A Virgin River Christmas

“To pee in.”

“I don’t think so,” she said. “Maybe, if you’ll give me my jeans and boots, I’ll just step outside …” Then she coughed again, several times.

“No, you can’t do that. And you better not get sick. I don’t have time to deal with a sick person.”

“I’m not sick, just a little dry in the throat. I could use a drink of water, but not until I take a trip out to the—”

“Let’s be clear,” Ian said gruffly. “I’m not letting you back outside. Not for a few more hours at least.” The kettle whistled. He shut off the propane stove and shrugged into his jacket. “I’ll step outside. You do your thing. Then you’ll have a cup of tea and go back to sleep.”

She just stared up at him with eyes that were dull green and very wide. She wiggled a little in discomfort. “Do you have any … tissue?”

He sighed deeply, letting his eyes fall closed impatiently. After handing her the pot, he went to one of his cupboards and pulled out a new roll of toilet tissue. Then he went out the door, hoping it wouldn’t take her very long to do her business. He shivered out there for five minutes and then he tentatively knocked on his own front door. He was answered by a round of hard coughing and he didn’t wait for further invitation.

She was leaning back on the couch looking flushed, her skinny bare legs sticking out from beneath the huge shirt, holding the pan possessively on her lap. She looked up at him and said, “What should I do with this?”

“I’ll take care of it,” he said. She didn’t move. “Let me have it now.” Reluctantly, she gave it up. “I’ll be right back.” And again he left her, this time to pour the contents down the outhouse hole. And as he was returning he thought, she’s sick. No question about it. She’s been sleeping in her damn car—who knew for how long?—and got weakened. She must have had a bug in her that was ready to strike, and that bad chill just added to her troubles.

He said nothing as he came in the cabin. He put the pot back behind the stove for her use if she needed it. He washed his hands, made her a cup of tea, and while it steeped, he poured a cup of water and brought her three aspirins.

“Huh?” she said. “What’s this?”

“I think you have a fever. Might be from damn near freezing to death, might be from something else. First we try aspirin.”

“Yeah,” she said, taking them in her small hand. “Thanks.”

While Marcie took the aspirin with water, he fixed up the tea. They traded, water cup for mug of tea. He stayed across the room at his table while she sipped the tea. When she was almost done, he said, “Okay, here’s the deal. I have to work this morning. I’ll be gone till noon or so—depends how long it takes. When I get back, you’re going to be here. After we’re sure you’re not sick, then you’ll go. But not till I tell you it’s time to go. I want you to sleep. Rest. Use the pot, don’t go outside. I don’t want to stretch this out. And I don’t want to have to go looking for you to make sure you’re all right. You understand?”

She smiled, though weakly. “Aw, Ian, you care.”

He snarled at her, baring his teeth like an animal.

She laughed a little, which turned into a cough. “You get a lot of mileage out of that? The roars and growls, like you’re about to tear a person to pieces with your teeth?”

He looked away.

“Must keep people back pretty good. Your old neighbor said you were crazy. You howl at the moon and everything?”

“How about you don’t press your luck,” he said as meanly as he could. “You need more tea?”

“If it’s all the same to you, I think I’ll nap. I don’t want to be any trouble, but I’m awful tired.”

He went to her and took the cup out of her hand. “If you didn’t want to be any trouble, why didn’t you just leave me the hell alone?”

“Gee, I just had this wild urge to find an old friend …” She lay back on the couch, pulling that soft quilt around her. “What kind of work do you do?”

“I sell firewood out of the back of my truck.” He went to his metal box, which was nailed to the floor from the inside so it couldn’t be stolen if someone happened by his cabin, which was unlikely. He unlocked it and took out a roll of bills he kept in there and put it in his pocket, then relocked it. “First snowfall of winter—should be a good day. Maybe I’ll get back early, but no matter what, I want you here until I say you go. You get that?”

“Listen, if I’m here, it’s because it’s where I want to be, and you better get that. I’m the one who came looking for you, so don’t get the idea you’re going to bully me around and scare me. If I wasn’t so damn tired, I might leave—just to piss you off. But I get the idea you like being pissed off.”

He stood and got into his jacket, pulled gloves out of the pockets. “I guess we understand each other as well as we can.”

“Wait—it’s not even light!”

“I start before light. I have to load the truck.”

And he was gone.

Marcie reclined on the couch and closed her eyes. At first she heard the heavy thumping of logs being stacked in the back of the truck. Then she heard some soft whistling while she dozed off. Very pretty whistling with a distinct melody. She wasn’t sure what woke her, but when she opened her eyes the cabin was dimly lit with the first rays of dawn and she heard … singing. A beautiful male baritone. She couldn’t hear the words, but it was him and it took her breath away.

And she knew something. If you’re angry and in pain, you can’t sing. Can’t.

Four

Snow didn’t fall all the way into the valley, down near the ocean towns of Eureka and Arcata. But up here it was overcast, damp and chilly, and more snow was forecast. Ian had his truck parked along the road leading to a busy thoroughfare just before seven o’clock. At that juncture, he caught people on their way to work and, after four years, he was selling to the same customers over and over. Since he didn’t have a phone and no one knew where he lived, they watched for him to show up. Five cars right in a row pulled up and he made deals for as many half cords of wood. He took addresses in his little notebook and promised to deliver the wood in the next couple of days. Two of them he’d done business with in the past and accepted their checks, but the other three would have their wives give him the cash upon delivery.

The sixth customer was the police chief. He bought a cord from Ian every winter and must trust him by now because he paid cash in advance of delivery; other customers liked to see the wood before they shelled out the money for the delivery. “Got a good supply this winter, buddy?” the chief asked, pulling off his bills.

“Yes, sir. We’ll get you through. I’ll take this load right over.”

“Will you stack it up in the shed out back and put a little on the porch by the mudroom door for me?”

“You betcha. As usual,” Ian said, taking the money.

“You take care now,” the chief said. “Listen … There was this woman looking for a guy about your size, age … Aw, never mind …”

Ian smiled inwardly. No, chief, couldn’t be me, he thought. “I’ll get that wood over this morning.”

“Thanks, buddy.”

Twenty minutes later, a truck pulled up and Ian took his last order for wood, then was on his way to deliver his load to the chief. He made a stop for gas and a few supplies—broth cubes, half a roaster, an onion, some celery, a bag of frozen mixed vegetables, noodles, couple of small orange juices plus some fresh apples and oranges, coffee, bread, peanut butter and honey. He was back at the cabin before noon.

The room had chilled down because the stove hadn’t been fed, but she’d kicked off her covers and her little rump was sticking out—lavender and lace. Her face was glowing pink. He put down his groceries and fed the stove. Then he took her juice and more aspirin, waking her. He pulled the quilt over her and made her sit up.

“When are you leaving?” she asked him groggily.

“I’m back. Here, you have to take aspirin. You have a fever. Where are you sick, Marcie? Head, stomach, throat, chest? Where?”

“Ugh. I don’t know,” she said, struggling awake. “I think I’m just tired and achy. I’ll be fine.”

“Juice and aspirin,” he said, lifting her. “Come on now. You got a bug.”

“Ugh,” she said again, lifting up. “I’m sorry. I’ll be better in a little while. It’s probably just a little cold or something.” She took the aspirin—four this time—and washed it down with orange juice.

“I have to go out again, Marcie. There’s more juice on the table. You need that blue pot closer to the couch while I’m gone?”

“No,” she said, settling back against the couch. “I don’t like that pot.”

“I’m going to go see if I can get you some medicine. There’s an old doc in Virgin River—he might have some stuff on hand for cold and flu. It’ll take me almost a half hour to get there, the same coming back.”