Temptation Ridge (Virgin River #6)(76)

The kitchen was bright yellow, some of it papered in a design of old-fashioned yellow roses. The cupboards and counters were the originals, sanded and stained, but she’d pulled the cupboard doors apart and installed dark glass panels to replace the old, buckling wood. The sink and appliances were new white, but she kept the sink pump handle right where it was. She’d even sanded and stained the windowsills and frames. And the light fixtures that hung over the kitchen, dining room and breakfast nook were rewired antiques. There was a door to a pantry and a door to the cellar.

“You are amazing,” he said.

The upstairs was equally impressive—the shining hallway floors, three bedrooms all painted different colors, a bath much too small and compact for a movie star down the hall from the largest bedroom. No master baths or walk-in closets here. But every detail of the original house was polished, varnished, painted, papered. It was beautiful. It looked like a museum piece.

“This will be my room, at the top of the stairs,” she said. “I bought a bunch of quilts, but I bought them from a real quilter, so I’m only cheating a little bit. And throw pillows in petit point—actual antiques. I’ve been collecting them for years. I have a new floral-print duvet and matching sheets—I bought ten extra top sheets. Instead of wallpaper in here, I’m gluing sheets to a couple of walls. And I have old pictures of my parents and grandparents and great-grandparents to hang on the staircase wall. We have some Native Americans way back in the family tree and, remarkably, have some pictures of them. I also have a couple of old country watercolors I picked up years ago and took special care to preserve for this moment.”

He shook his head and chuckled. “This is not how a woman nominated for Oscars is supposed to want to live.”

“Phooey. There’s a lot more to me than Oscars. Though I have to admit, it really pisses me off that I never got one.” She smiled up at him and put her arms around his waist. “I’ve had some special pieces of furniture in storage. The movers are coming tomorrow. Will you stay with me when the bed’s made up?”

“I will gladly stay with you in your flowery bedroom. And if I ever get rid of my houseful of offspring, you will stay with me in my bold and manly master bedroom with convenient master bath and big doorless shower.”

“I will.” She grinned.

“Muriel, this house… It’s beyond my wildest expectations. You’re gifted. Your talent is unsurpassed. I just can’t express how impressed I am. And proud. I’m just so proud of you.”

“Thank you. I’m proud of me, too. We should have a drink and cigar.”

“I’d never have thought to bring cigars,” he said.

“Not to worry. I bought us a bottle of Pinch and box of cigars. I’ll leave all the lights on in the house. We’ll sit on the bunkhouse porch, freeze to death, have a scotch and a Cuban and stare at the house. Is that brownish-lavender porch the best?”

“Cubans? You have Cubans?”

“I do. You don’t think Mike V. will arrest me, do you?”

“If he finds out, it’ll be tough to keep the local marines off your porch.”

She chuckled. “I want to have a housewarming after the furniture is in and pictures hung. Do you think anyone would come?”

He frowned. “You’re Muriel St. Claire. I think the whole town will come.”

“Really?” she asked, surprised. “That would be so wonderful.” Then her brow wrinkled as she thought it over. “What will I do for food?”



Luke and Shelby fell into the nice little pattern of new lovers, with Shelby sleeping over almost every night. Then she would start her day real early, going first to Walt’s stable to help with the horses, maybe have a ride and breakfast with him, shower and grab a change of clothes. Next she’d go to town where her main industry was keeping Mel’s professional life manageable. She helped in the clinic, sorted and filed, watched the kids. Luke marveled at her energy, her industry.

Luke and Art worked together on the cabins every day and Luke took great pride in the fact that Art was quite functional. He wasn’t a gourmet cook, but he could warm a nourishing dinner in the microwave a few nights a week, eating with Luke and Shelby the other nights. He showered and shaved daily, took good care of his teeth, laundered his clothes, fixed his bed every morning. Luke had stocked his cupboards with decent food and nontoxic cleaning supplies. Art had fruit to add to his breakfast and lunch. He kept his bathroom and little kitchen spotless with spray cleaner.

Art was absolutely competent to live on his own, as long as he had someone trustworthy nearby in case he needed advice or ran into a problem, or maybe to remind him of things like, “Time to wash the sheets and towels, Art.” Luke told him that when the cabins were finished, Art could be the custodian. He’d make sure the trash was handled, that things were tidy, and they’d work together on upkeep, cleaning, yard maintenance, whatever needed fixing or painting.

“Do you miss your old friends at the group home?” Luke asked him.

He shrugged. “I miss Netta and Payne,” he said. “I miss my mom.” Then he smiled. “But I like it here by the river. I like my own house where I don’t have to sign up to use the washer.”

“You’re doing a great job for me, Art. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Luke,” he said, beaming proudly.