Shelter Mountain

Two

Preacher barely slept. He spent half the night on the computer. It was like this little machine was invented for him, because he liked to look things up. He had been trying to get Jack to put the inventory and receipts on the computer, but Jack had a clipboard that was like an extension of his arm and wanted nothing to do with Preacher’s technology. It was slow, there being no cable hookup out here, but he was patient. And it got the job done.

The rest of the night was spent trying to catch some sleep, which eluded him completely. He got out of bed several times and looked out the back window to see if the little Honda was still there. He finally got up for the day at five, when it was still black as pitch outside. He went into the kitchen, started the coffee, laid a fresh fire. There was no sound from upstairs.

The rain had stopped, but it was overcast and chilly. He’d have liked to go ahead and split logs, work off some aggression, but Jack liked doing that, so he let it go. At six-thirty, Jack came into the bar, all smiles. This was the happiest man in Virgin River since he got married. It was as if he couldn’t stop grinning.

Preacher stood behind the bar with his coffee mug and lifted his chin in greeting to his best friend. “Hey,” Jack said. “Good rain.”

“Jack,” he said. “Listen. I did something…”

Jack shrugged out of his jacket and hung it on the peg inside the door. “Pee in the soup again, Preacher?”

“I got a woman upstairs…”

Pure shock settled over Jack’s face. Preacher didn’t have women around. He didn’t prowl, didn’t flirt, didn’t do any of that. Of course, Jack didn’t really know how he lived like that, but this was Preacher. When the guys, the Marines they had served with, were all out looking for women to pass the night with, Preacher stayed behind. They jokingly called him the Big Eunuch. “Oh, yeah?” he asked.

Preacher took down a mug and filled it for Jack. “She came in last night, during the storm,” he said. “She’s got a kid with her—little,” he said, measuring with his huge hands. “Kid might be coming down with something. He’s got a fever, she said. I gave her my old room because there’s no place to stay around here….”

“Well,” Jack said, picking up his coffee. “That was nice of you. I guess. She steal the silver or anything?”

Preacher made a face. They didn’t have silver; the only thing worth stealing was the cash, locked up tight. Or liquor—way too much trouble for a woman with a kid. Not that any of that ever crossed his mind. “She’s probably in some trouble,” Preacher said. “She’s got… Looks like maybe she’s been in some trouble. Maybe she’s running or something.”

Again, Jack was shocked. “Huh?”

Preacher stared hard into Jack’s eyes. “I think she needs some help,” he said, when in fact he knew she needed help. “She’s got a bruise on her face.”

“Oh, boy,” Jack said.

“Mel coming in to Doc’s?” he asked.

“Of course.”

“She needs to have a look at the kid—make sure he’s not sick. You know. And the woman—Paige—she says she’s all right, but maybe… Maybe Mel can—I don’t know—be sure.”

“Yeah,” Jack said, taking a sip from his mug. “Then what?”

Preacher shrugged. “She’s gonna want to get out of here, I think. She’s all skittish. She seems scared. I want her to at least see Mel.”

“Probably a good idea.”

“Yeah. That’s what we’ll do. Ask her to let Mel have a look. But I can’t make her, you know. I think you should do it. Talk to her, suggest it to her….”

“Nah, Preach, you can handle this. It’s your deal—I haven’t seen her or anything. You just talk to her. Quiet and soft. Try not to scare her.”

“She’s already scared, which is how I figure she’s in some trouble. The kid hasn’t seen me yet, though—he was asleep. He’ll probably run screaming.”

At seven-thirty Preacher fixed up a tray with some cereal in bowls, toast, coffee, orange juice and milk. He went up the back stairs and gently tapped on the door. It opened immediately. Paige had showered and dressed. She wore the same jeans and a long-sleeved chambray shirt. A little black-and-blue spot peeked out from the opened collar and Preacher immediately felt steamed up, but he tried to keep it from showing on his face. Instead, he focused on her eyes, which were a deep emerald-green, and her damp hair, which fell in curly tendrils to her shoulders. “Morning,” he said, trying to keep his voice quiet and soft, like Jack would.

“Hey,” she said. “You’re up early.”

“I’ve been up forever,” he said.

“Mom?” came a voice from behind her. He looked past her and saw the little kid, Christopher, sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed.

She opened the door for Preacher and he came in, putting the tray on the bureau just inside the door. He stayed by the door and gave the kid a nod. He tried to relax his features into softness, but wasn’t sure how to do that. “Hey, little buddy. You want some breakfast?”

The kid shrugged, but his round eyes were wide and focused on Preacher.

“He’s not so good with men,” Paige whispered softly. “Shy.”

“Yeah?” Preacher asked. “Me, too. Don’t worry—I’ll stay back.”

He looked at the child and tried out a smile. Then the kid pointed at Preacher’s head and said, “You hafta shabe that?”

It made Preacher laugh. “Yeah. Wanna feel?” he asked. He approached the bed slowly, carefully, bending his bald head toward the kid. He felt a small hand rub over his dome and it made him laugh again. He raised his head and said, “Cool, huh?” And the kid nodded.

Preacher went back to Paige. “My buddy’s wife, Melinda, she’s coming to Doc’s this morning and I wanna take you over there. Let her have a look at the kid, make sure he’s okay, and if he needs medicine or anything, she’ll fix you right up.”

“She’s a nurse, you say?”

“Yeah. A special nurse. A midwife. She delivers babies and that.”

“Oh,” Paige said, a little more interested. “That’s probably a good idea. But I don’t have much money—”

He laughed. “We don’t worry about things like that around here, if someone could use a little help. It’ll be fine.”

“If you’re sure…”

“It’s all good. Come on downstairs when you’re ready. Mel will be over there about eight, but take your time. Not too many people get sick around here and they’re not usually busy.”

“Okay. Then we’ll press on….”

“Um, if you need to, you can stay a couple of days. I mean, if he’s not feeling so well. Or, if you’re tired from driving.”

“I’ll probably just get back on the road.”

“Where you headed?” he asked. “You never mentioned.”

“Just a little farther. I have a friend… We’re going to visit a friend.”

“Ah,” he said, but if it had been just a little farther, she’d have kept going. “Well, you think about it. Open offer.”

While Christopher sat cross-legged on the bed to eat cereal, Paige leaned toward the mirror, dabbing makeup on her purple cheek, covering it as best she could. It had at least lightened somewhat. But there was nothing she could do about the split lip, which was scabbing over. Christopher would touch it and say, “Mommy’s owie.”

Her mind wandered back to that last beating. The part that still shook her was not being able to remember what had really started it. Something about Christopher’s toys being strewn all over the family room, and then Wes’s suit not back from the dry cleaners. He wasn’t happy about what she’d made for dinner. Or was it what she had said about the toys? “Jesus, Wes, he has toys—he plays with them. Just give me a minute.” Had he slapped her then? No, right after that, when she muttered, under her breath, “Don’t get excited, don’t get mean, just let me do it…”

How could she not know that he’d react like that? Because she never knew how he would react. They’d had months of no violence. But she had seen it in his eyes when he came home from the office. It was already there—eyes that said, I’m going to hit you and hit you and hit you some more and neither of us will know exactly why. As usual, by the time she zoned in on that dangerous gleam, it was too late.