSVP required. If you get the itch.” She shrugged and smiled.

“That’s nice,” he said. “I have to go. There’s an old guy, neighbor of mine, who doesn’t have a plow…”