A Virgin River Christmas (Virgin River #4)(75)

“Nice to meet you,” Ian said. “Mr. Jackson.”

“You sure you don’t grow weed? Because I don’t get mixed up with growers for Dinty Anything.”

“I’m sure,” Ian said. “I’ll drop some canned goods by later on, but for now you can get to the john and heat up the house.”

Ian went back to his truck, adjusted the plow so it wouldn’t scrape on the highway and turned around to leave. There was no thank-you, no pleased to meet you. But then, Ian had been taking care of the old guy’s drive for over two years without any exchanging social graces.

But, no doubt about it, things were declining some for the old man. Mr. Jackson had been able to plow his drive till now, but now he couldn’t even make his way out back to the toilet and it was possible there was no food in the house. Remembering how Doc checked on old Raleigh at the end, he decided he would mention this situation to Doc. He couldn’t have Michael Jackson on his conscience; his conscience was pretty full right now.

It took him longer than usual to deliver his wood. He had to wait for both his customers to go to their ATM’s to withdraw cash as he couldn’t afford to take a bad check at this point. By the time he got back to his cabin, it was afternoon and he’d been gone eight hours. When he came in, Marcie had his bath water simmering on the stove. “Well, Abigail,” he said, smiling at her. “I see you’re ready for me to come home. Tell me, do you have the back forty plowed?”

“And the barn rebuilt,” she said, smiling. “You took a long time today.”

“Some days are easier than others,” he said. “I have to make a quick run. Not fifteen minutes.” He walked over to his cupboard. “How much of this beef stew you willing to part with?”

“Why?”

“I don’t think the old man next door laid in his supply.” He started pulling out large cans and stacking them on the table till he had eight of them. He went to his trunk to get a duffel and loaded it up with the cans.

“That’s nice, Ian. Sharing with him like that.”

“Nah. I just don’t want a bad smell drifting over to my property. Keep my water going, will you? I’ll be right back.”

When Ian pulled up to Mike Jackson’s house, he found the man no more friendly or receptive than earlier, but he didn’t put up a fuss about the stew. He took it, nodded, and closed the door.

That moment was an epiphany. You can have it either way out here. You can get bonded with your town, your neighbors, belong to each other and have a connected existence where mutual reliance got you through the hard times. Or you could have it like this. If you never let anyone get near you, they soon got the message you wanted to be left alone. Out here, where neighbors were separated by miles, hills, big trees and, too often, hardship, no one fought for your friendship or your companionship. You’d have to at least meet people halfway.

Ian hadn’t given much of anything to the people around him here in Virgin River. He was just like his father. Thank God Marcie had ignored that…He’d have to change things—or he’d end up like his old neighbor, like old Raleigh.

Ian went home, where he had Marcie playing Abigail, and it was cute. There were just a few days left to them and he was going to make the most of the time they had together and, because he knew it was hard for her to go and bring an end to this mission of hers, he’d make it as easy on her as he could.

So he bathed, he ate, he held her against him for a little while and read aloud the spicy part of her romance novel, which was positively nothing compared to the real thing that followed. Then they spruced up a little and drove into Fortuna together to do some laundry. It was there that he told her his plan.

“Tomorrow, when I get home from delivering wood, I’m going to dig out your car for you and tow it into town, park it at Jack’s, put some chains in the trunk and show you how to put them on so you’re safe when you’re ready to head home. Please don’t get a wild hare while I’m not around and try to leave without a goodbye. It’s not safe for you to take the bug down the mountain without chains. Promise?”

“Promise,” she said.

“I want to be sure you’re safe. Taken care of.”

She looked down as he knew she would. Sad. Quiet. Marcie was hardly ever quiet.





With the sound of jeans clacking in the dryer and the hum of machines droning in the background he held her arms and turned her toward him. He lifted her chin with a finger. “We still have time, Marcie—time for you to be sure you’ve asked me everything on your mind so you feel right about going home. So you have peace of mind.” “And you?” she asked him.

He ran a knuckle down her cheek. “My mind hasn’t felt this peaceful and calm in years. We’ll make the most of the time you’re here.” He gave her lips a little kiss. “I was so angry when I first faced you. I’m not angry anymore. You made things good for me.”

“An awful lot more passed between us than I ever imagined,” she said. “But I’m glad.”

“Then let’s fold our jeans and head back to town. I think we can get a toddy with Jack and Preacher before they close. Then we’ll go home, stoke the fire and if you want me to, I’ll read the dirty part of that book to you again.”

She slapped his arm. “Please, it’s not dirty! It’s romantic.”