Author: Robyn Carr

“Wait. You didn’t think I needed you to do this for me, did you? Because of Erin?”

He laughed, and she could actually see the emotion on his face, given the absence of wild beard. “Actually, if you’d asked me to, I probably wouldn’t have. You really think you can match me for stubborn? Probably not. I kept the beard because of the scar,” he said, leaning his left cheek toward her. “That, and maybe a bit of attitude of who cares?”

She gently fingered the beard apart to reveal a barely noticeable scar. “It’s hardly there at all. Ian, it’s only a thin line. You don’t have to cover it. You’re not disfigured.” She smiled at him. “You’re handsome.”

“Memories from the scar, probably. Anyway, tonight is the truckers’ Christmas parade. A bunch of eighteen-wheelers in the area dress up their rigs and parade down the freeway. I see it every year—fantastic. You think you’re up to it? With it being that anniversary?”

“Maybe it’s a good idea,” she said. “Getting out, changing the mood.”

“We’ll eat out and—”

“What’s all this?” she asked, looking at the bags and boxes.

“Snow’s forecast. It’s just what you do up here. Be ready. But this time I got some different things, in case you’re sick of stew. And I never do this—but you’re a girl, so I bought some fresh greens. And fresh eggs. Just enough to last a couple of days. No fridge; and they’ll freeze if we leave ’em in the shed.”

“Ian, what about the bathroom? What will we do about the bathroom if there’s a heavy snow?”

He laughed at her. “No problem. We’ll tromp out there fine—but I’ll shovel a path. And I’ll plow out to the road, but it’s slow going and if the snow keeps coming, it’s going to be even slower.”

“Wow. Is it safe to leave tonight? For the parade? Will we get back in?”

“We don’t have blizzards, Marcie. Snow falls slow, but steady. Now, I’m thinking bath day. How about you?”

She put her hands on her hips and looked up at him with a glare. “All right, be very careful here. I’ve had my bath. And a hair wash. I’m wearing makeup, Ian. Jesus. You wanna try to clean me up?”

His eyes grew large for a moment. Then he said. “Bath day for me, I meant. I knew. You look great.” His thumb ran along her cheek under one eye. “Just a couple of tear marks, but you can take care of that. Let me put this stuff away and get my water ready. You have something to read? Or are you looking for the thrill of your life?”

“I have something to read,” she said. And, she thought, at the end of the day, they all turn out to be just men.

Ian had in mind an Italian restaurant in Arcata, a place he’d been a time or two. When he’d been before, he always just ate at the bar, alone. This time, at a table with a glass of red wine each, there was talking. It was hardly possible to remember the man who merely grunted or complained that he didn’t need to have people around. Marcie made no comment about the change; tomorrow would mark ten days. One more week would bring Christmas.

He wanted to know what kind of little girl she had been.

“Bad, very bad. I took the term tomboy to the next level. I didn’t have any little girlfriends, just the boys. I could take all of ’em, but even though I thought I was a boy I fought like a girl—biting, hair pulling. I went from slingshots to spitballs and my dad got called to school a lot. I was a bratty little carrottop, the smallest, meanest one in my class.”

He grinned largely. So beautifully. “How does this not surprise me? You’re a little better mannered now, but not much.”

“Then the cutest boy in ninth grade got a crush on me. My first thought was—bet I can take him. My next thought was, bet I can get him to kiss me. It turned me into a girl overnight—a total transformation. Bobby. Erin Elizabeth was prissy from the day she was born and you can’t imagine how it killed me to ask her for advice on looking pretty. She was so damn smug about it, too.”

“Bobby? Since ninth grade?”

“Uh-huh. We went steady all through school, married at nineteen. Barely nineteen.”

He just shook his head. “Awful young.”

“Awful,” she said. “Our families wanted us to wait, but it didn’t take too much convincing—we couldn’t keep our hands off each other. I think everyone went along with the wedding just to cool us down. But there were a lot of bad jokes—like I was wearing training pants under the gown. That sort of thing.”

“And did it? Cool you down?”

“Kept us from pawing each other in public, at least,” she said with a grin. “Now you have to step up, Buchanan, and tell some things—you were star of the high-school musical. You probably had girls all over you. Huh?”

One corner of his mouth lifted. “I was pretty much a slut,” he said, making her laugh so loud that people’s heads turned in the restaurant.

“No morals,” she interpreted.

“Few,” he said. “I was on my way to getting some girl I barely loved in trouble.”

“Barely loved? Did you tell them you loved them to get in their pants?”

“Be fair—I was a teenage boy!”

“You did! You’re such a dog!”

“I was a pup, that’s what I was. The Marine Corps was my dad’s idea, but the joke was on him. Not only did I take to it, but spruced-up marines have no trouble getting girls.”

“My little brother, Drew, I think maybe he’s a lot like you. He’s a gorgeous little devil. Smart and so funny he can make you laugh till you leave a little wet spot on the floor—and he has a different girl every month. He’s such a screw-off, it’s hard to believe he’s going to be a doctor.”

“Doctor?” Ian asked, mouth full.

“Uh-huh—he’s a med student now. My sister’s a lawyer, my brother will be a doctor and I barely made it out of high school.”

Ian swallowed. “Come on—I bet you were an honor student.”

“Nope. I was pretty much a B average on a good report card. But then I had other things on my mind—like fun, Bobby, et cetera. I’m much more serious now.”

“I wish I’d known you then—you must have been a real loose cannon. So what kind of doctor do you think your little brother will be?”

“At this rate? A gynecologist.”

The bantering went on all through dinner. For Marcie it was wonderfully pleasant and fun, but not different than her life had been—being with someone, talking, laughing. She suspected it was very different for Ian, at least lately. By the way his eyes grew more golden than brown, she assumed it felt good.

The truck parade happened after dinner, when it was good and dark. They parked along a high road and watched from the truck until that wasn’t good enough and they got out and sat on the warm hood. The trucks were, as he said, magnificent. The flashing, sparkling lights, Santas perched atop, even Nativities, snow scenes and Christmas trees set up on long flatbeds. Every color under the rainbow was represented and, for good measure, the drivers blasted their horns in response to the gallery of viewers who waved and applauded.

After standing out in the cold for a while, then riding back toward home in a truck with a poor heater, Marcie was shivering. So Ian suggested they swing through town before heading up the mountain. If it wasn’t too late, they could get a quick toddy to warm them up.

The tree lit their way into town, so majestic, that star creating just the right path. When they walked into Jack’s there were quite a few people, the lights dimmed, the fire in the hearth blazing. They chose to sit up at the bar in front of a grinning bartender. “Evening,” Jack said.

“I wonder if I might use the phone, since I’m here?” Marcie said. “I should check in, make sure Erin had no trouble getting home.”

“You bet. Can I set you up something to come back to?”

“How about a brandy,” she said, jumping off the stool. “Something nice and smooth.”

“You got it.” And when she’d gone to the kitchen, Jack said to Ian, “And you?”

“Schnapps, thanks.”

Jack put a couple of drinks on the bar. “You take advantage of the holiday special at the Haircuts R Us store?”

“Funny. I thought you talked when they talked, shut up when they didn’t?”

“We read faces, too. You’re completely un-miserable—a new look for you.”

“I took Marcie to see the truck parade,” he said. “You ever see that truck parade?”

“Couple of times. Mel and my sister took the baby over, but I had a full house tonight. That damn tree—been bringing ’em in from miles away. I’m expecting the wise men to pop in here any second.”

“It’s not a bad-looking tree,” Ian said.

“Thanks, but it’s going to be smaller next year. Mel’s set on a big tree like that, but you have no idea what a pain in the butt it was. Almost had to rent a flatbed to bring it home.”

Ian chuckled and took a sip of his drink. “What got you up here, Jack? To Virgin River?”

“After twenty in the Marines? I was just looking for some peace and quiet so I could catch my breath. And think.”

“That a fact? And here I thought it was an original idea.”

Jack laughed. “Well, then Melinda showed up, and now peace and quiet is a thing of the past.”

“That’s a rough spot you got yourself in,” Ian observed.

“Yeah,” Jack said. “Beautiful blonde in my bed every morning when I wake up. I’m telling you, the suffering just won’t end.” There was a quick flash of a grin, and before Ian could think of a comeback, Marcie was sitting up beside him.

“All’s well,” she reported. She took a slow sip of her brandy and made a sigh of pleasure. “Very nice, Jack.”

“I don’t know when you’re headed home, Marcie, but there’s a Christmas Eve thing going on here. Since there’s no church open in town and Preacher closes up on Christmas Day to have it with his family, on Christmas Eve the townsfolk are having a candlelight gathering around the tree.”

“Really? What time?”

“Won’t be a midnight mass, that’s for sure,” he laughed. “Mostly ranchers and farmers around here—they start early in the morning, even on Christmas. Last I heard it was scheduled for eight o’clock for about an hour. I’m taking the family to Sacramento for the holidays, so we’ll miss it. But if you’re still here, stop by.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said.

The brandy and schnapps didn’t keep them warm all the way home and when they arrived, Ian first stoked the fire, getting it going before walking Marcie out to the facilities. They both remained in jackets and boots until the cabin heated up a little. Marcie finally spread her sleeping bag over the couch. She took off her boots, but left her clothes on, wrapping herself up in her bag to try to generate some warmth.

Ian was just unrolling his pallet and about to pull off his boots when she said, softly, “Thank you for a wonderful night, Ian. It’s the best night I’ve had in…years.” And then he heard her yawn.

He didn’t move; couldn’t breathe. There was an odd sensation filling his chest, a gathering of moisture in his eyes. He wanted to say, No, thank you! But he couldn’t trust himself to form the words. She had no idea how it changed him inside—in his head and heart—just to have someone to talk to, to laugh with. The scrappiest little girl on the playground, like an angel come to draw him out, made him feel for the first time in such a long time, as if he was living instead of merely existing. It was a gift he was sure he didn’t deserve, especially after sealing himself off from the world as he had. And after trying to scare her away.